liberty punk "the irony of the information age is that it's given new respectability to uninformed opinion."
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Things I Have Seen Enough Of
Things I have seen enough of: These ultra-hip, mega-trendy, uber-in-style magazines. The magazines with imaginary debates between Bush and Saddam ("Bush: Hyuck hyuck, I am a dumb cowboy fascist. Saddam: I only want to help my beloved peoples!") The ones with a bunch of rich white neo-hippies talking about how great rap is, and how awful it is that the white people have stolen it from the black people. The ones with photos of J.D. Samson from Le Tigre hanging out at some bisexual juice bar (how can a juice bar be bisexual? Hey, it's 2003, it can be whatever it wants to be, man) with some other counterculture icon, toasting to the opening of some self-proclaimed "artist's" gallery show, which happens to consist of nine hundred 8x10 black & white photographs of homeless people holding up little signs with corporate logos on them (OH! THE IRONY! WATCH OUT!).
The magazines that seem to have some kind of a once-an-issue obligation to do a 14-page article on how "society" "forces" girls to be skinny, articles that are interrupted every 2 pages for ads that feature two women making out, women with thighs as thick as my wrist (OH! THE SELF-CONTR-- oh, wait. This is UltraHip MegaTrendy CityStyle UrbanBeat Magazine, and it can contradict itself however it wants, man) and what the hell are these ads advertising, anyway? They're making out on a Simmons Beautyrest mattress covered in expensive-looking flowers-- which 800 number am I supposed to call for fuck's sake?
The magazines that are thick with full-color, bleed-to-edge, high-gloss, designed-by-some-asshead with-seven-degrees-from-Parsons pages, pages that are bursting with fashion spreads depicting this month's hottest Shiny-Faced, European-ish Models wearing eight-thousand dollar sweaters and belts that were probably manufactured by the very same third-world slave labor that was just denounced three pages earlier as "The Worst Thing That's, Like, Happening In The World Right Now."
I'm not even the type of guy who generally reads "guy" magazines about hot rods and PDAs and rock-climbing-equipment, but I'll gladly take FHM or Maxim over magazines like this. At least the "True Stories" in the back of FHM are always about what some dumb idiot did to his mother in law while he was piss-drunk on Tequiza. I like stories like that. One can only read so many "True Stories" about transvestites menstruating on the 'D' train on their way home from the Fat Guy Eating Beans And Shitting postmodern art exhibit.