for 10 August 2000. Updated every WEEKDAY. |
![[Tim Cavanaugh]](/fish/staff/images/tim.gif)
Tim Cavanaugh Special Guest Editor 
Terry Colon Art Director 
Heather Havrilesky Senior Editor 
Joey Anuff Publisher 
|
Hit & Run
Who cares, exactly, that Renata Adler is a self-serving ass? You ignored the part of her piece that had the most merit: the fact that reporting news today too often amounts to repeating the received wisdoms of so-called experts. For all the space you devoted to it, you'd think the Times didn't have it in for her. They do, and probably for the reasons she says. Her reasoning regarding Sirica's character was torturous and strained in places. However, she correctly pointed out that obfuscation was an obvious goal in the writing of his autobiography. The writing sucks, relevant details are absent, and speculation as to what really happened is practically obligatory. What comes across in your piece is that you don't like her. Me neither. Who gives a fuck? She's right that the Times doesn't print retractions, isn't she? She's right that it doesn't admit mistakes, isn't she? And just how the hell does a small-time nothing like Sirica come to be friends with the Tailgunner? You don't seem interested. Talk about that. Stop behaving like irony is all there is. It IS all there is, but behaving like it is doesn't appeal. Brian <brian@dealmakers.net> We could try to respond to your letter but all that would come across in our response is that we don't like you. You don't seem to like you either. Who gives a fuck? You're right that we're not interested in her friendship with Tailgunner, aren't you? You're right to assume that we won't care what you're so helpfully instructing us to talk about, aren't you? We should give you more credit. And you should stop behaving like scornful, pointless one-upmanship is all there is. It IS all there is, but behaving like it is doesn't appeal. Appealingly, Sucksters 
I was glad to see that you'd analyzed that Renata Adler article. I was stymied by it, thought I was probably just unwilling to understand that what she was getting at. Could it be that the whole long and tortured piece was about nothing but her anger at having to prove the grounds by which she'd accused a long-dead judge of familial mafia ties? Apparently, it was. However, what really got my goat in that issue was the Dave Eggers rant, where he was begging all of us critics to quit while we still have a chance to save our immortal souls. Now that he's won a large pot, he wants to end the poker game. Though maybe this renunciation of his past is some sort of preparation for a career in politics? Sincerely, Richard Von Busack <regisgoat@earthlink.net> Contrary to popular belief, maintaining a stubborn unwillingness to understand is sometimes an incredibly adaptive trait, enabling one to breeze over volumes of pointless material, freeing up one's time for more important things, like ass sex, and creme-filled cruellers! Sucksters
How can i obtain an associates degree in fire management from a university or college? cost? realism? e mail me at chief <029@aol.com> Also how long will it take to receive. Frank jr Larosa <flrjr@worldnet.att.net> Hey Frank, let's hear it for Whistler Ass Sex Weekend 2000! Unwilling to understand or be understood, Sucksters
Metaphoria It's early and I've yet to guzzle coffee, but in the following: "By reducing the Holocaust to dramatic backstory for a superhero movie, Bryan Singer has confirmed his role as the first great director of the 20th Century." Shouldn't it be "21st century?" Though again, I might be missing something sans caffeine. Anyways, excellent article, and Terry's work with the Hulk was the evil sort of funny. Zach Bush <c0n4m@hotmail.com> This was considered in the editing process, and - leaving aside the pedantic argument about whether the 21st century begins 1.1.00 or 1.1.01 - I just saw X-Men, and the movie kicks off with the stirring Fox theme and an unchanged logo that reads: "20th Century Fox." My motto in all matters has always been "I'll believe black is white if Rupert Murdoch tells me so." 20th century it is. Tim
Actually, I was earlier looking in the Thomas Register of American Manufacturers for small cryogenic refrigerators and decided to do a web search. I usually go to Yahoo for a keyword search; but, this morn I decided to touch the Hot Bot URL link instead. Before I entered my keyword, I noticed Suck.com. Some of what you wrote was really interesting (especially the part about reality verses fantasy). I could go on, but the point I would like to impress is this: At the bottom of the screen was a continuously flashing logo for Adobe products. Blip, blip, blip...How annoying and how pathetic that that is as capable as you are able to perform. Is there a way to read your notes without an ad flickering in the foreground? Or, if you insist on advertising, could you use a better version of metaprograming where the message was more like visual stimulation to give immediate positive feedback. Try to dream a little more and watch fewer movies. Perhaps you like this idea: you attach each computer with a wave form generator capable of reading and transmitting signals in multiple frequencies: such as light frequency, periodicity, and intensity. Kinetic energy would also be considered, especially as it relates to the generation of molecular vibration and the propagation of sound. The person at the computer interface is actually giving a near real time corneal and retinal record(with some sort of twoway hmd) to the wave form generator operator (person and/or machine), which plays, orchestrates and adjusts the white noise and light for the stimulation of production of wealth and the diminution of ...I really don't have to finish because you probably won't read this unless you can take it and let your ai answer it by sending a message back to my ai agent. See you in the holoverse, Leonard Bromberg <bromberg@swcp.com> At last! Someone gets the point of the essay! Thanks, Leonard. 40th Street Black
"Humankind cannot bear too much reality." But you knew that, right? Alan S Kornheiser <ASKornheiser@prodigy.net> Well, it's easy to pass judgment on humankind when you live in a big house and employ a faithful manservant. That was Nixon's problem, for one. Best, 40th Street Black
I was getting beat up a lot back when Battlestar Galactica was on, and the resulting repressed memories and mild concussions mean that I don't recall much of that time. Who did Fred Astaire play on Battlestar Galactica? Mark Wright <markscottwright@hotmail.com> Fred Astaire played a con man who pretended to be young fighter pilot Starbuck's father in order to avoid a thuggish beating or worse at the hands of some offensively-portrayed space extremists. But as things worked out, blood tests confirmed that he was indeed related to Dirk Benedict's character, indicating that in advanced space civilizations almost no genetic material is passed father to son. In the kind of touching scene that gets an aged star like Astaire the hell off a set, the con man convinced doctors not to tell Starbuck, so that his son could continue the military career of which he was so proud. The fact that I remember this off the top of my head indicates that not only was I, too, smacked around a lot back then, but that I also probably deserve a beating or two now. Thanks for reading! 40th Street Black
Filler Dear Polly, Well, it's no wonder that you're miserable, living in Seattle and all. Cold and rainy all the time.Giant killer snails. Gloom so thick ya cut it with a knife. I imagine you're in flannels and a leather jacket now, drinking jack from the bottle and listening to Tad's "eightway Santa" over and over again, caressing that twelve gauge, and cursing yourself for a weakling... There's a way out girl. Leave. Move to the cheery Midwest! Yeah, now I drink weak coffee from a Styrofoam cup and listen to polka. We eat way too much kilbasa and perogees and sauerkraut. We're all fat... and happy. Viva Cleveland, Mike Chicchelly <mikeamy@stratos.net> I don't live in Seattle, Mike. That's my friend Steve who's in the flannels and leather jacket right now. Of course his big huge man titties from the Tae Bo workout are keeping him pretty warm these days. Besides, it's August. The coldest place on the earth in August is San Francisco, not Seattle. You happy, fat Midwesterners really don't know shit about the rest of the world, do you? Polly
Dear Love of my Life, Fire of my Loins, Sin, Soul, etc... You recently wrote regarding the Dewey Decimal System, and I'm afraid you're a little behind the times here, which doesn't surprise me, since 99% of the world is behind the times when it comes to the fast paced world of library sciences (the true knowledge profession). The Dewey Decimal System is essentially dead, in use mostly at underfunded public libraries, it is slowly being wiped out by the more efficient, slightly less random Library of Congress system. I say less random only because it has 26 initial categories, each with a corresponding letter from the alphabet. Each letter may be followed by another letter (thus 27 subheadings) and this is followed by a number of up to four digits, giving you thousands of possible breakdowns. This allows for a better differentiation of topics. Thus, under the Library of Congress System (or LC as we call it) pornography can generally be found under HQ, 1-100, the human sexuality section. Of course, erotic novels and short stories may be found in under PQ (foreign lit.) or PR-PS (english lit). Erotic art would be found under NE. Of course, if you want porn, and your in the library, the best place to go it to the internet terminal farthest from prying eyes. Just try to keep the mouse clean. Always happy to help you find porn. Ben Schwabe <bschwabe@MIT.EDU> Dewey Decimal System, dead? Say it ain't so! Poor Dewey must be turning in his grave. Letters? Letters and numbers? What could be more complicated and confusing than that? Tsk tsk. Leave it to Congress. What do you MIT people do all day, besides spew trivial factoids? Spewing trivial misinformation, Fire of Your Pork Loins
Polly: Why can't I shake the overwhelming suspicion that a popular majority of your most devoted fans, myself included (and you as well), are actually happy, fulfilled, successful (whatever that means (oops, there I go indulging the same delusion (because, of course, I have a far more clear idea of what, for me, constitutes success than I would usually admit))), upper-, or soon-to-be-upper-, crust whipper-snappers who enjoy your column with a smug wink at the irony of all of the happy, fulfilled, upper-, or soon-to-be-upper-, crust whipper-snappers ostensibly identifying with your faux-angst, pretending that the popular conception of GenX is actually true (when of course it is no more true than any other popular conception)? Here's to us! Having nothing to bitch about, we ever so creatively and reflexively pseudo-bitch about all the bitching that we don't even do ... and you, Polly, our fearless leader, o Captain my Captain, guide us toward the Promised Land, where we will all have stock options, five bedroom houses, and SUVs that put HMVEES to shame - and complain all the way to E*Trade! (I'd make a snide comment about this state of affairs (or have I already?) if it wouldn't fundamentally contradict/confirm/huh? my thesis.) Keep up the good work. God only knows what would happen if we were forced to concede our happiness and prosperity; the ease of our lives as compared to those of our ancestors; and our not-so-secret desires to watch Reality TV 24/7, to look through a peephole at more essentially fortunate young people tirelessly feigning discontent and misanthropy. Joshua <me@joshuasiebert.com> I don't know how to prove to you that the majority of my fans aren't actually happy, fulfilled, and successful without spewing trivial misinformation, but I'll try. Let's put it this way: something just tells me that a lot of my fans are sort of, um, shall we say, vaguely dissatisfied with their lives for one reason or another. Now, granted, I'm into projection. On bad days, I project a great deal of unhappiness onto my fans. On good days, I perceive them as happy-go-lucky go-get'em types. On dysfunctional days, my projector doesn't work - the lightbulb is burned out or something. My fans just seem crazy. To be honest, I don't know what would disappoint me more: to learn that most of my fans are fabulously happy, or to learn that they're all miserable unsuccessful curmudgeons. I know what they want from me, though: misery. And I'm more than qualified to give the people what they want. Oh sure, every now and then it looks like things are really going to shape up for me and I'm never going to write anything funny ever again. But, lucky for my fans, things go awry fairly often in my world, which means nonstop tragicomedy and lose-lose scenarios all around. Woohoo. No feigning necessary, not today anyway...
Polly |
|
||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||
|
|
|||||||||||||||
|
 
|