Volume 1, Issue 11 March 1996 _____________________ | ------------------- | Conceived, created, and birthed by: || || Francesca Parker || UTOPIA || (flparker@midway.uchicago.edu) || || Kari Bauer || PARKWAY[tm] || (klbauer@midway.uchicago.edu) || || Kate Pickering | ------------------- | (kate@snafu.mit.edu) --------------------- | | | | Contents: | | | | | | | | o Despots' Log . . . . . . . . o A review of "If Lucy Fell" from the Romantically Challenged o Got 4 Things To Do, Got 4 Things To Do; Violators of Gotta Keep On Top of My Life... Copyright Laws in Every Nation o Miss UP Makes Hospital Corners and State o UP Tells The Story o Diner: The St. Patrick's Day Massacre *'NET HAPPENS* Copyright (c) 1995 by Kari Bauer, Francesca Parker and Katherine M. Pickering All rights reserved ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- DESPOTS' LOG: VOLUME I ISSUE 11 A few nights ago, 5 or 6 (or 10 or 12 or 60) inches of snow poured out of the sky. We know it's March, and we're in Chicago, and such events should not be surprising...but spring seemed so close. And were our expectations thoroughly uncalled for? Why, only last year at about this time, we were making our way down I-57, I-80, I-55 and Route 116 to Peoria for an evening of music for the soul (NOTE: this may seem to be just one insignificant detail in a running train of nostalgic but mostly uninteresting thought. It is not. Hey. That rhymed. But that drive, that fateful drive, will be brought up again later in the issue. Dig out Utopia Parkway 1:1, if you dare. -ed.). A year ago it was also March, and it was still Chicago - yet the weather was so beautiful you could stick a fork in it. (NOTE: okay, maybe it *was* just an insignificant detail; we'd still like you to bookmark it for future reference.) Still. We're not bitter. As we move as if in a dream (or was that "as if asleep"? (or was that "asleep"?)) through the barrage of papers and exams and projects and portfolios and scenes and orals, we praise this icy frost ripping at our noses, making the thought of a stroll over to the library all the less tempting.... [it's actually very beautiful. really. -ed.] [Actually, the real reason we're not bitter is because we're so busy getting excited about UTOPIA PARKWAY'S VERY FIRST BIRTHDAY. That's right, it's next month already. Which makes us considerably older than _Urban Desires_ and all the other trend-meister 'zines that get mentioned in _Newsweek_. So anyway, amidst the planning for cake, cotton candy, and guest clowns, we thought we'd let you know in plenty of time to mark your calendar, take your best suit to the dry cleaners, get your gifts in the mail, and make whatever spiritual preparations you deem necessary. We will also be accepting goat sacrifices. Just so you know.] Franny, Kari & Kate ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- Review * If Eric Schaeffer Fell * A few months ago, as you may or may not remember, we highly recommended a television show called "Too Something" (my, but this is becoming an incestuous little issue, isn't it? Maybe *that* should've been our theme. "The Referencing Back Issues Issue." Catchy, ain't it?). "Too Something" had theoretically just gone on haitus while they renamed it, but its suspiciously long absence makes us wonder if it's ever coming back, and if not, at least if it's been given a proper burial, with full religious rites and all that. Because if it hasn't, we might have to go out there in the dead of night with a shovel and... oh... nevermind. STILL - No Need To Dwell On the Negative, because one of the brilliant minds we were so emphatically trying to force on you has a movie coming out: * If Lucy Fell * Eric Schaeffer wrote, directed and stars in this movie with Sarah Jessica Parker, Ben Stiller and Elle Macpherson. "If Lucy Fell" is about two friends, Joe MacGonaughill (Schaeffer) and Lucy Ackerman (Parker) who made a pact in college that if they hadn't found true love by the time they turned 30, they'd jump off the Brooklyn Bridge together. When the movie opens, Lucy's birthday is a month away. Elle Macpherson plays Jane, the woman Joe's stalkingerahadmiring in the next apartment building. Ben Stiller does a hilarious job playing Bwick, a pop arts painter - and believe us, that's capital "A" Artiste. Bwick is eccentric and self-involved, but charming and thoughtful enough to win Lucy's interest. Once again, Eric Schaeffer is particularly interested in letting the audience hang out for awhile in the world he creates. The movie becomes an absorbing barrage of wonderful moments. Shaeffer has created a group of people you just want to jump into the middle of...and this includes the marvelous construction of a friendship between Joe and Lucy that has no more sexual tension in it than a caterpillar (there's more to be said about this as regards the ending...but if we said it, we'd be giving too much away and then we'd have to have "Warning: Spoilers" tattooed across our foreheads and would be less than charming, as we're sure you'd agree). "If Lucy Fell" is well done all around. Sarah Jessica Parker is terrific as the slightly neurotic Lucy, and Schaeffer is sublimely charming, as always. Basically, WE LIKE THIS GUY AND WE WANT OTHER PEOPLE TO REALIZE HOW DAMN COOL HE IS SO GO SEE THE MOVIE. Okay? If you don't like it, you can beat us up. Disclaimer: offer void where the part you didn't like was the ending. (To see Eric's tree, Open http://student-www.uchicago.edu/users/kmpicker/main.html) ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- To Do * _To Do_ * Those of you who don't keep up with our bountiful web page may feel slightly left out for the next few moments. ~~~subliminal message...check out the web page check out the web page We've been running a list of Things To Do. ~~~http://student-www.uchicago.edu/users/kmpicker/submain2.html The past few months have included some exciting suggestions, such as "Evolve all thumbs." We're not crazy for thinking, are we, that the idea that "all thumbs" makes you less rather than more useful is way off base? ~~~Do It, Do It *Now*.... Since we've been putting a lot of pressure on ourselves to evolve peculiar (but no doubt useful) variations on our present anatomical conditions, we thought we'd try to branch out this month. Now we're trying to evolve the human race. And frankly, we outdid ourselves. Ergo, this month's suggestion bears extention into our emailing. Let's not beat around the bush. We think Jesse Helms should be put out of his misery. _Things To Do_ 4. Destroy Jesse Helms. (Maybe if we all think dirty thoughts simultaneously....) A fine politician with plenty to eat B elieves we should all be both humble and meek O r maybe, could be, "us all" except him R ight, Jesse. You might just want to lay off the gin. T his lady, right here, has a lot of integrity, I make my decisions - don't need them made already. O,Jesse, here's hoping one day you'll understand, N o internet, no art world, no mind, will fit under your hand. (If anyone feels this poem to be overly serious for a publication such as our own...Well, we are virtually advocating murder, here, so it, uh, seemed warranted. Right. Something like that. Nevermind.) ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- Miss UP * Miss Utopia Parkway Loves You Even If Nobody Else Does * Dear Miss UP, I have a very very very serious problem. It is very very very serious. I'm sure you're a busy woman but, as maybe you can tell, my problem is so very serious that I just had to write (it's a very serious problem). My best friend told me that Uncle Androo doesn't exist. I told him that he was lying, because my mother and my father told me he was real and then Jimmy said my parents were lying and so I said no, you're wrong Uncle Androo is real and he tells magical stories from a purple velvet bag to good children all across the universe so that everyone will be a little bit crazy and if you believe then you will always have a special part deep inside that's crazy, even after you grow up and have to get a dumb job like your father has is what I said to him. So then Jimmy said I was stupid so I said he was a dummy so then he said I was *super* stupid so then I said [several paragraphs deleted in the interest of space -ed.]. Please answer my very very very important question, Miss UP? I want to believe my parents, but they lied to me about the tooth fairy and that "if you try hard enough" thing, so I don't know who to believe. Yours Very Sincerely, Bobo Dear Bobo, Oh, my poor dearie. No, the life of a retired beauty queen isn't all Boon's and roses, but your question, as you were beginning to imply, is very serious. So I'm going to answer your question. That's my job after all. Yes, Bobo, there *is* an Uncle Androo. Your friend's a dirty liar. We recommend a swift kick in the knees. -Miss UP ****** Dear Miss UP... Okay...I figure you probably don't do that whole advice-to-the-lovelorn shtick, but I've got a question in that general area. (My question probably puts me in the category of more -possible than -lorn, though.) I have recently become interested in a friend of mine from high school. I've known her for about five or six years, and we've always gotten along fine in our amorphous group of demented people that we call "friends." As I said, though, lately I've been interested in becoming more than "just friends." (Don't you just *HATE* that phrase?) We went on what I guess would be called a date...(dinner and a movie...I paid for the dinner, she insisted on paying for the movie, I paid for the cappuccino afterwards) I definitely had a good time, and I think she did as well. (It was the first time we'd ever really hung out with each other without the rest of our friends around--it felt different.) Unfortunately, the timing sucked. I had to go back to school a few days afterwards. (She was already back when we went out--she goes close to home, whereas I do not...to a school with weird schedules.) We've traded e-mail a few times since then, but it's difficult to figure out what two people feel about one another via e-mail. So, (drumroll)...what should I do now? I'm really shy about stuff like this, and like to take it slow. ("Glacial" is how another friend described it...) I want to let her know that I'm interested in her, and I'd like to find out the extent of her interest in me. What next? Thanks for your help, Miss UP. I know that you can bring the forces of the universe to bear upon this insignificant question. Later.... Love-possible in New York Dear Mr. Possible, Ah, young love. I remember when I turned 17 and Johnny MacNell invited me for a soda with some of the kids. They were heading down to Coney Island for a day of fun, frolicking and freaks. Oh what an offer in those days! I must have spent 5 hours with my best friend mary deciding what to wear. The night before I could hardly sleep, wondering if maybe - just maybe - this meant that Johnny wanted to pin me. Kids are so dumb. The point I would like to make to you is that if she cares about you, she cares about you. If you got the impression during your last trip home that the feelings you've developed for her are mutual, you're probably right. People are usually right about these things, but they pay attention to their brains instead of their hearts (either way, they're not paying their bills, which leads to all kinds of trouble - so watch out). I understand why you might be anxious if your vacation schedules don't match up until the summer, but don't worry. If you were right, she's anxious, too. Keep in touch with her, but don't feel you need to push the issue right now. Like I said, if she cares about you, she cares about you, and she still will when you have a chance to spend time together in person. Maybe you'll feel more confident after you've had a better chance to feel the situation out. Then buy her flowers. Johnny MacNell brought me a beautiful bouquet of lilacs and primroses and from that moment on, I never wondered if he cared about me in that special way again. (Until the night he broke into our front yard and started calling me names that I can't use under the telecommunications act after we broke up and I stuck that pin in the most unsavory of places.) A final thought from this book I found: "Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?" - Christopher Marlowe Trust your instincts. Let me know what happens. (And if she turns you down, send her this way - you seem like a nice boy and I don't like to see you getting hurt.) - Miss UP SEND *YOUR* QUESTIONS, CONCERNS AND TREATABLE DYSFUNCTIONS TO MISS UP at missup@macatawa.org TODAY. ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- * The Bastard Child of Imagination and Centripetal Force * Did you ever play that party game where you and your friends go around in a circle and collectively tell a story, each adding a few sentences? Well, lately and in various forms, we've gotten into the habit of playing that game over the bountiful lines of the internet. The transition is pretty simple - there's a set list of people and a set order, and each person adds as much or as little as they want and sends it on. We're pretty pleased with ourselves (a bad habit, we know), so here's a little sampling. Theoretically it should have been able to stand on its own, without any explaination, but it occured to us that what might be very impressive for an adventitious collaboration would probably look slightly pathetic as a professed piece of high coherency and literary value. So we disclaim. Strap yourselves in; "to make the Story-Go-Round go faster, so that everyone needs hang on tighter just to keep from being thrown to the wolves..." ****** (*) She sat out on the porch, her tongue running over the film of processed cheese left on the back of her teeth by the afternoon's sandwich. (*) Marlena's thoughts flowed through her brain like only a torrent of melted Velveeta really ever can. (*) The phone rang. Running to the phone with nervous anticipation, she placed her hand on the receiver. "Milk!" she thought. "I need that MILK!" She'd be damned if she was going to talk to HIM with all the remains of that sandwich still lingering in her mouth. (*) She checked the fridge as the phone rang a second time...NO MILK! "Oh well," she thought as the third ring passed, "I'll just have to settle for Old Style." She gulped it down and ran back to catch the phone just before the machine picked up. "Hello?" she gasped, and immediately let out a loud, satisfying belch. (*) Fortunately for Marlena, it was only her boyfriend, Lewis. There was a pause. Then a dialtone. "I never liked her, anyway," said Lewis upon hanging up the phone. The doorbell then rang. He went over and opened the door, but there was nobody there. This was because Lewis had opened the closet by mistake. The doorbell rang again... (*) "Just a minute!" Lewis yelled at the door as he carefully extricated himself from the tangle of mops, brooms, and cobwebs that had greeted him in the closet. A salamander scurried across the carpet. Lewis hurled a broom at it. The figure standing outside on the doorstep sighed and shook his shaggy head in displeasure as the broomstick clattered against the window. The door opened. (*) Although Lewis was never (even remotely) considered bright, his dog is from a rare and intelligent breed of Tibetan yak herders. Shaggy took just enough time to give Lewis a sloppy greeting and then bounded through the door after the salamander. Above the amphibian's terrified shrieks Lewis heard his phone ring. (*) "Must be Marlena calling back," he thought to himself as he picked up the receiver and casually slipped it into the fishtank. His wide-nosed speckled sub-tropic goldfish, Plato, burped appreciatively into the wrong end of the phone. By this time, (*) Marlena had finished her first, and her second, Old Style - and begun a third. While the SprintNet rep in Boylestown puzzled at the aquatic sounds at (312)419-9094, Marlena sped toward the exit 39 IHOP. "That son of a bitch," she repeated, imprudently tossing the half-full bottle out the window and in front of the oncoming Datsun. She eyed the cold steel of the car and hit it head on. (*) "Concrete! and a pine tree!" Meanwhile, in the nearby village, a villager was painting a serene scene. Michael Kelly was the name of the painter. When Michael wan't painting, he was drinking, and when he wasn't drinking he adding objects to his sculpture of Mark David Chapman. Many Beatle fans were upset with Michael. They would shout "Beatle-hater!", and "Beatle-guy-hater!" Michael merely said, "I love John Lennon. John Lennon was bigger than his murderer. Peaches burn in the morning sun and I continue with my hate-art. I'm an anti-artist and lover of this most exquisite onion soup." Usually, the confused villagers would wander away with their mouths agape. Little flames would appear over their heads and more often than not they would they would catch on fire and jump in the local algae-filled pond and drown. "Beatle-guy-hater!" the drowning victims would gurgle. ["Hang on, hang on *tight*" -ed.] (*) Michael would have grinned at all the senseless death, had he not been astute enough to realize what a hackneyed response that would have ben or been. Touched by his own ironic rejection of an ironic response which would have, ironically, been far from ironic, given it's ironically commonplace tone, a small tear slid down Michael's cheek. As the salt water slipped over his lip and onto his tongue, memories began to pulse behind Michael's eyeballs (romanticized moments of sensation have a nasty habit of doing that): the taste of blood after he fought a bartender over whether that speck on the mug was dirty filth or merely an imperfection in the glass (had it really been 2 years since he had used his fists last?), that pork chop which had made water a religious experience......suddenly he felt as if he had been hit with a 10 ton weight (which may have been the branch that fell on him at the moment - we'll never know) - MARLENA!! Oh, Marlena Constanza Gonzalez, how he suddenly missed her! And so, without knowing why, when or how much - or even any of the historical repercussions - he set out to find his childhood sweetheart... (*) Years later, Marlena would reflect, the sheer absurdity of the chance meeting at the IHOP would puzzle, amuse, and anger her. Years of unconscious shudders every time the phone rang, the doorbell sounded, or a Tibetan yak cried (for Marlena's relationship with Michael had been strange indeed) had been for naught. For all she knew, Michael was where he belonged -- at the bottom of the local pond in a pair of expensive cement DM's. And so, the sheer impossibility of the chance meeting struck her as implausible even in the worst cheap fiction. And yet, as she settled down to her disturbingly overpriced Ethiopian Pancake Special, she looked up involuntarily at the creak of the front door. The clocks took that moment to switch to the tackiest form of slow-motion. (*) "I asked for raspberry." Marlena chided the waitress. "I'll heat it up right away." the waitress sneered as she marched to the back. Marlena knew that the tension caused her to be snippy, and she didn't care. It was about time Michael returned those cement DM's, the Ethiopian pancakes were practically non-existent, and someone needed to fix that blasted door. She still reeked of pine from that accident, and she had a right to be mad about it all. Her mind raced to the many memories of how, after all that had happened, she came to be in THIS position. (*) "Ah," said a voice from behind the jukebox, "my years of teaching have served you well. Even now the stress is seeping from your body, collecting in a puddle of slime on the floor, ready to attack the next unsuspecting passerby." Marlena swore as she unwrapped her feet from behind her head. "It's a good thing you taught me ONE thing that was remotely useful!" she snapped back. "At least that waitress will get what's coming to her!" As annoyed as Marlena was whenever she was faced with the evidence of her ancient brainwashing, she had to admit that it occasionally came in handy. (*) Around 'bout that time, the 'ol Duke boys had gotten themselves in a whole heap of trouble down at the 'ol Boar's Nest. (*) Lewis glared frostily at the television. Every movie, every sitcom, every last commercial for the kind of dishwashing soap he'd never in a million years buy: from every one of these, Marlena's beautifully mocking visage glared frostily right back. "Heaven and earth, must I remember? Frailty, thy name is Lewis!" He moaned and rolled over, burying his face in the soft pillows that just two wekks ago [nay, not so much, not two!] had cradled the body of the only woman he had ever been in love with. This isn't, of course, strictly true - Lewis fell in love an average of once a week - more when he actually ventured out in the daylight. But every new lover struck the memory of the last so utterly from his mind that he had actually been known to fall into love at first sight with the same person on several different occasions. And usually by the time the object of his affections grew weary of him, he had already set his sights on a new mark. But never before had he been completely consumed by one woman the way he now was by Marlena; she lingered just at the threshold of his conscious mind, as if somehow she had been encoded in a Magic Eye book that wouldn't *quite* come into proper focus. He had tried everything to get her out of his mind - casual sex with anonymous women, anonymous sex with casual members of both sexes, booze, meditation, gardening, sleep, television... He had just recently ended a campaign to trick himself into hating her. But to no avail. Lewis watched the big shaggy dog snoring away by the end of the couch, dreaming empty doggie dreams of walks [in the park with Marlena] and cats [Marlena loved cats] and Marlena opening big juicy cans of Doggy Din-Din and serving them up in big beautiful plastic bowls with a side of fresh water and a big kiss on top of his head... Suddenly, he realized that throught the hard labor of trying to expunge Marlena's presence from his brain, he had worked up an appetite. He decided to concede to his obsession for a while and go across town to the IHOP that had once been the source of so many happy moments spent together with her. [Why, Marlena? Why?] * * To Be Continued * * Authors: Franny (flparker@midway.uchicago.edu), Jeremy (jae592@sun1.bham.ac.uk), Stephen (zedlers@acc.jbu.edu), Christine (cs10@midway.uchicago.edu), Ray (rlg@metronet.com), Kari (klbauer@midway.uchicago.edu), Rob (Crobm2@aol.com), Kate (kate@snafu.mit.edu), Matt (horicon@mail.mcn.org), Andrew (griffina@acc.jbu.edu). ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- The Utopia Parkway Diner * It's Not Easy Being Green * What's the diner that's out of sight? *Bechtel's* bop-she-bop With good, hot meals that taste just right? mmmmm *Bechtel's* bop bop There are bible thumpers in the parking lot, And the Krazy Kandy Korner lives just across. Sure, it may be kind of scary but what's your point? The finest St. Pat's shakes come from this joint. You'll find everything you need here oou-wee-oou The finest cup of joe there could be, here oou-wee-oou Down by the town of Flanagan *FLANAGAN* It's Bechtel's *Bechtel's* bop bop Just Bechtel's bop bop ooooou-weee-ooouuuuuu - yeah - Well then, now that we've gotten that out of our collective system. Just about a year ago today we were making a leetle excursion down to the fair hamlet of Peoria, Illinois. Near the forceful yet gentle town of Flanagan, we stopped for sustenance at the port of Bechtel's. Okay - we admit it, we looked it up and discovered Bechtel's is actually in Roanoke. But dammit, 'Flanagan' flows so trippingly off the tongue.... And what greeted us in this checked-print bastion of diner food? ST. PATRICK'S DAY FOOD! A lot of people try to change the natural colors of foods for this verdant holiday. Some even go so far as to dye rivers. But if you're *really* creative, you do like Bechtel's and make a whole meal of foods that were green before you ever laid your grimy little hands on them. Here are some suggestions to get you started: KEY LIME PIE Not Denny's-green key lime pie. _Natural Born Killers_ green, if you know what we mean. That unnatural green. That fake-Christmas-tree, Mountain-Dew-gone-even-more-wrong, radiation-born, Armageddon green. GREEN MINT SHAKE Well, technically, mint flavoring isn't really green because in distilling the Essence of Mint, if you will, out of the leaves the green hue is cruelly eliminated, forcing the undaunted mint-maker to reintroduce the green coloring. But, hey, it still counts. BROCCOLI Special bonus points for this one: it even kinda looks like clovers. SOUR CREAM You know what we mean - the old stuff that's been sitting in the back of your fridge for 4 months. Here's the perfect opportunity to fulfill its material destiny. Waste not, want not! You can take it from here - leaves for plates, braided grass utensils, tree sloths for benches, etc. - you know the routine. We highly recommend, however, that you avoid eating the plethora of St. Patrick's Day paraphernalia that becomes magically available on March 17th. Vert appetit! (Green Lights Ahead at the UP Diner, http://student-www.uchicago.edu/users/kmpicker/diner.html) ------UP--------------------------------------------------------------- * And Now, A Word From Our Sponsor... * [AKA, "It's not easy, being Sweeney."] Meet Father Sweeney. He hopes that this issue of _Utopia Parkway_ was to your liking. If there's anything Father Sweeney can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don't hesitate to ask. Father Sweeney is thinking that, with a little bit of luck, he may become a permanent member of the cast of Hawaii Five-O. He doesn't have a chance in hell. (Nor can we imagine why he'd want one...) But he'll always have a special place in our hearts. ------UP---------------------------Y'all drive safe now, ya hear?------