Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
Checking in here a little belatedly after looking through the book.
Paul, way back in the '60s, after a court ruling on pornography and
"redeeming social value," you wrote the wonderful line (which I'm
likely misquoting slightly. "In this society," you said, "appeal to
prurient interest is itself a redeeming social value."

Revisiting that time and this - how do you feel in retrospect about
the development of a gigantic industrialized sex industry that's grown
up since the 60s? Does the grown-up look different from the child?
  

    
Chuck, thamls for <98>.  Signed, poor typist.
  

    
Who, Me?--Everything evolves, including the co-option of progress.  In
one of the pieces in my book, a report on the Swingers Convention, I
recall a Sexual Freedom League party in San Francisco on 12/31/66, and
ask a rhetorical question: Who would've thought that some day it would
become an industry.  But that's the risk of  evolution, ain't it?
  

    
Dear Paul, 

Bear with me. 

Once upon a time, a close friend insisted to me that Ry Cooder had slipped
my name into a song. Though the context would have made sense, it struck
me as highly unlikely, since Mr. Cooder and I had only one tenuous
mutual-friend connection. But I even briefly considered the possibility, 
which in itself was borderline insane, I think. 

I eventually dug up a Mills Brothers recording of the same song, made when
I was about three, and heard the same phrase, enunciated more clearly --
"in any clime," not "and Andy Klein." This was, of course, both
disappointing and reassuring. No, he wasn't singing my praises to a
national audience, but he also wasn't sending a "kill" directive to the
secret government ninja assassins.

So: 

I was lying in bed last night about 4 AM reading *Murder at the Conspiracy
Convention*'s title essay and vacillating madly between utter paranoia and
mocking disbelief.  "Hmmm...I could believe *that* one!" vs. "Oh, man,
some of these people are plain fucking nuts! I was never *that* crazy!"

And then I see my name about half a page from the end of this 47-page 
essay. 

Not referring to me. 

But still: Four in the morning...musing about paranoia...remembering the 
sixties/(early)-seventies...AND THEN MY OWN NAME POPS UP AT ME??? 

Okay, I know my name is reasonably common and all, but... 

So, do *all* of the copies say "Andy Klein" at that point? Or is there 
some sort of fantasy-novel spell (or secret government cyber device) that 
figures out who is reading the book at any given point and somehow INSERTS 
THEIR NAME IN THE TEXT? 

Not that I want to seem paranoid, but...

WHO IS PAYING YOU, KRASSNER? AND HOW MUCH? 
  

    
>But that's the risk of  evolution, ain't it?

Absolutely. I was just wondering how you felt about it -- about the
respective ugliness of repression and expression.
  

    
<vard>, you got me to thinking.  Why not a series of Counterculture
Museums in various locations around greater San Francisco.  Connected
by special buses.  These could become quite a tourist attraction.
The Beat Era museum in North Beach, the Hippy Era museum in Haight
Ashbury... Where would the Geek Era museum be located?  Silicon
Valley is a bit too far away, isn't it?  Maybe a special ferry ride
to Sausalito?

We now return you to the Paul Krassner show, already in progress.
  

    


So Paul...  Bill Maher and Dennis Miller, popular hip irreverent
comics or reactionary all-American boneheads?
  

    
Hello [insert name here: Andy Klein]--Personally, my religion is
Coincidence, but I'll give you two examples of your rare disease:

1. I once published a cartoon about the old woman who lived in a shoe
and had all these kids.  She was on the phone calling an abortionist
named Dr. Burnhill, a name the artist made up.  However, there was an
actualy Dr. Burnhill,  an obstetrician/gynecologist, and his patients
kept asking him about the cartoon.  He complained to me, and I offered
to print an apology and retraction, but he declined.  Since then, I
have used the name Burnhill in cartoon captions whether it applied to a
teacher or a Mafiosi.

2. I once took my little daughter Holly to the park, and there were a
bunch of people there chanting Hare Krishna, but she was certain they
were saying her name, Holly Krassner.  I chalked it up to a bit of
self-realization.
  

    
Hey, Silly, it already happened; there was a plan to reconstruct the
Merry Pranksters bus in San Francisco, and to have a tour of old hippie
haunts...I don't know the current status, though.
  

    
who? me?--follow-up: Influenced by Alan Watts and Lenny Bruce's
mother, I approach the ugliness to which you refer with an attitude of
dealing with What Is rather than What Should Be, in the sense that Mort
Sahl once said, paraphrased, "If  you make fun of segregation, your
advocacy of  integration is implicit."  Also,  it's the risk of free
expression.  My feeling is that exploitation and liberation are two
sides of the same coin.
  

    
Sirius: Bill Maher is outspoken about being for drugs and against
religion, and although I sometimes disagree with his point of view, I
welcome his provocation.  Dennis Miller, on the other hand, makes me
want to puke.  He's for the war, against the ACLU, substitutes obscure
references and name-calling for humor and wit; he's mean-spirited,
arrogant  and a bore...this is all totally subjective, of course.
  

    
And totally accurate.
  

    
Andy Klein, continued...holy shitski, am I embarrassed!  Your posting
made me realize that it's the wrong name  in my book.  The guy from the
TV program Conspiracy Zone who called me was not named Andy Klein. 
His name is Andy Meisler.  I have not the slightest notion of how the
name Andy Klein entered my consciousness...although there was that tiny
transistor that was planted in my skull while I was getting microwave
treatment at a popular mind control center...
  

    
By the way, there is an on-line hippie museum.  I think it's
www.hippiemuseum.org but if that doesn't work do a search.  It's OK.  

Of course, the concept of a gift shop at the Counterculture Hall of
Fame is amusing.  Since they give the awards in Amsterdam, there's
almost no limit to what they could sell.

"The Nepalese Temple Hash is half-off today in Aisle Five." 
  

    
Note to Andy:
      My friend Patrick Weathers wrote and recorded a song called "Red
Miata" about a Hollywood agent named Andy Klein who takes a wrong
turn, drives his Red Miata into the 'hood, and is never heard from
again.  I must get you a copy.
  

    
Re: Maher & Miller, I agree, Krass.  Maher infuriates me sometimes,
but he's smart, passionate and consistent.  Miller is not only
reactionary but he's got a smarmy personality.  From his early years on
SNL, I found it grating when he'd laugh at his own jokes.
  

    
Paul: 

BWUHAHAHAHA! You have the same chip my people implanted in Ry Cooder AND 
the Mills Brothers! Luckily, we can send a signal to wipe the memory of 
this discussion from your mind. 

To further complicate things, actually, I think I used to know Andy 
Meisler or worked with him someplace or something. 

Mikey: 

I have come across references to that song while pathetically searching 
the Web for my own name in the middle of the night -- c'mon, you all do 
that, right? -- I mean, *your* name, not mine -- I mean, I *hope* not mine 
-- I mean... 

Anyway, it freaked me out (needless to say). I searched to see if I had
ever written something nasty about Weathers or his cowriter. I had in fact
panned a movie written by his cowriter, but in a newspaper in Moscow, for
Christ's sake -- don't ask -- and, under my editorship, the Reader film
section HAD printed a nasty review of the same piece of crap. But still... 
For that I should immortalized in a song as a shallow moron? 

Nah. Some other Andy Klein. 
  

    
Re <92> - Paul:
Oy. "What's a jenslobodin?" Now you're asking me to define myself?
Wait. I haven't had as much practice as you. Let me try some of that
Salvia (not that I know what the heck it is, mind you, which is sad for
an "aging hippie", as I was recently described - thankyou very much),
or something else psychedelic before I begin telling you what I am. 

That JFK Realist was MOST memorable, and it's hilariously marvelous
that it's among our urban myths. I would love to read it again, not
that it's not indelibly etched on my brain forEVER. Now that we have
your email sorted out, I'll endeavour to contact you further. This time
without the tinfoil hat. 

Meanwhile, I couldn't agree with you more; it's those creeps in
"charge" (again, or still) who are the cynical cold-hearted bastards,
not us (you). 
  

    
Oh, and these stories are great. The one about the abortion referral
brought a nice loud guffaw from my guts. Thanks! 
  

    
Just wanna share this actual E-Bay listing:

This is a life size possessed Linda Blair dummy with a MOTERIZED [sic]
SLOW SPINNING HEAD. Her head is from an actual cast made from Linda
Blair, but the body is cast from a 5 foot 2 inch tall model/actress.
The head and limbs are made of a soft polyfoam while her torso is made
of a lightweight rigid foam. She has glass eyes and redish brown hair.
Her legs and arms are movable so that she can sit in a chair or on the
floor. I made her with brown eyes and blood on her face as she appeared
in the scene where her head turns around backwards. If you have any
questions, feel free to e-mail me. Thanks.
  

    
Aha!  My subconscious remembered the name Andy Klein from movie-review
bylines.  Whew, what a relief!  Andy Meisler occasionally writes for 
the NY Times.  My regret is that nobody has gone up to him and said,
"Hey, I saw your name in Krassner's book."
  

    
Jenny--"he Parts Left Out of the Kennedy Book is included in a
collection of my satire, The Winner of the Slow Bicycle Race, with an
introduction by Kurt Vonnegut.  I feel uncomfortable being commercial
in this context, so the details are on paulkrassner.com
  

    
Oh, don't feel uncomfortable - it's only us!  


 
  

    

Paul -- may I call you Paul?  You don't know me, but I believe David Gans
and Michael Simmons do.  I'd like to ask a really obscure question, because
I've always been curious.

Do you remember running a photograph in The Realist in fall 1996 or early
1997 of Johnnie Cochran, and on one side of him is Jerry Lefcourt -- whom I
believe helped you out in that abortion referral ad thang -- and on the
other, a prominent (?) S.F. psychiatrist?  And the shrink, Gene Schoenfeld,
is wearing a sign that says "OJ DID IT!" (unbeknownst to Cochran).

My question:  HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET YOUR HANDS ON THAT?

If you remember, that is.

It is truly an honor to be in your presence sir, at any rate.  If only
virtually.
  

    

P.
S.

I'm still catching up on this topic.  Spent the last week in Key West
researching modern piracy, which most involves drinking lots of rum and
stealing yachts apparently.  Pretty exciting when you're not always falling
down/overboard.