Selections from the PopCult mail room,
as chosen by Zippy McDuff, The Invisible Intern™.

Send us your own letter!
(Please tell us whether to include your e-mail address.)

 

LETTER OF THE WEEK: LET'S HATE EVERYTHING!

All the kids at school are wearing these faded pants. You know, the ones that are perfectly clean, like dark blue Wrangler's or something, but then–out of nowhere–have this big white stain on the knee, or the calve, or thigh, or the butt cheek. This I don't understand.

There is this laundry detergent commercial about a 'tween boy, who goes to school with these clean, dark blue Wrangler-type jeans and gets rebuffed by some snobby little sixth-grade vixen for not having the "faded look."

Abercrombie & Fitch, the house of prep for the misinformed student and the uncomfortable codger, is now selling ripped shirts and these faded jeans for an exponential markup that makes Nike's slave-made shoes look like the Marshall Plan.

All of these things show us, the American Consumer, how stupid we are. Pop Culture is really just an excuse for being narrow-minded, a fool who spits in the face of transcendentalism (which never worked anyway, but made a point) and flocks with all the other foolish butterflies to Mexico, when we all know Bermuda has much nicer shores and cleaner water.

This magazine, as its vague editorial manifesto states, is a magazine of pop culture, but can we trust pop culture? Pop culture is the same cheap bag of marketing tricks that brought in spandex pants and the band Journey in the 1980s; it's the same floozy whore who got everyone into digipets in the 1990s and got Britney Spears her breasts and then, in a cruel circle, got all three on MTV. With all this crap, from Alf to Zebra gum, to be pissed off at, we, the American Consumer, still rent videos starring pop stars that don't know a producer from a pimp, and we, the American Consumer, still buy Pepsi and Pringles based on dancing breasts and centerfold beach parties, and we, the American Consumer, still buy Bowflex and join Jenny Craig on the advice of people who have been skinny and fit their entire lives. We are really really stupid.

Keeping this in mind, why did you come to this site in the first place? First, you might be really really stupid. Second, you might be looking for something more; something different from whatever it is that Entertainment Weekly has to say about Halle Berry and her stupid perm. Third, you might just be ready for some analytical dissemination of the carefully commercialized, airbrushed reporting of the rich and famous. Either way you're a victim of the crap that supermarket tabloids have been feeding and your mother ever since bread came sliced. But, I'm betting on door number three (did I mention all those pop culture phrases that we pick up–really really stupid).

Assume for a moment that the lives of people richer than you, people who are three thousands miles and four paycheck-digits away from you, actually matter. Let's assume anyone's life really matters. Then, and only then, this silly little magazine means something. But their lives don‚t matter, and yours matters even less. I don't care what Angelina Jolie is doing for Guatemala, or what Bono is talking to the Vice President about, or whom Russel Crowe is beating up; it doesn't matter.

But we, the American Consumer, make it matter. We make our daily trivialities of cleaning the showerhead, and filing papers, and matching skirts and blouses matter. We make the world around us matter. Then, we expand this circle of mattering from our choice of antiseptic vs. deodorant vs. soft-on-the-skin soap to the lives and trivialities of others. And so forms our pop culture.

The first pop culture probably started when our Darwinian brethren, the mud guppy, decided that Guppy #1's puddle of mud was cooler than Guppy #2's, and so did Feminine Guppy #3, who went and fornicated with Guppy# 1. There he was, in a puddle of icky stuff, the first babe-magnet of our time; Guppy #1: the guppy with the golden mud. Then all the other guppies realized that to be cool they had to start chillin' in the cooler mud, and there was pop culture.

Now pop culture is too big to even imagine: it's the clothes we wear, the gum we step in, the TV we watch, the books we read, the things we say, the gestures we make–it's everything. Our lives are defined by that vague, promiscuous notion of pop culture. The way we see the world is defined by the new Woody Allen film, or whatever Seinfeld is whining about, or whose dating who in Hollywood, or who Chelsea Clinton sat with in Paris. Our lives have been stolen from us and regifted to the magi-authors of garbage that tells us who we are, what cologne is best, what to do on the weekend, how to handle our girlfriends, what our girlfriends need to look like, what kind of sex we have–it's as if Hearst Publishing, Hugh Hefner and Jules Asner are the Almighty Beacon of our lives.

We see this everywhere: from the pages of Cosmo, to the local multiplex, at the mall, on CNN–our existence is shaped by what the media tells us is our culture. Sure, we know what we like, the masses speak out and tell us where to go, but from that small rush of trendsetters it, the "pop" explodes outwards like a can of gas from a bad Steven Segul (sic) movie (if there is a good Steven Segul movie).

How many people actually needed a Tickle Me Elmo?

We are all so defined by our possessions. We are what Brad Pitt, in Fight Club, says we aren't to be, our wallets. We are our pants. We are our car. We are everything that isn't and nothing that is. We stay after work to make money, and we skip dinner to watch TV. The problem goes far beyond pop culture, but it is so essential in the billions of dollars that are funneled into actors turning ticks and designer's ads in The New Yorker; some people like art and comfortable clothes, sure, but most others like what they are told to like.

So we have this magazine, telling us, again, for the thousandth time what is cool and what isn't. But, hey, that's what people want, that's what I write about, that's what people need to feel; like they are something more than, the eventual, fodder for flowers that they are. Movies, and TV, and faded pants give us perspective on our world, sure; but too often they define it. So, when reading this magazine, a product of Zebra gum, Britney's breasts and platform shoes, let us, the American Consumer, remember that it is only a perspective, it is only a magazine and if we hold it, or anything pop culture-ish, too close it becomes a repressive prison of self.

T-t-that's all folks!

Ry Rivard
ryrivard@yahoo.com

What's so bad about Zebra gum?
–Ed.

 

UNSOLICITED WORDS OF KINDNESS

Hey-
Just followed a link on Yahoo's what's new page to your site. You guys are
cruisin' down my street and up my alley. Keep up the good work!
Kristen
(e-mail address withheld)

Dear Mr. Turczyn,
Spent about two hours reading through your site and found it very
entertaining. Please keep it up.
Another site you may like in a pop culture vein is www.lileks.com. I have
been reading it for about two years now and enjoy it very much.
Once again, great site. I hope that everything goes well.
Mike
Cleveland, OH
(e-mail address withheld)

Lileks.com is indeed a wonderful site, with some great galleries. I particularly enjoyed the tour of The Gobbler. Has anybody witnessed this stupendous Milwaukee motel in the flesh?
—Ed.

 

Hello
http://www.topthat.net/webrock/
This is a link that no pop culture website should be without.
Also, I enjoyed your article on America's most superflous magazines. What
about one on America's most superflous TV shows? My votes go to
Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood—30 minutes of the most useless
information on TV...

Michael Chevalier
m.chevalier@chinookmultimedia.com

While The Flintstones are a better than average Hanna-Barbera product, I must keep my allegiance to the gang at Warner Bros. And I'm not sure if it's humanly possible to narrow down only five superfluous TV shows—there's just so damn many. How can any one show claim the top slot? It boggles the mind.
—Ed.

 

Thanks
This female laughed her over forty ass off over your online mag! It's 8:39PM, no dinner on the table...but there's one happy mother in the house.
My thanks to Yahoo for today's Daily Wire having PopCult as the Daily Pick.

Eileen McMullin,
fodmom@yahoo.com

Member - FOD Family Support Group
"We Are All In This Together"
http://www.fodsupport.org

Advocate for Comprehensive Newborn Screening
www.savebabies.org
"Saving Babies One Foot At a Time"

Back to Viewer Mail Archive

 

©2002 PopCult™