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L E T T E R S .
[Please send printable correspondence to mcsweeneysmail@yahoo.com. Thank you.] - - - - Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2000From: Larchmont, NY Subject: Harpers Dear McSweeney's, I just have to jump in here, having seen the bunch of mail about your editor and the little people at Harper's who messed with his sister. Class in session: Look, I've been in New York for 22 years. I work in the media. Newspapers, magazines. I even tried some book publishing, at a house now owned by Germans. I even worked at the magazine in question for a while, though I'm not saying when. So I've been around, and my guess is that your readers are younger and could use an education. So listen up: the fact that Eggers is surprised by any of this is shocking. Every writer since the beginning of time has dealt with the same thing. He or she writes a book, that book is highly acclaimed and (god forbid) sells well, and soon enough, the little people stuck at associate editor jobs get their silky boxers in a knot and try to cut the guy down to size. It's their way of involving themselves in the scene, and getting their name in the register. But then the guy keeps writing books, the associate editors leave to edit trade magazines in Phoenix, never sell that novel they've worked on for ten years, and are soon forgotten. Name me a writer, students, who hasn't been accosted by the tiny people. It's so predictable that it's almost funny. All the reviews are great at first, but then, much later, a few bad ones trickle in from the contrarians who are so proud of not succumbing to the wave of adulation. The writer gets criticized, in essence, for getting good reviews. The book is suspected because it's successful. Ho hum. It's the worst kind of elitism. These guys hate it when popular books get good reviews, because that means that regular people who read at the beach have taste and can read good books, and these people just hate that. Look what they did to Flaubert, Lawrence, Hemingway, Vonnegut, Amis, Doctorow, even Nicholson Baker when he dared to sell well (see: Vox). And on and on and on. Tolstoy even. Kerouac. Anyone who anyone can remember has fought off the nibbling maggots. These guys would attack the Bible because it sells well. And of course they'll go to any length to express their frustration, even if that means talking about someone's dental work, or ex-wives, or finding an embarrassing email from someone's sister. It's so unsurprising that it's downright boring. It's all par for the course, and your apparently thin-skinned Eggers better get used to it. There are rat bastards out there, I've worked with them for a long time, and I know they're bastards. (Maybe I'm one of them!) And they'll try to get you down, every time. The only way to stop them is to hope they die, or, even better, hope they have some success of their own. Nothing to cure a bitter little person like a little sweet success. Give these guys some approval, and the cloud over their head is lifted, the sun shines upon them, and they suddenly become human again. Just like the kid who bites his classmates, all they want is a little attention. Wish I could give you my name but I can't Larchmont, NY - - - - Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2000From: rollo Subject: Geronimo and the Tootsie Roll cop Dear McSweeney's, Yesterday, after a workday largely devoted to plumbing the McSweeney's archives, I went to the neighborhood salon to have my wispy useless hair shorn ($5). As the clippers tickled my scalp I became absorbed in a series of framed photos, presumably of the salon owner's relatives. These were strange portraits. They each featured some kind of weird superimposition. The top picture showed a field of roses, only one of the stems had a pretty teenager's head sticking out of it. Another was an ominous beach scene, with a lost-looking toddler walking on (or actually superimposed over) sharp-looking rocks. Floating in the sky above the water was the disembodied head of a stern mustached man. The strangest, though, were these two pictures of pregnant women. They each were lifting their shirts to show their very pregnant bellies, and smiling. And they each had, superimposed on their pregnant bellies, pictures of the smiling faces of the babies that would eventually be born from those bellies. Each picture had the words "by Geronimo" in the corner. On the mirror in front of me was one of Geronimo's business cards. It said "Silkscreening: Specialty in T-shirts." If anyone is interested in Geronimo's silkscreening services you can email me (rolloroyce@earthlink.net) and I'll go back and get his pager number. After the haircut (how wonderful the breeze feels on a freshly shorn scalp!) I walked to the subway. Walking right in front of me were two unusually attractive female police officers. Ahead of us, on a bench, a man was unwrapping a tootsie roll pop. He finished unwrapping it just as the cops passed him. In one perfect stroke the cop nearest him plucked the sucker right out of his hand and stuck it in her mouth. The man was astonished, and clearly very impressed. She turned back and flashed a devilish smile as she sucked on her prize. It was a very sexy maneuver indeed. I was excited to tell these stories to the girl that works at the clothing store I was headed for, because I have a crush on her. But when I arrived she was locking the store for the night and in her company was a man more muscular and handsome than I. She opened the shop again to let me look at the muumuus. I told them my stories with much aplomb. He didn't say shit. Jealously, Rollo Romig Brooklyn - - - - Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000Subject: meet me This is scaring me. I need to see you. I must see you. I didn't want to hurt you. You didn't want to hurt me. Call my voice mail. We will meet. It got out of hand. I need to see you. Call my voice mail today. Did you get my message yesterday? We can meet tonight after I work? I will not be able to get online again today. You will call me. I am trying to hypnotize you. You will meet me. You will see me. MKB - - - - Date: Fri, 14 Aug 2000From: Angel Izquierda Subject: Word Up Dear McSweeney's, At least Sarah B.'s letters are setting the record straight about the demeanor I brought to that cold lobby. Her kindness appears as rich as her physical beauty. Your readers would not know this, but Miss Sarah B. has it going on, especially with that harried look she affects -- tangled hair and shifting eyes -- when she's running late. Plus catch the irony that she and I never connected in person -- like, she doesn't even know the real Angel -- yet we reach each other through the internet. Proves the web is NOT overrated! Everyone said it would CHANGE things, and it has. As for news: I'm thinking dramatic series, working title: Lives of the Saints. Or reality TV ("Revolving Doors"). Touch my new contacts at 30 Rock; watch this thing soar. Get the piety and savagery of the city coming and going. Sarah B. is right: I have a voice. I'm all voice, charging the wires at light speed. Peace, Angel - - - - Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2000From: Marek Subject: for the record Dear McSweeney's, Today I wore the silly t-shirt, with the tiger face. Gleaming emerald eyes. It's too tight, ridiculous, funky in that uncool way. If you see me, laugh. Hard. Roar with laughter. HA HA HA HA HA! "Look at that girl in the stupid tiger t-shirt!" "She should know better." "Tigers are SO passe." It's good to be laughed at. Maybe not good, but better than nothing. Give me SOMETHING, people, please! Surly and so on, Iz - - - - Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2000From: Newhart, Bryson Subject: Fragments of a dialog between two young doctors Dear McSweeney's, On the train to PA I overheard a dialog between two young doctors who had just met. A man and a woman. They were very exited about all they had in common. Annoyed because I couldn't concentrate on my book, I decided to transcribe as much as I could. This is what I caught: They had 26 radiologists there. Much younger. All old Penn grads and Jefferson. Did you know Dan at Hershey? Dan lost thirty pounds studying. At Bryn Mawr? Hershey. How is it there? Oh it's awful. If you screw up, the surgeons are really in your face. Oh god. You have to deal with the repercussions. The guy I worked with in June, Mitch Wise, he was doing an interventional fellowship. He spent some time at Jeff. I just took a job at Lancaster General. They do a lot of good stuff there. It's very nice. I'm really excited about the ultrasound. We don't get a lot of trauma, fortunately. He threw a whole stack of MRs at me. We don't do that much body MR stuff. Isn't it hard? There are so many mistakes you can make. At Hershey, they really made a mess. Give me my wrists and ankles over livers any day. I was doing body imaging at Hopkins but then I had a baby my second year so I had to drop out for a while. Yeah, I have two kids and I always felt guilty about never being at home. The best is when you're a med student. You have so much time then. Dan wasn't thrilled when I had a baby. Scheduling. That's it. My wrist got numb. -Bryce - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: whitney pastorek Subject: Letter Number [insert text here] to McS Dear McSweeney's, Some Things That Have Been Concerning Me Of Late, 8/15/00* 1. There is, I believe, a new species of bug in my apartment. Sort of a large millipede crossed with a silverfish. My dilemma is this: do I snuff it out and thereby risk ecological disaster, or if I let it live will it crawl in my ear to have babies? 2. I'm not convinced that I know what the word "solipsism" means. 3. Should I find Keanu Reeves more attractive? Do I find Angelina Jolie TOO attractive? 4. After they fell off this past spring, I think my big toenails are growing in wrong. 5. My irrational rage with people who take up too much room on the subway bench by spreading their legs wide is growing. Is this evidence of psychosis? 6. We are running out of fresh water. We are running out of fresh water!* 7. They say people who are healthy sweat sooner and more than others. But I sweat a lot, and I eat upwards of 6 cheeseburgers/wk. What does this mean in terms of my body chemistry? 8. I have been calling people by the wrong names; not just mixing up "Laura" and "Lauren", for example, but rather "Damon" and "Nick." Do I consume too much NutraSweet? * stop me if you've heard this one. thanks so much whitney pastorek - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: Karl Tobias Steel Subject: Harper's Magazine, and My New Date Dear McSweeney's: Readers, Harper's Magazine tried to push me in front of a subway this morning. What are YOU going to do about it? On a related note, I sat at dinner a few days ago with my new date, and others. One of the others bemoaned her boy-friendless life, and explained that what she really wanted was a "tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, effeminate boy" (like me). She added, to my date, "But you're much cuter than I am." My date, Coco, just held back from replying, "Yeah. That's why he's buying me dinner." Coco held off, but, good Christ, we laughed like drunk monkeys that night, just thinking of it. If patience had a middle and a last name, both would be McSweeney's, Karl Steel Manhattan, New York - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: Jessica Schanberg Subject:: Harper's , Tom Wolfe and some light bulbs going off Dear McSweeney's, Anything that makes you think is good and the Harper's interview was no exception. While I thought that they were heavy-handed in their approach, I did like the issue that it brought up. Is success bad for creative people (writers, artists)? Does it somehow taint their "purity" or "realness". Personally I think that anyway an artist can bring green to the table is admirable and should be praised. But...I do have some conflicting feelings about celebrity status and what that means in our star-magazine approach to life in the USA. Unfortunately, to get what we want out of the system we have to play the game with "the man". I figure, in my own life, if I am honest about it, then I have nothing to fear from the starving artists who complain about yuppie sellouts. After reading the Harper's piece, my cousin lent me his copy of "The Painted Word" by Tom Wolfe. He writes about the attempt to stay "real" coupled by a very real desire to be chosen by the "elite". I think that he sums up the struggle very well: He could close his eyes and try to believe that all that mattered was that he knew his work was great...and that other artists respected it...and that History would surely record his achievements...but deep down he knew he was lying to himself. I want to be a Name, goddamn it! Pick me pick me pick me pick me pick me pick me ...O damnable Uptown! Sincerely, Jessica - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: Ben Davis Subject: RE: Miss Kennedy Dear McSweeney's, I have full sympathy for you Dan, and in addition, no scolding tone to offer, only sympathy... ahem. Mornings I frequent an establishment a few blocks from my friends home where we are both nerds for "the Man". Generally(especially if hungover) I painfully pull my power steeringless truck into the small mini mart parking lot and enter the nondescript store front of "Fred's # 3". An immigrant run fast food joint that proffers an intriguingly bland conflation of Mexican and American fast food. Maybe # 3 is a clue. The only item on the menu that this unfortunate meeting works for it turns out is their fantastic breakfast burrito; bacon eggs hash browns and salsa, oh yeah and cheese. Anyway, two breakfast burritos +tax somehow always comes out to $7.27 on the register to which I always respond with a five and three ones. He then gives me the easiest change $.75 in quarters. Well I guess one morning I was feeling a little inadequate and when offered the customary .75 ( which I like to spend playing cruisin' USA while I wait), I took a ponderous, eye crust decorated, look down at the change in my hand and then gave him a quarter back. I said 'no I gave you eight dollars' he politely taking the quarter, 'oh, you gave me eight dollars'. I didn't realize until I had lost my second round of cruisin' that I had embarrassed myself under the pretense of good Samaritanism. For a while I was apprehensive about going back. I even started to think 'what if he always tries to cheat me out of a quarter now'. We're back to normal however, and he has been kind enough not to mention it or steal my quarters which, incidentally I put into the cruisin' game. And I'm sure he's getting a piece of those profits so... We're all in this together yo! Ben Davis Pasadena, CA P.S. Kudos, on discovering that Bearman kid, he's a sharpie! - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: rollo Dear McSweeney's, I was a little taken aback when she started enthusing to me about how much she likes the suitor I lost to in the battle for her affections. Maybe she thought I would benefit from his example. She explained his appeal as follows: 1) "He knows what he wants, and he goes and gets it." ("it" meaning her.) 2) He has that "hard to get" quality. As much as I'd enjoy smashing his pretty face in, I have to admire his ability to convey two seemingly contradictory personality traits simultaneously, and with such successful results. Whatever, Rollo P.S. Ouch! Jesus! What a sarcastic and bitter letter! You sound pitiful. There's your problem, mister. P.P.S. Like you can't relate. And I'm not even bitter. I'm happy. Incredibly lucky. I've counted my blessings, and I have tons. I have a blessings surplus. I'm just spreading surplus joy everywhere. Leave me alone. P.S. She's way too short for you anyhow. You'd look ridiculous together. P.P.S. Are you still talking? - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: Thomas Gibbon Subject: Determined, with Bee-Gee-like fervor, to get a message to Greg P Dear McSweeney's, you can learn a lot about Earth by travelling to other planets. Recently I was on the ghost planet Big Rock on a case. It was a typical shake and bake scenario; wealthy heiress kidnapped, ransom note sent, botched Egyptian commando raid, lots of naughty photos, and plenty of free billable hours for Mick to while away. Big Rock wasn't always a ghost planet. It used to be inhabited by the Hick Anthropologists, a terrifying sweater-wearing people who put the "violent and toothless" back into weird Calvinist fanaticism. Ultimately their civilization was destroyed by the irrepressible umbraticands of neighboring Teenybophutatswana, a planet founded by hick runaways in the 1950's. In the millenia before their demise, however, the Hick Anthropologists documented and analysed countless of the inner and outer worlds. Earth not least among them. Sitting, somewhat at ease, in the vaults of their great archives, waiting for the word from Stingray Modesto Corner, QC, (father to the purloined heiress) I perused, to my great benefit, some of their ancient observations of our Earth planet. To wit: "The people of so-called 'North' America are so filled with sinful, hating words that they must abrade, with chemical and scrub-brush, their mouths each night to prevent tooth-decay. Likewise are their dreams filled with such prurience and disarray that they must again submit to this chore upon waking lest the compounded nocturnal foulness cost them the Anderson account and all hope of love. We would like to point out that this is not merely some purification ritual, like the hog bathing and sister-mating of Big Rock, no, this operation is quite necessary to maintain the actual physical integrity of North American teeth. Additionally most residents of this region can neither whittle nor yodel to save their lives." It was all so true. And now? And now it is too late. And yet? And yet I loved that filth and swam and lived in it. Races more foul than we have lived and died and the purer ones as well, but of all the worlds and all the beasts that stamped with foot and sinned with speech there is not one which can compare to the never-right indoctrinnaire of an Earthman gone astray! Vivat! Mick "Roughly to the tune of 'The British Grenadier'" Spaceman, PI - - - - Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000From: Leonard Langdon Dear McSweeney's, I am new to your site, well at least a new writer. I am curious about your editorial policy, for your letters page. Who reads these letters and then decides which letters to post. It seems like there are a lot of regular contributors to the letters page, do you accept new contributors? I like the letters. I think it is interesting to read people's seemingly anonymous ponderings. I hope I can write something creative and witty enough to also be included amongst the talent you feature each week. Thank you, Leonard Langdon - - - - Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000From: Mike Topp Subject: Recent Symptoms Dear McSweeney's: Here are my recent symptoms: Sweating. Itching. Anorexia. Night sweats. Dizziness. Headache. Sensation disturbance. Chills. Malaise. Delusions. Depersonalization. Euphoria. Hallucinations. Hostility. Libido increased. Manic reaction. Paranoid reaction. Psychosis. Stupor. Yours truly, Mike Topp - - - - Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000From: Don Smith Subject: Odd Museum Dear McSweeney's, I just got back from Philadelphia. The Mutter Museum of Medical Oddities was a real eye opener. Lots of dark red curtains and brass hand rails. Dark stained wood floor. The only 7'6" skeletons on display on this continent! The first floor, "special" exhibit was entitled, "The Presidents Medical Ailments and their Doctors". The first item was a wax recreation of what President Washington's leg abscess might of looked like when he was treated by then White House Physician Robert Boil (an unfortunate name). There was a blood soaked shirt collar belonging to Abraham Lincoln, collected off the Presidents person during Doctor Hicks's effort to revive the dying man (this was a troubling item). The collar looked to be made of a fine, light cotton. There was a large outline drawing of President Ford with dots indicating the loci of minor medical attention brought to bear on the President body during his brief stay in the oval office. The illustration was colorful, intricate, historic. Down stairs is where they keep the permanent collection. Over 150 skulls, representing as many races. This display was dramatic and produced a fine overall evenness to the collection, but beauty is in the details, and upon careful inspection one begins to notice the endless variation of skull shapes. There were dozens of very small skeletons of Siamese twins, connected at every imaginable body tangent. For awhile the Museum produced a calendar. You guessed it, a different medical oddity every month. Apparently, this practice stopped when a whole carton of the calendars, bound for a medical convention, was diverted to a grammar school. Don Smith - - - - Date: Fri, 18 Aug 2000From: Jim Crocamo Dear McSweeney's, I am very much enjoying the installments of Neal Pollack's "Philadelphia: Into the Maw." Especially the mentions of the "Fornicators will join Tupac in Hell" guy. I know him! He goes to the campus of Temple University every weekday, stands on the stairs of the Student Center, and proceeds to offend everyone in sight by calling them fornicators and homosexuals (neither of which are very offensive insults, really). Sometimes he gets so excited he just falls over. It often ends when he is surrounded by screaming students "debating" with him and the Temple Police show up on their nifty mountain bikes. I used to think it was pretty funny until one day his wife and baby were standing there with him in solidarity. The baby was cute. It wasn't really funny anymore. Regards, Jim Crocamo - - - - Date: Fri, Aug 18 2000From: Tom Hall Subject: full moon power Dear McSweeney's, This past Monday, I decided that I would call in sick to work and go to the movies. In the overcast, afternoon daylight, a man standing across the street made eye contact with me and came running over to stop directly in my path and break wind. As I was recovering >from the shock of this, a small boy another 10 yards or so away dropped his pants and went, well, Number One on the sidewalk in front of me, again directly in my path. When I got to the movie (the excellent re-release of 'Gimme Shelter' starring the Rolling Stones) a very tall man shoved me through the doors to the box-office, and ended up sitting two rows in front of me, rolling Drum cigarettes and smoking them during the movie while shouting "Yeah, man!" every time Mick Jagger moved his hips (which is a lot of times if you've never seen Mick Jagger before). Finally, a woman in the theater yelled at him to put out his cigarette, so he changed seats and started again. I would normally attribute this to 'hippie' behavior, but it is a tough call. Talk soon, Tom H. - - - - Date: Fri, 18 Aug 2000From: Dan Kennedy Subject: NOT SO HIGH-BROW Dear McSweeney's- Somehwere there's a small factory that makes little tiny plastic brides and grooms for the tops of wedding cakes. And in that factory there is a workstation where a worker sits and does the same thing every single day. Pick up the groom. Paint the eyebrows in. Pick up the groom. Paint the eyebrows in. The wrong angle can make the little man look doubtful or angry or confused. If you got a worker that can't paint that "Happiest day of my life" angle, you gotta let 'em go. Dan Kennedy New York, New York. - - - - Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2000From:Liz Goldstein Subject: My feeble feelings Dear McSweeney's, Having the nickname "Pork" is bad enough, but when people like Julie Westphal share their dislike for pork rinds, or other porkish products, I become sad. People like that are just jealous of my nickname. --Liz Goldstein - - - - Read Previous Letters:
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