Oh, man. What’s the world coming to? What kind of world do we live in when we can’t trust the journalists whose work we never read in newspapers or whose broadcasts we ignore while watching the Heroes marathon on TV?

I mean, what’s this about graduate journalism students at Columbia cheating on their final exams? Editor and Publisher says that about 200 students enrolled in a class titled “Critical Issues in Journalism” have to attend a special session. If they don’t show up, they fail.

While graduate school is likely an option for us Culture Warriors, we find it tough to believe that anyone has to really try to cheat when

[t]he exam was an open-book, take-home exam in which students had 90 minutes to write a few essays.

By the way, a core part of the class dealt with journalism ethics.

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Slick Rick - “Teacher Teacher”

We’re in the podcasting space-race now, and this is our Sputnik. In this episode, Josh and Greg discuss: the new National Geographic Survey, Wifi on planes, Chris Ware’s New Yorker art, and This Week in Cheese. Plus, two fun songs.

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It makes sense that we here at Culture Warrior, while sitting naked at the computer at three in the morning, would stumble across the GOP’s blueprints to take over Manhattan, transforming it from a bastion of liberalism into, you know. Kansas.

Such a gargantuan undertaking requires a plan of proportional magnitude, and East Village GOP has such a plan. Never give up the fight, brave souls. And remember: God is on your side.
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Shakey Bones - I Ain’t Got No Home

We weren’t around three days ago to bring this gem to your attention, so take my word for it that we would have. Err, or I was out of town, drinking mostly, and just now saw it. But either way, here it is. Somebody over at the Times style section clearly got yelled at about not having enough content recently, which is the is the only explanation or this hardhitting masturbatory piece of journalism filler.

It’s not cool to go out on Saturday nights. The New York Times is reporting this. And They included a picture to illustrate the kind of people who do go out on Saturday nights:

For status-conscious New Yorkers, Saturday has become synonymous with hordes of pleasure dilettantes wearing gelled hairstyles and quaffing Red Bull, creating hourlong lines at clubs that city dwellers may line up for on Thursday or even Monday, but will not get within five stretch-Hummer lengths from on Saturday.

Oh, Snap! More after the jump.

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