INTERVIEW WITH TWO YOUNG MANHATTANITES WHO MENTION, MORE TIMES THAN I CARE TO REMEMBER, THAT THEY ARE GOING TO MOVE TO SEATTLE SOON

Q: Now that grunge is dead and has yet to achieve an ironic status (interview conducted in 2003), is this the best time to be moving to Seattle?

A1:I can feel Seattle's latent irony in the marrow of my bones. The city is like a polyester bowling shirt hanging in my great-uncle Morris's closet in 1987, waiting for the world to turn its way. It won't be long until kids in post-Williamsburg Brooklyn will be glomming up all the Patagonia pullovers they can get their pale, white mitts on. Plus, pre-ironic homesteading is the new gentrification. Take the Catskills as an example.

A2: Teenage angst has paid off well, but now I'm bored and old.


Q: The movie "My Own Private Idaho" portrays the northwest as a world of narcoleptics and people who speak in 18th century verse. Can you do either of these impressive feats?

A1: Meesmeeth ein shant approach such a boast unto thine snaggery! Does that mean anything?

A2: I’m a glorified version of a pellet gun


Q: Isn't it true that you are just leaving the city because it can no longer hold your apathy?

A1: That could be part of it. I'm used to apathy. I enjoy it. But apathy's like my old terrycloth robe I've neither washed nor picked nits from since the 1990 Super Bowl. It's comforting to wrap it around me on cold mornings, but kind of embarrassing to, say, go to the movies in. I think that's the problem with NYC. The city is losing its tolerance for me going to the movies in my robe. Metaphorically speaking.

A2: Here we are now, entertain us.


Q: If you were a Seattle neighborhood, which would you be and why?

A1: I think I would be Sodo, which I think is a New York-style real-estate term that means "south of the dome." Of course, the Kingdome no longer exists. In that way, Sodo represents myself: I am an enduring reference to a long-gone New York, an *imploded* one if you will. An "I'm with stupid" t-shirt with the finger pointing toward an empty seat on the subway. Or maybe "Pioneer Square."

A2: Why go home, why go home?


Q: If Seattle were a turnip and Manhattan a sweet, glistening, seedless orange, which would make a better ingredient for the martini I'm drinking as I compose these questions?

A1: Turnips taste kinda like potatoes. Better make it a vodka martini.

A2: I don't mind stealing bread from the mouths of decadence.

INTERVIEW WITH TWO YOUNG MANHATTANITES WHO MENTION, MORE TIMES THAN I CARE TO REMEMBER, THAT THEY Are GOING TO MOVE TO SEATTLE SOON

Q: Now that grunge is dead and has yet to achieve an ironic status (interview conducted in 2003), is this the best time to be moving to Seattle?

A1:I can feel Seattle's latent irony in the marrow of my bones. The city is like a polyester bowling shirt hanging in my great-uncle Morris's closet in 1987, waiting for the world to turn its way. It won't be long until kids in post-Williamsburg Brooklyn will be glomming up all the Patagonia pullovers they can get their pale, white mitts on. Plus, pre-ironic homesteading is the new gentrification. Take the Catskills as an example.

A2: Teenage angst has paid off well, but now I'm bored and old.


Q: The movie "My Own Private Idaho" portrays the northwest as a world of narcoleptics and people who speak in 18th century verse. Can you do either of these impressive feats?

A1: Meesmeeth ein shant approach such a boast unto thine snaggery! Does that mean anything?

A2: I’m a glorified version of a pellet gun


Q: Isn't it true that you are just leaving the city because it can no longer hold your apathy?

A1: That could be part of it. I'm used to apathy. I enjoy it. But apathy's like my old terrycloth robe I've neither washed nor picked nits from since the 1990 Super Bowl. It's comforting to wrap it around me on cold mornings, but kind of embarrassing to, say, go to the movies in. I think that's the problem with NYC. The city is losing its tolerance for me going to the movies in my robe. Metaphorically speaking.

A2: Here we are now, entertain us.


Q: If you were a Seattle neighborhood, which would you be and why?

A1: I think I would be Sodo, which I think is a New York-style real-estate term that means "south of the dome." Of course, the Kingdome no longer exists. In that way, Sodo represents myself: I am an enduring reference to a long-gone New York, an *imploded* one if you will. An "I'm with stupid" t-shirt with the finger pointing toward an empty seat on the subway. Or maybe "Pioneer Square."

A2: Why go home, why go home?


Q: If Seattle were a turnip and Manhattan a sweet, glistening, seedless orange, which would make a better ingredient for the martini I'm drinking as I compose these questions?

A1: Turnips taste kinda like potatoes. Better make it a vodka martini.

A2: I don't mind stealing bread from the mouths of decadence.

I used to be a devoted reader of Salon. Flipped to it every morning right after my spin through the NYTimes' site. It was must-read content. What the hell happened? How hard could this be? I realize LF.com rarely pens anything worth actually reading, but many blogs do, and these people don't even get paid (usually). Clearly, hiring bloggers is not going to win you Pulitzer's but it will give you content for God's sake. These people are so starved for the sound of their own keyboard tapping, they're posting almost daily for free to 10s of people who probably are too bored and apathetic to click to another site.

Bloggers like to write! Hire them! I have no idea about the financial end of Salon or its ilk, but please please please, Salon, stop printing bestseller lists, "Match Made in Heaven," and "Since You Asked..." They're tired bits after the second one.

I HAD A PRODUCTION EDITOR JOB THAT TURNED OUT O SO VERY DIFFERENT THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD

Arriving at work, I put down my bag, fire up my powerful dual-processing computer, with its 17-inch display, make myself a cup of strong black coffee, and survey my glorious workspace. My machine hums a throaty roar as its fan flips on and cools its churning innards. I’m not sure why it thinks this is necessary, as in the last two days I haven’t used it for anything more taxing than instant messenger.

The rest of it

Entertainment Weekly and US Magazine arrive at my door with the regularity of a gastroenteroligist's bowel movements. I skim through them while on the throne (fitting, no) or in the mornings when I can't stand the Canadian drawl of NY1's Pat Kiernan, and I stand at the counter shoveling Cheerios into my gaping maw. It's not too far a stretch to realize that these magazines (these two in particular) are just catalogs. Their imperatives are to make us buy something (Coldplay rawk tix, plasticine Hulk action figs, that Angelina's boobs are real, or that we would have a much better swagger if we only had Ewan McGregor's spikey haircut) and to dream a better dream. How different, really, is it from a Sharper Image catalog? I don't need (or can't afford) any of that stuff either – a back massaging chair is about as useful to me as J Blow's Juicy Couture sweatsuit. I am one for cursing and yelling at these rags – slandering them like they were Kobe Byrant's reputation – but I still find myself once in a while pining for something, and that of course is what it about. Make me desire things I didn't even want. It's a Zen koan. It's a marketing gargoyle sitting on my coffee table (or the back of the terlit) warding off the ghouls of complacency (or constipation). If only I was a druid I could reverse its spell on me. Speak incantations of simplicity and contentment. Just like Carrie Otis does as she practices her yoga on the veranda overlooking the Hollywood Hells.

This weekend I was in the Catskills, yes, the Catskills. Long before NY Magazine featured the verdant hills. I WAS THERE FIRST!!!

Anywho, while there, I was sick (all right, it was my girlfriend, but like James Brady without the honor, I'll take the bullet) so we stayed in a lot. In between bitching about the drive-in that was featuring a double-header of "Terminator 3" and "Pirates of the Caribbean" being an hour and half away and wondering how come we haven't seen Grizzly Adams' sidekick the bear, we watched a ton of the rebranded TNN, which may be called Spike TV or might just be The Network for Men. Never figured it out. But I do know they show more car and car-repair shows than my 1988 Chrysler LeBaron had horsepower.

This is when I became seriously depressed. I figured I know just enough about cars to not get ripped off by, say, myself if I were a mechanic. I felt more like a girlyman than I did the time I wore a dress to my prom. I KNOW NOTHING. To help myself overcome this loss, I shotgunned two Bud Lites, realized it was lite beer, and then had a good cry about this. There's nothing I can do now but quit my job and sign up at Apex Tech. Picture Anthony Michael Hall in "The Breakfast Club" and then take away his deep voice and any other sign of masculinity and add a pair of breasts. But minus my arms, so I can't play with them and display some sign of testosterone.

"Monster Garage" has made me gay.

INTERVIEW WITH AN EDITOR WHO HAS BEEN TOLD TO "KILL ALL JARGON AND BUZZ WORDS"

Q: Which buzz words and jargon have you been told to kill on site?

A: Oh my, where to begin. For one thing, we are no longer allowed to refer to going online as "surfing the web." We are now only to say "stroking the e-weasel," which management feels describes the activity with greater nuance. Also, we are forbidden to use "monitize," which refers to making money. One alternative suggested was "stealitize," which seems to be more accurate, at least among many companies these days.

Q: How do your writers handle it when you strike their words willy-nilly?

A: Writers, being on the autistic side of retardation, usually are very protective of their "children," as they like to refer to their precious words. This is why editors use red ink, it simulates genocide without actually having to kill anyone to prove who's the boss of them.

Q: How do you feel about lemonized (I just made that
up)? Would you strike that?

A; If that word showed up in one of those bullshit business or technology rags, I would cut it down like the abomination it is. Though I do like a nice lemon-infused gin martini.

Q: Do you feel that you are stunting the growth of the English language?

A: Would one allow a child with a thyroid condition to grow into a monster fit for Guinness Book of World Records before reaching kindergarten? Some growth must be stopped cold. Such is my job.

Q: Why are you a fascist? Please defend yourself.

A: I am a proponent of order. I want the trains to run on time, the Hooters chicks to remain busty, sandwiches to remain free of errant lettuces, and the English language to remain readable. Call me Franco American.