TO THE EDITOR:
The suggestion to "drift off into the land of nod with a syringe-full of smack" [My, What a Busy Week, August 3] was fuckin' lame. Had I read it a month ago, I would have thought it was stupid. But to read that in the same week someone in my circle of friends is being buried is simply amazing.
There really is no appropriate time for smack humor. I guess everyone in Portland's music scene has known someone who overdosed on heroin. I am unable to laugh about it.
WHOSE COMMUNITY IS IT, ANYWAY?
TO THE EDITOR:
With all due respect to Donna Dresch and Lois Maffeo, how typically hypocritical of the whole Olympia indie rock "clique club," to set up a website for the "community" and then censor it [Chainsaw Records Message Board, Lois Maffeo, August 3].
While I would never condone explicit attacks on people, many of the observations I read on the board--that are probably going to be censored--were accurate depictions of a very hypocritical minority of bands and people who preach "community," yet refuse to have open and honest debate with people who call them on their phoniness.
I have many thoughts and concerns, but debating whether or not The Butchies play the Michigan Women's Music Festivals is not high on the list. The whole idea of these self-professed "queer/girl power" spokeswomen deciding who and what defines community is annoying. Much like the recent Republican Convention, the Ladyfest Generation is a "SHOW." All rhetoric and no substance.
The Anti-Indie Girl
RESEARCH, YES! PAJAMAS, NO!
Self deprecation can be an endearing quality, and damn funny when used sparingly ["Coming Uncoiled," Julianne Shepherd, August 3]. But sweet weeping Jesus, do you really think we give a fuck that just because you weren't given the greenlight to talk to David Lowery about Boy Island that you can "Dear Diary" us?
Just because you hadn't hit puberty when Camper Van Beethoven was hot gives you the right to completely skip researching their sound? (Cracker's 1998 release Gentleman's Blues is a fantastic listen and it's your loss for wandering around in your pajamas instead of actually being a music critic.) If you want to riff like some wannabe Hunter S. Thompson at least make it funny.
Joe Metal Cowboy Kurmaskie
WE ALSO ACCEPT POSITIVE LETTERS
DEAR ANN ROMANO:
Another great column this week [One Day at a Time, August 3]! Yours is definitely the standout in this rag. I look forward to it every week!
HEY! WE NEED A NEW INTERN!
Editor's Note: Since the rest of our editorial staff is far too important and busy to write an ad requesting a new editorial intern, we decided to let our present intern write it. Big mistake.
TO OUR READERS:
Nobody likes emptying the trash. Garbage is what sucks most about interning, particularly at a newspaper where the quantity of waste is astronomically larger than that of journalistic writing produced. On the other hand, the nice part of working for a paper where every third word is "fuck," is that when Admiral Phil W. Busse leaves you courteous little notes, like "TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE!" at your too-small, spat-upon computer terminal, you can say "Fuck you Phil, I haven't emptied trash once the whole fucking time I've been here, and fuck if I'm gonna start now. Fucker." But truth is, I'd stay if I could.
People: this is life during wartime. Words are the only things that matter--your word and mine. So go put your hand to pen to paper. Expose the dark underbelly. We can't trust the Willie Week to do anything but manufacture scandal, pat the backs of every crap-ass band around, and kiss every baby in this town so shamelessly neglected by the shanty journalistic Leviathan that be, the so-called Oregonian. Come and work at the Mercury; take my place. If you have to ask why, you'll never know.
Brian H. Griffey, Editorial Intern
To apply for Brian's unpaid internship, send a cover letter, resume, and clips (if you have them) to "I Won't Take Out the Garbage" c/o Admiral Phil W. Busse, Portland Mercury, 1524 NW 23rd Ave, Suite 2, Portland, OR 97210.