for 21 March 2001. Updated every WEEKDAY.

Tim Cavanaugh
Special Guest Editor

Terry Colon
Art Director

Heather Havrilesky
Senior Editor

Joey Anuff
Publisher

Geez, Polly. Your article has reinforced my belief that as humans we can never be satisfied with what we have or who we are, so no matter what we do and how hard we try we are all pretty much fucked anyway. And damned if that realization didn't cheer me right up. Way I see it discontentment stems from the idea that you could always be doing something better with your life than what you are doing now. If that something doesn't really make you any happier then the best thing you can do is improve whatever lame ass thing you are doing now with the least amount of effort. When life gives you lemons add them to a shot of vodka and order a pizza. At least you'll sleep better.

Yours in positive nihilistic slackdom,

Clay
<clayn@fractalcrayons.com>

I just read (I know, weird, huh?) a collection of short stories by Matthew Klam titled "Sam The Cat." His characters are filled with seething hatred and undying love for each other, and no matter what or who they're doing they wish they were doing someone or something else. Needless to say, that's my kind of writing. The stories are simple and at first sort of loathsome, but after a while you get into it and begin to recognize people you hated in college.

Then again, maybe that's just me, since I went to Duke, which, unfortunately, is not comprised solely of attractive, well-mannered, highly skilled, hardworking basketball players. At Duke there's also a large population of slightly rotund, flushed-faced men in bowties and khakis and boxers from Burberry's, double-fisting champagne at some lawn party where the women are wearing pearls and espadrilles without the little apologetic/ironic smiles on their faces which one might think should accompany such foul attire. Some of these sundressed women have pleasant enough things to say, but they don't really talk much in the company of the men, mostly because the men fancy themselves fabulously clever individuals with a great deal of wisdom to impart on any number of subjects, and any questions they do fire in your direction merely serve as an on-ramp to another of their fatuous, bloated tirades.

But Duke has become far geekier and less offensive since I graduated. Who's your daddy, Battier?

The other thing that I like about Klam's stories is the way everyone in a relationship feels alternately exhilarated and in love, and utterly trapped and tortured in ways that call to mind early childhood traumas. Then again, maybe that's just me, since my childhood was one part Pipi Longstockings (picnics! little doggies!), two parts Kramer vs. Kramer, but without all the therapists and hand-holding.

Transparent yet sleeping better,

Polly

I need some advice, and you're the only person whose opinion I really trust. Mostly because you dispense advice in an easy to read, cartoon format.

Last week, I received a letter in the mail telling me that I was eligible for a free introductory issue of Out magazine. I can understand why people I meet might be a little confused on this issue — I'm thin, single and spend too much on hair-cuts — but how did Out get this idea about me? Should I be concerned? I mean, they are pretty much the experts on this subject. It's right there in the title. I don't want to be gay, Polly — gay men have to spend way to much time at the gym.

Mark
<mwright@pro-ns.net>

Well, Mark, I'm hearing that you don't want to be gay. I'm hearing your fear. There are few words to help you through this trying time, but two of those words are "tough shit." You're gay, Mark. There's not much you can do about it. When Out magazine arrives at your doorstep unprompted, you are Gay with a capital G. The demographic studies never lie, Mark. They know you better than you know yourself.

So stop swimming upstream. Go with the flow. You already spend too much on haircuts, why not hire a personal trainer? And a maid — you'll never get laid with your apartment looking like that. Gay men hate filth.

In time you will come to understand these things — and more! I have to admit, though, I'm slightly jealous. Gay men have much more fun than even blonde women.

Best of luck,

Polly

hello, ms. esther.

so, i was engaged in an email conversation with this fellow that i've slept with several times, but who is "not looking for a relationship right now." why am i still talking to him? because he's just so dreamy & if i hang on long enough he will discover how truly amazing i am. also, so my presence keeps the other chicks away -- i haven't put in all this time & put forth this much effort just so some other woman can snatch him away, the ravenous sluts. he's mine!

anyway, during this correspondence i called a friend of mine as "mr. flinchy." the object of my obsession -- who, in an interesting twist, my gal pals refer to exclusively as "mr. flinchy" -- was unfamiliar with this character, so i sent him links to a few pertinent installments of filler. i'm so excited, as he will no doubt now recognize the foolishness of his selfish, selfish ways & fall in love with me, which is obviously best for everybody. i just can't wait for his reply!

thanks, polly esther! i'll invite you to the wedding.

veronica gogo

OK, I'll wait with baited breath for that lovely embossed invite to arrive.

Not to cast a shadow of doubt across your obviously bulletproof strategy, but the strange paradox of these situations is that the longer you hold onto him, the less likely it is that he'll discover how truly amazing you are. If you're clinging to him like a leech, he can't see you.

I should know. I once called this guy to ask him out once a week for several months. Each time he would politely reply, but he'd claim he was busy. And he'd never tell me to call him back. But he was so dreamy, there was no way Perfect Me wouldn't land him eventually! I had this whole excruciating fitness schedule fueled solely by my obsession with him. I wrote at least five songs about him.

Here's the thing: He couldn't see me, and more importantly, I couldn't see him. I didn't know him from Adam. Why would he trust or respect a weirdo like me who could decide I was madly in love after one date?

Sometimes you just have to give up. Rejection is meaningless. You don't know Mr. Flinchy well enough to know what he wants. And who cares, if it's not you? I mean, this guy I was obsessed with went out with Uma Thurman in high school. Have you seen Dangerous Liaisons? That's how she looked then. Hey, I'm not chopped liver, but I'm no Uma Thurman. So, what're you gonna do? Sit around and lament the fact that you don't look like Uma?

Well, maybe. But I'll TELL you what YOU'RE gonna do. You're gonna dump Mr. Flinchy and move on. The right plane can't land if the wrong plane is blocking the runway.

And it sounds like your wrong plane is leaking fuel. Get rid of it before it blows up the whole fucking airport.

Cheesy poof,

Polly

One of the great things about being a black male is being able to change your hair. If you look at all the various options out there it's obvious. Prince. Sisquo. Al Sharpton. Sam Jackson of course. I don't really think it's indicative of something greater. if you take that logic than every time Bill Shatner hits the Men's Boutique for a new toupee he's making some great statement. Don't get me wrong, Kirk's wigs are the bizzomb. when I go bald I'm hitting that brother up for some advice. I thought Mr. Jackson's cut in Unbreakable was great. He looked insane. That's the next one I'm going to rock.

Francisco Velasquez
<ciscov@avaya.com>

You are so right, Francisco. Thank your lucky stars that you'll never know the pain of being a white guy whose only two hair options are to cut it right to the skull like Sergeant Carter or let it grow out and look like Jackson Brown.

I thought I was the only one who liked SLJ's 'do in Unbreakable. Hell, I thought I was the only one who liked Unbreakable.

Vache

VF —

You forget that the defining hairstyle of the '90s was the Rachel, as seen on the head of Pitt's Wife in "Friends." And the Rene Russo had its day as well. (But I guess for men's hair you're right. Wait! What about the Caesar?)

An excellent essay on the important subject of artificiality in this age of the phony Real.

Stanley Belt
<stanleybelt@yahoo.com>

I knew something had escaped my notice with this piece. There it was, barely visible, just outside my field of vision like some pouf of bulbous but comely tresses... The Rachel! The signature style of the nineties! Of course! The missing clue that explains everything and nothing!

Keeping it unreal, I remain,

Vache

Ummm... not to spoil your lead or anything... but there was a piece in last month's Vibe on Samuel L. Jackson & his hairdresser and how the two have worked to create different looks for each of Jackson's films.

Just thought you should know.

- a suck reader
<tpryor@cdnow.com>

So I hear. Also Entertainment Weekly now has a mini-history of Jacksonian coifs. Still, these are specialty outlets. When Peter Jennings leads with this story, that's when I'll be satisfied that America is learning the truth.

Vache