Readers Write: Non D. Plume Strikes Again!
And seriously, it looks like he spent all weekend crafting this one:
Greetings.
Great Caesar’s Ghost!
ItÌs been less than a week since I†announced myself on the scene and already people are penning folksongs about me. Who cements their legend in less than seven dayÌs time?
NDP, thatÌs who.
Big ups to The Capitol Years. ItÌs possible the boys are turning a corner with this new tune of theirs.
I know itÌs early on, but I think it best that we consider some marketing options.
Nothing big at first. IÌm picturing a solid white Tee with a blue collar and bigass Honey Comb letters that read ÏDe Plume MeÓ, or, for the more subtle among us, black on white pins that read ÏNDPÓ.†IÌll leave it up to all of you.†Commerce isn’t my bag.
I quite enjoy the newfound celebrity. And the bunch of you are making my job so easy…like shooting whales in a thimble.
But enough about me. LetÌs take a moment to hand out some whacko-lades:
The bloody bloodfest begins after the jump.
†
Extra! Extra! Dan McQuade has come up with an ingenious way of differentiating himself from Philebrity.com. ThatÌs right, kids. The host of ÏPhiladelphia WonÌt DoÓ was wandering down Sansom one day, when it hit him:
ÏI like sports. People like sports. I will write about sports.Ó Because - letÌs face it - if thereÌs anything PhillyÌs faggy arts community loves, itÌs sports. They live and die with that shit.†
The real problem is this: Philadelphia WonÌt Do is failing to distinguish itself as its own entity. No one really visits the joint, lest they find themselves on PWÌs site, and they see the little Blog icon midway down the menu.†
Once there, everyone knows theyÌre not headed to the Beanie Blog. ThereÌs more news about the Mondale Presidential Campaign these days. Otherwise, no one recognizes the†blog as anything more than a PW companion. ††
And, Oh yeah, the way the content on PWD is cropped and pasted, it looks like someoneÌs refrigerator door. In the words of Professor Hinkle, “Messy, messy messy.”††
I am waaaaay behind on this, but as long as weÌre talking all things McQuade, anyone notice last weekÌs Citypaper cover story?†I know, not many, but it reeked of ripoff. I imagine there was a meeting where someone said the following:
ÏYou remember that PW story that the McQuade kid did during the summer, when he was basically playing Atari baseball or something against Charlie Manuel and the game ended in a tie? That was gangbusters! I want us to do the same thing…We like sports. People like us. WeÌll write about sports! And, Doron, my boy, youÌre just the man for the job. WeÌll even toss your milk white thighs on the cover. ItÌll be a gas.Ó
ÏYeah, but wonÌt that make us look like hacks?Ó
ÏHacks? No way. Our storyÌs about basketball. Besides, McQuade was wearing a mask on the cover. WeÌre only going to show your legs. Really, man, are you loopy?Ó
And now, a poem:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
City Paper is not good,
So please donÌt buy it.Warning! UK wave of ultraviolence erupts. ÏWeÌre so mad, we just want to kick everyoneÌs arse (only weÌre incapable of doing so).”†WhatÌs up with these transatlantic music dudes and homocidal tendencies? ItÌs a bit tiresome, blokes.
I mean, really. Check out Neil FergusonÌs comments in Tim WhitakerÌs PW column introducing him as the new music editor (more on that in a moment):
ÏIf one of these endlessly soloing, soap-dodging twats dared show their bewhiskered faces on my homelandÌs side of the pond, theyÌd round them up and have the fuckers shot.Ó
OK, Fergie, a word here: Save the drama for your mama.
Not to mention the fact that Whitaker named this particular column ÏSound ExperienceÓ before commencing to note that Neil was qualified because heÌs Scottish and he has a really neat record collection. Next time, Tim, why not try this:
ÏNeil FergusonÌs a good basketball player and he likes working on cars. NeilÌs made a big decision. HeÌs not going to college. Instead heÌs enrolled to be our new music editor.Ó
Has a certain flare, no?
And then thereÌs that rarest of†beasts, Steven Wells. Steven doesnÌt only hate folk music, he hates anyone even partially affiliated with folk music. He hates people who listen to folk music.†He purposely walks on the Plough side of Second Street, so as not to mistakenly hear the whine of some acoustic neÌer-do-well bellowing out of a Tin Angel window. And StevenÌs bad, man. He doesnÌt just want to ignore the folkies. He wants to kill Ìem dead.
He wrote a column called ÏFolk Off and DieÓ where he brags of defriending a dude who owned an†Unplugged CD, and them threatened to take a hatchet to anyone else who dared disagree with him (I’m paraphrasing here).
Brash, young man. And with that headshot of yours, I mean, who wouldnÌt be spooked? Can someone who weighs more than 170 lbs. please put these dudes in their place?†I donÌt get it. ItÌs always about how less-than-ballsy Americans are. Give it a rest.
Who wants to bet a million pesos these cats are huddled around a back bar table at least twice a week, waxing infinitum about how they canÌt stand President Bush because he fails to recognize anyoneÌs opinion but his own. Ironic, wouldnÌt cha say?
The award for stupid word, phrase, or angle of the week goes to…PW film critic Cindy Fuchs. Cindy, in her eternal wisdom, spent approximately 700 words,†pondering the merits of the following question†regarding the film ÏWalk the LineÓ:
Why didnÌt they spend more time focusing on June Carter Cash?†
Brilliant beyond definition. IÌm not sure I can explain this to you if it hasnÌt come crashing down yet, but my guess is that it has something to do with the reason the film JFK wasnÌt all about Jackie O. Great angle, sister. Enjoy your career at The Evening Bulletin.
But please, Cindy, donÌt be upset. I realize yours is a †tortured soul. I mean, how many times in the past month have you had that dream?†You know, the one where you’re in the recess yard, and suddenly all the kids form a ring around you, pointing their fingers and shouting, ÏCindy Fucks. Cindy Fucks. Cindy Fucks.Ó†Dream children can be so cruel.
And Finally, a bow to†Mr. Sweeney. Dude can throw down (on paper, at least).†Dig what you do.†Can you please explain your genius?†And a favor, if you could:†Record your explanation and post it on that little site you got. IÌm dying to hear that Ralph Wiggum squeal of yours.
Surprises imminent, ladies and gentlemen.†More to come. Perhaps next week weÌll invite someone new to the party. Daniel RubinÌs about due.
Good day, scribes o the city grey.
Non D. Plume
Yes, of course: Errors, omissions, weird quirks abound. To say nothing of the borderline obsession with Daniel MacQuade. A clue, perhaps - a passed-over blogger? Who knows. But in any case, our offer, as of last time, stands: If you can successfully out this wily miscreant, write in and, upon proof, you’ll get a case of cold, delicious beer. Your choice: Beast or Natty Lite. Think of it: You’ll be like that kid in The Squid & The Whale.
Related: Capitol Years In Internet Dust-Up!
Readers Write: Evil, Thy Name Is Non D. Plume
