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anti-press ezine 2000 02 05
ANTI-PRESS EZINE #12
"We're Positive About The Negative"
A February E-dition
(C) Copyright 2000 Anti-Press All Rights Reserved
Unless indicated otherwise, all articles by Anti-Press. Articles submitted
by others do not necessarily express or reflect the opinions or beliefs of
Anti-Press.
Anti-Press Ezine radiates from our Reality Center. We're presently entrapped
in the alleged city of Plattsburgh, northeastern New York State, USA.
("Mommy, I see boobies in that picture..." "Shut up, you f---ing brat and
don't look at that f---ing filth!")
=============================================================
THIS E-DITION:
"SORRY -- CENSORED" / THIS ARTICLE ONLY WASTES ONE MINUTE / WOULD STEVE ALLEN
READ THIS OUT LOUD? / Viki Reed Trashes TeeVee Times Two: GAME SHOWS OF THE
LIVING DEAD & SHAME: THE UNPLEASANT WAY
* * *
"SORRY -- CENSORED"
They laughed.
The two people, most likely husband and wife, appeared to be honest
country folk, a hard-working couple who ran their own farm. Maybe they
were visiting the city to take care of some business at the county
building, had just left the Department of Motor Vehicles after renewing
a license. Whatever their business had been, it didn't matter for the
moment because they were looking at the artwork on display in the main
lobby showcase. And they laughed.
The man wore a plaid wool jacket, typical attire for someone who lived
in the rural northeastern corner of New York State. Probably had a
hunting tag hanging from the back of his wool coat when it was open
season. The woman wore conservative clothing, nothing that would make
her stand out in the crowd. Both were well-dressed, average Americans
in the rustic Clinton County mold.
At a glance you could easily assume that their politics probably matched
their clothing: conservative. You could also assume they were
church-going people who took the matter of morals seriously. There's a
lot of conservative Republicans in this part of the state. Even the
Democrats have to run as conservative Democrats to draw in enough votes.
So what did this couple find so amusing in the display case? Among the
drawings, watercolors, and photographs by local artists, twenty-two
pieces all neatly arrayed behind protective glass, they had noticed
item #18. It had been turned around, facing the wall, so no one could
see the image. On the listing sheet below #18 someone had marked in
black pen: "Sorry -- Censored".
Maybe the couple didn't realize who they were really laughing at.
Later someone clarified the note with three additional words: "Sorry --
Censored By the Legislators".
All that could be seen of item #18 was its plain brown paper backing.
It reminded us of the jokes about pornography in a plain brown wrapper.
We wondered how shocked this middle-aged farm couple would be if the
drawing was revealed to them. We had seen the art before the orders
came down from upstairs to unface item #18. It was a black and white
sketch, classic pose, of a nude woman, very tastefully done. But the
county legislators didn't want any nudity, any controversy. Apparently
they were elected by the public to decide what the public could see.
They were the guardians of decency, out to protect the public from
itself.
But most people could view worse on their teevees or on the Internet.
The majority of them would be surprised that such an innocent work would
be made to face the wall like a problem child who was feared could
corrupt the other kids.
We had watched the dedicated artists hang their display. We had glanced
at the nude sketch, all the other works, and then walked away. We didn't
give item #18 a second thought until we came back later and saw it had
been turned around after the artists had left. Then we had more than
just second thoughts.
Did the legislators think that the nude sketch was pornographic? Did it
arouse a shameful reaction in one of them? If so, that was their
pathetic bone of contention for censoring such a work.
After all, this is the year 2000 C.E. The city of Plattsburgh had just
elected an openly-gay mayor. The drawing was of a nude woman; the
artist was a woman. Were the county legislators shocked by the gay
mayor and were afraid a female nude by a female would smack of
lesbianism?
Who knows what the legislators "think". We could wildly speculate some
more on why it happened but in the end it doesn't matter. The fact
remains that free expression has been squelched, no matter how "noble"
the intentions. This overt act of censorship indicates a pismire
mentality, i.e. the pismire would rather keep its tiny eyes down on the
ground, looking for any filth lying about, never looking up to
comprehend the vast beauty of the sky.
The offending item couldn't even stay in the display case with its back
to the viewers. It was eventually taken upstairs, out of sight, out of
mind.
And the note about who censored the work? That was also turned away
from view, folded down so the statement was hidden from the vulnerable
public. The censors even censored the mention of their censorship.
There would be no troublesome controversy, no derisive laughter. No one
else would know why the space for item #18 was empty.
Except us.
And you.
* * *
THIS ARTICLE ONLY WASTES ONE MINUTE OF YOUR TIME
The other afternoon we were standing in line at the local post office.
This was over a week after the Xmas package frenzy but people had all
sorts of items to be mailed. Us, we just needed an aerogramme to write
to a friend in England.
Anyway, while standing in line, we noticed one of those signs that use
patterns of LEDs (Light Emiting Diodes) to show messages across a long
display board, three or four words at a time. We watched the message
flash line by line like a modern version of Burma Shave road signs.
WE KNOW
THAT TIME
IS IMPORTANT TO YOU.
IF YOU ARE
WAITING IN LINE
FOR MORE THAN
FIVE MINUTES
PLEASE TELL THE CLERK.
Seven minutes later it was our turn to walk up and do business with a
clerk. We inquired about the sign, telling her that we had been in line
longer than five minutes and we wondering about the purpose of the
message.
The Postal Employee said that the sign meant that a customer should
inform a clerk if he had waited longer than five minutes in line.
OK. We waited for a moment but there was nothing else. No free stamp.
Not even a lolly pop. Nothing to lick at all. We got zip (and we don't
mean a free ZIP code).
So what is the purpose of that sign flashing that message? Didn't
anyone think that a customer would see that message, then ask the clerk
about it and in the process of that inquiry CAUSE MORE FREAKIN' DELAY
FOR THE PEOPLE BEHIND HIM!?
By the way, we read in the paper than the Postal (dis)Service wants to
raise its rates next year. Yep, we want them to send more money on
flashy LCD signs that promote inefficiency.
AAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
* * *
WOULD STEVE ALLEN READ THIS OUT LOUD?
Flipping thru the channels on the teevee the other day and came across a
PBS special honoring comedian and writer Steve Allen. He was the top
teevee show host in this time. Nowadays you can tune in someone like
David Letterman and his ilk and you'll see them perform crazy stunts or
ask silly man-in-the-street questions. But Letterman & Co. didn't
originate these bits. Who did? Yep, ol' "Steverino".
One of Allen's bits was reading angry letters-to-the-editor from various
newspapers. There is humor to be found sometimes in those letters from
outraged citizens.
Even the local Plattsburgh (news)Paper can even generate a chuckle on
occasion. On the other hand, there are letters that make us
apprehensive about certain people co-existing in our community (but not
necessarily co-existing in the same plane of reality).
Take this letter to the editor by a regular contributor who is always
thumping his Catholic bible on his Right-To-Life soapbox.
"To the Editor:
Every now and then someone in this paper writes an article about the boy
in Plattsburgh that was arrested for killing the neighbor's boy by
stabbing him with a pen-knife.
This always brings up a question on my mind. When he was stabbing that
boy, was he, in his own mind, stabbing his abortionist father? Did
anyone ever ask him that?"
Ahem. But then that letter shows some sort of logic as compared to this
next excerpt from another angry citizen. It appeared just after the
Xmas celebration, that time of year where people festoon their homes
with gawdawful lights and other tacky decorations. Apparently this
writer has a problem with a certain type of light, the "icicle" kind.
In addressing the Editor, the writer says he sees these lights on every
house in the area and we should wonder about the waste of electricity
with such showy displays.
Then he states he is alarmed about how these lights could create a power
shortage and therefore exacerbate a Y2K event. He slams our society for
being wasteful; people don't have common sense and concern for their
fellow man.
This is far as we can sensibly paraphrase the letter. We'll let the
rest of this meandering missive speak for itself:
"There are higher powers watching our erroneous ways, laughing at our
folly. They can turn the tide at any moment, seizing our lives and
shaking some sense into mere mortals. Whether Y2K or beyond, should we
tempt fate with something as silly as icicle lights? I think not.
There are other powers as well, alignments of celestial bodies, portents
and magnetism too powerful for mere humans to even comprehend the
existence of, much less the purpose. People are laughing, celebrating,
hanging their icicle lights, oblivious to the unseen dangers of our
time.
It is a separate reality we must face, and that reality may arrive on
the heels of the millennium."
As Steve Allen might quip: "Hey, pal, lay off the X-Files reruns for a
while."
* * *
Game Shows of the Living Dead: GOOD ANSWER! GOOD ANSWER!
By Viki Reed
In the 1990s some Hollywood Player decided to remake all 1970s
game-shows. What comes out of your TV is thirty minutes of contestants
and hosts sporting zombie-eyes.
The New Family Feud stars Louie Anderson as hostage, more than host. He
walks spongy Minnesotans through exchanges like: "Name something you'd
find in a mall.... you need 200 right answers to win, which means you
must match at least 148 people on this last question...you only have 4
seconds on the clock...things you'd find in a mall?" Don't forget what
made Family Feud great in the first place: the usually soused Richard
Dawson snaking his tongue down a housewife's throat while her whole
family claps to Hee-Haw music.
Extreme Gong, the spawn of Chuck Barris's anarchic Gong Show, is a
stroke of extreme emptiness. A migraine with an audience; emceed with
faked-enjoyment by goateed-stud George Gray, who flaps-around like a new
sail on an old crab-trawler. Actors perform stupid people tricks on a
level of self-awareness so acute that you can feel them mentally adding
Extreme Gong to their resumes. Going back in a time is much saucier:
recall Jaye P. Morgan flashing her old but lovely cans at The Unknown
Comic. Those were the days.
As for the malodorous New Hollywood Squares, you'd expect a Greenwich
Village performance-artist like Whoopi Goldberg to find a better
showcase for the word "fart". Undeniably, Hollywood Squares money is
not to be passed, like so much gas. Whoopi is no Paul Lynde (the
queeny, schunk-drunk center-square legend). Also missing is vice: you
don't see many squares smoking or drinking scotch anymore. But there,
for His Grace is Brazilian actor Antonio Banderas, mercifully banished
to a corner in no-square land, where he's unburdened from having to quip
in phonetic English.
The New Match Game is a death after life experience. Who else but
lascivious, skull-faced Gene Rayburn could've humped spontaneity into
what is essentially live Mad Libs? Where's a relaxed (tipsy) Charles
Nelson Reilly tugging on a pipe? Where's Brett Sommers and Richard
Dawson leering at Joyce Bufont? Okay, we don't miss Nipsy Russell's
stinky poems, but a sugary-pastry, like host Michael Burger, can't lift
a show that still thinks "boobies", "potty", and "whoopie" are risque.
Just turn the zombies around and march them backwards into the biggest
Hollywood Boulevard sinkhole-and don't even think about remaking The
$1.98 Beauty Pageant with or without Rip Taylor
* * *
Shame, The Unpleasant Way
By Viki Reed
If you live in Los Angeles, and you can see a skirt of brown clouds just
hanging over the city...that's not smog, that's shame. It's the
collective mist left by all celebrities and wanna-be's in LA. I don t
know if anyone else noticed, but the day after Eddie Murphy was arrested
for picking up a male transvestite prostitute, there was a "STAY
INDOORS - SMOG ALERT" in the Southland.
My chest has felt tight since The Martin Short Show began, for example.
If I could hold Short's hands to his sides for just a minute, I would
tell him: If you emulate a TV host, try to pick someone other than Mike
Douglas. A nice man, but without a select talent.
On the Martin Short Show I get to see: Martin wearing prosthetic make-up
devices in the name of sketch comedy that take longer to apply than
they're worth seeing; numerous snapshots of Young Martin in between
segments; and I get to count the number of times Short goes from
open-kneed to cross-legged positions in what must be the most
regrettably comfortless Host Chair in all of television. His vapor of a
sidekick is so clearly joyless he might as well be wearing a McDonald's
uniform. Somewhere around night two of his show, Martin adopted the
Amos- and Andy-ish phrase, "Right CHEE-awh!" as in: "We have Kelly
Preston for you tonight, right-CHEE-AHW!" Some blame global warming on
the smog. I know it's Martin Short.
The good thing about a big star's comeback is that they have to go away
again soon after. Laying low and being sucky has supported Cher for a
long time.
Recently showbiz-en-masse hosted a welcome back to Cher that began with
her lip-synching her own version of the National Anthem and culminated
with an HBO Special Concert. As if Cirque Du Soliel was bred with with
an impromptu film festival: Real 'Lipo-Face-Lift Cher' performed a
three-decade-long medley of gold records while, 'Young-Thin-Cher'
Lookalikes (Wearing song-and-era-appropriate period Bob Mackie
Rhinestone Pizza Gowns) paraded behind her. Because Real Cher's own
corset changes are so lengthy, a giant movie screen plays a montage of
her finest filmed moments. I think in this case, that crowd was
responsible for all of the shame; they made her that way.
WARNING: TO DICK CLARK: stop making variety shows.
Burn the Star Search/Chevy Chase Theater to the ground, give the
dancer's outfits to The American Way, lose the disco ball, the
pyrotechnics and let it go, man. Let it GO, please.
"Your Big Break!" is the new DC Productions entity. Entity is the right
word for it. The terror in my heart clutched at my being from beginning
to end of this new talent-contest-karaoke-show . The host is the most
anemic black man in the history of entertainment; he talks as fast as
his pupils zip and unzip. What happens next is the result of Dick
Clark's army of evil scouring karaoke clubs and bars all over...Southern
California. Not the world, not the land, not the country. Just So-Cal.
People who do regular day jobs because they're not talented enough to
sing professionally. The illusion is supposedly complete when they dress
the contestants to look like their music idol. Wow! An ordinary man can
be turned into Joe Cocker? How'd you get the same beer-gut? There
should be a word for the phenom of a played-out song, rendered off-key
by a surf-board salesman, or a karaoke-barfly. By the time the
house-painter did a full Mick Jagger, kissing a fake Keith Richards
(who doesn't even sing) , I was high and disabled.
Yes, you should all be ashamed. All of you who guested on Magic Johnson
and told him how kickin' the show was. All of you who buy Humm-Vees
because Arnold did. The Road Rangers too. The cell phones and Gilligan's
Island remakes. Don't forget the Circus of the Stars or Battle of the
Network Stars...we should all be ashamed of ourselves. I personally work
on shame I hold because I cheered Gabriel Kaplan's marathon dead-heat
defeat of macho Robert Conrad on the most memorable Battle of the
Network Stars. But you made me that way.
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