1994dec13. Route 66 Fiasco (part 1 of 4).
This missive is completely overshadowed by the recent death of the guy who did the "Girl From Ipanema." I mean, like composed it or something. What, you want facts? Anyways, he's dead now. Since this really has nothing to do with X Magazine, I might also add that someone parked in my apartment space two days ago. So I parked in another space, one of five devoted to some cheesy little shack next to the pool called the "Community House." I wake up the next morning, and look in my spot, and MY car is GONE! That is, I had forgotten where I had parked. Then I see my car with this huge dent in it; "ha! Some poor bastard got his car smashed! Hey ... wait a second ... I'M the poor bastard!" Someone pulled a hit-n-run, and took the time to wipe away his/her paint flakes with their glove. I went around to the driver's side, and there's a note on the windshield: "Hey! Maybe they felt guilty and left a note!" No, it's an envelope, from the City of $CITY. Parking violation, fifteen smacks! Mmmmmm, mmmm, forgot to eat my Golden Grahams that day! The guy parked out there in my spot again TODAY, so I'm going to get some GO-JACKS tomorrow and wheel him out to I-75. Speaking of cars...
The Twelve Days of Xmag: A special holiday journey, by a crazyman.
Okay, so you might recall the recent X Mag Staff Car raffle. All of the entries have been received. Here are some statistics:
Entrant farthest away from X Mag Staff Car: Doc.
Entrant nearest away from X Mag Staff Car: Doc.
Only entrant: Doc.
Doc WINS! He'll be flying in style on U.S. Air ("Five Times in Five Years: We're Consistent!"℠) from Skittles, Arizona to lovely Chicago, Illinois around December 22nd. From there, he'll somehow get to Detroit (train? Greyhound? Pop Clogs?) and take possession of the Staff Car and Wagner, who's been sitting around here waiting for about six months now. Then, the magic begins! Logic dictates that Doc should proceed immediately due South, since the X Mag Staff Car HASN'T GOT A ROOF, that is to say, we chopped it off so we could have a $75 convertible. Errrr, converted. Anyway, you or I, certainly in this situation, would head post-haste for warmer and more forgiving climate. Not Doc, whoa no, my dear reader. Route 66 is his thing, and unconfirmed reports at this time indicate that another infamous small-press magazine editrix will be accompanying him (not me, you fool! I'm a manly man-type he-man man man). I know what you're saying at this point: "He's insane, that Doc is." One thing I know you're _not_ saying right now runs along the lines of "How irresponsible of X Magazine to allow that poor feller to drive in such horrendous conditions! I think I, and my fellow readers, will bring forth a class-action suit!" You're not thinking this, I sense, because of my phalanx of high-powered, bloodsucking, immoral attorneys. I mean, OUR phalanx. There's a WHOLE bunch of us here, and we're not afraid to pick up a stick or brick if the situation arises. Anyway, we will be providing CONTINUOUS and as always HILARIOUS coverage of this MIND-BLOWING event. If you're feeling generous because there's a lot of rampant commercialization going on right now, you can send some cash to X Magazine to purchase some nice tires for the Staff Car so Doc doesn't pull a Chappaquiddick Ted in some god-forsaken hellhole. The brand of tires the car has now are called "Aquafun-glide," so I'm kind of worried for the poor salty dog. Be a champ; screw the poor this year, at least we know how to celebrate the birth of Jihad Consumerism.
DISCLAIMER: In no way do we mean to imply that Doc received a FREE airline ticket from X Magazine. However, we're still sticking with that WACKY slogan, unless you're a high-powered, bloodsucking immoral attorney from U.S. Air; if so, this is all SATIRE.
NOTE: GO-JACKS are these stylin' tire jacks that lift your car's tires off the ground. They have mongo casters on them, so if you get four GO-JACKS and jack up all four tires, you essentially can move it anywhere you want; Grand Theft Auto, long version. I hereby nominate GO-JACKS as Product of the Year for 1994. Great for pranks! Shenk you.
Route 66 Fiasco (part 2).
In our last missive, the recently-deceased Antonio Carlos Jobim, composer of The Girl from Ipanema and Desafinado ("Desssssafinado ... why don't you come to your senses ...") went unnamed. X Magazine regrets the error (a measly paragraph in Milestones [Time, 94dec19], which includes a picture of Jobim looking for all the world like Elton John during "the fat years"; those of you fascinated with the use of the word "party" as a verb are advised to check out the accompanying Milestones paragraph on James Scott, who received a life-sentence for grabbing a few sandbags from a levee holding back selected portions of 1993's Mississippi River flood. Oh hell, I'll just reprint it here: "Prosecutors maintained that Scott [was] intent on stranding his wife across the river so he could party ..."; Time Magazine: "It's about People!℠").
Also, we have been hounded by numerous logistical coordinators for the Route 66 X Magazine Staff Car trip to remind our readers that the theme for this perverse piece of performance art is, indeed, Christmas, and the driver shall be wearing a jolly Santa suit for the journey. His co-pilot, having morphed (brrrr ... morphing) from a supposed sultry 'zine (brrr ... "'zine") editrix to a 6'5" "guy," will be wearing a comical elf outfit, meeting "Santa" at the beginning of Route 66. Oh, the tickets they'll gather! X Magazine regrets the error. As with all X Magazine performance art pieces, the Jon Stewart (Show) will be duly notified. You just know they're going to ditch the suits one hundred miles out of Chicago.
I am proud to say that we have not worked one lick on the new X Magazine since our last missive, NOR have we participated in any type of Christmassy ritual save receiving a fine snowman Pez dispenser from a fellow 'zine (... brrrr) editor ("Juxtsuppose") in the mail. It was mailed from Canada, and had to have a green customs sticker attached describing the contents:
Cheery holiday sentiment
This will probably be the best Christmas present we will receive this year. Because Pez rules, see. Unfortunately, we here at X have missed the glorious chance (again) to showboat our cutting edge graphic-design skills by creating a holiday-type card. It's just as well; with our continuous efforts to please everyone on the planet except dour humorless smugs, we figure the final greeting on the card (in some fancy-schmancy script, like Kuentsler or Park Avenue, I dunno) would read something like "Please enjoy, to the best of your ability and desire, the time period between now and two weeks from now." Touching, isn't it?
1994dec20. Route 66 Fiasco #3.
You may have noticed that the productivity level of recent missives has shot up about 300%, although one would surmise that the rush of the holiday season would put a damper on this fruitless endeavor. The way we see it, YOU'RE our extended family, and we'd like you to consider this special holiday batch of missives your gift (what a bunch of cheapies!) for being a good little goober all year and/or not/worshipping the icon of your choice. I promise you that we will drop back down to our weak and weary weekly missive shot come the new year. Also, I would like to send out a call for help concerning my two-day case of the hiccups. I've tried the gag thing, the water thing, the lack-of-air thing, and the have-someone-scream-the-name-of-the-platonic-woman-friend- that-you-had-the-hots-for-but-then-she-became-a-born-again-Christian-suddenly- at-you thing, but nothing seems to work. The latter one worked once, but now, every time I get the hiccups, I immediately think of her. Cursed, I am. Errr, WE are. [memo to ourselves: that WE joke is getting really stale]
Blue/Red Light Special.
We took the X Mag Staff Car out for a quick spin to test the new tires and its general road-worthiness for our X Mag Staff Car raffle winner, Mr. DOC of SKITTLES, ARIZONA (Doc sends along a mini-update: "The Santa suit fits nicely"). It passed the road test (much better than early in July, when part of one of the tires inexplicably got caught in the front-right quarter-panel. Don't ask), and it also passed the cop-magnet test. Dovetailing behind us quite handily, a Plymouth police officer pulled us over trying to get on I-275, a mere two minutes after starting the car (a new record!). "Kind of cold to be driving a convertible this time of year, isn't it?" I'll spare you the emotionally-gripping transcript; as it turns out, the license plate had dropped down again (see X8). The driver of our chase car is convinced that this officer also participated in the humorous four-cop-car-starter's-pistol-excuse melee, of which I offer a small transcript dollop:
OFFICER (upon seeing the Fisher-Price fun jet on the hood, and a painting of the same jet in flames on the trunk): "Are you a pilot?"
ALL NON-UNIFORMED PERSONNEL IN IMMEDIATE AREA (flooding their respective bodies with Maximum Laughter Suppression endorphins): "mmm"
DRIVER: "No sir. They're toys."
After being pulled over last night, I wasn't sure which was stupider: riding in a convertible (actually, a car with the roof cut off) in the dead of winter, being pulled over, or the fact that the officer let us go ... "Come on, Jake! Let's do those crimes..."
Ha ha fun-e ending story.
Our supposed future internet provider refused our application, saying "x" was too short of a login name. After reminding them that one-character login names in unix are perfectly acceptable, the humble tech on the other end of line provided unasked-for advice: "Maybe you could make it 'e-x' ... or 's-e-x' (guffaws)." I'm already enjoying the amazing professionalism of these people.
[Coming up next week: "Sniff ... sniff ... what's that smell? It's the exciting action adventures of LIBEL HOUND!]