YOU'RE WRONG
An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
A butterfly flaps its wings in Beijing. A tornado blows through Kansas. Tim Yohannan dies. Bob Guccioni Jr. sells Spin and starts a fashion magazine. Connections anyone?
I don't know. But this month I want to write about Spin and death, so I'll make the connection. First, let me talk about Spin.
Although the punk establishment considers it Rolling Stone with a glossy cover, it's actually more. In a way, it's what Rolling Stone used to be. Used to be when Hunter S Thompson wrote for it. Used to be when it printed "fuck" and no one else would.
Used to be when it had balls.
Spin printed AIDS articles challenging doctor and drug company propaganda. They included a free condom, provoking Christian wrath and causing fundie stores like Walmart to take it off the shelves.
On the other hand, while they've been ass kissy to some high powered groups, the ad department censors a Matador record ad.
Why? It has the word "fuck" in it.
I come home and take a shit, as is my habit. While perched on the thrown, pinching brown drops, I listen to my voicemail.
"Hello," comes a voice, "my name is Eric Weisbart. I'm doing a story for Spin magazine. I'd like to talk to you."
Naturally, since it's 1998, at first I assume he's asking for my photo to run as the "Man of The Millennium." As I listen, I discover that's wrong. What he wants is to come over and pick up a bunch of my old MRRs. He's doing a story on MRR-- for Spin.
I call the number he leaves.
"Hello," answers the machine, "you've reached Eric Weisbart, music editor of The Village Voice,..." Wow! I got some macher.
Eventually, we make an appointment. I show up a day early and he takes me to his office. He's a young-journalist type with thick black hair just long enough to be alternative. He wears a sincere, pensive look on his clean-shaven face. His amorphous body seems just on the thin edge of 30.
OK, this could be anyone, I figure. I need to know if I should trust him to write something fair-- at least about me. The Village Voice is so standard liberal there's no telling what his ideas might be.
I drop a few "homos" and "Negroes" in the conversation. It doesn't phase him. He talks like he knows what he's talking about. He also listens, letting me talk as much about myself as about MRR. I like people like that. As a matter of fact, I like this guy. It's not a "let's be friends and finish that vodka bottle" like. Not a "hey, wanna come over and look at my Minor Threat singles?" like. But something closer to "this guy wants to do something good and isn't out to screw people over so that makes him cool" like.
"Hey Mykel," he says, "you wanna write Tim's obituary for The Voice?"
"I promised one to Jim Testa," I say, "but I'll do one for you too. I seem to be the obit man these days."
GG Allin, Donny, Tim. "You write great obituaries, Mykel." It's not a talent I enjoy.
Now what about working with Spin? Am I collaborating with the enemy?
I've got no problem with lending my MRRs. Libraries have back issues. So does Ted at See/Hear. For me, the more folks that see it, the better. The problem is, Eric wants to quote me... and Ruth Schwartz, Jeff Bale and all the other toothless balding scenesters who provided the primeval forehead for MRR to spring from.
My first thought is "Would Tim have wanted it?" Not that he's down there watching, ready to send demons of retribution.
Still, if you love and respect somebody, you don't wanna fuck 'em over. Even if they're dead.
Thinking about it, I figure Tim wouldn't have given a shit.
People wrote stuff about him all the time. When it was negative, especially if it was name-calling, it pissed him off. When it was neutral, or supportive. He didn't care. No brownie points, but no lectures or purges either.
My next thought is: OK, this guy is gonna write the story whether I talk to him or not. Should he take his journalistic golden shower from my penis or from somebody who hates Tim. Or worse-- from some clueless "rock journalist" who gets all his information from other clueless rock journalists. Isn't it better that Ruth, Jeff and I piss on him than you-know-who? At least he'll get it right.
Next question: What's he gonna do with the story? Answer: I don't know. Ben Weasel refuses to talk to him. The rock press used his words before, throwing context to piranhas. Misquoted, the devious perverts of the journalistic world remade his words for their own vengeful ends. He's seen, he says, too many asses get penetrated with remarks intended for something else. He won't be further lube on the probe.
Valid point, but I disagree. A hatchetjob will be one anyway. At least I can try to soften the blow. Besides, how bad can this Eric-guy be if he'll print my obituary of Tim. I don't write like those other Voice guys. I'm not Mr. Popularity with that newspaper. He's taking a chance.
Eric is nice enough in person. He's interested when I call Tim "the Pol Pot of punk." He's more interested when I tell him that tough men's men like Jeff, Ben and I cried for the first time since we were in diapers, when we learned that Tim died.
He's willing to shut off the phone, and just listen-- very unVoice-ish. I trust the guy.
Jeff talks to him too. He knows Eric from his writing in California. Jeff didn't like it.
Bale starts his interview with, "I think your writing sucks shit and you don't know what you're talking about. Now, what can I do for you?"
I'm not gonna say go out and buy Spin. I hope I'll be able to scam a copy from Eric. You might want to just hang out in the store and read it. Find out if I made the right decision.
OK, that's the Spin part. Here comes death. Tammy Wynette, Wendy O Williams, even whatsisname from Christian Death. All in a month-- maybe two. People talk about the coming "death of Spin" or the "death of MRR." These could be deaths too.
All of them might be interesting, even sad in an intellectual way, but ultimately they're no more than news. Tim's death, like Donny's was not. Neither of these guys wanted to die.
Both were only slightly older than me. Both had more life and spirit than all the Krishnas in India. Their deaths didn't MEAN anything. It wasn't fitting, ironic, didactic or any other smiley-faced adjective. When some looneybird walks into a schoolyard and machineguns half a dozen kids in the playground, people call it a senseless act. God pulled one of those on Tim.
This isn't an obituary or a memorial. If you want that, read The Voice. I'm not writing about dead people-- or dead zines-- or dying ones. I'm writing about death itself.
A guy dressed like Willy Loman stands in Times Square. His blue suit hangs loosely from his body. A straw hat droops over one eye. He speaks into a handheld mic connected to a small amplifier, yelling about sinning and salvation.
Prepare to meet thy God! says the sign hung around his neck.
As I pass, he hands me a leaflet.
"You're a sinner. You might die any day." he says, "then it'll be too late. Accept Christ now!"
"Sinner?" I say roused from my thoughts about hitting the ever fewer porno shops, "I'm not ENOUGH of a fuckin' sinner. When I die I want to have sinned so much my prostate comes out my asshole!"
He looks at me like I'm the crazy one.
I've written before about my view of God. She's about 9 feet tall, pretty, wears a black leather bikini and wields a fierce whip. We are her toys. She tries to make our lives so bad that we kill ourselves. Occasionally, she tempts us with fragile moments of delight. Before long, shit smashes them into tiny shards. We pray. She laughs.
Our job is to fight the bitch. To make the most of the puddle of puke we live in. To grab by the neck each awful day and wring some joy out of it. We're all gonna go sometimes. Maybe we'll meet her when we do. I wanna be ready. I wanna fistfuck the bitch and say, "OK, I'm dead, but I beat you. I used those good moments. Made some myself. Despite your cracking whip."
Things change. People die. Institutions die. Good and bad.
Cool and shitty. They all come and go. Some leave their mark.
Some don't. Tim, Donny, GG Allin, and all who are really great fight that bitch to the end. They keep going, doing what's right, no matter what tricks the bitch serves up. Knowing she can't win, finally, she just knocks 'em off.
Will MRR survive Tim? Will Spin survive Guccione? Will I write more obituaries? Who'll write mine? And how soon? Who knows?
There no telling what nefarious plans the bitch goddess has cooked up. She'll find a way to fuck us over when we least expect it. There's no doubt about that. The best we can do is to live our lives hard while we're able. Not to give up. To do those things we've got to do while we can. To kiss who needs kissing.
To interview who needs interviewing. To support who needs supporting. To fuck who needs fucking. To trounce who needs trouncing.
Make a mistake? Apologize, fix it if you can, and go on. Any minute that carpet is gonna be pulled out from beneath your feet.
You're gonna take a nasty spill. Fall and you can't get up. Just make sure you can look back to your time on your feet and say it was worth the fight.
ENDNOTES:
--> You can read the whole hilarious story about the Spin/Matador censorship
controversy at:
http://matador.catalogue.com/escandalo/5/spin.html).
Cosloy sure makes 'em look funny.
--> Getting back dept: I hate to tread on another columnist's sacred territory. But,
with all these websites, I will. Besides ego-surfing (that is, looking through cyberspace
for references to myself), I also like to scare up some goodies. One of these is the Scam
& Revenge site:
http://www.sas.shaw.wave.ca/~corleone/revenge.html.
Check it out.
--> The erotic carrot-plunger Ms. M sends me info about an exposŠ website that
also exposes. At
http://www.lairofluxlucre.com/detective/index.html,
this site has all those nude celebrity pix you've been jerking off to. It shows the
original head and body that they belong to, along with the replacement. Damn! I thought
that DiCaprio blow-job was real!
--> Further websites & nookie dept: A nice forum on other sexuality has started at: http://www.danpedo.to/forum. You'll find lots of intellectual stuff, though no pictures. My fledgling website is at: http://www.freeyellow.com/members2/seidboard/ you can even sign my guestbook, though I haven't figured out if it'll accept pictures.
---> Moral dilemma dept: ADULT CHECK is a website hustle. You charge $15 a year to
your credit card. Since you have a creditcard, that means you're an adult. The site then
gives you a PIN for access to a whole lot of stroke-able internet sites.
Here's the problem: I don't believe in censorship or age limits for anything except
marriage. (There, the age limit should be 115). The whole adult check system sucks. On the
left hand, therefore, I should freely circulate my PIN so anyone, regardless of age can
use it.
On the other hand, the one I jerk off with, if I give my number away, two people with that
number could log in at the same time. A.C. will know I've cheated and cancel the number.
They'll never give me another. Worse than that, the whole system could break down. As with
every other type of government invasion, the feds could close all sex sites in the name of
"protecting the kids."
The solution: a scam. OK kids, you can do it. It's not that hard to get hold of a credit
card from someplace. It's not that hard to use a search engine to find the Adult Check
site. Of course, advocating this stuff might be illegal, so I'm not. I'm just letting you
know it's out there.
--> Just say NO to God dept: Here comes another organization of the good guys. Called Americans United for Separation of Church and State, they fight the Christian Coalition and other forces of evil. You can get info for a SASE from AUSCS, PO Box 96033, Washington DC 20077-7123
-->Some joker dept: Some joker subscribed me to The Christian Publications
Bookstores Catalog. Well, at least it's good for comic relief. My favorite is the CD ROM
Larry Burkett's Money Matters From Christian Financial Concepts. Part of the description
reads "Learn to glorify God with your money and start on the road to financial
security..."
Glorify God with your money? Yeah right. Wasn't there something about a camel and the eye
of a needle? Maybe cash lubricates the opening.
By the way, that same catalog reveals there's now a Christian Ska band called THE
INSYDERZ, Oy vey!
-->Further on the God Front dept: Pediatrics, a medical journal, reports on U.S.
children who died after their parents used faith healing on them. According to their
figures, 80% of those children would probably have survived if they used standard medical
treatment.
In one case, a 2-year-old child choked on a banana piece and struggled for an hour. Her
parents called members of their religious group to pray for her. She died.
Then there was a 12-year-old girl whose parents prayed for seven months while a tiny tumor
grew to 41 inches across. Then she died.
-->Squatweiler, a fun fem band is pissing people off by spamming folks to come to their website. Anybody who can be fun, sexy and piss people off is ok in my book. See for yourself: http://squatweiler.netenterprises.com
--> First do no harm dept: If you like coffee, but don't like the idea of Juan
Valdez tied to a tree with an American whip against his balls, you might try Equal
Exchange. This coffee company trades directly with small family cooperatives, cutting out
the gringo middleman. They pay the farmers a fixed fair price and that price stays, even
if the bottom drops out of the coffee market. That's what they say, of course. I haven't
been to Columbia to check it out, but it sounds good. If you wanna talk to them, though,
you can call 'em toll free at (800) 265-0629.
Tell 'em I sent ya. Maybe I'll get some cool beans.
--> With laws like these, how come everyone isn't an anarchist dept: Newcastle, Wyoming, specifically bans couples from having sex while standing inside a store's walk-in meat freezer. There is no mention whether the sex is legal if the couple lies down.
--> Late thanks dept: I forgot to thank Norb for the scab on the side of my penis. Thanks Norb! The video sucked, but the magazine was well worth the pain.
--Mykel (mykelB@ix.netcom.com) http://www.freeyellow.com/members2/seidboard/
