The Fish
for 25 September 1997. Updated every WEEKDAY.
Suck Staff

Joey Anuff
Joey Anuff


Terry Colon
Terry Colon
Art Director


Ana Marie Cox
Ana Marie Cox
Executive Editor


Erin Coull
Production Manager


Heather Havrilesky
Heather Havrilesky
Senior Editor


[Copy Edit]
Copy Edit

Suck Alumni
Suck Alumni Text

Carl Steadman
Carl Steadman


Sean (Duuuuude) Welch
Sean Welch


Owen Thomas
Owen Thomas
Copy Editor


T. Jay Fowler

Production Manager

& Ass Kicker


Matt Beer
Matt Beer
Development Manager


Hi.... this is [name
withheld], the girl who wrote
the ever-so-eloquent letter
to you about the job i so
desire on your staff. i will
be in the bay area this
weekend (sept 12, 13, 14) and
would love to see if you all
were just using me as a pawn
in your constant search for
humor or you maybe were
serious and are offering me a
job under the guise of what
could be taken as a serious
slam-fest ... (fyi, my shift
is stuck on the ol' keyboard,
hence, the lack of regular
punctuation ... sorry if it
threw you off, but somehow i
know you can deal.) anyway,
my phone number here in
oregon is xxxx and in the bay
area xxxx ... i would really
like to hear from you, but i
won't be sitting by the phone
waiting or anything 'cause
there's just too much to do
in san francisco and you guys
have sent a very mixed
message about my status as
the new and improved staff
member ("you're hired."...
where's the confusion in
that? ... yes, i did read
on....) just wanted to let
you know i really am
interested in working with
you and while i'm at it, my
now-famous friend jeff would
be willing to fetch your
coffee to get his foot in the
door, too.

sincerely confused but

Generally, if your potential
future employer does not
respond to you privately, and
instead chooses to mock you
publicly for a cheap laugh,
there are just three
conclusions you should draw:

1. You probably didn't get
the job. 2. There probably
isn't a job to get. 3. On the
off-chance that there is a
job and that you did get it,
you probably shouldn't take

Since we can't give you a
job, we'll give you some
job-search tips: Be less
sincere, less confused, and
less hopeful.

Fish With Letter Icon


Once in a while, I catch the
feedback, and well, I usually
refrain from sending off
messages of praise like this,
but your collective mag is
the most precious,
informative, and all down my
alley. There is nowhere else
on the planet so telling it
like it is.


And we don't usually include
messages of praise, unless
we're feeling a little guilty
for being mean to young,
naive job-searchers, however
annoying they might be. After
all, we're quite thankful to
be gainfully employed, so why
do we have to be such
assholes to those who aren't,
no matter how chafing they
are? All this guilt makes us
feel insecure about
ourselves, which is where
nice messages like yours fit
in: You help to pad our egos,
assuage our guilt, and
perpetuate our demonic

We couldn't tell it like it
is (or like we think it might
be) without you!

Fish With Letter Icon

In the Lyne of Pale Fire

I never thought I'd find
myself enthusiastically
agreeing with Hugh Grant, but
by gum it's happened. In the
EW story on Lyne's Lolita,
he's quoted as saying, "The
trouble is, that's my
favorite book of all time - I
didn't think anyone should
make a movie of it." That is
the real trouble, not that
Lyne has undoubtedly missed
the point intended by his
content provider.

Lolita, the novel, transcends
its winky-creepy Cliffs-Notes
plot summary because Nabokov
is both brilliant and
talented. Humbert's attitude
is less hermetic than you
imply; there're lots of gaps
and fissures where awareness
threatens to bubble up. And,
as the 1958 Atlantic review
points out, the book is
beautifully crafted, layered
with allusion and
indirection. It's great
writing, not kiddie porn.
Otherwise, it'd be just
another humorless, tedious,
in-Peoria screed. (Did
someone mention Bret Easton

Lolita, the movie, is stuck
with its winky-creepy
Cliffs-Notes plot summary
because that's what movies do
- they show action, not
thought. Even in Kubrick's
hands, Lolita was boiled down
to a series of events. What
the hell did Lyne think he
could add to it - other than
the amped-up pubescent
sexuality he's so
enthusiastic about? A
slammin' soundtrack, man?
Torn sweatshirts? A
bottom-line dollar figure for
Lo's maidenhead?

And speaking of artistes
laboring under the delusion
that controversy = genius:
this week's New York magazine
announces Karen Finley's new
one-woman show. In a
"commentary on domesticity,"
she "vacuums in a backwards
wedding dress, harangues
against the dysfunction of
Pooh Corner, and, on
videotape, drizzles a velvet
canvas with her own breast
milk ('I'm a lactating
Jackson Pollock!')." Pretty
transgressive stuff for an
audience of urban elitists.

Love to all the Sucksters,
Jan Werner

I'm not sure what delusion
Lyne is laboring under. The
nice thing about his movies
so far is they don't require
you to think - well, past the
water-cooler debate of Would
You Actually Let Someone
Sleep With Your Spouse For $1
Million? but you've nailed
the problem - Lolita is a
novel so deftly layered and
multi-allusional with its
language that it practically
defeats photography.

Furious George

Fish With Letter Icon

Subject: urban elites

Yes, good to see you're using
that rapier-edged cynicism
and Patriot-accurate vitriol
on fair game. I mean, if you
really wanted to flop out
your 12 inches of
intellect and prove how HUGE
your collective intellect is
you could attempt something
really challenging - say, a
critique of the Spice Girls'
musical depth? Are
[ur]banalities such as the
ones lampooned in your piece
even worthy of attack? And in
your over-eager, salivating
throat-lunge at small-L
liberals, did you not taint
the glorious (not to mention
valid) epicurean pursuit of
polymorphously perverse
hedonism with the same brush
as the conspicuously consumed
"cultivation" characteristic
of your prey?

You bastard, nancy,
hand-wringing hippies!
Redistributing wealth is one
thing, but no one's gonna
stereotype my penchant for
quality Shiraz or John Zorn
recordings! Granted, your
standard sophomoric,
pseudo-lefty scribblings
(ooh! ooh! let's tongue-lash
post-industrial, corporate
oligopolies who neither
peruse - nor give a rat's
arse about - our writing
whilst needlessly
proliferating wanky
neologisms to further
estrange already-alienated
media consumers) usually do
make me laugh, but I couldn't
help thinking that today you
should have been wearing a
more accurate zine-moniker,
say S[MUG] [F]UCK. And before
you get on your altitudinous
equii, I'm a 24-year-old,
degreed, unemployed,
musician/student, not some
Beemer-driving, Zagat reader.

So there. Poo to you with
knobs on.
The Marquis De Sardonic.

Um. What?

Fish With Letter Icon

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