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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.] - - - - DEAR READERS AND WRITERS OF THE LETTERS SECTION: We are trying to make this section easier on the eyes. There will be fewer letters, and more editing. If you feel you are being passed over unduly, you may note as much at the top of your letter. We are your friends, and will try to listen. - - - - Date: Sun, 9 Jul 2000From: Peter Bebergal Subject: Things both base and sublime Dear McSweeney's, Today I went to visit my father so the two of us could go to the cemetery where my mother was buried last November. As I waited in the train station for the train that would take me to where my father would pick me up, I decided to go to the bathroom. I have a tendency to only like to use stalls even if I only have to go "number 1." There were plenty of open urinals but only one stall, which was occupied. I decided to wait it out. I went outside the bathroom and moseyed about until I saw the fellow I assumed was in the stall leave. Just as I walked back into the restroom, a man who had been previously standing by the urinals jumped into the stall, closed the door, and latched it. I chalked it up to his good fortune and went back outside to wait. He took a long time. Eventually, not wanting the same thing to happen as before, I decided to wait in the bathroom. I heard the telltale sounds of the toilet paper being unrolled and figured it would only be another a minute or so. But the wiping process seemed to go on for an inordinanlty long period. I began to get fidgety when I noticed the man in the stall get up on tiptoe, peer out over the stall, and look around, nervously. Suddenly, he burst open the door and ran out of the restroom. I went in to do my business. Well. Let's just say it was an awful mess in the there. As I turned to leave I noticed a good foot from the toilet, an industrial sized empty toilet-paper roll rested on the floor. I looked down and saw a small pile inside of it, not quite as concealed as the poor fellow might have hoped. At the cemetery, I stood before my mother's grave and felt the sort of emptiness that becomes the fullness of dread. I tried to speak to her, but she was not there. I placed a stone on her marker, said a few prayers, more for myself than for her, and walked away feeling as though I had missed an opportunity to speak to her. Then I heard the strangest bird song, a gurgling of music and clicks, and saw a large bird with blue wings and a bright green tail was flying low around the tombstones. I was caught breathless in the absolute presence of my mother. I watched the bird land and then take off again, its wings and tail open like a large ornate fan. I said a long and clear hello to my mother. All around me the green and the birdsongs became bright and clear. Peter Bebergal - - - - Date: Tue, 11 Jul 2000From: Mike Topp Subject: Photography Lesson Dear McSweeney's: Blend into the background. The best photographers become part of the scenery. Hang around a place and appear natural and relaxed. Do what others are doing, whether it's reading in a park or watching a ballgame-the object is to fit in. This photo is of my shower and I am by the door. Yours truly, Mike Topp - - - - Date: Tue, 11 Jul 2000From: Theresa Lange Subject: mama mia! Dear McSweeney's, My mother has gained a lot of weight in the past year. She wears large patterned dresses now which she insists are not muumuus, but if you want to be completely honest about it, they are indeed muumuus. She sometimes wears tee-shirts over tight-fitting biker shorts, but thankfully, she makes sure the tee-shirts are large enough to cover her behind. Sometimes the tee-shirt is TOO large and it looks like she is only not wearing shorts at all! This embarrasses all of us kids because who wants a mother who goes around just wearing an extra large tee-shirt with nothing under it? Oh, by the way, she also wears aqua socks. Frequently. And she never, ever swims. Yours in Christ, Theresa M. Lange, esq. - - - - Date: Tue, 11 Jul 2000From: Carman, Sean Subject: Phil "the Hat" Lambeau, Private Detective Dear McSweeney's, He is a French-Canadian private detective marked by a pervasive, crippling and unspoken insecurity. At the high point of a typical scene he would, instead of threatening his adversaries with intimidation, begin politely referring to his fedora in the third person. Sample dialogue: "The hat won't go for that," or "Would you mind repeating that, but this time speak directly into the hat." The same technique would compliment the inevitable scenes in which Phil sends some deserving thug into the netherworld: "It's time to tell the hat goodbye, pal!" Blam! Perhaps "hat" should be capitalized. In each show there would be the slightest dark suggestion that the hat possesses special powers. Episodes involving a nomadic people relegated to the desolate tundra would allow us to make use of the word "yurt," perhaps more than once. Eventually, he would be profiled on "This American Life." As an interview subject he would be nervous, skeptical and unbearably self-effacing. Sean - - - - Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2000From: Nigel Hrunting Subject: Vocabulary Assignment Dear McSweeney's, 7/3 - 7/5 "Strolling along the [esplanade], a [denizen] of this place of splendor, I notice a group of mentally-handicapped kids eating the shrubbery and drooling on their potato-bag rucksacks. In a [procrustean] gesture, I tell the encumbered children that the plants-in-consumption represent their parents, and that, by eating them, they are in essence killing their parents... With love, Nigel - - - - Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2000From: Sarah M. Balcomb Subject: Cats in the Cooler Dear McSweeney's, There are many ways to scare off unwanted suitors. Here is one which wasn't very successful. "You waiting for the bathroom?" I asked an archetypical young hipster standing in front of two closed doors towards the rear of a bar in Williamsburg, obviously waiting for his turn in the restrooms. I pinched my arm hard as a reminder not to speak. "Yeah," he said rolling his eyes. One of the doors looked slightly ajar, so I gave the handle a little jiggle. It was indeed closed and locked. "That really helps," said the hipster, again showing me the white on the underside of his eyes. "Sorry, I know, I know, that's like the most annoying thing. I just want to kill people when they do that to me. I can't believe I actually did it. I mean, that's point 53 in my treatise on bathrooms." "You wrote a treatise on bathrooms?" "Well, it was more of a manifesto." "No way. That's awesome." "Yeah, well, you know," I said, then pointed towards the near bathroom door which was opening. "Thanks, but we have a lot to talk about. I want to hear all about this manifesto." "OK, I'll catch you after I relieve my bladder." After using the toilet, I snuck away, fast, in search of a bar where the very word "manifesto" makes men shudder and jump over to the next barstool. Understandably yours, Sarah M. Balcomb - - - - Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2000From: KEC Subject: What's_Going_On_in_my_Life Dear McSweeney's, My life has taken a turn for the absurd, so I feel the need to share: 1) My sister, who is 28, is living with a 46-year-old former deputy sheriff with four children, whom she started dating when he was her (married) softball coach when she was 17. Don't get me started. 2) Last summer, I was diagnosed with some form of rheumatoid arthritis. The doctors don't really know what's going on, but it could involve scleroderma, a disease which, apparently, killed Bob Saget's sister. There was a rerun of a movie-of-the-week of her story recently. I avoided it. 3) My boss is a filthy little troll who smells like something unmentionable and thinks that "that looks like shit" is encouraging, helpful feedback. Could she perhaps be reading this? Yes, she could, but I don't care anymore, because if she fires me, at least I'll receive unemployment. Sincerely, Kiersten - - - - Date: 13 Jul 2000From: Thomas Gibbon Subject: Everybody loves a parade Dear McSweeney's, Today, walking from the station, everybody seemed to be walking in unison, step, step, step. Like some sort of High Maintenance Parade (expect all floats to be 30-45 minutes late). Later, angel-wings folded, we will sit in our pens waiting to be a spectacle once again. There are too many people in this city. And one of them is I. Is it right to move to a town because they have lots of bank robberies there? Do I expect that living in one of those towns will somehow push me into becoming a bank robber? As though somehow the banks there are so vulnerable, so tempting, that it is just a matter of time before everybody (one at a time) throws up their hands and says, "Ah, what the hell, give me all your money, I have a gun!" Oh, but if you (me) had only seen the scenes of Manhattan (from a distance) that I have seen this week, these past days, then you (I) would understand why, why as long as The Talking Heads still play open-mike night at CBGB I must stay in New York. Trying not to be a hero, TGGibbon - - - - Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2000From: Cynthia Smith Subject: business plan Dear McSweeney's, So I have a dog, and there are other people with dogs that live in my apartment complex. There is a yard on the side of the complex where a lot of people walk their dogs. Many of the dogs, mine included, "do their business" (that's a euphemism) there. It's kind of messy and would be gross if you thought about it much. I stand on the sidewalk, not in the grass, so I don't think about it much. Last week, the apartment manager posted a note on everyone's door saying that the yard on the side of the complex where dogs do their business is gross, and anyone who lets their dog do business in the yard and leaves the business there will be fined. I don't remember how big the fine was, but it seemed big at the time. I was a little nervous when I took my dog out and she did her business in the yard, but nothing has happened to me so far. And other people still let their dogs do business there. Cynthia Smith - - - - Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2000From: wrockwood Subject: Your advice Dear McSweeney's, About a year ago, I had a letter published in the syndicated teen advice column "Ask Beth." I pretended to be a teenage girl who was afraid of catching a "social disease" from a toilet seat. Beth replied that you could catch trych from a public toilet seat.
My letter was edited so that "social disease" became "sexually transmitted
disease." It troubles me to this day. - - - - Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2000From: Karl Tobias Steel Subject:10-4 Good Buddy -- Portions of a Correspondence with Neal Pollack Dear McSweeney's, Epistolarily, I engaged Neal Pollack, McSweeney's Party Hack. He is a surprisingly swift and graceful correspondent; that is, he is like a gazelle, only meatier. It is perhaps exploitative to use Pollack's name as a trampoline for my own vaulting ambitions, but I liked today's letter far too much to let it remain unread by you, McSweeney's readers. The best thanks you could give me, I think, would be to buy Mr. Pollack's book. I have edited Pollack's words out; I think that's fair, but if you want them in, I'll send them along, ok? Here begins the letter. Oh, and don't bother Neal too much. He's mine. > . . . [this will serve to represent Mr. Pollack's contributions] Oh! I get it: that's funny. Here's another one: RU-486 Airlines: Christians Take Us Surreptitiously. > . . . Sorry. Remember the movie "Zebrahead"? > . . . Thanks for the indulgence. I'll sign out now. KS - - - - Date: Sat, 15 Jul 2000From: Bill Spratch Davair Subject: Hangover tips and marine trivia Dear McSweeney's, When I am hungover, I go to the aquarium, where the cool dark and the swaying plants and air bubbles soothe me. This week there were young women with clipboards standing in front of the octopus tank. Maybe they were conducting a study of arms. Perhaps the octopus is a symbol of their secret sisterhood, designed to protect them from the wrapping arms they encounter throughout life. Or maybe the young women were just taking an octopus test. Here's what I also learned: The Pearlfish makes its home the anus of the sea cucumber. The ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA says, Pearlfish, also called Fierasfer, or Cucumber Fish, any of about 27 species of slim, eel-shaped marine fishes of the family Carapidae noted for living in the bodies of sea cucumbers, pearl oysters, starfishes, and other invertebrates. Pearlfishes are primarily tropical and are found around the world, mainly in shallow water. They are elongated, scaleless, and often transparent. The long dorsal and anal fins meet at the tip of the long, pointed tail. Most Pearlfishes are about 15 cm (6 inches) or less in length. They penetrate sea cucumbers by way of the anus of the host, in some instances apparently feeding on its reproductive and respiratory organs. Yikes! Something else I learned about sea sea cucumbers: The sea cucumber by the way regurgitates its internal organs when threatened or attacked. While the predator snacks on its jettisoned digestive system the sea cucumber slinks away and grows a new set. When hungover I also watch cooking shows. If you listen carefully to Jacques Pepin on the cooking shows you will hear him sometimes say "Zen we remove zee coo-kees from zee coo-kee shit." Last Sunday on PBS I heard him say it six times. One more thing: Keep a bottle of Visine in the refrigerator. You will always have a cool soothing treat on hand for your inflamed sclera with their nets of red. Bill you later, - - - - Read Previous Letters:
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