<=============================> < > < ANTI-PRESS EZINE #35 > < > <=============================> "We're Positive About The Negative" This E-dition filed 1/25/03. (C) Copyright 2003 Anti-Press ============================================================= * Asstute Hall Of Fame: Frostbitten Logic * Gruesomely cold. For the last few days vampire coldness has been trying to suck the heat and life out of yours truly. Of course, living so close to the Canadian border, we enjoy Arctic blasts that come down from the North, Absolute Zero versus warm-blooded humanity. The other night the mercury contracted to nineteen degrees below zero on the Fahrenheit scale. During the daytime the temps barely rise above zero, staying in the single digits. We immeasurably hate winter. To quote M.C. Escher, winter is "cold white misery." But don't say that to the Siberian Goth Girl who works at the Cubbyhole Cafe. We walked in one afternoon, bundled from head to foot in life-saving layers, and she smiled. She knows that we prefer the blazing heaven of summer to the freezing hell of winter. Goth Girl doesn't like heat or light. Of course, this means that she doesn't pass on the opportunity to point out how the lower end of the thermometer scale is better (for her) than the higher end. She considers summer as hot blinding misery. We got a cup of steaming coffee. As part of our warm-up routine, we sipped the Brewed Nectar of the Gods and engaged in a heated argument with Goth Girl about winter or summer, which season was preferable. She chided us for being too sensitive about the frosty air burning our lungs, biting our nose, ears, fingers, any flesh that was briefly unprotected. To her the cold wasn't that bad at all; no problem. Then, without missing a beat, Siberian Goth Girl asked us -- after we had finally restored our body core to a normal temp - to do her a favor. "My shift is over in five minutes. Could you go outside and warm up my car?"ÊÊ * Dissing Disco * Maurice Gibbs is dead but disco lives on. We regret when a formerly-popular pop artist dies. It means that we have to suffer through the rediscovery of his work. Every TeeVee and radio outlet has to dig out and dust off the old tunes and then flood the airwaves, reminding us how much we hated the alleged works of art the first time around. And such outpouring of nostalgic nitwitism is not limited to TeeVee and radio.ÊÊ Trying to warm up with another cup of joe at the Cubbyhole Cafe. And one of the employees has rediscovered the great works of the Bee Gees, the group that Maurice Gibb founded with his brothers. (The ancient ones say that Bee Gees was short for the Brothers Gibb. How glib be thee Gibb!) The cafe's stereo system keeps repeating, ad nauseam ultra, all those tunes from the comedy film, "Saturday Night Fever." The harpy voices of the Bee Gees are falsetto dental drills piercing our defenseless eardrums. What is worse: the simple-minded music or the simple-minded lyrics? What causes the most distress from this force-fed flop: the turkey or its Gibblets? Disco: behold thy evil. During the peak of its popularity during the 1970s single people fell under its insidious spell. The eternal quest: trying to find a lifetime partner - or at least a temporary one for loveless sex to top off the evening. Men followed the pattern, wore the disco uniform. If you walked into a disco, all the men sitting at the bar wore gaudy polyester shirts, unbuttoned in a perfect vee to reveal their (hopefully) manly chests, topped off with cheap gold chains hanging around their necks, symbolic yokes of conformity. Even their small talk was programmed when meeting the ladies, the lowest common denominator being an interest in astrology (or at least a feigned interest in it). "What is your sign?" Ram The Horn was hoping to meet Yield The Virgin. Pop culture robots. Thanks to all of those grotesque polyester shirts, made from oil, there was a gas shortage during the 1970s. Unwanted children were spawned, venereal disease was spread. To quote the Bee Gees: "Tragedy!" We have nothing personally against any of the Bee Gees. Maurice and his brothers are most likely fine people. Unsuspecting dupes of Evil, yes, but probably OK guys. We separate the artist from his art, the person from his creation. A bad person can produce good work. And the opposite of that holds true, i.e. good person - bad work. Whatever the case may be, we can't overlook the bad for any good. According to the news reports Maurice Gibb died from a twisted bowel. Apparently the poor man strained his body too much from long hours of producing all that "music." Don't let evil disco knot you up. * Now That's Odd * President George W. Bush never talks about the military honors awarded to him for his heroic actions in the bloody jungles of the Vietnam War. We know how humble he is about his bravery under fire, but shouldn't he inspire all the young men and women he wants to throw into combat by mentioning how he survived against great odds? Maybe someone should help him overcome his humility by printing up a bunch of T-shirts and bumper stickers that say: HEY, G.W. - SHOW US YOUR PURPLE HEART! * It Smells To High Heaven * So one of the shuttle astronauts now in orbit was born in Plattsburgh. Ho-hum. We're more impressed with Plattsburgh's connection with Clonaid, the company that has claimed to have cloned three human babies so far. Clonaid is associated with the fringe religious group called the Raelians whose leader says he has been in personal contact with technically-advanced beings from outer space.Ê Did you notice the spokesperson for Clonaid? Her image has appeared in various magazines, newspapers and on TeeVee. She has big bad hair and big bad teeth. Apparently the aliens in contact with the Raelians don't possess advanced beautician technology. If a woman ever needed cosmic cosmetology... [Rimshot] Seriously, folks, Brigitte Boisselier, Raelain bishop, lived here in the Plattsburgh area for a while. No, she didn't preach Raelogy. She taught at that prestigious institution of high - we mean higher - learning, Plattsburgh University. In press releases PU has touted its "excellence", as in "maintaining standards of excellence" or "achieving new levels of excellence." Of course, all universities blather on about excellence, so some must be more excellent than others, right? Anyway, that most excellent institution, PU, employed Boisselier for a while. As a visiting professor she taught a couple of chemistry courses - or were they alchemy courses? Sorry, we don't find the Raelians to be that scientific. Rael, founder of the Raelians, used to be a French auto racing writer until one day he went around the bend too fast and encountered aliens during a hike in the dish of an extinct volcano. Rael has claimed the aliens took him to another world where he met VIPs like Jesus and Buddha. Also, a robot fabricated some space babes for Rael to frolic with in a tub. (We wonder if any of those space babes had big hair and big teeth.) Of course, we only have his word for his experiences. That means no tangible evidence, the kind of proof required by science. (For more details, read "Kooks" by Donna Kossy.) In a local newspaper article a PU dean said that Boisselier was a fine teacher. And maybe she was, compared to some of the teachers that have passed through the halls of PU. Like the criminology instructor who would get drunk and call up the city police department to verbally harass the cops. That never made the "news" but that doesn't mean that PU hasn't been subjected to dubious mentions in the media. Years ago PU was mentioned in "Playboy" magazine as a top party college to visit during St. Patrick's Day. It's common knowledge that "partying" is a key aspect of academic life, making one a well-rounded individual ready to take his place in the world. Then there's the made-for-TeeVee movie called "High Price of Passion," based on the non-fiction book of the same name. Richard Crenna starred as the middle-aged science professor who carried on a self-destructive relationship with a young prostitute. At one point in the movie the professor, a PU graduate, is being interviewed for a teaching position and he passes off his hooker girlfriend as an assistant. He tells her there's nothing to worry about, she's easily fooled the yokels at Plattsburgh University. But the "yokels" passed on the prof - even though he was a product of their excellence - when his name made the news, linked to a missing girl. While employed at Tufts University, another excellent institution, he ended up killing his hooker girlfriend after spending thousand$ on the little ingrate. Some of her financial support had been misappropriated from research grants. Gee, all that excellence and someone like that professor slips through. How can this be? So it looks like Tufts and PU are on the same level when it comes to the "quality of excellence" they extol. Such quality wafts high. Maybe that Plattsburgh-born shuttle astronaut can even smell it even up there. * Ghost Mail * Hey, we're getting tired of our own voice. Email us some comments. Last e-dition we talked about Election Day and why we don't bother participating in the "democratic" process (AKA the plutocratic con). One reader wrote in and told us to get off our "high horse." Neigh, we say. Neigh! (So how do you like those road apples?) Then someone named Boxboy sent us this message in regards to our apolitical activism: The preceding indicates that Boxboy suffered from fetal brain damage due to his mother's exposure to disco "music." Those pounding bass notes radiated into the womb, twisting developing brain cells. And let's not overlook Boxboy's father. That disco-dancing dad probably absorbed dangerous contaminants into his body from his sweaty polyester shirt and cheap imitation-gold chain that in turn tainted his sperm. Will the evil that is disco ever end? Thanks for backing up our thesis, Boxboy. ============================================================= NOTICE: Unless indicated otherwise, all articles by Anti-Press. Articles submitted by others do not necessarily express or reflect the opinions or beliefs of Anti-Press. WHERE WE'RE AT: Anti-Press Ezine radiates from our Precision Reality Center. We're presently entrapped in the alleged city of Plattsburgh, northeastern New York State (NENYland), USA. (A Brother Gibb: "More Than A Woman"?) EMAIL: Antipress1@aol.com NEW POLICY: WE DO NOT ACCEPT ANY UNSOLICITED ARTICLES. We will accept a letter of comment (LOC) on any topic raised in our ezine. **Maximum Length: 300 words.** Plain text format. If you don't want your email printed, please tell us. To avoid being deleted as spam: Put LOC in the subject heading. E-DITIONS ONLINE: Anti-Press Ezine and its sporadically published issues are available at: http://www.disobey.com/text/ Copyright 1998-2002 Anti-Press Publication by Disobey. http://www.disobey.com/ TO SUBSCRIBE: majordomo@disobey.com BODY: Subscribe APE TO UNSUBSCRIBE: majordomo@disobey.com BODY: Unsubscribe APE -50-