The Dreams of a Teenage Anthony Weiner
I am a statesman delivering a much-anticipated speech in an ornate hall. I approach the dais and unfurl my prepared remarks. The packed crowd watches my every movement, rapt. I look down and realize I have neglected to wear a shirt, and am staring out at the gathered men and women completely bare-chested. My toes feel the floor beneath my feet, and I understand that my shoes and socks have been forgotten as well. Finally, I notice that I am wearing neither pants nor undergarments and, in fact, am standing before these dignitaries naked as the day I was born. But suddenly, my dream turns into a nightmare, as I realize that my press secretary has failed to notify the media of my address. There is not a single camera or reporter present: no broadsheets, tabloids, or nightly news. Disaster! I step down from the dais and furiously rebuke this imbecile employee until he breaks down in tears. Returning to the speech, I receive a standing ovation and seven scattered “bravos!”
I am at Shea Stadium and Jerry Koosman is on the mound. An elderly Japanese man has taken my seat by mistake; naturally, I irately reprimand him. But just as he lifts his dagger to commit hara-kiri—which would be especially ironic, as the Mets are playing the Cubs—I deliver a heroic speech about the wonders of life, and he is saved. The game is going into the top of the 7th and the Mets are winning, 104 to 2. It occurs to me that I must urinate, so I excuse myself to visit Shea’s immaculately maintained men’s room. A man appears at the urinal to my right, eating a hoagie. It is Koosman! “Aren’t you supposed to be pitching right now?” I inquire. Koosman laughs my question away, as if he gets such queries all the time. “Young fella, someday, you’re gonna run this town,” he tells me. “Let’s introduce you to some voters.” Koosman tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carries me onto the field. I stand on the pitcher’s mound, urinating, as the game goes on around me. The entire stadium boos. After the game, I shake hands and collect signatures from 835 registered Democrats.
A parade. I stand at the side of the road with my fellow spectators, all of whom wear old-time straw hats, for it is 1934. I am nude but for a strategically placed sombrero—strategically placed, that is, atop my head, so that it can provide my manhood with much-needed shade. Suddenly, an old hag appears. “Hide your shameful manhood!” she cackles. I turn to confront her, for I am a New Yorker and refuse to take any guff, but she disintegrates into thin air. In the parade, an elegant convertible slowly passes, ferrying Fiorello La Guardia. I make a show of berating the mayor, lambasting him for his failed policies as the gathered newsmen, impressed with my performance, take note. A makeshift press conference is convened as I take questions from the reporters. I turn back to Mayor La Guardia to find that he has transformed into his alter ego, Señor Sexy. He is joined in the convertible by several female supporters; they engage in love-making.
The Lowbrow Reader Reader: Addenda and Annotations—Chevy Chase
Chevy Chase (with G-d, right)
One of the more prescient features of The Lowbrow Reader Reader, our eminently orderable book anthology, is a two-part piece debating the respective merits and deficiencies of Chevy Chase. In the book, Ben Goldberg argues against the comedian, while Joe O’Brien defends the oft-maligned star—a Lincoln-Douglas debate for the modern age. The chapters initially appeared in Lowbrow Reader #5, back in 2006, well before the actor’s resurgence on Community. All of which prompts the question: Have Chevy Chase’s recent activities done anything to change the two writers’ minds? Let’s find out!—Ed
Ben Goldberg: I like to see myself as not being an angry guy. Don’t we all? I fully embrace aging and the sense of wisdom that comes from it, and how one realizes the ephemeral nature of most feelings. And yet, in the years since I wrote this piece on why I dislike Chevy Chase, my disgust at his existence has only gone from rubber to cement, forming a hardened ball of trigger-hate at anything he does.
And it has not been easy. The past decade has seen to completion the Chase Comeback. It started with a revisionist article in Entertainment Weekly, continued with increasing appearances on Saturday Night Live (as that show has become “In Praise Of Lorne” in every sense but name), and coalesced in the cosmos with Community, everyone acting like he is not a talentless jerk.
I am convinced that the only reason this has happened is nostalgia. We love to love what we loved when we were 11, and nobody is going to taint the purity of that youthful joy. Hence, Chase surfs a misty-eyed wave of bullshit as a pathetic attempt at self-justification. You hear people all the time quoting lines from Chevy Chase movies, but do they ever say his lines? What situation fits a comment by the egotistical buffoon character he drilled into the gravel?
Prince can be an ass; I still love his music. Russell Crowe can throw whatever he wants at anyone; I still respect his acting. Chevy Chase is a bloated vessel of emptiness, standing on wisps of memory to see himself as taller than others.
Great. Now I’m all worked up.
Joe O’Brien: Do I still like Chevy?
In my pro-Chevy piece for the Lowbrow Reader back in 2006, I predicted that Chevy would make a comeback once he channeled his inner bastard and put it on the screen. It pretty much came true with his role as moist towelette entrepreneur Pierce Hawthorne on Community. Chevy was back. On primetime TV, dammit.
Naturally he blew it, feuding with the show’s creator, alienating the cast and slinging racial slurs on set. But still, as a lifelong Chevy fan, I felt some vindication.
A few years ago, through a generous friend, an opportunity came up for me to spend a day on the set of Community. I jumped at it, obviously, because I am a star struck rube. I wanted to get my picture taken with Chevy, and maybe coax a Fletch quote out of him.
I met my friend on the Paramount lot and we wandered the fake grounds of the Greendale Community College campus. The crew was setting up some elaborate stunt scene, so we were able to sit and talk with Joel McHale and Ken Jeong for a while. They were both very nice and funny; my friend asked Joel if Chevy was around, because I really wanted a picture with him.
I was a little embarrassed—and doubly so when Joel stared at me, completely stone-faced, and said, “Why?”
Ken then turned to Joel, real sarcastic, and said, “What do you mean ‘why,’ Joel? Don’t you know Chevy invented comedy?”
For the next half hour, I was given a blow-by-blow of the rigors of working with Chevy. The highlight was a description of how Chevy would walk around the set making off-color remarks and the writers would follow him around taking notes. The writers would then put some version of what Chevy said in the next script. Chevy would read it and complain, “That’s awful, I’m not saying that.” Then they’d tell him that he had said it at lunch the previous week and he’d say, “It’s brilliant. Leave it in!”
It was a fun day. Fans of Community probably remember the paintball episode. I was there right after they shot it, so the set was covered with paintball splatters. Unfortunately, it was Chevy’s day off. I saw his lonely trailer plunked on the lot, and even that exuded a kind of sourness after all the stories I had heard. I left the set figuring I had missed my one chance to see Chevy in the puffy flesh.
Cut to a year later into my Los Angeles decline. I was working as a caterer. During awards season, I would work all these high-profile parties and feel like a lowly insect serving drinks and food to the famous.
I was working a big Emmy party, which was unsettling. The casts for all the big shows would arrive together in the same giant limos. So all at once, here comes the whole cast of Breaking Bad, Mad Men, etc…. Then they would splinter off and overlap into some weird alternate TV universe where Don Draper is having a drink with Walter White and there are enough stray cast members of Lost lingering around to make things creepy.
The cast of Community arrived and I decided against saying hello to Joel McHale, since I figured he probably wouldn’t remember me. Or, even worse, he would and I would be embarrassed. Then, while all the people from the TV shows were drinking and having fun, I spotted Chevy off by himself, sitting on a couch way in the back, just kind of staring into space. I thought it was appropriate and sad and I walked by a couple of times. He showed no interest in the tray of tuna cones or salmon flatbread or whatever I was hawking. Then I saw his wife come over with two small plates full of little appetizers; he looked really happy, smiled and was really affectionate to her. They stayed off to themselves away from the party sharing their food. It was kind of sweet. He seemed harmless—the kind of guy who calls you an “egg timer” as an insult (which Chevy is known to do).
Anyway, I guess this is a long, meandering way of saying: Yeah, I still like the old bastard.
Dishwasher for Hire
In the late ’90s, after I had graduated from college but before I was prepared to leave it behind, I lived in Boston and was up to no good. I worked for a short stretch as an office temp, and for a long stretch as a late-night cookie delivery person. At some point—perhaps inspired by the great old zine Dishwasher, perhaps by the street posters of Camden Joy—I concocted a scheme to earn money as a dishwasher-for-hire at private residences. While I never actually enacted the plan, I did design a flyer, which I recently unearthed while looking for something else. Reading the flyer now, I think I made a fairly convincing argument. Though I am embarrassed to admit that three of the four bullet points included toward the end are outright lies.
Ask Gabe
The Lowbrow Reader is proud to present our new online column, in which Gabe Lieberman, National Director of the Anti-Anti-Semitism Committee, gives sex advice to teens.
Dear Gabe,
My boyfriend and I have been together for three months. He says it’s time to take our relationship “to the next level.” Gabe, I am 17, and consider myself pretty mature. But how does a girl know when it’s time to “take that step”?
Sincerely,
Confused in St. Louis
Dear Confused,
Did you know that a recent public opinion survey indicates that 30 percent of the American people believe that American Jews are more loyal to Israel than to the United States? This is an anti-Semitic canard—the same percentage of people in the United States believe that the Jews killed Christ. So while it may or may not be time for you to “take that step,” do keep in mind that your behavior reinforces the pernicious notion of Jewish control over this government.
Shalom Aleichem,
Gabe
Back in Stock: Lowbrow Reader #2!
Let us reflect upon the summer of 2002: The Iraq War was but a glimmer in the eyes of a young Dick Cheney, Canadian art-rock heartthrobs Nickelback were climbing the Billboard, and the Lowbrow Reader was publishing its second issue. And a fine issue it was! Articles included Neil Michael Hagerty’s “A Survey of Recently Declassified Literature” and Michaelangelo Matos’s profile of Slim Gaillard (both later included in our book, The Lowbrow Reader Reader), as well as shorter pieces about Jack Benny, Owen Wilson, and the Judd Apatow sitcom Undeclared. As if the readers of ’02 needed more convincing, the issue concluded with the lyrics to Jonathan Richman’s “When Harpo Played His Harp.”
Lowbrow Reader #2 has been sold out for years, and most of its articles and illustrations do not appear in The Lowbrow Reader Reader. But now, for the first time in a long time, the issue is available once again: We recently unearthed some extra copies that journeyed from Boston to rural Washington to Western Massachusetts before arriving in New York City. It was a heroic trip, indeed. Get your Lowbrow Reader issue #2 today via our handy ordering page—but act fast, as supplies are limited!
[UPDATE: Sorry, issue #2 is sold out once more.]
The Lowbrow Reader Reader: Addenda and Annotations—Meet Cover Artist John Mathias
Crack open our eminently orderable book anthology, The Lowbrow Reader Reader, and one of the first things to catch your eye is the gallery of Lowbrow Reader covers, all featuring a bathroom gag by one John Mathias. The artist was also responsible for the colorfully disgusting illustration gracing the book’s cover. (The book cover was designed by the great Mike Reddy; the rest was designed by the great Matthew Berube.) Let’s check in with Mathias, the Picasso of the lavatory, to ask him about his decade-plus drawing people in bathroom situations for The Lowbrow Reader….
You illustrated the cover for Lowbrow Reader #1, back in 2001. What do you remember about that first assignment? And honestly, what in god’s name made you agree to it?
I remember that it made sense to me immediately. Guy on toilet using Burberry toilet paper? Sure! For some reason, he was supposed to be Japanese, so I based him on my upstairs neighbor who was a club DJ named Gak. He would do his thing into the wee hours of the morning inside the apartment without headphones. So in a passive aggressive way I was getting back at him. (more…)
Celebrating the Best of Man
Morning routine I rise at dawn, so enraptured with life that the mere thought of unconsciousness is repulsive, and swim for two hours. I like to get to the office early so I can help our janitor, Raúl, with his English.
Religion Zen Buddhist Capitalist
Biggest lie you once believed Youth ends at 50
Car Mercedes X740-T Zebra Ultra L74, Silver Class
Cigar of choice I don’t smoke cigars
No, really Corona Gorda (Aurora 1495 BME, Nicaragua) (more…)
On Newsstands Now! Fashion Projects #4!
We are kvelling over the unveiling of the new issue of Fashion Projects, the fancy sister publication of The Lowbrow Reader. The issue, the journal’s fourth, is devoted entirely to the subject of fashion criticism. It features interviews with some swank individuals, including International Herald Tribune critic Suzy Menkes, W editor Stefano Tonchi, The New Yorker’s Judith Thurman, and New York Times culture writer Guy Trebay. Fashion Projects is edited by Lowbrow Reader contributor Francesca Granata; issue #4 includes work by Lowbrow editor Jay Ruttenberg as well as Lowbrow artists Nathan Gelgud and Doreen Kirchner, who drew the lovely cover image. How’s that for crossover? The two publications even share a home: PO Box 65 at the East Village’s Cooper Station post office. (It’s roomier than you might think in there.)
Run, don’t walk! Order Fashion Projects today!
The Newest New New York City Neighborhoods
Hurricane Sandy gave #SoPo (South of Power) its day as a trending topic. But what are the other up-and-coming areas? Here are some of the new New York City Neighborhoods:
SALIVA (Streets Around Little Italy and Vicinity)
If you have a taste for the pungent, SALIVa is for you. This neighborhood begins somewhere beneath the Williamsburg Bridge and seeps West until you don’t like the shops anymore. Goose your pallet with the wines of Italy and the culinary fare of Chinatown as you breathe in the designer perfumes, aromatherapy candles, and scented room sprays of Soho. Ponder the lengths to which your ancestors went to move out of the five-story tenement of your desires. SALIVa truly is a formerly rent-controlled cafeteria for the senses! (more…)
The Lowbrow Reader Reader: Addenda and Annotations—Issue #1
A Hanukkah Gift for You!
The Lowbrow Reader Reader, our Nobel-worthy tome published by Drag City earlier this year, is what one might term a “best-of” compendium, surveying the eight Lowbrow Reader issues that preceded it. By our rough count, the book features seven articles from Lowbrow Reader #5, six articles from Lowbrow Reader #7, and so forth. But what of our modest beginnings, 2001’s Lowbrow Reader #1? Why, the book features a mere two lousy selections!
To amend this slight and raise a glass to the holiday season, we would like to offer a free copy of Lowbrow Reader #1 to anybody who was kind enough to read our book. That’s right: An awe-inspiring $3 value…free! (more…)