for 1 September 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.
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Filler Polly: I think you are tops. There is one thing about you, however, that I find confusing and alarming. Whenever you face to your right, your hair is parted on the left side, and when you face to the left, your hair is parted on the right side. How do you do it? Yrs, Scott Dolan <Sadolan@aol.com> It's an ancient Chinese secret. Actually, I never even noticed that. I must be possessed! Confused and alarmed, Polly  Subject: Ants a-prancin' Polly: I hope that scenario with the ants caving in to lethal threats really happened. I believe that if you explain to pests that there are very clear conditions related to their continued existence or utter destruction, they will fall into line with insect precision. I have such a relationship with roaches in the apartment: They are free to live with me, but if I see them, they die. It's very simple. There was a colony behind the stove when I moved in, and these punks didn't like the arrangement. So they died ... oh, how they died! Most were crushed by my barely touched copy of Infinite Jest, natch. Finally, one emerged that at first I thought was covered in dust, as it was strangely white. Then, as it scuttled around, I realized it was TRANSPARENT! It was some kind of freak albino god-roach! Obviously, it was the shaman of the colony or priest-king or something. I destroyed him with the footnoted might of David Foster Wallace, and the colony withered on the vine and now troubles me no more. Certainly there's still the odd palmetto bug that appears, forlorn and confused on the linoleum before vengeance descends, and I imagine there are grizzled old veteran roaches, deep in the walls, shaking their heads in disappointment at the brash newcomer who couldn't live by the rules. It sure would be great if I could exert this kind of control over my personal life. It's a sad state of affairs when the roaches are more cooperative than friends and lovers. Nobody else ever understands the clear conditions related to their continued existence or destruction. Chris Mohney <cmohney@menasha.cncoffice.com> Maybe you need to submit your terms to people, so they're absolutely clear on what will get them killed and what will save them from your vengeance. In order to be understood, Chris, you have to communicate with others and let them know your expectations, your feelings, and all the limitations of your clearly handicapped emotional state. Forlorn and confused on the linoleum, Polly Polly, Oh my goodness, I'm amazed you printed my letter! I'm so happy I could pee myself!!! Were the other letters really that bad? This makes two printed letters now. Now I'm having all this guilt about not buying that Suck T-shirt earlier. I suppose for someone raised Methodist, this is as close to a Catholic-level guilt as it gets. interesting. Anyway. Gregory Pyatt <gpyatt@uclink4.berkeley.edu> Forget the T-shirt. Send expensive gifts or cash prizes. <sincere look of drooly avarice> Polly I was so excited when I saw your mention of rabbits in the 3 August Filler. Imagine my disappointment when, in the last frame, you had what appeared to be another of Terry's excellent renderings of the infamous Canadian crack-smoking rabbit ... sans crack pipe! What gives? Your fans deserve better. Disappointedly, Ben Miller <benmiller@email.com> Look. The Canadian crack rabbit still exists because ... well, big rabbits are always kind of vaguely amusing. But mostly the crack rabbit is a tradition, and like any tradition, however worthless it might be, it's upheld over the years because ... well, we forget why, but we don't forget to remember the tradition itself. Having said as much, crack is over. "I'm on crack, our channel is like E! on crack, stop smoking crack, buddy": All are overplayed, very bad jokes. Remember when everyone was saying, "Seeeeeeee ya!"? And then it was on national commercials and it was truly, painfully unfunny? Remember when everyone was doing the Macarena? Why, I saw an ad for a major car company (not Skittles or some lame MTV brand) that ended with the line, "What's up with that?" Do these things make you slightly nauseous? I'm not saying I'm so incredibly hip. All I'm saying is crack jokes aren't funny anymore. I like the rabbit, but the crack part is not so tremendously zany. It never was, to be honest. The Canadian part is still chuckle-inducing, kind of ... But even that's been mainstreamed by South Park and Co. But then, will making fun of Canadians ever get old? Oh, who gives a shit, really? Thank you, uncle fucker! Polly I Got a Friend in Jesus That was a very nice article indeed, but there is an important distinction that must be made between the organizations you describe and the recent spate of killings. All the recent killers were — to use the "term of art" we in the caring professions prefer — loonies. They were legitimately and certifiably crazy in a somewhat different way from the way we describe their beliefs as crazy. The two do overlap, which is why lawyers and forensic shrinks keep busy, but they aren't really the same things. Most of the killings — Columbine, day trading, several others you may have missed — were actually suicides. No real attempt was made to survive the acts, and the "planning" involved more closely resembled ritual masturbation fantasies than actual plans. All of those involved in these suicides were clinically depressed (several were being treated for depression), and the behavior that a credulous media characterizes as causing the killings (e.g., trench coat mafia, day trading, whatever) really represented last-ditch attempts at self-medication, with adrenaline substituting for Prozac. It works, too; lots of things can relieve depression temporarily. The most recent loony, of the loony Christian right, was a loony of a different color: a paranoid rather than a depressive. However, he, too, was certifiably crazy and had been treated (or almost treated) for his disease. Paranoids don't usually kill themselves, and this one didn't either. Paranoids usually latch onto odd belief systems, and this one did too. How do paranoids differ from the run-of-the-mill evil SOBs? In this case at least, he differed by being strikingly ineffectual. Even if one accepted every one of the underlying premises of this loony, walking into a day-care center and spraying it, then killing a postman, then taking a cab to Vegas ... these are not how you accomplish your goals. Again, what is being called planning is clearly a ritual of some sort, and the final actions are not so much a hate crime as a horrible, uncontrollable spasm. And if you want to draw some analogies with pornography and masturbation, you probably won't be too far afield. In short, this guy is simply a loony, and analyzing the behavior by looking at his "reasons" takes you nowhere except down the rabbit hole. Where then do the missionaries of his twisted beliefs come in? Well, they certainly fit any convenient definition of evil, and by giving a structure and a reason to his madness, they certainly lit the fuse and tossed him at those kids. But they didn't cause the attacks because the attacks don't have external causes, and if these Masters of Disaster hadn't existed, this poor loony probably would have invented his own convenient devil and gone after him. If our loony had been attracted to a decent therapeutic community instead of a supremacist organization, things would have worked out better, sure, but loonies aren't attracted to therapy ... which is one reason why they're loonies. Accordingly, all the nice thoughts and all the legal crackdowns in the world aren't going to keep things like these murders from happening. The United States is always going to have a few more loonies than many other places because our culture exalts the wild and free spirit more than many other cultures do. Since we aren't going to start institutionalizing people en masse, that means the only sensible remaining thing we can do is try to keep guns out of the hands of loonies. Of course, this will happen when I'm tall and blonde, so don't hold your breath. I damn well wish I were wrong about this. But when the first Columbine shooting happened, I worried (out loud) that the depressed and crazy are always with us and once they realize they can take their "enemies" with them when they go we should all start being afraid ... being very afraid. Don't you hate it when I'm right? Alan S. Kornheiser <ASKORNHEISER@prodigy.net> While I enjoyed this letter, it depends on a definition of crazy that I don't subscribe to in the slightest, so I can't agree. Why did it take the depressed several millenniums to realize they could take their enemies with them when they go? And yes, if you were right, I'd certainly hate it. Cordially, Eugen I loved your amazingly precise dissection of the hate-mongers, but I'm baffled by the idea that no prominent Jew was called Jerry before Seinfeld. Have you never ventured into a theater long enough to recognize the genius of West Side Story or Fiddler on the Roof or the internationally renowned ballet, Dances at a Gathering? Is there a classical dance parody to rival The Concert? Is there any honor that has been denied the late Jerry Robbins? You guys should really move to Silicon ALLEY if you want to take art seriously. Harry Matthews <matthews@panix.com> Ooof. Thanks for spoiling lunch. No Vacancy Subject: You depressing shit Thanks for making me feel worse about my already miserable life. Ted Metzler <metzlert@proxicom.com> Look at it this way: It could be you that's one of the individual lap machines the First Couple is taking out for a spin in upstate New York. In any case, it seems likely that whatever vacation you did or did not take turned out better than that of the prince of America, JFK Jr. (That last point, BTW, does represent the official opinion of Proxicom.) Mr. M Dear Sucksters, Mr. Mxyzptlk's article hit upon many great viewpoints about the mystery of vacations. We can't escape it all ... but I'd like the chance. Even up here in Canada, we can identify with this viewpoint: The vacations we work for are way too short. I think all of North America could take a lesson from some of our overseas neighbors. In Italy, the entire country shuts down for the entire month of August. (Granted, several million Italian men in Speedos at the same time should be a crime.) In Australia, most white collar workers receive a generous four to five weeks of vacation within their first three years of service. Let's give peace (and quiet) a chance. Regards, Russ <savagedragon@hotbot.com> Sorry it took so long to reply, but it took me a long time to convince myself to struggle past the line, "Even up here in Canada...." While my knowledge of the Canuck emigration policy is limited — gleaned mostly from reruns of SCTV and secret readings of Gordon Lightfoot and Anne Murray songs — I believe that unless you're in one of those concentration camps Pierre Trudeau established during the Disco Era/l'age de Disquoe, you possess an absolute right to ship out to Italy (as long as you check your work ethic at the dock) and Australia (as long as there are no rabbits in your pockets or luggage). Incidentally, Crocodile Dundee is considered a white-collar worker in Australia; so are uranium miners. As for giving peace a chance, didn't John Lennon give peace a chance in Toronto? A few years later, he was dead. Thanks but no thanks. Mr. M I'm not quite sure what place your dig on Appalachia had amongst the other nonsense you contributed on Tuesday. Have you ever been anywhere near this region? If so, you would know that many of the people here have worked as slaves for the coal industry for more than 100 years. This area was devastated by post–Civil War reconstruction and has never recovered. This is not to be compared to that yellow cloud some people call LA. I'm sure that living in an overpopulated welfare state has clouded your perception of what hard work actually is. Perhaps you could've replaced "residents of Appalachia" with "slack-ass editors of a conservative libertarian rag"? As a libertarian and a journalist, I'm embarrassed by you. John Doe <tackdriver@netscape.net> Indeed, I have some acquaintance — that is to say, too much acquaintance — with Appalachia. Here's a tip for those 100-year-old coal-mining slaves: Move. Somewhere over the next holler is a city with jobs. As for the LA-Appalachia comparison, I believe the philosopher Jed Clampett definitively answered that one about three decades ago, though Gatlinburg still has it all over Disneyland, and West Virginia remains a Mountain Mama in the truest sense of the word. I plead guilty to the most heinous slack-assery and know only that I won't trust my soul to no backwoods southern lawyer 'cause the judge in the town's got bloodstains on his hands. Pleased that I can embarrass someone else now that my folks are dead, Mr. M |
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