Suck

"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun" for 25 March 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.
	Hit & Run CLXXI Southern California activist, former hippie, and anti-Dreamworks hunger striker Jerry Rubin has a new mission - proving that Hooters, the famous "cheerleader" restaurant, is not the more-ventilated Fuddruckers it pretends to be, but a sexist organization that exploits men as well as women. Toward that end, he's getting the message out in a community debate to be held 10 April at the new Santa Monica Hooters (arrive at 8 a.m. for coffee and refreshments). The loquacious firebrand can (and does) expound for hours on the company's sordid hiring practices: "We've got Take Our Daughters to Work Day. Would you want a Take Your Daughter to Hooters Day?" He can debate the etymology of the company name: "You wouldn't have a restaurant called Tits, with the Tit girls, with 'Tits' written on their T-shirts. Why is 'Hooters' any less obscene than 'knockers' or 'tits' or 'boobs?'" He addresses the question of an '80s pop band of the same name: "I wasn't aware of them. That's funny because I'm from Philadelphia, but I grew up with Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley and Little Richard. I used to dance on American Bandstand." But he can reach an impassioned peak when discussing the fact that he is most certainly not Jerry Rubin - the legendary Yippie leader, Chicago Seven defendant, and fruit juice salesman who died in a jaywalking incident in 1994. We talked with the other Jerry Rubin from his Venice, California, home. In his later career, Jerry Rubin became a professional networker. *Do people ever accuse you* of** selling out because of his career? I feel bad about that. I have a hard time with people thinking I'm him; and if I'm at a party and people find out I'm not him, they'll say, "Nice meeting you, see you later." But I feel now how hard it must have been on him to be unfairly criticized like that. Does being confused with the legendary protester get you any advantages as an activist? I don't know. Some good, some bad. But that's always been my name, so ... My dad thought I was the original Jerry Rubin during the [1968 Democratic National Convention] riots in Chicago. I was living in Venice Beach and my dad sent me a letter saying, "What the hell are you doing in Chicago?" I had to write back and say, "That's some other guy." What had you been doing? I was busy being a heroin addict on the Venice boardwalk. When my dad sent that letter, I didn't even know the Vietnam War was going on. I took a wrong turn when I came out to California. Would your dad have been relieved that you were doing heroin rather than getting beaten up in Chicago? No, come on. My dad's a great guy, and he's very glad that I've been on a better road for the past few decades. Unlike the original Jerry Rubin, I wasn't active in protesting the Vietnam War, but I'm trying to make up for it now. Did your name have anything to do with your deciding to become an activist? I don't think so. Maybe subliminally, I don't know. Since the '70s, I've been an activist full time. I didn't even take a break for my honeymoon. Did the name help your career? I don't know. You should be active whatever your name is. You shouldn't have to rely on having the same name as somebody. But I guess it's helped more than it's hurt. I've always been aware of having the same name as Jerry Rubin. In fact, I have the same birthday as Tom Hayden - December 11th. Do you think being a Sagitarius had any impact on your career in activism? Well, that's the best sign, because it's got the most syllables. I don't know. Every time I read the horoscope forecast in the paper, I just think, "What am I reading this for? I don't believe in it." What kind of activism are you working on now? I'm head of the LA Alliance for Survival. And I'm working on a book now called Do It Again. The original Jerry Rubin wrote a book called Do It. It's about the importance of activism. This one will show the continuing importance of being an activist. Are you expecting people to buy the book thinking it's by him? No, I've never tried to say I was him. I might even say it's by "The Other Jerry Rubin" on the cover or something. Did you see The Big Lebowski? Yeah. That was good. What did you think of the story about the name? Yeah ... I forget the exact ... how that fit together exactly. Not so far from the organ-grinder antics of this year's Oscars, the 14th annual Independent Spirit Awards kept it real on Saturday. While too circumspect to bill itself as an anti-Oscar ceremony, the ISA still demonstrates a degree of self-satisfaction that does Hollywood proud. Defiance is the standard tone for acceptance speeches, jabs at Bob and Harvey (the Julius and Ethel Rosenberg of the indie set) are met with cheers, and the tastefully low-rent statuette looks like a prank item the Joker would leave for Batman. But frankly, the high ratio of double-dutying Players in the crowd just indicates what a pointless pursuit "independence" really is. And since the ceremony presenters lack the Academy's money, power, and satellite-guided air supremacy, they're forced to name all their corporate sponsorships (The Movado Someone to Watch Award) with a show of shillmanship that would make Jack Valenti wince. If we're going to vent our catty inner bitches, we want ball gowns, not stars slumming at a penny-ante Lions Club banquet. Toward that end, we've instituted the Macromedia Suck Don't Go There™ Awards. And this year's Macromedia Suck Don't Go There™ prize goes to that pain-in-the-ass little girl from the IFC and Pepsi commercials. Madcap Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi is talking about restoring relations with the United States and building ties of friendship with the American people; but in his slow hurry to make nice, the philosopher-king of the desert missed the chance to make some real friends among the US rank and file. As Bertrand Piccard and Brian Jones (apparently trading on name confusion with the deceased Rolling Stone) made their balloon-race victory lap, the usually troublesome Libyan air force allowed the hot-air heroes to pass unscathed. Thus, the agonizingly fun balloon-circumnavigation sideshow is finally over, and Bransonesque daredevil billionaires must now find some new far horizon to conquer. A three-legged relay in the Sudan or the cross-Kosovo grape race might be in order. Isn't it creepy the way David Strickland's eyes look really small and cloudy in that Suddenly Susan group shot? Authorities are still scratching their heads in an effort to find out what, other than an adventurous impulse, might have driven the 29-year-old TV actor to hang himself in a red-light Vegas hotel (named, with Dan Tanna precision, The Oasis). Spurring him on might have been "Jo Jo Dancer, aka the Gay Rapper," the pseudonymous author of a photocopied diatribe against rock critics. The Gay Rapper's rap names names and was delivered to various music magazines over the past few weeks. Ancient golden boy Robert Christgau called Jo Jo's screed "moderately witty," New York Times musicologist Neil Strauss refused to comment, and Rolling Stone Music Editor Joe Levy mentioned "poor reasoning." But we suspect Strickland, who, on the show, played a rock critic named Todd (which means "Death" in German), really took the insult to heart. So to all those alias-protected, thumbs-down hacks out there, we say - If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Schmich Watch: Last summer we predicted, on the strength of her unwitting role in the Vonnegut MIT speech hoax and the "Rat Sludge" publicity splash she'd made for her comic Brenda Starr, Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich would soon be recognized as the Evil Genius of American popular culture. Now Schmich has extended her brand into movies (loose inspiration for a part in the Kevin Costner/Robin Wright Penn romance Message in a Bottle), books (the 64-page impulse buy Wear Sunscreen: A Primer for Real Life), and music ("Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen" - a Baz Luhrmann-produced dance mix of her legendary column, featuring a vaguely Vonnegutish narrator on the soundtrack). Still our warnings of Schmich's inexorable rise go unheeded, and her attitude of wide-eyed innocence fools media watchdogs everywhere into overlooking her consolidation of power. This isn't the first time we've been cultural Cassandras. We've seen the future, and it's Mary Schmich. courtesy of the Sucksters

"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun" for 25 March 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.

"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
for 25 March 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.