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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: Tue, 22 Aug 2000From: CUL Kiosk Subject: Three items about suicide. Dear McSweeney's, A few weeks ago I was climbing up the gorge trail and passed, as always, beneath a metal bridge that supported one of the town's streets. This bridge is quite high up and is the traditional place for suicides to jump. Anyhow, as I walked under it, I heard a voice call out, "Hey, Joe!" I looked up and saw a man's shadow through the bridge grating. My name isn't Joe; I figured the man was calling to someone out of sight around the next bend, and walked on. In a moment, though, I heard the call again, and turned. I could now see the man clearly. He had one leg flung over the railing and was in some danger of falling. It then registered that he hadn't been saying "Hey, Joe!" but "I'm gonna jump!" I was about to open my mouth to shout out some discouragement when he apparently changed his mind, climbed back onto the street and shambled (drunk, I think) out of sight. The whole thing got me thinking about the relationship between extreme beauty and death. Of course I'm far from the first person to make this connection but it was and is compelling to consider it in the context of one's home town. Last night I dreamed that a man had killed himself by jumping from a tall building. I was standing on the ground some hours later, contemplating the empty patch of dusty cobblestone where he had landed. A bystander (a woman in her sixties who I understood was the mother of someone I knew, I don't know whose) told me, with apparent pleasure, that while the man was falling his heart had somehow unraveled from his chest, and when he struck the ground he was cradling it in his outstretched hand. Then today I walked up the gorge again and somebody had built this elaborate cairn out of creek rocks, a four-sided pyramid with a tall standing stone on top. It hadn't been there when I walked down. Yours J. Robert Lennon Ithaca, NY - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2000From: Chuck Easterling Subject: Acme Corp. Inc. Dear McSweeney's, Henceforth I shall only apply for jobs whose descriptions include the phrase "Must be able to lift" followed by a poundage designation. Bulky, Chuck Easterling - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2000From: Karl Tobias Steel Subject: Spliff: a playlet Dear McSweeney's: A PLAYLET by Karl Steel Characters: Karl, a medievalist Dave, a famous writer Setting: A loft in Brooklyn overlooking, impossibly, the Bronx. K: Did you read McSweeney's letters today? I'm in it, again. D: Hell no. Too busy reading Harper's. I wish they'd stop capping on me. K: Dude, totally. [They high-five. They high-five high, then low, then knock their elbows together, left-to-right, then right-to-left. This is a painful and awkward "secret handshake," but they do it anyway.] FINIS Please don't leave me now, Karl Steel New York - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2000From: Leonard Langdon Subject: Banners Dear McSweeney's, I like the new header, "Green Pastures of Want and Red seas of Shudder." I can't bring myself to analyze it, but I can really empathize. Lately, I've been rolling in the green pastures of want (I imagine every woman I see naked) and shuddering in red seas as well (I imagine every woman I see naked). Thanks, Leonard Langdon - - - - Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2000From: JulieWestphal Subject: I had my own nickname, and it was "Foghorn" Dear McSweeney's, In response to Liz Goldstein's letter: Your feelings are not feeble. I was responding to a letter posted recently to the M.R. inquiring about his take on pork rinds. I was just offering my 'take', and meant no offense to anyone named 'Pork'. Thank-you, Julie Westphal - - - - Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2000From: rollo Subject: Have a lot of fun, without even breaking it! Dear McSweeney's, I sure do like my youngest sister a lot. She wants to be a jazz singer by night, secret agent by day. She's always singing funny songs she makes up. One day years ago she kept singing "Have a lot of fun, without even breaking it!" over and over. I love that. She is also compulsively profane. I would have been whipped if my parents heard me curse just once when I was a kid, but they think a pretty little girl swearing is funny. Now, everyone in the family can't stop swearing. It's sort of a bonding thing we do. Recently I was complaining to mom about what a lousy typist I am and she said, "Your sister is so fast. You should see that bitch go!" If you knew my mom, you'd know how astonishing that was. Maybe I'll tell you about my other 2 sisters later. They're great too. With brotherly love, Rollo Romig - - - - Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2000From: Dan Kennedy Subject: STIFF COMPETITION Dear McSweeney's- Recently at the neighborhood cafe with a friend of mine, some guy overheard me complaining about my job and money and all this other stuff. I was going on and on and this guy says, "Why don't you write a funny book and quit your job when you sell it?" I don't even know this guy. I wanted to come up with some kind of smart reply, you know, to kind of tell him to mind his own business. I couldn't really think of anything right off the bat... So I go, "Why don't YOU write a funny book and quit YOUR job if you're so smart." He got this look in his eyes like I had just given him a great idea, and said, "Yeah...maybe I will, actually. Maybe I will." Great. I should've just said, "Mind your own business." Dan Kennedy New York, New York. - - - - Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2000From: Sarah M. Balcomb Subject: three years Dear McSweeney's: Last night I had a dream about the MR. Bryce Newhart and I were invited to a dinner party, and in attendance were the MR, his girlfriend and another couple we did not know. It was a rather casual affair, all of us just sitting or standing around the kitchen, talking and picking at a platter of finger food. There might have been chips and salsa as well. BN was talking to the other couple, who seemed like good people, while I spent my time with the MR and his girlfriend. It was a humid evening and since the MR and I both have curly hair, we were commiserating about the problems that such weather can do to such hair. We were both looking a little frizzed out on top. While I leaned against the kitchen counter talking to the MR, who was standing a little too close and gently touching my arm whenever I said something particularly funny or apt (I say such things quite frequently), his girlfriend was sitting on the floor and leaning against my legs. Occasionally, she stoked my feet, which were bare, and when I asked her why she kept doing this, she said that it was a way of getting to know someone, getting close to his or her feet. It was a very pleasant dream. Frazzled, Sarah M. Balcomb - - - - Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2000From: Libbey White Subject: Dear McSweeney's, Dear McSweeney's, This one won't go away. I didn't want to write to you about it, because there's not much to say, but it insists. There is a man seated at a kitchen table. He is in a house in the Alps, a very decorated house. Mainly, as you look around, you see yellows and browns and whites. There are no gaudy decorations, no gold, no leaves. There are cuckoo clocks, and countless wooden items- figurines, boxes, birds, napkin holders, salt and pepper shakers. There is a fine picture window to look out of, but it is framed by scalloped yellow curtains. Many happy years have been lived here. There is a stout woman standing at the top of three steps, her hand on the railing. The woman is familiar to the man, and he is turned towards her, waiting to hear what she will say. She holds the railing, and says, "Tundra." Libbey White - - - - Date: Wed, 22 Aug 2000From: Bob Sassone Subject: Whitney's bug problem Dear McSweeney's: Re: the bug problem that Whitney talked about in her letter (below). Yes! I have those bugs in my apartment too! I even gave one to my landlord to he could "run tests," as he put it. I think Whitney and I should get together to battle these bugs. Like one of those 50s sci-fi/horror movies you see on TV late at night. She would wear a white lab coat, and as people are being eaten all around us, I would grab her hand, and yell "come on!" We'd run to an abandoned mine or maybe the old army base on the outskirts of town. There we would find a way to destroy the bugs forever (through either extreme heat or extreme cold). Then we'd embrace, the music would swell, the credits roll. Sincerely, Bob Sassone - - - - Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2000From: Craig Moorhead Subject: Sam Meyer and Matt Fraction and things that occurred 6 months ago... Dear McSweeney's -- I am now prepared to present my rebuttal to the slanderous remarks made by one Mr. Sam Meyer and my friend Mr. Matt Fraction on two separate occasions in late February of this year. I hope that you will afford me space in your forum to do so. First, Mr. Meyer stated that I could not possibly have purchased a Coke from the Taco Bell, as Taco Bell only serves Pepsi. While this is true, Mr. Meyer, may I remind you that it was a college campus Taco Bell and the drink I purchased was not from their taps, but from a free floating fountain drink machine near the straws and ketchup dispensers. Then, Mr. Fraction, who I've had the great privilege of knowing for these many, many, many (8) years... how dare you reveal that I am a rock star! But your underhandedness carries a heavy price, for now I will reveal to the world that you happen to be, in secret... a gentleman of the highest caliber! How does that feel, Mr. Fraction? Thank you Craig Moorhead Rock Star - - - - Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2000From: Chris Cotner Subject: Another Day in Oklahoma Dear McSweeney's, 1. In response to the Soundtrack decoding articles. I gotta agree that the theme from Chariots of Fire is a weird selection for both Liddy and Joe. Does it look like either one could run a mile, much less compete in the Olympics? I am working my way back into running and can only go two miles. Joe and Liddy don't look like they have seen either pavement or a treadmill in a long time. (As an aside: while running on the treadmill the most recent CD from Lit is a great choice to distract you from the pain. It might not be the best CD of the year, but it does ROCK a little bit.) 2. I just got engaged. Thank you...No, you don't know her...We go to law school together...Yeah, I met her in one of my classes...Yes, she is stunning...And yes, she is smart...Smarter than I am...March 17...No, not because of St. Patrick's Day...Why? It is the Saturday before Spring Break. 3. Lastly, it is hot here. Hotter than the inside of my shorts. Gotta go to class. Further updates as the situation warrants. - - - - Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000From: Jim Crocamo Subject: haircut Dear McSweeney's, I have a funny haircut. Quite by choice, however, and I like it. The only problem is that people, usually strangers, will make passing comments like, "Hey, Elvis Presley," or "James Dean." I've thought of keeping a good number of pictures of these types of people in my jacket, where a street "vendor" might keep "gold" watches, so I could immediately whip out a picture of Elvis and demand the person bothering me to assess it honestly and truthfully, and then tell me whether or not it REALLY looks like me at all. They would have to say no, because its the truth. Neither I nor my hair look anything like Elvis Presley or his hair. The other day a co-worker asked me if I was modeling my hair after the Backstreet Boys. My face assumed some horrible position and I asked "Have you ever SEEN the Backstreet Boys? Do you have ANY idea what they look like?" My question is that, considering these people (Elvis, Bacstreet, James Dean) were or are among the most photographed people in the world, why is it that no one seems to know what they look like? And why am I involved in all this? Sincerely, Jim Crocamo P.S. Is it wrong to be annoyed that you have to take your lunchbreak an hour early because your co-worker's Mother had a heart-attack? - - - - Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000From: David C. Parker Jr. Subject: we live and learn Dear McSweeney's I got stopped by the police today at lunch. Well, not exactly STOPPED -- I was just riding my bike up the hill, and the officer was riding his bike down the hill. The officer said, "Hey!" I said, "Huh?" "You need to wear a helmet." I swung around so I was facing him, and I put my feet on the ground. "A helmet?" "You need a helmet. It's dangerous to ride out here in the streets without one - anything could happen." I thought, "Dangerous? This Richmond, Virginia, dude. What is possibly going to happen to me out here?" I was just getting ready to say something like that - something witty, which the officer would have loved - when my hand slipped off the brake. Normally that's no big deal, but my feet were both stuck back behind the pedals, which sent my legs into an awkward position (stretched out behind me) which made me smack my hands down and cling tightly to the handlebars -- so I wouldn't fall off and/or look stupid. But I couldn't grab the brake like this. No brakes, hmm. No brakes, ah . . . NO BRAKES!!! So the next thing I knew, I was shooting down Main Street into Shockoe Bottom and four lanes of oncoming traffic with my legs stuck behind me and the shiny leather toes of my work shoes dragging the pavement . . . The point of this whole ridiculous story is, quite simply: Do not talk to police officers. Thanks very much, David Parker Richmond, VA - - - - From: George LangDate: Sun, 27 Aug 2000 Subject: Seger. Dear McSweeney's, Have you ever thought to yourself, "If I had to pick one Bob Seger song to sum up his vast oeuvre, which one would I pick?" My friends and I have played this game for years, never reaching a satisfactory conclusion. The ideal entry would achieve the perfect mix of musical hooks, bathos and fanfare for the common man. Colleen insists that it is "Turn the Page": I await your thoughts. Young and restless and bored, George Long - - - - Read Previous Letters:
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