"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
for 29 February 1996. Updated every WEEKDAY.

Hit & Run XXIII


[Joan Osborne]

As easily accessible to punters

in Boise as players in Beverly

Hills, the Grammy Awards Web

site offers the kind of

starfucker intimacy would-be

insiders crave, including the

"secret origin" of Joan Osborne -

she drunkenly took the stage

at a New York City open mike

night to sing a Billie Holiday

song, an argument for clear-eyed

sobriety if we ever heard one.

But though Osborne performed at

the awards ceremony, she was

snubbed by NARAS, which gave the

Album of the Year award to

soulless sister Alanis

Morissette. Luckily, Morissette

shared the moment: "This is for

anybody who's ever written a

song from a very pure place."

She then thanked professional

hit doctor Glenn Ballard, from

whose very pure place her songs

were co-written.



If Quentin Tarantino was able to

parlay his shit job at a

small-time video mart into a

Palme d'Or, imagine the

possibilities of an internship

at your local 7-11. No, think

bigger than Clerks, think Web,

ace. A paean? Save it for

Usenet. A journal? Too many

words. Trade secrets? There's

not much of a secret in syrup

and crushed ice. With all the

dire predictions of the Web

going the way of ColecoVision,

think of something that truly

speaks to the masses.


[Larry Ellison]

Those unlucky enough to find

themselves sitting through the

keynote address of the Oracle

Developers Conference were

treated to the sight of database

strongman Larry Ellison taking

the stage as Hammer's "Can't

Touch This" blared over

concert-size speakers. The

special treat of the evening was

the introduction of the Oracle's

Network Computer, aka the Web

TV-toaster-appliance-thing. And

if the theme song wasn't enough

to prove Ellison's burgeoning

hipster (or is that "hypster"?)

status, Ellison would resort to

Negroponte-speak to describe the

book-sized box: it "needs only

two cords - one for the

electrons, and one for the



[Brock Meeks]

Just because it's New Media

doesn't mean the author is dead.

While some might argue that

Brock Meeks's story about radical

right screeds on Pat Buchanan's

official page didn't offer much

in the way of surprise, much

less news, Meeks apparently felt

differently. When ABC's

Nightline covered the story as

its own, a follow-up article in

Netizen asked "Was Brock ripped

off, or what?" (Chicken butt.)

We know the Meeks shall inherit

the Earth, but the original

beauty of that little beatitude

was that it got 'em to shut up

until the rapture.


[Answer Me!]

The Goad news is that Answer Me!

is off the hook. The Bellingham,

Washington zine shop, The

Newsstand, was acquitted

of obscenity charges, a suit

related to the distribution of

Jim and Debbie Goad's

misanthropic but highly

entertaining periodical. The

entire trial is thoroughly

documented on The Bellingham

Obscenity Trial Archive page; it

includes links to news articles

and correspondence from various

defense witnesses. The bad news?

The "mean people suck"-style

shallowness of Ted Rosen, whose

accounts of the trial dominate

the site. That defenders of the

First Amendment are represented

on the Web by a writer whose

grasp of the political scene is,

in his words, best summed up by

quoting "my bumper sticker:

'Subvert the Dominant

Paradigm!'" seems, at best,

paradoxical; at worst,

just a little too subversive.



Ever since I Can't Believe It's

Not Butter secured Fabio as

their TV spokesmodel, we've

known their marketing team to be

the Kraftiest around. But they

may have scored an all-time coup

with their website. While the

domain name, tasteyoulove.com,

has Flav-O Flav turning green,

Fabio's tips for the lovelorn

are beyond rich. And though it

remains to be seen whether or

not ICBINB can volunteer Fabio's

chest measurements without

sacrificing taste, at least we

now know how to achieve that

lovely gossamer sheen so

appropriate for the covers of

bodice rippers - We Can't

Believe It's Not Butter, either!

courtesy of the Sucksters