the FAT &
the skinny 

A man phoned the office the other morning. Let’s call him Fred. Fred said that he was a schoolteacher; and that he had never called a magazine before and that he wasn’t a crank and that he never would have picked up Chronogram but for the fact that he was waiting for someone and just needed something to read. Fred had called to express his concern about certain elements—adult elements— in Chronogram, which he felt were not appropriate for a free publication. Specifically, the use of the F-word in a poem, describing—guess what?—sex, and a reproduction of a painting of two nude figures (a man and a woman, but not touching). Fred wondered if these adult elements had perhaps eluded our editorial eye and infiltrated the magazine unbeknownst to us. I assured him they had not. But what if Chronogram fell into the hands of a child?, Fred asked. Fred then suggested that it was indeed not too late to go and pick up all the magazines (25,000+ copies) out of the businesses of our distributors. Presumably to burn them, or send them to a home for the criminally insane—somewhere they wouldn’t be doing any harm. 

The next day, we received a fax reading: "Please do not drop your magazines off at 738 Ulster Ave., Kingston. They are put in trash by boss." The fax contained a reproduction of the poem that Fred had mentioned, and a reproduction of a reproduction of the painting that Fred had mentioned. What was going on here? Was Fred in cahoots with 738 Ulster Ave.? Was there a conspiracy?  

A little research revealed that 738 Ulster Ave. was in fact Alice in Videoland. Although I have never been to this tape rental emporium, I have it from a reliable source that they have an extensive selection of hardcore pornography. Now, I won’t make any references to that old saw, the pot calling the kettle black, but doesn’t it make you wonder? 

There is a distinction here, however, which Fred pointed out in our talk and I feel that A. in V., had they the chutzpah to identify themselves, might mount in their defense. The distinction is this: Chronogram is a free magazine, available all over the place. At restaurants, bookstores, realtors, National Historic sites—all the places kids go to get their kicks where Mom & Dad can’t sic the V-chip. To view hardcore pornography, on the other hand, you have to be 18—and prove it, or fake it, as the case may be. (Which reminds me of the website I linked to from Suck magazine’s site, http://www.suck.com, which, coincidentally, is the hippest spot on the Web, chock full of scathing satire, withering opinion, and a spin on events you just won’t get from Peter Jennings. The site I linked to, http://users.zetnet.co.uk/awaite/fake1995.html, is titled Easy Fake ID. It explains in excruciating detail how to make your very own fraudulent identification, using nothing more than your p.c. and a few printer’s tools, all the way down to choosing the font, where to buy the laminating equipment, and most important of all—the correct attitude to adopt when using your Easy Fake ID "Look semi-surprised when asked for ID. Don't sound annoyed, be polite!") 

The looming menace of Internet-aided Fake ID’s aside; it’s true that any child can pick up Chronogram—you don’t need a fake ID to get it. To buy or rent pornography, you must be 18, or at least be able to convince the guy at the video store that it’s for your bedridden Uncle Al. Even I admit, pseudo-libertarian that I am, that children should not view pornography. But if a child actually found Chronogram (I know how hard it is to find sometimes) and read the F-word, a word kids say and listen to all the time, and saw the nude painting, this would pale in comparison to the violence and pornography of popular culture that kids are exposed to daily.  

TV programs on teenage transgender prostitute nuns, pop songs about blowjobs given in theatres by ex-girlfriends, movies weaving mass violence, capitalist ideas of competition and sex in a seamless continuum (From The Rock 1st tough guy: "The winners get to go home and fuck the prom queen." 2nd tough guy: "I did fuck the prom queen."). This is the air kids breath, an atmosphere also polluted with advertising and rampant consumerism. The very clothes kids wear are ads for Nike, Pepsi, Tommy Hilfiger, Disney—children have become walking billboards. Kids look to each other and the popular culture for models of behavior and attitude: what to wear, what to eat and drink, how to act, and ultimately, what to buy. What’s cool this week? The X-Files? Shaq? Star Wars? Buy the tee-shirt, the video game, and the movie. As David Denby has written, "They [children] are shaped by the media before they’ve had a chance to develop their souls." 

As for Chronogram’s part in this conspiracy of pop culture, we are not only a distant relation of our media cousins, we are of a different species. We are not just a paltry drip from the media faucet—we flow from a different spigot altogether. If nudity offends; if no holds barred poetry offends, then don’t read us. And don’t turn on the TV, or the radio, or go out of your house—because you’ll be bombarded by it. Not to sound too in loco parentis here, but better kids should be exposed to adult issues through Chronogram, in an artistic format, than from Dad’s stack of Playboys in the attic. Or Alice in Videoland, for that matter.++