In my other life I was a fact-checker for the past three years at Blender, which died this week while I was in Buenos Aires. In a made-for-my-BlackBerry twist, I was in the Recoleta Cemetery, just steps away from Evita’s grave, when I got the news. Blender, R.I.P.
Blender was an enjoyable place to work--enjoyable enough for me to last three years. I checked good articles, I checked bad articles, I grew to love or hate certain writers based on how pleasant they were to work with and not for the quality of their prose (that was just an added bonus). Fact-checking is a fun gig, in that you get to learn a little something new each issue, though often that something has to do with Lily Allen’s whereabouts for the past eighteen months.
Blender was one of those “secretly good” publications. Judging the book by its exterior, with Kelly Clarkson and terrible cover lines, it appeared god-awful. But inside, they stashed Christgau in the reviews section, put Rob Sheffield to work writing a column that was as good Sheffield got (why oh why was this feature not called Top Sheff?) and occasionally hit on something clever in the front of the book. Alas, Blender’s FOB embodied exactly how magazines are stumped by the transition to online—it’s hard to be cheeky and newsy with pages that take a week to design and another two to ship.
My favorite was the Back Catalog feature, wherein someone (usually Doug Wolk) reviewed every record by an artist or band. It was a bear to fact-check, but what other job would give you an excuse to learn about Jerry Wexler one month and Big Audio Dynamite the next? Back Catalog disappeared in recent months as the ad pages dwindled, but I hope it returns again in another publication. Or at that very least that Wolk scanned his contributions and stashed them on a hard drive.
Beyond the mundane issue of losing some income, it’s jarring to take a step back and see how my own writing career has changed in three years. When I started working at Blender, all those big-name published writers intimidated me, but now I’m the one sending backup to magazines and patiently explaining to researchers what I meant when I described the “poolside” location of some beach cabanas. It may sound small, but three years ago, it seemed like a giant step.
I also wonder if telling my grandchildren I was a fact-checker will sound to their ears as one of those strange disappeared professions like typesetter or stevedore (The Wire excluded) sounds to someone my age. Whether or not the profession continues to exist in the years to come, I hope to keep with me the skills I honed at Blender. For one, I still spell out A-V-R-I-L L-A-V-I-G-N-E in my head each and every time I see her name written on the page.
Bye, Blender. Or rather, C ya L8r, boi.
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