I Did It for the Blog

This Sunday, I got the worst cold I’ve gotten in three years, forcing me to become a mouth breather. My lips are chapped, I have a cold sore, and I keep snorting to keep mucus from running into my mouth. Plus, I have some kind of stomach virus that’s making me feel like I desperately have to poo but simultaneously like I never will again, and I have a sharp, alarming pain right in the middle of my chest. I have a migraine; my teeth hurt; I’m thirsty.

The looming knowledge that I, too, am leaving Jezebel has caused my body to go into such violent and unattractive mourning that I’m physically unable to do anything other than think about it.

I know nobody wants to hear about how sad I am—not because you don’t genuinely love me and care about my happiness (I know you do, and think about me often), or because you won’t miss me terribly (I get it! We’re very close and talk every day). But because you’ve already heard about a bunch of other people leaving, and this is a news site, not Joanna’s personal newsletter. So I’ll just say that every minute at Jezebel, where my beat somehow became How Many Ways Can Joanna Humiliate Herself, has been undoubtedly the best time of my life.

While I can’t list all the things I’ve learned (among them: put serum on in order of thinnest to thickest… or thickest to thinnest? I’ve forgotten), I think most important is the idea that literally anything, regardless of how small-time or stupid or undercooked, can be a perfect blog if you throw yourself completely at its mercy. Too many publications have responded to the Trump administration by getting more Serious, as if tweeting at @RealDonaldTrump, “Mr. President, sir, with all due respect, what do you mean by the phrase, ‘I have nevr made a woMan cum?’” will yield any sort of meaningful coverage. I hope that Jezebel can remain immune to this trend and keep doing what it’s always done best—incisive reporting about things that matter, extreme disrespect to bad men in power, and utter devotion to the stupidest shit we can think of.

I maintain that the staff (Julianne, Katie, Ellie, Megan, Clover, Maddie, Bobby, Anna Merlan when she decides to hang, Kelly S., Hazel, Rich, Stassa, Kelly F., Tracy, Prachi, Ashley, Harron, Esther, Jen, Phoebe, Ecleen, and Koa—each uniquely talented and beloved by me) is the best staff across media, and when I leave, I fully expect to feel like final season Lost, where Jack is crying at Evangeline Lilly, “We need to go back!!!” for the rest of my life. But then again Lost got a little weird at the end. It’s hard to wrap good things up.