Graham Beckwith, Style Icon

A brief word before today's blog post. It's not every day that you get an entire hate column devoted to "exposing" you in the Lantern. Sweeter still are the hours that follow, when you receive a) more traffic than your blog has ever seen in its short lifetime, thanks to said column, and b) an e-mail from the one and only Graham Beckwith.

Sadly, Graham's response to my e-mail was kind of on the "too-long-and-boring-to-merit-posting" side, but I'll outline his key points in case any of you have been holding your breath for the dramatic conclusion of Thursday's little episode:

Liberally paraphrasing Graham:
-I didn't bother to read your e-mail. I will now go on to respond to every point you made in your e-mail.
-I'm sad you set your LiveJournal to private, because I shared it with other Lantern staffers and we all had a good laugh over it. I was clearly full of shit when I wrote in my column that I had too much class to read it.
-Stay away from me and my family- I have a poor understanding of the satiric style, and did not comprehend that you were kidding about stalking me.
-At the Lantern, we track IP addresses, so we can tell if all of these people that have commented on my column telling me that I suck/that you are better than me/that I REALLY suck are actually just your aliases. Spending all of our time on this practice may or may not be a contributing factor to the large number of typos in our publication.
-O' Doyle Rules!

So there you have it. I doubt that I'll be seeing/hearing from Graham again, although if I do bump into him, I will have the overpowering urge to tousle his hair and tell him to run along and play. My only regret is that I will never have the chance to work with Graham on the Lantern (he appears to be graduating, and I won't start there until next fall- by the way, the prospect of walking into a room full of editors who have GASP read my blog has, needless to say, left me terrified and unable to sleep).

Finally, if you're new to this blog (thanks Graham!), you should know that it was created in pursuit of the noble quest of Fucking Around In My Free Time, and that I plan on continuing to catch Lantern typos/barbecue Graham's columns in this space. Thanks to the wonders of caching/interwebs/whatever Graham was talking about in his column, I still have plenty of his work at my disposal on the Lantern archives. If you've made it this far...on to the column!

Naked truth about fashion
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 4/3/08 Section: Arts

Even though I don't know anything about fashion - I am under the impression that black, brown and white go with everything - I can at least recognize how it can be a decent way for people to express themselves artistically.

As you can see, this one is off to a great start. I'm going to have a contest for you, noble readers. The first person who can tell me what the hell is going on in the next four paragraphs wins a free MS Paint doodle on their portrait in the next post. You have your choice of Gumby, Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat, or Matthew Lesko.

Olmec, please put 45 seconds on the clock...ready...begin!

Of course, those fashion designers in Milan do some crazy shit I can't begin to understand.

Let's be fair to Milan fashion designers, though. The stuff Graham Beckwith doesn't understand could fill...well, could fill a Lantern column every Thursday.

(OOOH OOH OOH BLOGGER BURN)

Most of it looks ridiculous, but I can still respect it sometimes.

If there's one thing Milan fashion designers crave, it's the respect of Graham Beckwith. This I know.

But even in everyday life fashion has to be respected. One time a girl was walking down the hallway of my apartment building, and what she was wearing caused me to stare at her until I walked into a wall.

And so, on April 2nd, 2008, just as the first signs of spring began to show, Graham Beckwith...discovered breasts.

Now even with all that being true, it's stupid to look down on people because of the clothes they wear.

Time's up! I have no idea how to summarize those last few paragraphs, so I'm leaving it up to you. I've had a rough weekend, guys- not one, but two different chicks shot down my drink offers at Bar Louie.

I'll judge bands because those bands put themselves out there for me to judge.

Let's put aside for a second the fact that this sentence appears to be unrelated to anything. Bands do not (DO NOT) "put themselves out there" for you to judge, Graham. I'm guessing they put themselves out there because they enjoy performing music or something. Then again, I don't have my own column, so what would I know.

I saw this band opening at Skully's the other night that made me want to pierce my ear drums with my car keys. Even though they were a young band, singing out of tune, they made the decision to go up on stage so that pretentious, half-drunk people like me can look down my nose at them.

They may have sucked something awful, but God bless 'em, before they went on, they huddled up in backstage and said, "Guys, we may sound terrible, but Graham Beckwith is here tonight, and I think we owe it to him to let him judge us. Who's with me?"

*In Graham's case, I'm guessing "half-drunk" = "drunk"/2 = one appletini.

"At least you're nice enough to admit that you're a music snob," my friend Donna said one day.

Ah, good, Donna makes an appearance. We all know her so well, I was wondering when she was going to pop up in a column.

*"Donna said one day" may or may not equal "friend and quote Graham invented to keep this column limping along."

"But I'm enough of an a**hole to keep doing it," I responded.

Suck it, Donna.

Now, how is this different than judging fashion?

It is getting very hard for me to keep reading this column. So, so, SO bad. (sigh) But go on, Graham, I bet you're going to tell us how judging music is different than judging fashion.

If I were to, say, police fashion, and let's say I were to do it on a weekly campus university publication, I'm judging average people whose only crimes are putting on clothes even if those clothes happen to be a bit ugly to me.

(podium lights up)

Alex Trebek: Yes, French Stewart.

French Stewart: The answer, of course, is UWeekly's Fashion Police. I'll take "Pod-Pod the Rhino" for 400, please.

Sorry, everyone, I'm in a "Saturday Night Live Celebrity Jeopardy!" kind of mood today. Bear with me.

Not everyone has to play bad music on stage, not everyone has to even listen to music, but it's sort of against the law to go without clothes in public.

Except, of course, for that beauty that was walking down the apartment hallway, Graham thought to himself as he searched for a Kleenex to plug his bloody nose. She shouldn't have to wear clothes in public. Excited about meeting a potential gal pal, he reached for his cell phone to dial his mother.

That's just part of being an artist-putting yourself and your work out there to be judged by idiots.

Wait a minute...does that mean...does that make me an idiot?*

*No. Graham is not an artist. Moving on.

There are people in Columbus who put a lot of thought into their dress, buy mounds of clothes and change styles as the world spins in orbit. But there are thousands of other people who just throw on something each day before they leave.

With a little tweaking, I think this paragraph would be perfect as the opening voiceover for some kind of soap opera reminiscent Days of Our Lives/As The World Turns, in which the main characters work at a fashion boutique in the Short North.

I am hereby deducted twenty man points for writing the preceding paragraph.

What's worse is judging people who are just trying to get to class or work - in the freezing cold!

Nitpicky little journalism point here, Graham: Never, ever, nevereverever use exclamation points in journalistic writing unless you're attributing a quote to a physical (non-human) source. Poor form, Graham, poor form.

That's what got a chuckle out of me a few weeks ago - ordinary schmucks getting practically libeled in print, I guess for wearing parkas and mittens deemed unfashionable.

Graham, on the other hand, would never writing anything even resembling libel about an undeserving fellow student in print.

(Whoops.)

Heaven forbid someone would want to throw on sweatpants and Ugg boots to walk through the ice and snow.

This paragraph is actually the subtitle of Graham's upcoming biography, "Don't Hate My Stylish Life: Heaven Forbid Someone Would Want to Throw on Sweatpants and Ugg Boots to Walk Through the Ice and Snow."

It would seem that fashion policing would be stifling individuality as well. Does that serve fashion?

Bonus round! The first reader to pinpoint the exact moment when this column completely stopped making sense wins their very own awesome "Danny Macintosh"-esque nickname.*

*Nickname may not be entirely anonymous.

I'm not likely to ever be on a worst-dressed list because I dress so normally. My wardrobe usually involves usually Chucks, Levi's, T-Shirt and jacket. Earth tones.

Hey, Graham, you want to know what got a chuckle out of ME a few weeks ago? You attempting to paint yourself as an alpha male/Marlboro Man type in your column. That, sir, is fine comedy. I take back my earlier dig about you not being an artist. You are a true wordsmith, and you can elicit laughter from even the frostiest hearts.

Uninspired, I know.

Who, exactly, is this sentence a half-hearted stab at? The UWeekly Fashion police? The reader? Are we still on what best serves fashion? Throw me a freakin' bone, here, Graham.

Oh how I'd like to meet a real fashion policeman. Most fashion policemen I see in publications are anonymous, see. They get to have digs at people without having to defend or identify themselves. It must be a great position to be in, acting as if they are the czars of fashion around OSU without having to answer for it.

Wait- rewind that really quickly?

"Most fashion policemen I see in publications are anonymous, see."

YES! There it is! Ladies and gentlemen, at long last, Graham's signature "Genre-Shifting Paragraph Of The Column!" Today, Graham will carry us to the last paragraph in the style of a 1920s mobster, see.

Let me take a stab at that paragraph, this time keeping each sentence true to the genre:

Boy, how I'd like to get my mitts on an honest-to-John fashion flatfoot. Most fashion coppers I see in the broads are anonymous, see. These mugs gets ta take shots at av-er-age Joes like youse and me widout having to cop to it. (munches cigar) It must be a helluva spot to be in, see, paradin' like they was the cat's pajamas when it comes to fashion on this turf widout having to answer for it. Boy, I oughta...

You know, I never said I was going to be any good at it. Jeesh. Give me a break, I'm not a darn Lantern columnist.

Also, ten points if you picked up on the recurring theme found in this paragraph and Graham's anti-Anti-Lantern column on Thursday.

I wonder what's so amazing about your garb, fashion policeman. Rainbow-colored tassels on your footies. Neon-colored snow pants. Olde-English scribbled on a wife beater. Wicker bracelets. Yellow eyeliner, lime-green lipstick.

I apologize again for my limited MS Paint abilities. Also, quick question...footies? What are footies? Are those like shoes?

I'm sure it's genius, whatever it is.

Yeah, whatever, man. Graham doesn't even give a damn. He only spent a whole column on the subject, but, pshh, whatever dude.

Next time you're staring longingly into a mirror, strike a pose for all of us.

I always strike a pose for you, Graham. Always. Call me!

Your "stalker" forever, Dan.

P.S. I can't believe you wouldn't accept my Facebook friend request...does this mean I've been semi-"de-friended" by Graham Beckwith! Hallelujah!