Perfect for Mother's Day: the Baby Be of Use series or The Secret Language of Sleep. - - - - |
L E T T E R S .
[Please send printable correspondence to letters@mcsweeneys.net. Thank you.] - - - - Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2008 Dear McSweeney's, Recently, you published a letter from Mike Hicks in response to "Selections From the Forthcoming Quantum Aesthetics: The Best of The American Journal of Physics' Music-Review Section" by Kevin Evers. Mr. Hicks refers to himself as a "fifth-year undergraduate physics student at a third-tier liberal-arts college" and an "increasingly self-righteous undereducated pseudointellectual" and then proceeds to claim that "according to special relativity, the Sun does orbit the Moon" because "the reference frame of the Sun is not preferred over the reference frame of the Moon, so it is just as true to say that the Sun orbits the Moon as it is to say that the Moon orbits the Sun." I sincerely hope that Mr. Hicks has misunderstood his textbook—the alternative, that a third-tier liberal-arts college is using a worthless textbook, is simply too horrific to contemplate. In either case, Mr. Hicks misunderstands special relativity. The "special" in special relativity refers to inertial reference frames—i.e., nonaccelerated motion. Given that any "orbit" involves acceleration, the "no preferred reference frame" clause that Mr. Hicks invokes specifically does not apply in this case. (For the record, special relativity also has nothing to say about the absolute/relative nature of morality or the perception of the passage of time being related to one's enjoyment of the event being experienced. But I digress.) However, Mr. Hicks's criticism of Mr. Evers is in one sense correct even if his details are wrong. In any two-body orbit, it is not technically one object that orbits the other; rather, both objects orbit the center of mass of the system—in looser terms, it can be said that the two objects orbit each other. This is a consequence of Newton's third law, which is not contradicted by special or general relativity. The additional bodies in our solar system complicate matters a bit, but the same idea basically holds—all the planets, moons, etc., orbit the Sun, but the Sun also orbits them, albeit a comparatively tiny orbit that is mostly dominated by Jupiter, the most massive planet. By the way, my qualifications in this matter start (and presumably end) with a Ph.D. in astrophysics (seriously). So, while I, too, might fall under the description of an "increasingly self-righteous ... pseudointellectual," I happen to be an educated, professional pseudointellectual. To summarize: (1) The Sun does orbit the Moon. (2) The above has nothing to do with special relativity. (3) I just spent way too much time offering criticism of a criticism of a criticism of a song sung by the ex–Mrs. Rick Fox. Regards, - - - - Date: Thurs, 10 April 2008 Dear McSweeney's, As a fifth-year undergraduate physics student at a third-tier liberal-arts college, I couldn't help but be excited by Kevin Evers's recent article, "Selections From the Forthcoming Quantum Aesthetics: The Best of The American Journal of Physics' Music-Review Section." For the most part, I was not disappointed. It was witty, properly maligned many deserving songs, and reaffirmed my belief in Jimi Hendrix's true transcendental nature. However, as an increasingly self-righteous undereducated pseudointellectual, I did find one minor inaccuracy: in the review for Vanessa Williams's "Save the Best for Last," Evers calls the idea that "sometimes the Sun goes round the Moon" a "farcical assertion." A careful reading of my modern-physics textbook's short section on special relativity confirms the opposite: according to special relativity, the Sun does orbit the Moon. Special relativity asserts that there is no preferred frame of reference for motion. From the reference frame of the Moon, the Sun orbits the Moon, and, from the reference frame of the Sun, the Moon orbits the Sun. The reference frame of the Sun is not preferred over the reference frame of the Moon, so it is just as true to say that the Sun orbits the Moon as it is to say that the Moon orbits the Sun. Both are correct. So (though little does she know it) Vanessa Williams is not wrong. Of course, the song still sucks. Yours, - - - - Date: Tue, 15 January 2008 I believe another example has missed the auspicious gaze of Mr. Andrew Bridgman: That of one Pedro Cerrano. Possibly one of the most powerful power hitters in Cleveland Indians history, Cerrano couldn't hit a curveball to save democracy. Instead of getting his eyes checked for depth-perception problems—an option he was clearly aware of, as his teammate and friend Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn's natural skill was also hampered by vision problems—Cerrano instead opted for the help of Jobu, a voodoo deity. The combination of prayer and cigars indeed helped the big Cuban cure his bat of sickness. Although the 1989 World Series win was clearly a team effort, without the help of Jobu, the storied Cleveland Indians franchise quite clearly would have ended up in Miami, Florida. Brad Millar - - - - Date: Tue, 8 January 2008 I must reluctantly tell you that [Andrew Bridgman's "Excerpts From the Lost Mitchell Report"] is seriously deficient in that it missed the most obvious case of unacceptable interference with baseball. I refer, of course, to the now largely forgotten Joe Hardy. Mr. Hardy received phenomenally improved performance, not from some temporary source such as chemical injections (for which he could be deemed to be lacking proper moral balance), nor even from divine intervention (which would seem to indicate religious discrimination), but from entering into an actual contract with the forces of Darkness (which should be considered worse than the infractions of all the other offenders combined). This allowed him, in an incredibly brief period of time, to lead the totally inept Washington Senators ("First in war, first in peace, and last in the American League"), whose record for futility was surpassed only by the Chicago Cubs, to defeat the invincible New York Yankees of the 1950s for the American League pennant. Hardy's contract not only provided him with unbelievable baseball prowess but it also made the Devil himself available to provide legal services in a disciplinary hearing brought by Major League Baseball. No one can top that. So, Mr. Hardy received not only unrivaled baseball skills but also the services of the greatest lawyer in history. To top all of this off, Mr. Hardy's lawyer, a Mr. Applegate, was even able to replace Hardy with a different person in the World Series and no one was the wiser. This by far surpasses any of the instances set out in the report. Sincerely, - - - - Date: Tue, 20 November 2007 Dear McSweeney's, and/or Mr. Frank Ferri, If you are going to write a humorous piece about NFL referee, trial lawyer, and strongman Ed Hochuli and present it in four parts, please ensure that none of those four parts is based on a nonexistent premise—namely, that a pass-interference call can be challenged by the defense thus penalized. Any red-blooded NFL fan knows that defensive pass interference (or any penalty, for that matter) is not a challengeable ruling, as it is a judgment call by the referee. I ask that Mr. Ferri be forced to provide a more accurate humorous combination of penalty call and legal parlance as a reparation to all who were harmed by his poor choice and do not feel sufficiently entertained. Sincerely, Matt Rogers - - - - Date: Wed, 21 November 2007 Mr. Rogers, Thank you for pointing out my error. In my blind rush to be funny, I ignored the time-honored rules of the NFL and have punished myself accordingly. I guess I can take solace in the fact that I am not alone. One only has to look to the New England Patriots, who, in their quest to be the best, also ignored the rules. (Just to clarify, I'm referring to "Videotapegate.") Perhaps there should be an asterisk next to my McSweeney's piece. Best, - - - - Date: Wed, 19 Sept 2007 Dear McSweeney's, As I read your current list written by Kevin Griffith, "Iraq-War Clichés or New Euphemisms for Taking a Crap," I remembered something that happened over this previous summer. I was teaching at a debate camp and was instructing the students to find better buzzwords for their cases. For example, using the word "justice" instead of "fairness" and the like. The junior staffers at this camp are all college-aged students and were sitting in the back row of the classroom playing on the Internet, sending text messages and so forth, when I used the following example: Instead of using the word "duty," you could use the term "moral imperative." We all know that "duty" and "moral imperative" mean the same thing, so why not make it sound more important by calling a duty a moral imperative. The junior staffers all seemed interested in this, judging by the many whispered conversations that started and the laughing that followed. They were becoming a nuisance to the rest of the class, so I asked them what they were laughing about. The eldest statesman of the group said, "Oh, I just need to ask a question." "What is it?" I replied. "Mr. Harrison, can I go to the restroom? I need to take a moral imperative." Much raucous laughing and gasping ensued. I say all this to humbly add my cliché to the list: We have a moral imperative to finish what we started in Iraq. Kasey Harrison - - - - Date: Thur, 12 July 2007 Dear McSweeney's, If you thought that an online literary/humor journal would be far enough beyond the reach of obsessive, humorless mega-nerd types to safely publish a gross miscarriage of modern astrophysics like "Recently Declassified Letters From NASA" with impunity, then I'm the humorless nerd to set you straight. Keeping silent would only concede another battle to the Republicans in their war on science. So get ready for a factsplosion. Single-cellular life in another galaxy? Do you even know what a galaxy is? We can barely detect planets in our own galaxy, much less ones in freaking Andromeda. The extra-solar planets we have spotted (and only indirectly, mind you, by detecting the gravitational wobble they induce on their parent stars) orbit stars within a few hundred light-years of us. And that's damn close, in case you're too lazy to look into it on your own—Andromeda, for reference, is about 2.5 million light-years away, which makes it roughly 280 billion roundtrip-NASA-probe-years away. Anyway, I could go on, but I'm starting to foam at the ... knees? That's weird. Screw it, I'm going on. Why not pick a star system like Gliese 581 or HD 189733? Those have even been in the news recently. Putting aside the absurdity of finding a planet in Andromeda and of detecting its damn atmosphere (and, by the way, helium is inert, so elevated levels would be biologically irrelevant, not to mention that a planet with enough gravity to keep helium in its atmosphere would be too massive to support life—oh, and elevated nitrogen is another so-the-hell-what, since our own atmosphere is mostly nitrogen), what the crap kind of device do you think NASA used to spot a fucking Andromedan amoeba? A giant telescope duct-taped to a giant microscope??? Where's my inhaler? Anyway, remember how you felt when the Abu Ghraib pictures came out and exactly no one was held accountable? I can't do that again. I expect some damn heads to roll. Sincerely, - - - - Date: Tue, 10 July 2007 Everyone, I must take exception to Kate Taylor's characterization of the giant caper. Put another way, she gets it largely correct. The caper berry (for it is under this name that I know it) is a salty mistress, and not to everyone's taste. I've been known to eat them by the handful (one at a time, of course: I'm not a complete savage) and to place them in a martini. Wikipedia tells me I'm not alone in the latter habit. And, yes, I realize that the garnish makes it technically something other than a martini, but I'm not here to debate that. I'm here to represent an opposing opinion on caper berries, which, as salty pickled things, can generally do no wrong in my loving eyes. I'll have yours if you don't like them. It's a great big pickled tent. Respectfully, - - - - Date: Wed, 11 Apr 2007 Dear McSweeney's, In a recent "list," the "listmaker" implies that he would use the playing of Dolly Parton albums to torture someone. To him I say, "Bring it on." Nothing would tickle me more than to hear a number of Dolly Parton albums in a row. Ms. Parton is widely acknowledged as a fine songwriter, not to mention a thoughtful interpreter of other peoples' work. Her recent forays into bluegrass provide an excellent example of both aspects of Ms. Parton's particular creative gifts. Jack Pendarvis - - - - Date: Wed, 11 Apr 2007 Dear McSweeney's, I just got through reading "Another Night With Jim" by Damian Dressick. While I certainly found the story enjoyable (thinking about a grizzly bear polishing floors had me smirking for at least half a minute), I take issue with Dressick's depiction of the kind people of Minnesota. It is indeed true that many 'Sotans use an atypical flattened o sound for words and phrases like "cola" or "whatever floats your boat," but I've never met a true Minnesotan (of which there are many in northern Minnesota, where I assumed Jim would be headed) that used the word "cola." As everyone knows, "pop" is the preferred nomenclature. Jim, therefore, has nothing to worry about, as he will never hear anyone utter the word "cola." He may, however, have to hear the words "rote," "emote," and "connote," which are all heavily used by northern Minnesotan intellectuals. Thanks, - - - - Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2007 Dear McSweeney's, Yes, it's true that without The Last Waltz, Jonathan Demme would have never thought about making the masterpiece that is Stop Making Sense. This debate can go on for hours, and if McSweeney's would just return my phone calls and drop the restraining order, then it would rage on for hours. I think one major factor is being grossly overlooked here, and that is a movie called Big Time. It could be argued that this collaboration between the otherwise unknown Chris Blum and the otherwise legendary Tom Waits isn't just a concert film but rather a series of vignettes with some concert footage throughout. Whatever. It's Tom motherfucking Waits. It's the closest I may ever come to seeing the man in concert, and he's still releasing albums, unlike the Heads and the Band. Come on, McSweeney's ... it's Tom Waits. Also, you were spot on about Rick Danko. He was an amazing talent and a tragic story. Call me! - - - - Date: Wed, 14 Mar 2007 Dear McSweeney's, In regard to your recommendation of Kleenex Tissue With Lotion: Why would you clean your glasses with tissue in the first place? This was very disappointing. 1. Warm water Love (is blind), - - - - Date: Wed, 14 Mar 2007 Dear McSweeney's: I agree that Half Nelson is quite possibly the best film of last year. But, seriously, why the bejesus is it called Half Nelson? I've been asking everyone I know for weeks. The checkout guy at the grocery store is sick of me talking about it, to say nothing of my boyfriend's response last time I tried to bring it up (for, like, the 30th time). Please help me. My personal relationships are suffering. Sincerely, Alison Eldridge - - - - Date: Mon, 12 Mar 2007 Dear McSweeney's, While I wouldn't go as far as agreeing with Steven Shattuck that the movie Heat was "fantastic," I have to concur that Patrick Cassel's List entitled "Words Never Used in the Titles of Remotely Good Films" is seriously flawed. Ever heard of the movie The Ice Storm? Come on. It was fantastic! Seriously concerned about your screening process while remaining your loyal reader, - - - - Date: Mon, 5 Mar 2007 Dear McSweeney's, Check out these new emoticons I've invented (happy face!). These things are the best (happy face). Not only am I able to perfectly convey emotion without using all those hard words the English language gave us (confused face, with an adorable little brow wrinkle), but you don't need to go through all the effort of trying to figure out what the goddamn things say (angry face). It also affords a larger range of emotions than the standard set of punctuation gives you (a face that looks like it's thinking hard about describing a fine wine, but is actually just a little sleepy). I think these things are the awesomest (happy face, again). How do you feel about them (inquisitive face)? Solid! (with the face of a white man trying to look cool using this word) Nat Logar (proud-of-myself face) P.S. I just found out a friend of mine has the clap (uncomfortable face, but there might be a hint of schadenfreude in there). He did get around a bit (laughing-out-loud face). - - - - Date: Fri, 2 Mar 2007 Dear McSweeney's, I am writing in response to Patrick Cassel's List entitled "Words Never Used in the Titles of Remotely Good Films." Have you seen the film Heat with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino? It's fantastic! Fondly, - - - - Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 Dear McSweeney's, While scrolling about on the bottom of your site where the miscellaneous links wait so tidily to be clicked, I was noticing that they almost seem to have a pattern. The first set (from "Red dot denotes content that is new today" to the first "----") appears to be a short, squat bowling pin wearing a sombrero, a bow tie, and an overly tight cummerbund, or else a downward-pointing arrow, for the less imaginative. Making sense of the second set proves to be a little harder. From the first "----" to "B.R. Cohen's Annals of Science," I kinda see a person sitting in a bowl with a pilgrim hat smushed down tightly on his head, with a Cat in the Hat hat on top of that. As for the rest, it's kind of a mess. But if you really want to push it, it looks a little like someone doing a headstand. He looks a little squished, because all the stuff piled on top is crushing him. So I was wondering, did you do this on purpose? Skeptically yours, Editor's Note: No. - - - - Date: Fri, 9 Feb 2007 Dear McSweeney's, After an exhausting go of buying a bundle of gift cards as last-minute Christmas gifts (I got to choose what gift-card design I wanted at most stores—does the fact that I chose, say, a googly-eyed-reindeer graphic over a dancing snowman make a gift card more personal?), I thought I'd finally be able to put plastic presents behind me (until next year, anyway). As impersonal as they are, I have to admit that the convenience factor is appealing. At least a LongHorn Steakhouse gift card saved me from buying my grandpa another bag of peanuts. And, honestly, in the retail world it's like having a website or a business card: your store isn't legit unless you offer a gift card. But, as Valentine's Day approaches, I've noticed that, everywhere I go, stores are taking the opportunity to push the gift cards once again. A while back, I began to have a genuine curiosity about the whole phenomenon, alerting my significant other when a store as bizarre as the little-known salvage shop near our house offered gift certificates, just in case you couldn't find that perfect piece of junk for that perfect someone. It's nonsensical to give someone the gift of choosing their own salvaged trash, unless the person receiving the gift is into that sort of thing. But what's even more nonsensical, and, well, rather disturbing, is what I discovered while getting my oil changed recently. While in the waiting room, amid unsmiling customers and Wheel of Fortune blaring on the TV, I saw a sticker in the window that said "Gift Cards Available." That made me chuckle, because, jeez, what a lousy gift! But then I took notice of another sticker: a big plastic heart sticker in the window said "Gift Cards Available: The gift of an oil change for that special someone on Valentine's." What? I'm sure the gift of lube may be appealing to some on Valentine's Day, but is it just me or has the gifting of gift cards gone too far? Sincerely, - - - - Date: Fri, 2 February 2007 Dear McSweeney's, I am writing in response to Jeff Alford's review of "Eye-Popping Apple Jacks." Never has a review of new food touched on my feelings so completely. I have yet to locate Count Chocula in the whole state of Maryland. They offer inadequate alternatives like Chocolate Lucky Charms, but these Count Chocula impostors lack the satisfying Transylvanian essence and send me into tantrums wherein I demand what I really yearn for: the single-fanged goodness of the Count. Like Mr. Alford, I have been forced to stock up on monster-themed cereals around Halloween, when they finally haunt shelves again. But it's only February and I am already running low. The whole thing makes you wonder where they store all those cereals the rest of the year. Most likely, there's some magical vault with little magical elves running around sprinkling magical dust. And by that I mean a warehouse in Newark with rats and dust mites. Let's find that warehouse, Mr. Alford. We can beat this thing together. Yours truly, - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Jan 2007 Dear McSweeney's, I am writing in regard to your recent recommendation about "not showering for a day or two." I am in full favor of not showering, but I take issue with your reasoning ("you've really been taking being clean for granted"). Not showering has so many other benefits that surely this is the least of them (and, really, I don't even consider it one). One benefit would be not wasting water on an unnecessary shower each and every day. I mean, really, are most of us doing dirty, manual labor that requires a thorough scrubbing? I think not (and I point to America's obesity problem as my evidence). Also, for those of us with dry skin, not showering allows your body to cope somewhat naturally without making you a slave to the lotion bottle. Finally, not showering is quite the time saver. In the morning, I am up and out the door in 15 minutes flat. Think about the extra sleep! And regarding the recommendation about taking baths, I do take baths and do not find myself to be "steeping in my own filth." Cordially (and on the second day of my no-shower cycle), - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Jan 2007 McSweeney's, One, you guys really should not be having FreeDarko on your site if you're going to ignore completely one of that site's main tenets, that the regular season matters. Two, no basketball matters if you're watching crappy teams like the Pistons and the Heat. My God, have you seen what Gilly has been doing in D.C. and what L.A., Phoenix, and Denver are rocking? Derek - - - - Date: Mon, 8 Jan 2007 Dearest McSweeney's: I generally find it rude to question the recommendations presented in "McSweeney's Recommends." After all, it is "McSweeney's Recommends" and not "Nick Hanewinckel Recommends." However, there are times when I feel comments are warranted, especially when it appears that the compilers of said list are not aware of better alternatives. What it boils down to, McSweeney's, is that you jumped on the Bear Grylls bandwagon too quickly. It's understandable, given all the flash and dazzle with which Mr. Grylls peppers his show. I will even admit that his feats are impressive. However, this man is a well-trained adventure machine. He has trained with the British Navy and climbed Mount Everest, so his abilities are to be expected, given that he possesses (a) the aforementioned training and (b) a really cool knife. But where is the adventurer for the everyman? Where can the average Joe or Jane turn for inspiration? The answer is another Discovery Channel show, one called Survivorman, with host Les Stroud. I don't wish to start a consumer rivalry of Pepsi-Coke proportions, but Les Stroud is the real deal. He puts himself into simulations of real-life emergencies, such as a plane crash in the frozen Canadian wilderness and a motorcycle breakdown in the desert. From there, he survives for a week or more with only what a person in such a situation would have (and where Bear Grylls has a cool knife, Les has a harmonica). Les braves the harshest of conditions with courage and true Canadian politeness, even showing remorse at eating ensnared animals. Also, Les has released a self-titled music CD and helped produce music videos for Rush. In conclusion, before you join the Grylls or Stroud camp, give Survivorman a shot. He once made a needle and thread out of a freakin' agave plant, people. And he used nothing but his teeth! Yours, P.S. Bear Grylls sounds like a name for ursine hip-hop dentalware, not a respectable television host. - - - - Date: Tue, 2 Jan 2007 Dearest Friends, I have found your recommendations both useful and informative and have delighted in telling them to my friends, who are also your friends. I mean, what sort of sadomasochist doesn't like Cheap Trick? So, with all of this in mind, you can imagine my surprise when I saw your recommendation of the number 26. I felt it was fate, for, you see, I was headed to Vegas for my best friend's wedding mere days after I read this. Plus, I, like your writer, don't like playing the slots. So what do I do when I get to Vegas? I proceed directly to the roulette wheel, feeling that both fate and destiny (two sources I know now not to mess with) are on my side. I slapped a crisp Franklin on the number 26. Then, thinking better of it, I put a 50 down on the opposite color (I don't remember which was which now; those three minutes were a blur). Needless to say, when the ball stopped rolling around, it had landed on 00, a 1-in-I-don't-even-know-how-many chance. I was devastated and, yes, I'll admit it, a little upset at you, McSweeney's. However, this quickly faded as I realized you were not the one to blame. I was out $150 and I had been in Vegas all of half an hour. Thankfully, I didn't do much more gambling out there. Now, sitting back in Minneapolis out $150, I don't regret my decision. I just sort of wish you had recommended 00 instead. Always, - - - - Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2006 Dear McSweeney's, I was very surprised to read Haley Coleman's letter (29 November) regarding the use of "chockablock." Sadly, I have never been to the States, much less had the pleasure of visiting South Louisiana. I'm currently staying in London but was born in Edinburgh and have lived, roomed, and squatted in many towns and cities up and down the British Isles and can say with some degree of confidence that the use of the word "chockablock," while far from common usage, would meet with nary a raised eyebrow in any (British) location. Although I've never encountered the elaborate hand signal (as described by Mrs. Coleman), I have run across several helpful ways of articulating the level of chockablockedness one is trying to describe. A common London variant, for example, when trying to convey a fire-code-violating level of busyness would be "chock-a-fuckin'-block," where each word is pronounced as a complete sentence (occasionally with accompanying jerks of the neck). For those pressed for time, a common diminutive is the simple but fun-to-say "chocka": "I wouldn't bother with that place, it's chocka" etc., etc. Yours, - - - - Date: Tue, 5 Dec 2006 Kia Ora, McSweeney's, With delight and considerable bonhomie, I'd like to let Haley Coleman know that Louisiana is not the southernmost location to use the term "chockablock." It is in current and constant use throughout the fine antipodean colonies of both Australia and New Zealand, often suffixed with the friendly "mate." As far as I can recall (having moved to New York—what the ...), there was no gesture associated with it. There was, however, a quite nice ice cream on a stick. Additionally, Wikipedia offers the following: Chock-A-Block was a BBC children's television programme in the early 1980s. "Chock-A-Block" was an extremely large yellow computer ... Fred Harris played "Chock-A-Bloke," and with that little nugget we move from wry amusement to mild discomfort, which is how I know to stop. Haere ra, - - - - Date: Tue, 5 Dec 2006 Hey, Haley, My father—born and raised in Cape Town, South Africa—uses "chockablock" all the time, though without the Southern USA hand gesture you mention. He used it a lot when we were younger as a "nay" vote on Saturday family outings, usually in reference to malls, Ikea parking lots, etc. Another thing he says sometimes is "Yahantee Skinner!" (pronounced "YAWN-TEE-SKINNER!"), used as an exclamation of awe or surprise, which he claims is the 100 percent true real name of a runner on South Africa's national track-and-field team when he was a teenager. You might be also interested to know that a fun thing to say here in Montreal, if you want to do the French/English mashing of cultures thing, is "Qu'est-ce que fuck?" Best, - - - - Date: Tue, 5 Dec 2006 Dear McSweeney's, Coming up on December 7, America will be remembering, mourning the tragic attack on Pearl Harbor 65 years ago. But also happening on December 7: my friend Amanda will be celebrating another birthday. Now, not only is it difficult for her to share a birthday with a devastating bit of history, she now also has to share it with the memory of her birthday last year ... a birthday that my actions now overshadow. Let's just say that the night started out grand, a group of us wined and dined in celebration of our cherished friend, we traveled to a local club to hear Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings ... a group I had been raving about ... and then things got ugly. Long story short, I apparently thought the night was mine to celebrate and partied like a rock star ... where birthday girl tended to my side. In an attempt to quell this humiliating night ("I did what?!"), I would like to appease Amanda with a birthday wish from McSweeney's—her love, her confidant, her travel-down-the-road-and-back-again friend. So, as I will be sitting on the sidelines this year to ensure that she gets to celebrate her birthday as she deserves, I'll be rooting loudly for a McSweeney's sing-along in honor of this charming lass. Lindsey McGuirk - - - - Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 Dear McSweeney's, The metaphor below is simplistic, to be sure, but the point itself needs to be made. In your imagined world of two to three decades from now, people will be arguing the merits of Piven v. Sam Jackson as the greatest practitioners of the American swear. Abruptly dragging the NBA into the fray, I say this: Piven is Lebron, Sam Jackson is Michael Jordan, and Mr. Bob DeNiro is Oscar Robertson. Guy averaged a triple-double for his career. Fungo, - - - - Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 Dear McSweeney's, I check your Recommendation List regularly to learn about unique music, food, and entertainment that I should try. However, the latest recommendations included "not twisting your ankle." I think this is a subversion of your list because it is something to avoid, not something to seek out. You could go on forever listing anti-recommendations like "not getting audited," "not seeing your crazy ex," or "don't get food poisoning." Or we sum up the whole list by just saying "try not dying" or "enjoy good stuff, avoid bad stuff." Come on, think positively! E. Dobrinen - - - - Date: Fri, 1 Dec 2006 Dear McSweeney's: I'm sorry, but there are some lines that even I won't cross. I'll eat blowfish; I'll snack on warm brains served from a monkey skullcup; push comes to shove, I'd even drink unicorn blood to save my life. But I will not eat or drink anything made from the member of anyone from the holly family—or the cummings family, or the smith family, or the jones family. It just isn't right. Slugger. P.S. Not for nothing, but the fact that the holly family is not nearly extinct leads one to surmise that only members long past their useful primes are used to make this stuff. Gross. - - - - Date: Wed, 29 Nov 2006 Dear McSweeney's, I have just been catching up on your letters section. (Sorry, it's been an incredibly busy couple of months. I got married last week! I'll catch you up on that later.) I wanted to let you know I was astounded to see in Matt Baker's letter from October 3 that he uses the term "chockablock" in reference to the amount of useful observations in a previously printed article. I would never have considered myself to be sheltered in my life, but I have never heard anyone outside of South Louisiana, where I was born and raised, use this term! Indeed, we even have a hand motion for it, which involves pinching all of your fingers together, much like the universal sign for lots of money, and then tapping the pursed-together fingers of both hands together at the tips, while saying "chockablock." I will also provide a frame of reference sentence here, which was overheard in the crowded balcony section of my hometown church at Christmas Eve mass a couple of years ago, where an elderly man told his equally elderly wife, "Whew, Mama, it's chockablock up in here, cher!" So I'm curious to know, is this term indeed used everywhere except in Georgia, where I have been stationed for quite a few years now, and everyone gives me confused stares every time I say the word? I'd love to find out. Sincerely yours, - - - - Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2006 McSweeney's: I recently picked up your book Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans at my local library. It was in the travel section. Your fan, - - - - Date: Sun, 26 Nov 2006 Dear McSweeney's, I find myself increasingly confused and frightened by my new station as a full adult and member of society. There are so many decisions to be made and I sometimes feel as if everyone else is cooler and more sexually active than myself. I know your recommender seeks to guide young people in difficult life choices, but I feel that your advice is sometimes thin and easily ignored. For example, while I enjoy watching The Wire, I find it very easy to say "Fuck persimmons." I'm sure they would be delicious if I gave them a chance, but you're just recommending them, you offer no guarantee that I'll even find them satisfactory! I'm not asking you to change your recommendations, just make me believe that if I don't adhere to your edicts my friends and neighbors will all become more wealthy and sexually desirable because they listen to the simple truths that you offer. Simply changing to "McSweeney's Demands!" or "McSweeney's Declares!" would satisfy that need. Also, if you could offer some type of comprehensive guide to surviving your mid 20s, from how to dress to how to trick people into thinking you're more successful than you are, I would find that immensely helpful. Yours, S. Shawn Jessee - - - - Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2006 Dear McSweeney's, I wish to express my extreme discomfort when trying to read Ben Greenman's "Fragments From If I Did It! The Musical." While I have no problems with the content or subject matter, I must take offense to the article's presentation. Mr. Greenman, how dare you open your piece with "Last night I had the strangest dream" if you do not intend to continue mimicking Matthew Wilder's '80s hit "Break My Stride." Do you realize how frustrating it is trying to reconcile your lyrics with the cadence and stanza length of Wilder's faux-reggae rhythm when they are not even remotely similar? In fact, the differences were so overwhelming that I was unable to finish reading your composition, as my head was filled with lines about getting my laundry clean. What does that mean? In the future, please try to limit references to addictively bad songs from my childhood to prose work only. While this won't necessarily keep the song from pulsating in my head for the entire day, it will prevent any confusion stemming from harmonic and rhythmic conflict. Thank you. Sincerely, - - - - Date: Sun, 19 Nov 2006 Dear McSweeney's, What sh |