antgt

BIG TIME GOOD

durgapolashi:

CH-CHECK IT OUT’

One Goat, on Account

To the Editor:

I had the great pleasure of reading your unsolicited critique of the “Ch-Check It Out” music video [“Licensed to Stand Still” by Stephanie Zacharek, May 16]. It took some time to get to me, as it had to be curried (sp?) on goatback through the fjords of my homeland, the Oppenzell. And in the process the goat died, and then I had to give the mailman one of my goats, so remember, you owe me a goat.

Anyway, that video is big time good. Pauline Kael is spinning over in her grave. My film technique is clearly too advanced for your small way of looking at it. Someday you will be yelling out to the streets below your windows: “He is the chancellor of all the big ones! I love his genius! I am the most his close personal friend!”

You journalists are ever lying. I remember people like you laughing at me at the university, and now they are all eating off of my feet. You make this same unkind laughter at the Jerry Lewis for his Das Verruckte Professor and now look, he is respected as a French-clown. And you so-call New York Times smarties are giving love to the U2 because they are dressing as the Amish and singing songs about America? (Must I dress as the Leprechaun to sing songs about Ireland so that you will love me? You know the point I make here is true!)

In concluding, “Ch-Check It Out” is the always best music film and you will be realizing this too far passing. As ever I now wrap my dead goat carcass in the soiled New York Times — and you are not forgetting to buy me a replacement! Please send that one more goat to me now!

NATHANIAL HORNBLOWER

Manhattan

LETTERS (NYTIMES)

Haiku

Thirty gigabytes
Of music from five years, lost!
God, I’m a jackass.

Compliment or put-down?

“You have a bright future in corporate.”

I am related to this winner

ps! figured out my halloween costume! …. knight rider! going to cover my bike in black tape and make those lights on the front, add a turbo boost button and mount my iphone so when riding, the theme song plays and have kitt’s voice loaded on as well!

The Lion City

There is hope for everybody’s favourite South East Asian city-state: for a country that allegedly has no sense of humour, one of Singapore’s mainstream radio stations played Flight of the Conchords’ Most Beautiful Girl in the Room on a Sunday afternoon show. The DJs were two women who spoke English with transpacific twangs that you expect out of people who spent idyllic childhood summers in London and boozy university nights in Australia. They probably rock climb on weekends and make gai pad krapow with fresh basil that they grow in the kitchens of their apartment unit overlooking the urban skyline.

Results from a survey by Durex published several years ago remains on heavy rotation in local women’s and health magazines. Singaporeans have the least sex in the world, they woefully lament. The government pays its people money to procreate, lest they one day run out of eighteen year-olds to draft in mandatory military service, meaning they will have no army to defend them if Malaysia decides to invade. 

Singapore has what must be one of the best (if not the best?) public transport systems in the world. Its military is well-equipped and its people are well-educated. Everything about this country is perfect and frightening and funny, like a parody of a caricature of a satire. I read Disneyland With The Death Penalty again to see if the accusations made in 1993 are still applicable in 2011. 

An illustrator friend working in Singapore’s graphic design industry laments the state of art and creativity on the island. “They think they can teach kids art,” she sighs as we pass a high school dedicated to doing just that. “You can’t teach art. Everybody can love and produce creative art, but you can’t teach it. You have to let it out. Singapore is not allowing their people to let it out.”

“Singapore is like a warm bath. You sink in, slit your wrists, your lifeblood floats away, but hey, it’s warm.”