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Now available for preorder:
The San Francisco Panorama.
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L E T T E R S .
[Please send printable correspondence to mcsweeneysmail@yahoo.com. Thank you.] - - - - Date: Tues, 7 Nov 2000From: Steven Tomsik Subject: no Dear McSweeney's, I had testing for allergies recently. I now get injections weekly. Here is the thing, though: I was tested for cockroach allergies. They do this with a skin test. Tiny injections, just beneath the epidermis, of solutions made from the suspect allergen. I was tested for cockroach allergies. Oh god no. -Steve - - - - Date: Tue, 7 Nov 2000From: Mike Topp Subject: Work Dear McSweeney's: Wow, what a horrible day at work. First, we had to suck on pieces of wood. Then the vending machine was out of Snausages. And finally, my wastepaper basket broke. Boy, I could use a drink. Oh, no! Woodpecker swans! Sincerely, Mike Topp - - - - Date: Tue, 7 Nov 2000Mike Topp Subject: Later That Same Day Dear McSweeney's: If I ever quit drinking, I hope I don't get drunk any more, like I am now. Ruefully, Mike Topp - - - - Date: Wed, 8 Nov 2000From: M Rosura Subject: On Halloween I went to an NYU party as Neal Pollack. I was surprised to see that both you and Neal Pollack have been overlooked for GQ men of the year. Dear McSweeney's, They didn't need to call out all the firetrucks, just two. - - - - Date: Wed, 8 Nov 2000From: Karl Tobias Steel Subject: A High School reunion rarely delights. Dear McSweeney's: Re: Response to a reading at Fez, last night, that featured the line "It was the first unrequited crush I had ever had." The writer delivered this doozy of an autobiographical-esque line unironically, and therefore deserves to have her dialogue altered in the following way: I asked him, "Can I kiss you?" "No," he said, "My mouth is full of AIDS." Having enjoyed the other readings, I remain, Karl Steel New York City - - - - From: McDermott, TerrySubject: bug shield psyche Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000 Dear McSweeney's, Where I live people love trucks. LOVE them. And, obviously, no truck is complete without an insightful, air brushed bug shield riding proudly atop the grill. What is a bug shield you ask? Well, it's a stylish after market accessory which is made up of a long piece of Plexiglas that is bolted at the beginning of the hood over the headlights and perpendicular to the wind shield. Since it's height could be upwards of four or five inches, it gives your windshield the added protection of shielding bugs (hence the name) which have dive bombed your headlights or otherwise have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's also imperative that one gets a customized slogan beautifully written in airbrush across their bug shield to allow others insight into their hereforeto unknown psyche. The last few I've spotted: 1. Haulin' Shine* 2. ON THE HOG!!! 3. Dazed and Confuzed 4. Max-N-Jodi 4EVR 5. LUNATIC FRINGE! 6. MAD MAXine *expertly complimented by a Charlie Daniel's Band bumper sticker thought you'd like to know, T McD. - - - - Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000From: Jim Crocamo Dear McSweeney's, Did you see the new New York Magazine? "Partisan Review meets Friends?" ???!! Anyway, I think I should get a new job. I work in the basement of a library, and it's kind of depressing. There are homeless people here all day, and it's not like I get to help them out, or give them a meal or something. I just have to watch them sit there, and god forbid one of them starts snoring, because then all of the other homeless people will guilt me into waking up the snorer, by whispering, "I thought you couldn't sleep in the library." Most of them have very nice handwriting, however. Sincerely, Jim Crocamo - - - - Date: Thu, 09 Nov 2000From: Dan Kennedy Subject: LETTER FROM SPAIN Dear McSweeney's, Not so long ago I sent you a letter [http://www.mcsweeneys.net/letters/letters30.html] from a desk at a New York Advertising agency during a freelance copywriting job I was working on. I was putting in long days and in my letter to you I mentioned how somebody was standing next to me one morning looking at a magazine that featured pictures of David Bowie's home in Thailand. The person said something about heaven and hell being right here on earth, and how each of us has a choice between either. At the time, I didn't think I was listening so much to what the person was saying. I had other things on my mind, like writing advertising copy for nine more hours, and then walking in the rain to a restaurant that I hate to meet my ex-girlfriend...evidently I had chosen hell. Well, that was four months ago. Today I'm sitting out on the balcony overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, watching the sunset on this small village on the coast of Spain with my new girlfriend. She's relaxed with her feet up, reading the new book by Steve Martin, and occasionally sharing a funny line with me as I write this letter to you. Once the sun is gone, we'll walk to dinner at a restaurant we will love. It occurs to me, while watching her, and the sun setting, and the waves crashing, and the gulls somehow catching little silver fish and flying back into the sky to eat them, and all of this...that I must have been listening to that guy with the magazine standing next to my desk four months ago, after all. Evidently, I have chosen heaven. It is also occurring to me that I am somehow more comfortable accepting dread and labor, anxiety and fear, and well...hell, because in the middle of all of this beauty, everything not so deep inside of me is telling me that I was only let into heaven by mistake. A mix up of some kind at the door on the list. "Oh, did you say 'Dan'? I thought you said 'DAVE Kennedy'. Yeah, sorry about that...you'll have to leave." Maybe finally though, I'm starting to realize that everything inside of me is lying when it says stuff like that. If not lying, at least only joking around or something. Buenos Noches- Dan Kennedy Not in New York - - - - From: Mike ToppSubject: Soldiers' Home Date: Thu, 09 Nov 2000 Dear McSweeney's: I wish I had been around when they had thousands of "feathered soldiers"--the homing pigeons--in the army. That way, when somebody asked me if I knew where the old soldiers' home was, I'd say, "The old feathered soldiers' home?" It'd be fun to confuse the two all the time. Sincerely, Mike Topp - - - - Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000Dear McSweeney's, O!! I love my kitty, I love her so!!! I love to play with my kitty so much sometimes that I just have to fight back the urge to squeeze her little head. It is not a good idea to squeeze your kitty's little head as that would be considered dangerous by many and could result in some sort of permanent brain damage. Does any one else out there share this compulsion re: their pets? O!! I love my kitty, I love her so!!! thanks, Carrie Gauthier - - - - Date: Sun, 12 Nov 2000From: B.R. Cohen Subject: The new Radiohead album is pretty decent Dear McSweeney's, Did you know that you can say whatever you want about any of the books at amazon.com? I knew this. And I took advantage of it. I reviewed this one book, one that I actually had read, and nobody knew it was me. And it was hilarious. I used a British-sounding nickname, and that just gets me every time. Unfortunately, nobody knows any of this, because my name is not there. You're the first one I told. I remain, BRC - - - - Date: Mon, 13 Nov 2000Subject: MIT Doors Found on the door of the Shlemmer Building first floor faculty lounge last Monday. NOTICE Due to the crappy condition of this room, all faculty concession and refreshment services will be restricted for a week. I am well aware of the stresses placed upon academic professionals today and I hope you are aware of the needs placed on me. In short, I don't make things complicated for you; could you please do the same for me and my staff. We all have to help each other here for things to go smoothly. In truth, it will take a full week for the Coke people to deliver another drink machine. This restriction is not my decision, though I must concede, if I ever do find out who spit salt water into the coin slot and made off with over two dozen Diet Dr. Peppers, you will be reported to Marcus Indoza of Staff Accounting Services and recompense will be subtracted from your paycheck. Do not let this happen again. Regards, Jimmy Logan, Ph.D., custodial engineer. - - - - From: Jeffrey RandallSubject: The unseen powers of punctuation and verb tense Date: Tue, 14 Nov 2000 Dearest McSweeney's, Prior to my recent move to New York, I had invited several friends over to my apartment to drink cheap beer and assist in the seemingly endless chore of packing my belongings into small cardboard boxes. The boxes, which had been purchased from a large moving company, had the following slogan emblazoned on their sides: "Movers who care." While taping up one such box, my good friend Eric broke up the monotony by using a black marker to embellish the slogan. When he finished, it read "Movers, who cares." I found this rather amusing. Perhaps it is not. Sincerely, Jeff Randall New York, New York - - - - Date: Tue, 14 Nov 2000 06:44:32From: Anne Flynn Subject: Pleasant Surprise Check this out- it is section 3-114 of the Uniform Commercial Code, referring to negotiable instruments [as defined in section 3-104] such as checks. "If an instrument contains contradictory terms, typewritten terms prevail over printed terms, handwritten terms prevail over both, and words prevail over numbers." I'm glad that's settled. Respectfully, A. Flynn [if you choose to post this message, please do not post the email address. Thanks!] - - - - From: Bryan CharlesDate: Tue, 14 Nov 2000 Dear McSweeney's, The other day I read an article in New York magazine about maniacal cult leader Dave Eggers and his band of brainwashed minions. This article was troubling to me, since I have read Eggers' book, the McSweeney's journal and contributed in very minor ways to the McSweeney's web site, all without realizing that I was being slowly sucked into a nefarious literary underworld. In a bizarre coincidence, my mother also read the article, and invited me to Sunday dinner, at which point my family staged an intervention. I tried to explain that the McSweeney's people loved me, and that I was free to do whatever I wanted, to leave at any time. Unfortunately, there was videotape of the mass marriage performed by Eggers at Yankee Stadium, which my father played, and which featured a close-up of me and my new husband, Greg Purcell, swearing our love and allegiance to The Cult. What could I do? I cried and pleaded and begged forgiveness and vowed to extricate myself from the evil clutches of that handsome man with those beautiful, curly locks. "I made a mistake!" I screamed, hot tears exploding from my sockets. And they fell for it. Bryan Charles - - - - From: Newhart, BrysonSubject: What now? Date: Tue, 14 Nov 2000 Dear McSweeney's, Recently I was touched by the Angel Gabriel and began work on fashioning a wonderful clay statue of him. I have never in my life sculpted anything of this magnitude, have only dabbled with clay forming small lumpy objects much smaller than a human hand, but as I worked by candlelight, something guided my fingers. At one point parts of the angel even reformed themselves slightly to account for the mistakes I was making. A door opened and slammed and I noticed my pitcher of milk was empty! In college, a guy named Shim deconstructed his dorm room. He had his bed upside down, his desk suspended from the ceiling, and his dresser facing the wall so you couldn't open the drawers. Perching on the dresser he'd encourage those of us sitting on the floor drinking 40s to swear at him and call him various names for queer. One day he passed out fliers announcing that he was going to spontaneously combust and to please come to his room to witness it. Everyone came and at the appointed time, Shim stood in the middle of the room and said, "Okay, now." We watched for the next few minutes as he turned red with concentration, then finally gave it up. Everyone was pretty relieved that he hadn't actually exploded. Since completion of the 4-foot tall statue I have donated it to the fire department. Yesterday they accepted my gift with unabashed enthusiasm and mounted Gabriel atop their building encased in protective glass for all the rescue workers of the world to see. After a moment of silence everyone went back to work but I remain there still, closely watching the glass case. Inside I believe that Gabriel lives and breathes. I'm sure of it. Keeping the faith, Bryce Newhart - - - - Date: Wed, 15 Nov 2000From: Erik A. Kraft Subject: Perhaps Greenman can be the go-between in this matter? Hmmm... Have you seen the New Yorker's 'Shouts and Murmurs' bit this week, Jim Windolf's 'My Sexual Fantasies'? I don't think it requires the discerning sensibility of Lawrence Weschler to recognize yet another convergence. I am referring, of course, to Ms. Colleen Werthman's "Hot Sex Story Lost in the Thicket of Humanity," which appeared in the latest printed version of your concern. When is someone going to call Remnick on these shenanigans? When? I rest my case, Erik Kraft Chicago - - - - Read Previous Letters:
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