for 9 June 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.

For the record, I like Suck's
layout. It's easy both to
read and to navigate, which
is important, considering the
majority of your readership
is probably somewhat hung
over, bleary-eyed, and badly
in need of caffeine and/or
other chemical substances
when they log on early in the
morning from their
office/cube/workstation
to put off whatever work
they're supposed to be
doing (if the rest of your
readership is anything like
me, that is).

Also, I'm neurotically averse
to change. Which reminds me,
thanks for coming up with
that "Terry's day off" icon;
I'm sure it will allay a lot
of panic attacks in the
future — and it's good to
hear Terry's OK. I was afraid
maybe he'd crashed his bike
again. Anyway, please don't
change a thing about Suck's
layout.

Badly in need of chemical
substances,

Jean Marie Cousins
<JCousins@ WCP.TWC.com>

"Neurotically averse to
change" pretty much describes
our target demo. Our only
concern is that our readers
might stop palming the pills
the nurse gives out every day
before arts and crafts hour.

Sucksters

Positively Fourth Rate

OK, so Dylanology is not only
a silly word but a silly hobby.
It's not the only one —
let me quote you
directly:

"It may be too much to ask
that the artist formerly
known as Robert Zimmerman
publicly apologize for
dropping such tuneless turds
as Self-Portrait, Saved, Shot
of Love, and all the
pre-electric LPs into the
punch bowl of popular music."

Oh, yeah, and here we go:

"His only indisputably great
LP — 1979's Slow Train
Coming... "

Let it also be known that
music criticism is a field
that no one — let me
repeat that, NO ONE —
likes. Not journalists, not
the musical acts, not the
average reader. By making
such statements you bypass
the practice of name-dropping
as the surest way of making
yourself sound ridiculously
phony. You reveal your basic
delusion that figures in
popular music really must be
more than just guys who write
songs for money and are
somehow accountable to the
public — like Bob Dylan
must be some kind of US Music
Authority bureaucrat who, by
God, didn't deliver the
record to which you were
entitled as a consumer!

Now, I'm not going to lie; I
actually like the
pre-electric albums. I came
to this opinion because when
I heard they existed, I
actually gave a little of my
money to Dylan (or whomever),
took the CDs home, and found
out for myself. I expect shit
mags like Rolling Stone or
Wired to practice such
self-indulgence — but you
guys? Here? You know people
will call bullshit on you,
and, well, here I am.

That said, Suck rules!

Capricorn Service Desk
<service@cdsonline.com>

Dear Service,

No, Suck sucks (as various
letters will attest). And you
are bullshit, as you call
yourself. Let's face it,
music criticism is like
opinions is like assholes:
Everyone's got one, and they
all stink. Having said that,
let's not dismiss Slow Train
Coming, the one Dylan record
that seriously challenged his
fan base, nay, the country.

Mr. M.

It takes a big man to choose
a target as difficult as Bob
Dylan.

Rob Madeo
<rmadeo@WNYT.com>

Dear Rob Madeo,

No, it takes a big man to
take on my next target: Dave
Van Ronk. If I can pull that
one off and live to tell the
tale, I'll insist my middle
name is Courage (pronounced
in the French fashion).

Mr. M.

I find it unbelievably and
indescribably amusing that
you find the discussion
of Bob Dylan to be
such a pointless and
self-congratulatory pursuit.
I'm sure other Dylan fans —
and I am very much one —
will also find it to be
so. It's ironic: Your piece
is linked at Expecting Rain,
one of several hundred sites
devoted to the work of Mr.
Dylan (do you have a Web
site? No! You wouldn't be
that ego driven; what am I
thinking?). It's even more
ironic how well it fits. You
see, Mr. Mxyzptlk, those of
us who have been moved by
Dylan's work are immune to
such a tirade ... indeed,
we're amused by it.

Well, first of all, we hear
it everyday. The only friends
or lovers I've had who did
not demean "that voice" are
those who were also moved by
it. When I first began
listening to Bob (about 25
years ago, much longer than
I'll remember your name —
such as it is) I heard it; I
hear it still. Funny that the
artists my friends back then
touted as so important
("You've GOT to hear the new
Styx album!") have mostly
faded beyond remembrance like
worn-out clothes, while Bobby
plays on.

Second, we actually enjoy the
fact that other people don't
get it. It's our club, and
it's exclusive. Only people
who "get" Bobby can even
stand him. Do you see how
perfect that is? Well, I'm
sure you have other icons
whose work will be remember
long after you skewer it.
I'll leave you to it.

¡Hasta!

Matthew Bailey
<lostsok@hotmail.com>

Dear Lostsok,

Here's hoping Tommy Shaw and
the other aggressively
masculine members of Styx
track you down and whip your
dog's ass, buster. You are
correct (Sir) that Dylan's
work will "be remember" [sic]
long after yours, mine, and
ours. You are incorrect (Sir)
in suggesting I is [sic] not
a Dylan fan. But then only
people who get it get that.
See how perfect it is?

Mr. M.

Subject: For the love of God,
please help!!!

I have a friend who has
become addicted to Tetris. I
fear for her mental well
being. She has "inherited" a
fun little Game Boy. It's
purple! It's fun! It's taken
over her life!

Intervention certainly seems
the obvious choice. And if
I've learned anything about
life, it's that the obvious
choice is always much more
work ... and pain.

Could you just tell me which
Filler contains the drawing
of you, bored and distracted,
thinking of the colorful,
mix-matched shapes falling
together, one after the
other, after the other, after
the other ...

Sometimes I see it ...
against my eyelids when I
close my eyes ... I'm scared,
real scared.

Please help!

Damon Delgado
damon@giantsloth.com

The comfort you seek can be
found here: https://www.thesuck.net/
daily/98/12/02/nc_index4.html.

Your friend will be in my
prayers. But I pray to the
god of Game Boy, so, it might
not help much.

Thanks for turning to me for
strength during this very
difficult time.

Polly

I'm sorry you're such an
asshole.

Hi Joe,

"Some weeks, nearly every
episode includes a paternity
test. We have a populace of
underinsured who can't afford
basic medical care, as well
as a home audience willing to
waste hours watching that
same demographic bitch-slap
one another on camera."

Err, why do I get the feeling
that you yourself can relate
to this underinsured populace
that "wastes its time"
watching this show every day
"some weeks"? The poor
bastards don't realize they
could make money just by
writing about the show rather
than going through such
humiliation. Anyway, I'm glad
you got the job. Hope
you've got benefits.

Rob McLean
<rob@ini.cz>

I'm not sure if I'm reading
you correctly, but if I am,
this may be the first time a
letter writer has critiqued a
critic for watching too much
of a show that he's written
on. I'll keep it in mind next
time I try to convince my
editors of the merits of a
piece I've tossed off after
watching 15 minutes of TV.

Anyway, taking your larger
point, I can only point to
Samuel Johnson's remark that
no one but a blockhead ever
wrote, except for money. Dr.
Johnson was writing before
television (pace [our
forefather at his ease]), but
I'm betting he wouldn't mind
my updating his dictum to
include channel-surfing.

As for benefits, knowing
I've made virtually no
difference in anyone's
life is benefit enough.

Joe

Writing in to say that your
column was absolutely right
on. I have no idea what you
get paid there, but as a
writer I can imagine it is
not a tremendous amount.
Thus, I figure you'd
appreciate me writing to you
that your article on Forgive
or Forget, Loveline, and
(most vomitous of them all,
perhaps [but, then, it's hard
to say, once basic common
sense as well as decency have
been completely Louima-ed,
which could be called the
worst program out there, when
they are all so goddamn awful;
I will stop abusing
parenthetical phrases now)
The Blame Game, as well as
talk shows in general, was
perfectly put. Not to be
elitist about it, but is it
just me, or does no one
realize how absurdly fucking
stupid these things are? One
suggestion, though: Forget
Kafka and try Beckett
("nothing to be done,
girlfriend").

I'm gonna stop my pedantic
blathering for now; just
letting you know you had me
rolling in the isles. Good job.

After all, what doesn't suck?

Ephraim Oshinsky

Sunny days in May? A giant
cone of Belgian fries? The
cruel laughter of little
children?

I like the Beckett allusion
too, but I'm sticking by my
man Franz. Of course in one
draft of the articles there
was a briefly considered,
subsequently discarded comic
set piece imagining Georg and
his father sharing a good cry
over dad's unresolved issues
of jealousy over Georg's
engagement and the friend
from Russia. ("Therefore take
note: I sentence you now to
death by drowning!" "Now,
honey, you know you don't
mean that. You've got to love
this boy — for both your
sakes!")

With the help of a supportive
syndicated television show,
Franz might finally have
resolved his commitment
issues with Felice and had
beautiful, consumptive
children.

Joe Shlabotnik
Unreconstructed modernist

Regarding your essay on
apologies: Beautiful! As a
child, I was raised in a
religious group that taught
us how to apologize.
Specifically, we weren't
allowed to say "I'm sorry."
We were told to (a) say what
we had done wrong; (b) say
why it was wrong, i.e., "it
hurt you," etc.; (c) ask the
person, "will you forgive
me?"; and then (d) wait for
answer. Regardless of the
answer, we were taught to
accept it and try, not just
offer, to make restitution.
Excessive Puritan guilt
aside, it taught me early on
how trite the words "I'm
sorry" are. And how when you
really wanted someone's
forgiveness (not just to make
excuses for your behavior),
you often had to earn it.

Thanks for another Suck Home
Run.

R. Adam Wright
<comm@firstbaptist-tlh.org>

Thanks, Adam. Last night here
in NYC we saw a Knicks front
officer apologize for lying
to Jeff Van Gundy and the
press about having shopped
his job to Phil Jackson, his
moral conversion being
apparently brought about by
having been caught. Today, we
may be in for an apology from
Justin Volpe, who two days
ago was ready to skip off on
the defense that Abner Louima
got injured in a bout of
rough gay sex. Volpe, at
least, will probably be
offered the opportunity to
earn our forgiveness among a
community of inmates who
dearly love abusive cops.

Regards,

Joe

Excellent analysis of one of
the oddest shows I've ever
had the pleasure to see. Good
job! Between stuff like this
and references to home
shopping, Suck keeps getting
better and better!

Eric Meisberger
<xericx@ telerama.com>

I hope this means we'll be
able to interest you in our
new line of value-priced
costume jewelry.

Thanks for writing,

Joe

One other fun aspect of
forgiveness is a change in
lifestyle. After reading your
article, I wasted some time
(company, of course) watching
Mother Love. Most of the
contestants on Forgive or
Forget never mention a
serious change in their
lives. They run along the
lines of "I'm sorry, baby,
for screwing other women. But
that's just me, man. That is
the way I am. Forgive and
accept me? Because I am not
about to change." Oh, wait,
that was President Clinton's
public "apology."
Nevertheless, the same
sentiment is expressed by the
contestants. The results were
predictable, the ones with
the best PR spin received
forgiveness. The ones who
couldn't spin got nothing.
Forgiveness today means lip
service and a PR firm.

Russell May
<RussMay@brooklinetechnologies.com>

Well, he said he wanted to
start a national dialog,
didn't he? Give the man
credit. The spinning on F or
F goes both ways too — a
dance of not-quite-apology
and not-quite-forgiveness
("Well, if this is what you
need to heal, then I guess I
forgive you"), where both
sides make gestures of
conciliation without
conceding any actual points.
Which, who knows, may do some
good.

Thanks for writing,

JS

The Shit

Left for Dead in Malaysia, Neil Hamburger, Drag City, 1999 The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium: American Culture on the Brink, Mark Dery, Grove/Atlantic, 1999 Crazy from the Heat, David Lee Roth, Hyperion, 1998 Keep It Like a Secret, Built to Spill, WEA/Warner Brothers, 1999 Abbott's Pizza Company, near the corner of Abbott-Kinney and California, Venice Beach, Los Angeles (delivery hours limited) Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Pink Floyd, CD remaster, EMI 1994 Motorhead, CD remasters, all Det Som Engang Var, Burzum, Misanthropy, 1998 Bicentennial Capitol Mall State Park, Nashville, Tennessee A History of the Modern Fact, Mary Poovey, University of Chicago Press, 1998 V., Thomas Pynchon, HarperCollins Publishers, 1999 The Coffee Mill, Emeq Refaim, Jerusalem, Israel The Salesman and Bernadette, Vic Chesnutt, Capricorn Records, 1998 Good Morning Spider, Sparklehorse, Cema/Capitol, 1999 Third Floor, Anderson Building, Los Angeles County Museum of Art