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Thing One I do not dig about Bust: OK, in the Spring 2003 issue, page 38, here is interview subject and Steve's girlfriend Frances McDormand: "And it's a question of practice, of learning what works for you and what doesn't. Like, I do not wear high heels, I can't. There's not even any point in my choosing something where I'm supposed to wear high heels, because it's not gonna happen." Same issue, page 37: here is an accompanying photo of F. McD, lying on a sofa smoking a cigarette (cool) and wearing what, class? That's right, high heels. [CK says:Good eye! We hadn't noticed! Possible explanations, for someone who obviously doesn't work in publishing: the photo shoot took place before the interview, or the interviewer/ee did not communicate this preference to the photographer.] Thing Two I do not dig: Sometime over the past few years Bust has become Kantorized, the contributors are less established and more web-based and uhh no offense ladies but this has substantially brought down the overall quality of the writing; I wish to god some enterprising grad student in English would write a dissertation on the fallacy that having a web site necessarily equals the ability to think critically and write well. Thing Three: Holy balls are the typos egregious, holy fucking balls. Barka lounger. It's perverse, the way these are most often manifested in the names of women the magazine ostensibly seeks to uphold and honor: Betsy Johnson, Angie Dickenson. And the same person has been on the masthead as a "Proofreader" for at least the past few years. If I were the editor I would have fired the stupid crackhead after the issue (sorry, I forgot to write down which one) that contained all of these: Helen Gurly Brown, Anne Richards, Pat Benetar, Katherine Hepburn, Vivian Gornik. And I would have put a curse on her and her descendants after the Fall 2002 extravaganza that in the course of two lousy pages allowed to pass all of the following: Dermot Mulrooney, Ron Leibman, ad nauseum, Lion's Gate Films, and the assertion that the film "Secretary" is based on the Gaitskill novella (!) "Bad Behavior" (!!). It doesn't make me a jack feminist to give a damn about quality and accuracy, and if you don't agree with me no offense ladies but I'll take you out back and shove a super-plus tampon down your bleeding-heart throat. Yeah, there's probably some partial truth to the old saw that women have to try twice as hard as men to be taken half as seriously-- so how goddamn taxing is it, Colleen Kane, to make the effort to spell people's names correctly? You, personally, make it easier for those who are looking for an excuse to dismiss Bust to do just that, to write it off as an amateur-hour production that doesn't have the same level of gravitas as the institutions it would critique. [And a blog is different from an amateur-hour production how? I know, let me ask the dust mites in my bed that have blogs.] You are part of the problem. And you, you make people ask why someone so incompetent has not been fired, and since there is no conventionally credible explanation you make them hatch dark and hostile, not-seriously-taking [ummmm, sic] theories about the publication you represent. Stand up for your sisters, do your part for feminism, and resign. Also of note from the past few years' issues, here is some exceptionally risible writing I copied out, from a review of "Personal Velocity": [Rebecca Miller?s] arresting, broody camerawork [sic] [the last two words are correct, what are you sic-ing about?] caresses the eye, but the original fiction's wry scrutiny comes off glib on screen [sic] [this is also acceptable]. Perhaps that's because Miller depends on a (male) voice-over to articulate what these clammed-up women do not say or know about themselves, which, disconcertingly, strips them of their subjectivity; and, bonus!, here is our old grandstanding pal Dan Savage, turning the opportunity to comment on the success of "Sex and the City" into an occasion for narcissism and self-congratulation: When I started writing "Savage Love" nine years ago, I wanted to write a column about sex that reflected how people actually talk about it. This series is successful because it allows this kind of blunt talk? [sic]
"But, and I have to say this, in the Summer 2002 issue there is a review of Guided By Voices' "Isolation Drills" that makes me willing to take back everything I have just said. I don't remember what the overall tone of the review was-- frankly my response to Bust's music and film reviews tends to be along the lines of either it's-so-horrible-I-can't-look or, opposite-ly [try "conversely"], that of a slavering, jonesing rubbernecker-- but the point is that the review made reference to GBV live and "Robert Pollard's beer-soaked, shamanic presence." And holy fucking balls is that perfect, that "beer-soaked, shamanic," it is so accurate and so correct, it is criticism and reportage rolled into one with guacamole on top, it takes Thomson's "rare, fragrant" out back and, well, shoves a tampon down its throat. I'd cut off a finger right now, my middle finger, if I knew that in my life I would ever write something so pithy and poetic and true. And isn't that what it's all about?" [Uhhh, not really sure what you're all about, whether that last part was even sarcastic or not, and what Dan Savage has to do with anything.]
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CK responds:
Dear Negative Nellie,
Oh my goodness--somebody really has a bug up their bum! I don't know who, because you only use a pseudonym. Good job fighting the real enemy, though; it must be difficult to read issue after issue of a mag you dislike so much.
As for my work, I happen to think that starting out with hundreds of thousands of words of material that had around 18,000 errors and catching all but about 8 of them without the aid of a computer is pretty good.
But how about if I go through your previous several years of work, see what mistakes I can come up with, and then post them here, calling for your resignation from XYZ Widget Company? Oh wait a minute. I just tried to read something you wrote that wasn't about me and how I am single-handedly destroying feminism because I didn't notice that Angie Dickinson's name was misspelled, but I instantly got bored. I nodded off and dreamed that the Internet was clogged with crap blogs that no one reads except possibly other bloggers. I guess that's what happens when you're reading something by a web-based writer, huh? Whoops!
P.S. You know what does harm feminism? Perpetuating that second-wave stereotype of feminists as humorless, bitter, unpleasant women. It's just like the joke: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb? It doesn't matter, it's not funny.
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