This is probably a little too inside baseball, but the Twittersphere is all full of vinegar and vagina sand today over GQ writer Edith Zimmerman’s profile of Chris Evans, with whom she got drunk and kind of swooned over.  Now, predictably, people are whining about her “unprofessionalism.”  Which neglects to mention that “professionalism” in journalism is usually just a synonym for “dishonesty” or “obfuscation.”  When someone’s actually honest about being smitten and starstruck by a handsome movie star instead of just portraying their idea of “boring entertainment reporter,” the “terrible” result is an actor profile that people might actually want to read.  (Also, anyone who uses the word “horrified” to describe anything other than war crimes can pretty much go f*ck themselves).  Aaaaanyhooooo, long story short, it’s a fun article, and Chris Evans seems cool.  Here’s my favorite bit:

“The point is that when I see a sunset or a waterfall or something, for a split second it’s so great, because for a little bit I’m out of my brain, and it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m not trying to figure it out, you know what I mean? And I wonder if I can somehow find a way to maintain that mind stillness.”

“That’s what alcohol is for, right?” I said, which was too cute and too prescient.

“Boom.” He high-fived me. It’s hard to say which he did more: high-five when he was pleased about a joke of his or mine, or make jerk-off gestures when he was sick of hearing himself talk.

After that, Zimmerman reports that she and Evans bonded over both being wicked Bawstonian, then went out drinking.  She blacked out shortly before a “jump over the pool table” contest at his house and ended up sleeping over.

“Is it [her profile] going well?” he asked.
“It’s going really well,” I said.
“Nailing it?”
“You’re nailing it.”
“You’re nailing it also,” he said. “I’m going to write an article about you.”

After that, I like to imagine he playfully socked her in the chin or went in for another high five, perhaps both.  Copious high fives AND fluency in the parlance of dismissive wanks?  I could totally hang with this guy.  He is an honorary Uproxx writer for sure.  And as for the kerfluffity over the article, what a crock.  Entertainment writers are whores.  If “unprofessionalism” means being honest about acting silly, I’ll take unprofessionalism. And anyway, she was from Boston. It would’ve been a blow to everything I believe in if she hadn’t gotten black out drunk and invited herself to sleep over.

“TO WELKAH!” (*chugs beer, crushes can on forehead, tries to make out with mailbox*)