The Fish
for 10 August 1998. Updated every WEEKDAY.
 
 
Suck Staff
 

Joey Anuff
Joey Anuff
Editor in Chief

 

Terry Colon
Terry Colon
Art Director

 

[the fixin' pixie... ]
Emily Hobson
Production Manager
and Rhythm Guitar

 

Heather Havrilesky
Heather Havrilesky
Senior Editor

 

[Ian Connelly]
Ian Connelly
Marketing Manager

 

[Copy Edit]
Copy Edit









	
Suck Alumni
Suck Alumni Text
 

Carl Steadman
Carl Steadman
Co-Founder

 

Ana Marie Cox
Ana Marie Cox
Executive Editor

 

Sean (Duuuuude) Welch
Sean Welch
Suckgineer

 

Owen Thomas
Owen Thomas
Copy Editor

 


T. Jay Fowler

Production Manager

& Ass Kicker

 

[yes, it's a plunger. i'll l
eave the rest up to your imagination ... ]
Erin Coull
Production Manager

 

Matt Beer
Matt Beer
Development Manager

Rhyme & Reason

not since tuning into a little dasfx
earlier in the decade have i
waxed nostalgic over childhood crap
with such myopic verve.
the shit sent me spinning back to
the glorious daze of fat albert
   lunchboxes and bingeing on
   pop rocks & a little
boone's farm ...
like to see what you could've done
with square pegs ...
maybe a little tie-in to
sex in the city.
some teen-keen bouncy as a puppy
yet angst-peppered punk disillusionment
diatribe ditty
then ya could segue into a pseudo-
  slutty egads(!)
   i'm thirty, jaded, shameless
dockers/heineken/gap plug disco descant. yeah.

Winifred Fordham
<freddie@email.unc.edu>

There once was a chickie named Fred
who watched TV as much as she read
while clicking through Suck
she remarked on her luck:
"Oui, j'aime le cheval Monsieur Ed."

ee jamesbong

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

Mind Games

Being new to the Net brings
me across new and unusual
sights and sounds. Just read
"Mind Games" of 27 July. Whew!
Being a child of the '60s
(read 48-year-old male), this
takes me back to the early
editorial slant of Rolling
Stone.
Is it just me, or do a
hell of a lot of others see
the hypocrisy of the hype?
Sex and violins everywhere
you turn, but where has all
of the fun gone?

I'm also a child of the '60s
- born in '68, a few days
ahead of the rioting in Paris
- and "early" Rolling Stone,
to me, means the issue with
Duran Duran on the cover.
Still, I think I see what
you're saying. As for the
other part, I'm aware of the
violins - but I seem to be
missing out on my fair share
of the other part. Which may
be precisely where the fun
has gone, come to think
of it ...

Ambrose Beers

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

Subject: Re: Tickets to see
uncle albert

That was a euphemism that
worked to score LSD at KU
about 10 years ago. Of
course, you have to already
know what you're talking
about before playing with any
euphemisms.

Today's Fish reminds me of
the Monty Python film where
Cleese appears to beg the
audience to please send in
some LSD because they can't
find any in the BBC studios.

And, no, this one does not get
CCed to the newsgroup.

<david@kasey.umkc.edu>

David,

Please be advised that Suck
is actually a longrunning
sting operation, and I am a
narcotics agent. Now: up
against the wall, please ...

tickets to see albert brooks,

Ambrose Beers

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

Ambrose,

Thank you for your piece on
Monday. After reading the
opening sentence, I braced
myself for yet another joke
about redneck hillbillies.
But I was pleasantly
surprised that broke farmers
were treated with empathy,
and even referred to as
somewhat intelligent when
compared to psychotherapists.
Thank you for breaking this
stereotype.

I was born and raised in the
northeast corner of Colorado,
and in fact lived three miles
from the border between us
and those silly Huskers.
Nevertheless, I very much
enjoyed what you had to say
about our neighbors to the
east. We aren't dumb, and in
some cases, surprise people
in the "big city" with our
interest and knowledge of the
body politic.

I am currently a student (and
so much more) in an institute
of higher education north of
Colorado Springs, and have
many friends and
acquaintances from around the
country and the world. To
this day, I am still fighting
the stereotype of the goober
in the field. "Your tractor
has air conditioning? I
didn't even think that they
had a roof!" "After hearing
about where you live, you
should be a goober!" I hear
these things all too often to
think that it is simply
ignorance of the few.

No, I did not miss the point
of your piece completely. My
silence on the topic of
touchy-feely, New Age,
"tree-huggin' hippie crap" is
not due to ignorance. It is
twofold. First, I was more
concerned that someone
actually got something right
about farmers on the Great
Plains. Second, while
listening to talk radio on
the tractor and talking rain
and politics with the
neighbors (in that order), we
know the embargo against
starving North Koreans paired
with "alternative methods of
reimbursement" by Uncle Sam
all too well.

Great piece, and keep up the
good work.

Starting every day with a cup
of coffee and a page of Suck,

Jon Kleve
<flyboy222@hotmail.com>

P.S. You are too
well-informed to be from one
of the coasts. After all,
cell phones in tractors? Most
people don't even know that
they have cabs! Denver
perhaps? The People's
Republic of Boulder? Once
again, great job.

Good guess - Denver it is.
Except that I really am
"from" one of the coasts.
Thanks for your response -
glad you liked this one.

Ambrose Beers

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

It was good to see something
heartfelt in Suck for a
change. Often, the snide,
facile cascade of
self-referential irony can
wear a bit thin in the mag,
but writing like yours
provides a fine counterpoint.
Keep it up.

P. S. Mueller
<psmueller@thetallguy.com>

That snide, facile cascade of
self-referential irony got us
through adolescence,
marriage, a series of bad
jobs, and no end of
depressing encounters with
the cultural Zeitgeist, plus a
nasty touch of food poisoning
once after some bad
shellfish. Let's not knock
it, huh?

Self-referentially ironic,

Ambrose Beers

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

Dear Ambrose,

No can agree with the last
piece. Sure, the Killigan
doll is junk, and selling
processed food, possible
cause of a cancer epidemic, in
the way you described is
justification to kill your
television. Personal loss is
another matter. Have found
that two things matter: other
human beings paying attention
to you and your own personal
version of acceptance. Just
so you know - during my 30s,
I lost all the friends I made
in my 20s. AIDS, ya know. As
I was losing them, I was
instinctively replacing them.
Lost most of the
replacements, too. Have
learned much about loss. Our
culture is supremely inept in
the matter and fails to
teach our journalists about
loss, or holding on to each
other or letting go of the
lost. There are a lot of
false healing programs out
there. Poetry isn't one of
them. Telephone calls aren't
either.

Sincerely,

Jack Garman
<jackgrmn@cruzio.com>

But I'm not talking about
poetry per se - I'm talking
about poetry built on empty
and too-easy sentimentality:
"It's for the best that your
children died!" "Think happy
thoughts!" There's a very
wide gap between this kind of
poetry and, say, Auden's
demand that the clocks be
stopped. Our culture is
supremely inept in loss, I
agree; we think it's easy to
sort of tighten the bolts,
slurp a little chicken soup
into the soul, and get the
machine up and running again.
Which, to me, goes to the
reality of American ambition,
of what we most want: Our
ambition isn't ambition to, but
ambition from; we don't want
pleasure or wholeness as much
as we want to not be
uncomfortable or
inconvenienced. So what I was
trying to say here, whether
or not I succeeded, is that
all of this pop-psych,
one-easy-step-to-healing
nonsense is too glib, that
we're trying to have the fast-
food equivalent of balance
and wellness.

hooked on phonics,

Ambrose Beers

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

Subject: your lyrics

Those are pretty funny.

I like G. Paltrow, though.

I'd like to have sex with her
- how about you?

Anyway, good page you've got
going here.

<Joe43790@aol.com>

Thanks for the compliments.
It's good to know we've still
got some thoughtful,
intelligent readers out there
somewhere.

A. B.

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

A Not-So-Short Story About
Creativity

Once upon a time, I was
looking for a place to live.
Answering Housing to Share
ads in the Washington City
Paper
eventually landed me in
a restored townhouse on 7th
Street SE, near the old
market and a short walk from
the Capitol. But not before I
met Dr. G. and his earnest,
unbathed,
Birkenstock-and-black-
turtleneck-clad "intern."
They were operating an
"artists commune" up on 16th
Street NW, attempting to
surround themselves with as
many such people as possible.
Recordings of my electronic
music and a copy of one of my
screenplays fascinated them,
my independent discovery of
the oil-supply curve back in
1981 convinced them that I
had it - that thing they
wanted so badly to understand
and call their own:
creativity. Yes, the nature
of creativity, what it is,
how to measure it, and above
all, how to get some, this
quest drove Dr. G. and his
sidekick day and night, like
Quixote and Panza looking for
dragons. After an intense
interview, with a three-page
questionnaire no less, I got
invited to dine with the
group (vegetarian, of
course), listen to the
artists talk, and watch G. and
his butt-boy listen intently.
A week later I was asked to
join them for life in a
eight-story tenement with no
central air and two working
bathrooms. Screw that - I may
be creative, but I'm not
crazy. Still, no matter how
creative I might be, I cannot
imagine what those puppies
would have done with that car
if they caught it. Seems Dr.
G. and friend were just the
tip of a cultural iceberg,
though, what with this
burgeoning industry of
self-help books, seminars,
retreats, 12-step programs,
and miscellaneous
circle jerks all aimed at
turning the ordinary into the
creative. Underlying these
well-intentioned efforts is
the misguided notion that
creativity is good for you.
Bullshit. Creativity is hell.
Dr. G. might as well have
been trying to figure out a
way to give people
schizophrenia. Creativity
will cause you to do things
that no rational person would
do, it will alienate you from
normal people, it will clean
out your bank account and
drive you like that monkey on
a junkie's back. Ordinary
people ought to get down on
their knees and thank
whatever gods they worship
for not making them creative.
And fortunately for them, no
amount of touchy-feely,
New-Age, higher-power,
daily-affirmation nonsense is
going to work the magic they
so desperately want.

Walter Bauer
<BauerW@DynCorp.com>

We agree with some of what
you say here, but we can't
help but note an undeniably
smug undertone to all this
self-deprecation: "You don't
really want to be
enlightened, children, trust
me. Just stay the course with
your little animal
existences; ignorance is
bliss and so on."

(See also: "You want the
truth? You can't handle the
truth!")

Wanting the lies,

Sucksters

 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

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