AREN'T WE ALL PINK INSIDE? Given that grossly offensive epithets are ...
WE ALL PINK INSIDE?
Given that grossly offensive epithets are generally reserved for use within in-groups these days, I imagine Jeff Koyen calling the Fab Five "annoying faggots" ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31) was taken by many as his coming-out of sorts-instead of the culture-bracing act of "inappropriate aggression" it was meant to be. Good thing he's editor-in-chief so he could go on record the very next week to reassure his mother and recent girlfriends that, no, he does not "lay down with men" (4/7). (Note to any future girlfriends: Jeff might also not eat of whatsoever parteth the hoof, or is clovenfooted or cheweth the cud.)
But, if his mission as an artist (in addition to instructing us on the subtleties of meaning in challenging words like "dank") is to provoke, shouldn't this editorial mandate apply equally? How much more trenchant the "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers" feature would have been had the 50 Cent piece opened with "What up, nigger?" And the lame swipe at Joan Rivers as having "done more to reinforce negative stereotypes of her kind than a million New Jersey housewives rushing the sale table at Nordstrom on a Sunday afternoon" would have had so much more zing if he had just called her a whiney kike.
By the way, couldn't help noticing there was no Signorile column this week. You're not hiding from a little fag, are you Jeff?
Christopher Buczek, Manhattan
Jeff Koyen replies: Several weeks ago, Michelangelo Signorile's column went bi? Bi-weekly, that is. Zowee!
DOWN ON FLITTY CENT
On the subject of "Sambo queers"-and the ubiquity of "gay" as a generic pejorative-you're unlikely to meet a gay man more humorless and strident than me ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31). I teach at a rural high school, and I hear this shit all the time; few of my students can go 30 seconds without playfully (or menacingly) calling someone a "faggot," and many seem to genuinely believe that gay men can be identified by their lipstick, heels and comic lisps.
Equally infuriating is the mincing, pathetic tone of the gay press and the self-appointed spokespersons of the "gay community." If another coward claims to speak on my behalf while praising Al Pacino's "bravery" for playing a faggot (again), I'm going to spontaneously combust.
Your snarky bit on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy didn't offend me at all. Calling Carson Kressley a "faggot" is a bit like calling the members of Jews for Hitler "kykes": not a great idea if you're hoping to avoid a tidal wave of angry letters, but not indefensible either. The Queer Eye queers embrace-and profit from-the worst prejudices of a culture in which the debasement of vulnerable outsiders is treated as sport. That would be fine if they were the only queers around-or if all gay men were narcissistic twits. Unfortunately, there are a few of us out here who aspire to something more than excellence in interior design-and are fighting hard for what little dignity we have left.
Still, it's hard to imagine myself comfortably using the word "nigger" to describe 50 Cent, the fag-bashing embodiment of Young White America's retarded fantasy of "urban" manhood. 50 Cent is as much a Sambo as the Queer Eye crew-and, judging from my students' enthusiasm for his tuneless, hateful music, may be doing more harm. But I'm not black; it doesn't seem quite right to use such a charged term to my advantage.
In any event: I wasn't offended by your bit on Queer Eye. On the contrary, I was relieved. I wish more of my straight friends paid attention to the humiliating stereotypes trotted out each day as fresh evidence of our esteemed place in American society.
Now, if you'll excuse me: I'm on my way to fuck a complete stranger in a public bathroom.
Matt Williamson, Iowa City, Iowa
ARMOND'S SPECIAL APPEAL
I give up. There's no talking sense to Armond White. When it comes to non-serious movies, he simply lacks all perspective or, more importantly, a sense of humor or whimsy. Maybe it's just his contrarian nature, or maybe he spent too much time in film school, but his senseless, pseudo-intellectual diatribes against perfectly good and distinctive movies are so consistently off-base as to serve as backhanded endorsements.
See last week's review of Hellboy ("Film," 4/7). Instead of trying to correct Armond's mental defect or encourage him to seek help, I propose the obvious: Just give Matt Zoller Seitz all the light-hearted movies and relegate Armond to the serious flicks. Of course, all-Seitz-all-the-time would be ideal, but, hey, Matt can't do it all-or can he?
Mike Strassman, Brooklyn
COEN BROTHERLY LOVE
Although the Coen brothers have offered us many thrilling moments over the years, I don't think they'll ever be ranked among Welles and Kubrick precisely because of this morally simplistic universe Matt Zoller Seitz describes so well ("Film," 4/7). When discussions of morality are reduced to a handful of dichotomies, nothing truly interesting or artistic can develop.
Both Welles and Kubrick recognized that the most fertile ground for their art lay in the ambiguities, contradictions and questions between the cracks of good and evil. Anything else is propaganda. Seitz is right to say that the good/evil dichotomy is not in vogue. It's probably because such simplistic thinking has gotten us into trouble lately.
The Coens also inhabit these cracks, but somewhat differently. I was dazzled by the ironic genius of Clooney's very cynical speech criticizing cynicism in Intolerable Cruelty. But in this case, and in many others, the irony cancels out any meaning. Instead of meaningful questions or moral exploration (evident certainly in Dr. Strangelove), we get only thick cynicism and biting irony.
Master ironists, the Coen brothers make the absolute best cartoons ever. But they're still just cartoons.
Dave Ratzlow, Manhattan
BEATING ON THE BUSH
Billy Bush might indeed be one of the "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," but he shouldn't be accused of having "mortally embarrassed" actress Keisha Castle-Hughes (Whale Rider 3/31). On the ABC Oscar pre-show he introduced the Oscar nominee to her favorite movie "stud" Johnny Depp, and she was visibly thrilled to get the chance to meet him. In fact, she turned to Bush and said, "You're a legend, Billy." Bush obviously didn't know a Kiwi/Aussie/British expression when he heard one, because he then asked her if she was mad at him. She wasn't. It was, in fact, the most touching moment to come from that whole damn endless night. I do think he sucks on Access Hollywood, though.
Tim Wilson, Manhattan
PURE POE-ETRY
I enjoyed reading Jim Knipfel's "Connecting the Horror" (4/7). However, "The Haunted Palace" was not a story, but rather a poem, by Poe. And it's Edgar Allan Poe, not Edgar Alan Poe.
Barry S. Levy, Manhattan
SMELLING THE ROSES
Great list, but where is Charlie Rose, PBS's most loathsome creature ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31)? The guy is so bad, he even interrupts himself. There was hope when he had a heart attack, but just like Cheney, he somehow crawled back from hell. Could it be that Lucifer didn't want competition?
Also, Tom Friedman should be on the list, even though he lives in Baltimore. He does such a great job of wasting ink in the New York Times, I think this bombastic moron earns his position in the list weekly.
Dean Book, San Francisco
BECAUSE HE CAN
Why is Russ Smith taking time off from the subject of the horrendous Iraq fiasco he so enthusiastically pushed to discuss wackiness in the Kerry campaign ("Is Kerry in Charge?" 4/7)? I wonder whether, as a writer, he thinks "wacky" a spiced-enough word to describe the think-tank madness of his neocon heroes in predicting a flower-strewn cakewalk through the present inferno?
Scott Ferguson, Queens
APATHY BY A HAIR
Russ Smith missed the real winner of the Democratic Presidential Primaries. It was apathy, not John Kerry ("Is Kerry in Charge?" 4/7). At least two-thirds of the registered party members voted for "None of the Above" by staying home. Clearly, Democrats are not enthusiastic about anyone-including John Kerry. Add up the Democrats who stayed home with those voting for a candidate other than John Kerry in all primaries to date and he ends up with less than 10 percent of registered Democrats. This is hardly a resounding mandate. Prior to the Iowa caucuses and New Hampshire primaries, many had already declared Howard Dean the winner. Democrats need to fear the silent majority of registered Democrats and Independents who have dropped out, rather than the minuscule number of votes Ralph Nader may receive.
Larry Penner, Great Neck, NY
CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR
Mr. Wiggles is loathsome ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31)? Give the teddy bear a break. Especially since that cartoon a few weeks back of Wiggles and Jesus watching The Passion of the Christ together was the best strip I've ever seen in New York Press ("Mr. Wiggles," 3/10).
Richard Fried, Brooklyn
SHE'S TOASTED
I'm flattered that I'm fit to be in the company of movers, shakers and sex symbols also on your list of "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers" (3/31). The honor itself is not what I take issue with. My intent, as it's always been, is to defend the facts, not myself.
Though it wasn't your biggest complaint, it's your erroneous assumption and report to your readers that the "group" is composed of one person-me-that leads me to protest. NYC Citizens Lobbying Against Smoker Harassment (NYC C.L.A.S.H.) has hundreds of members.
Most offensive, according to you, is that I dare to contest the highly publicized claims that secondhand smoke is lethal (at no time "pretending that smoking isn't risky" as you added). Moreover, you imply it's only an opinion and that I'm the only one with that opinion. That's hardly the case. My position is based on the contradictory scientific evidence that exists. I'm also in the company of many pundits and scholars who have publicly thrown out the same challenges (yes, even some other New Yorkers).
Audrey Silk, NYC C.L.A.S.H.
DATA MINING
I strongly object to your inclusion of "Barak Pridor, Data Miner," in the list of "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers" (3/31).
The technology that his company, ClearForest, develops helps elucidate the patterns in text documents and on the web. Yes, it is being used in Homeland Security to help catch the bad guys. Many people criticized the FBI and CIA for "not connecting the dots" before 9/11. Well, software like ClearForest actually does connect those "dots" and may help catch the terrorists and prevent another attack, which could be even more deadly.
Data mining is not perfect, but it can be effective-of the 19 terrorists, nine were flagged by an earlier version of CAPPS profiling software as suspicious on the morning of 9/11. Unfortunately, the only action recommended at the time was inspecting their luggage, and so all the terrorists were allowed to board the planes.
I would hope that of all people, New Yorkers could understand the need for preventing another 9/11.
Did you know that ClearForest offices were in one of the Twin Towers and they were lucky to escape alive?
Finally, if your writers want to learn more about data mining, rather than insulting good scientists like Barak Pridor, I will be glad to help. Just email to editor at kdnuggets.com.
Gregory Piatetsky, Brookline, MA
STILL SMOKIN'
I believe I have a solution for the smoking- ban debate that will please all sides.
If the anti-smokers are telling us the truth, there should be no problem at all with simply eliminating the ban. They claim business has boomed under the ban, establishments are making more money than ever and almost every bar in the state is in love with "clean air."
If the anti-smokers are telling us the truth, very few bar owners will opt to lose money by allowing smoking, and smoke-free bars nearby will see profits continue to soar as customers flee those few smoky dens.
If the anti-smokers are telling us the truth-
But of course we know they are not. They lie about this, just as they lie about the magnitude of the "deadly threat" of wisps of secondary smoke. The anti-smokers are not interested in any solution that allows for any interference with their goal of denormalization. Even hospital-grade air-filtration systems and separations are not adequate for them. Unless smokers are forced out into the cold or heat, preferably hiding behind dumpsters, they will not be satisfied.
The lies of the anti-smoking crusaders need to be exposed by a responsible media that rises above scare-mongering. Challenge the anti-smokers by proposing the elimination of the ban. If they are not lying, they should be just as happy now without it as they have been with it.
Michael J. McFadden, Philadelphia
TWO CHUCKS THAT SUCK
Thanks for skewering the Jack White of rock critics, Chuck Klosterman, in your "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers" issue (3/31). The whole idea of celebrity rock critics is loathsome-guys like Bangs stumbled into it, and by the time Tosches had attained such status, he wasn't even writing about "rock" anymore.
As this year's version of Gina Arnold, Klosterman is basically harmless. Next year you should go all the way and excoriate the reprehensible Chuck Eddy, who as the music editor of the Village Voice is actually in a position of some power as far as influencing the anti-esthetic of younger critics like Klosterman. Here is a man so desperate to flaunt a "garbage" esthetic (which he passes off as populism), that he thinks Dolly Parton is better than the MC5, Joy Division and the Misfits combined, who rates an LP by Kix, a forgettable 80s hair-metal band, as the fourth-greatest of all time etc. In other words, it's a joke.
A couple years ago, when it came time to hand in my annual Village Voice "Piss and Slop" poll ballot-a pointless exercise that every year turns out to be a rally for the major labels-I took the 10 albums that I happened to be listening to and listed them (even though it consisted of stuff as far afield as Exile on Main Street and My Bloody Valentine's Isn't Anything). The point was, it wouldn't have mattered what I nominated, because the whole contest is meaningless.
"Mmmmnn," Klosterman fumed to his rock critic friends: "He voted for all old albums as if, you know, there was no good new music." A year later, he was still fuming about it (and I paraphrase): "Mmmmmnnn! Christgau and I decided not to run it!"
Can you imagine two grown men actually consulting on something like this? As if their poll was, umm, important? As if my facetious reply would tarnish the integrity of the institution? Where's the anti-esthetic now?
Umm, Chuck, sorry, hate to break this to you: There is no good new music.
Joe S. Harrington, Portland, ME
NOAH'S BARK
I read your paper and have the following comments:
1) Restaurant guide: Above 34th: St. La Rosita can hardly be called "seedy" anymore.
2) Alan Cabal's Ringling Brothers review ("Listings," 3/24). Please do not take cheap shots at either unions or teachers. The unionized teachers in New York take care of more than one million children each day. While it is clearly a strange choice for a job, teachers are not dumb. Please smarten up.
Noah Kaufman, Manhattan
48 TO GO
You have assembled a fascinating collection of loathsome New Yorkers, from the truly vile to the chronically annoying ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31). You have left out my two personal favorites: Fred Newman and Lenora Fulani.
With their control of the Independence Party they now have a powerful cash cow and political platform at their disposal. Witness the recent $8.5 million tax-exempt bond Pataki helped them acquire for their expensive new West Side Castillo Center where they carry on their cult-like activities with the help of the governor and mayor. Now Ralph Nader seems to be eagerly trying to jump into bed with them to win the endorsement of the Independence Party. Their social therapy centers are thriving, preying on the weaknesses of troubled people who soon find themselves raising money and gathering signatures for Newman's various campaigns.
I am sure that they will be as vile and loathsome next year when you do this list again. Keep your eye on them, and keep them in mind. They surely deserve to be included.
Cheryl Moch, Manhattan
WITHER THE ERECTION?
I was lying in bed in my apartment in Austin last night, alone and thinking about David Ritchie's recent provocative consideration of post-sexuality ("Goodbye to All That," 3/24). In particular, his discerning vision of the omnipresent masculine sexual appetite posed some productive questions. Indeed, non-sexual men crowd the marginalia in a culture of sexuality, relocated into sexual exile not by force of guilt or disappointment, but unconditional empathy, a community of fearful anticipation.
The critique I prepare to offer, like quite a few arguments on sexuality in our phallocentric culture, centers around one topic: the erection. Likewise, my thesis is easily handled. While courageously disheveling the unspoken mores of masculine libido, David Ritchie's article perpetuates the devious myth that the only person more pathetic than a man who cannot keep an erection is a man who can but doesn't use it. Before I try and defend my thesis, I feel obligated to acknowledge my distorting position of analysis. As a man who regularly experiences erections, I am aware that my relationship to sexuality may have an influence beyond my conscious intentions; thus, my argument is always already necessarily flawed, and this provisional status I will try not merely to take for granted.
I can think of no more efficient start than by going straight to the source. In the second paragraph, Ritchie writes, "Suddenly, I was inactive at an age when many men were fathering children. I had lost the ability to achieve erection. And with the ability, the desire departed as well." My understanding of this problem, being theoretically based, is infinitely less accountable than Ritchie's firsthand experience. However, I feel that this transition from a state of no erection to one of no sexual desire passes too casually, too quickly and uncritically. We are presented with a figure (Ritchie, assumedly with erections at the onset), his change of situation (the ceased erections) and the changed demeanor as a result (the departed desire), but never in his article is that course between body and desire plotted. Because this terrain remains unmapped, assumptions must be made to account for this gap. Ritchie might agree that the unspoken words are often those with the most profound effect, presupposing numerous tacit agreements between unmediated parties.
A metaphor is this: Claiming that without erections the desire for sexuality departs is like a traveler claiming to no longer have wanderlust because their car got repossessed. Does ownership create desire? Is an erection property? These are pertinent questions.
I do not doubt there are studies attesting to the biological reasons that erectile dysfunction leads to diminished sexual interest, but those studies are not mentioned here, and thus cannot be confirmed. Ritchie is not accountable for comprehensive coverage of this issue, and he does not present himself as an authority. His is a personal memoir, a confessional article and concise analysis, and this does not necessitate authoritative research. But as Ritchie witnessed, from a different perspective, experience that once seemed pertinent, unavoidable and even biological can reveal itself to be heavily rooted in psychology and emotional construction as well. Whether or not a causal relationship can be drawn between erections and biology or erections and psychology does not concern me here; rather, I find it revealing that both relations readily exist, even at their most stringent absoluteness, in a mutual shifting of causality onto the agency of the erection. Quite understated is why and how the presence or absence of an erection shapes a man's sexuality, but less often is it questioned that a man without an erection has no sexuality.
This point is clearly made by all the things Ritchie does not say in these three sentences.
"Suddenly, I was inactive at an age when many men were fathering children. I had lost the ability to achieve erection. And with the ability, the desire departed as well."
I must pause to present a problem I am having regarding language. I am taking pains to avoid words like "loss" and "lack" when referring to erections. The term "erectile dysfunction" fills me with horrendous regret. The American Heritage dictionary (itself a dangerous phallus) defines "erectile dysfunction" as "The inability to achieve penile erection or maintain an erection until ejaculation." The inability. The importance of language here cannot be overstated, and attempting now to expound these ideas illustrates for me the difficulty of being accountable for a "fair and balanced" expression. This difficulty is studied in depth by structuralists, post-structuralists, deconstructionists and post-deconstructionists, and my attention to language here is not to rehash their work, but use my struggle as evidence that proves my next point: Ritchie places a man with an erection in a position of privilege.
As a lover of words, I cannot ignore the negative connotations in his phrasing: "I had lost the ability to achieve erection." The ability to achieve erection. It is easy to propose the hints of pride, status and workmanship in the word "achieve" used here. Similarly, Ritchie posits the functionality of the erection: the "ability;" a penis is valued for its use.
When not in use, a penis is a piece of flesh, a "fifth extremity"; when erect, a penis represents the vitality and desires of its beholder. Compare this standard treatment of (and standard language in regards to) the penis with that of the vagina. Rarely do people speak of the vagina's agency, of a vagina determining the sexual interest of the woman who wields it ("wielding" itself a term laden with connotations of masculine-penis-agency). Things happen to a vagina; a penis makes things happen. This construct is nothing new; it's as old as, say, heterosexism.
Now let me return to my metaphor. A traveler whose car was recently repossessed does not immediately notice a decrease in their wanderlust, just as Ritchie surely did not instantaneously lose his desire for sexual intimacy the moment he realized he would no longer achieve erection. Most likely, it's a dwindling process, one reaffirmed by time spent not doing those things previously allotted significant attention. Most likely, the desires that once flowed profusely will diminish only if other opportunities do not present themselves. I do not wish to sound patronizing, and perhaps even less do I intend for this to sound like buddy advice from one man to another, but consider the metaphor in this way: There's always the bus.
What about the train? And let's not forget walking.
To clarify this metaphor, try this one: Let's propose to throw a hypothetical sex party. The people involved are all intelligent, confident and sexually independent men and women. The party starts, people are going at it and there's this one guy (you know, "that guy") who fucks like he means it. He ejaculates and then goes and sits in the corner to regain his ability to achieve erection. He just sits there watching because, for him, you can't have sex without an erect penis.
This situation does not seem entirely unlikely. Taken from its polygamous environment and transposed onto a more typical vanilla sex scene, "that guy" probably wouldn't sit in a corner and wait for the second round; he'd roll over and fall asleep. And here's where my argument reaffirms Ritchie's: The person who engages in sexual activity solely to achieve orgasm squanders the possibilities of intimacy.
But here's where my argument quickly veers. While Ritchie may now be "liberated" by his newfound postsexual identity-his status as a eunuch-he recognizes his erectile difference as a loss, a lack, an absence for which he must justify the benefits of his therapeutic irreverence. Not for a second do I doubt that he is happier, even better off, in the margins of sexual demography, catching only glancing blows of influence that he can all the more objectively witness due to its distance.
What I question is that his humble and lucid article presents a vision of masculinity that is not already privileged as such, the phallocentric justifications of a phallogocentric discourse. I do not believe Ritchie masquerades in his article; I do not feel he postures himself in a certain way only to subjugate some hidden intention. Through this letter, I seek to point out the way Ritchie's article undermines itself not by what it says, but by what it does not say.
So what does Ritchie's article not say? I've already stated what I feel it does say: that the erection is a privilege and non-erection is a lack of privilege. Despite his well-intentioned anthropological presentation of a marginalized group of men, by appealing to a phallogocentric structure of masculinity, he necessarily must marginalize others, as this is the standard practice of the agents for those structures. And what unlucky individuals are marginalized by the erection-deficient heroes of Ritchie's article? Who is outcast from the penile outcasts? After all is said, Ritchie clearly reveres the erect penis, cherishes it at least enough to mourn its loss with a feature obituary. Few people are more contemptuous than those who do not respect the dead, and nothing infuriates a bereaved mourner more than someone who takes their living loved ones for granted. While Ritchie empathizes with his unlucky bunch, he cordons a more despicable lot: Men with erections who aren't fucking everything in sight-in short, men who do not behave as men ought.
The gap, perhaps accidental or even editorial, that prompted this letter is small but revealing. Even from a point of extreme detachment, we cannot assume to be free from the influence of identity-structuring movements around us ("liberation," in these terms, is, at best, arguable). To hold Ritchie strictly to what this article states, it might be assumed that, before his premature erectile loss, he never went down on a lover after he achieved orgasm; but as a man who more "wanted to be hugged and held, not brought to climax," I'd guess that Ritchie isn't the roll-over-and-sleep kind of lover. So I imagine he would agree with me on this: An erection is the beneficiary of sexuality, not its agent. Not having erections does not necessitate a decreased sexual libido; only when conceptions of masculinity are irredeemably intertwined with a phantasmatic vision of the erection as phallus is a man's sexuality more dependent on erections than desire.
David Meiklejohn, Austin
WHERE THERE'S SMOKE?
There is absolutely no proof in regard to health hazards from secondhand smoke. Message to Bloomberg, et al.: Produce one death certificate stating cause of death: secondhand smoke.
Just where are these legions of surviving family members? Where are the sons and daughters or wives and husbands of waiters, bartenders, etc.? Where are their lawsuits for unlawful deaths?
At the most, secondhand smoke is equal to perfume, cologne, etc. Not a cause of death.
Otherwise, enjoyed the list ("50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers," 3/31).
Clare Lynch, Queens