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| From | "Michael Bennett" <mrhonorama@hotmail.com> |
| Subject | Liz UnPhair? |
| Date | Mon, 30 Jun 2003 16:53:04 -0500 |
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I read this letter to the editor from Ms. Phair in the NY Times yesterday,
in response to a negative review last Sunday. Someone on another list
posted this. While I want to keep an open mind on the record, and don't
want to let the negative pub affect my judgment, this letter makes me think
Liz is a thin skinned loser prima donna twit. -- Mike Bennett
http://www.nytimes.com/2003/06/29/arts/29MAIL.html
LETTERS
LIZ PHAIR
Chicken Little's Tale
To the Editor:
Re "Liz Phair's Exile in Avril-ville" by Meghan O'Rourke [June 22]:
Once upon a time there was a writer named Chicken Little. Chicken Little
worked very hard and took her job very seriously. Often, she even wrote. One
day, just as Chicken Little was about to have an idea, she heard something
falling on her roof. "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" she shrieked,
spilling green tea and vodka all over her work station. This commotion awoke
her three readers, who lived with her in her hut, and all three rushed
outside to see what had happened to the sky. After enduring several anxious
minutes alone, Chicken Little was relieved to see her readers return. "Oh,
Chicken Little, it was just the trees dropping their buds on a beautiful
spring day," they said. Chicken Little tried not to show her disappointment.
Not long after, as Chicken Little was poring over some back issues of other
writers' material, she felt another idea about to form in her mind. "Truth .
. . no . . . Lies . . . no . . . ummm . . . ummm . . . Conspiracy!" She was
just about to write this down, when a great clattering and scraping began
above her head. Clutching her PC to her breast, she swung her head wildly to
and fro. "The sky is falling! This time, the sky is falling! The sky is
falling!" She meant to alert her readers. She felt very responsible for
them. They played outdoors, mostly, and had very open minds. The three
readers rushed back into the hut, very concerned, and when they saw the look
of dread on Chicken Little's sweet face and her finger pointing skyward,
trembling, they immediately turned around and rushed back out to see what
was the matter. For a few breathless moments, they could neither confirm nor
deny, then they all saw the same thing at once. "Chicken Little," said the
readers, "it's only two squirrels chasing each other in amorous conquest,
skittering over the eave of our house." "It's quite funny, actually," added
one of the readers, "you should come and see." But Chicken Little was
annoyed. "I have work to do!" she fumed. "Besides, I wasn't speaking to you.
I was performing a haiku," she fibbed, faxing something.
Well, time passed, and the readers grew, and so did Chicken Little, but not
very much. The light inside the hut was dim, and she worked in a huddled
position for long hours. She grew paranoid. She began to think she wasn't
sure anymore. She began to fear she didn't know. Then, just as her resolve
was nearly wiped away clean, she heard a sound that was not very loud. She
cocked her head from side to side, her little neck pouch jiggling, and
pecked at a few pebbles lying around her desk. Yes, the sound was definitely
there. In fact, it was coming from all sides now, the sound of a million
tiny things dropping on her roof. She peeked out her window and saw a
million tiny things dropping from the sky. All her chicken senses gathered
in supreme vindication. She opened her throat as wide as it would go and
crowed, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling! By God, any moron can see
the sky is falling!"
The peacefully sleeping readers were aroused, but did not pay attention
anymore, so used to her hysteria were they by now that her crowing became
one more familiar noise in the chattering nighttime forest.
"The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" Chicken Little screeched,
terrified they would not heed her and would be found the next morning,
buried among the intellectual debris. She pecked and pecked at them with her
sharp little beak until they finally agreed to be awakened. The three
readers rose up and shuffled outside to be greeted by a warm, summer rain
falling steady as a heartbeat, wondrous and quiet as unexpected relief from
pain. "Why, Chicken Little," said one reader, "it's only a summer shower
come to feed the land. It feels great!" Chicken Little cowered in the corner
as a fork of lightning licked the trees. "It's dangerous!" she cried, "you
could slip on the wetness! You could catch a nasty cold! You could get
electrocuted!" The three readers laughed, and went back out to experience
the mystery of the storm, without thinking, without deconstructing, without
checking what the other would do first. "Listen to me! Listen to me!" cried
Chicken Little, as she watched their backs turn. The three readers stopped
at the door and called out before leaving: "C'mon, Chicken Little. Hurry up,
you're gonna miss it!"
LIZ PHAIR
Manhattan Beach, Calif.
Meghan O'Rourke's review of Liz Phair's new album, "Liz Phair," is online at
www.nytimes.com/lizphair.
Record reviews and more at http://fufkin.com
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