By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Sometimes hate mail can be a great source of inspiration, like this angry belch from the president of the Save Ferris fan club. We stole some words from it and used it to title our music-news column (and no, pissed-off fan-club president, if you're reading this, you will not get residuals):"[You] can't even write a grammatically correct sentence. . . . [Your] review was nothing but low-ball ass chatter."
And sometimes, blinded and confused by their own rage, people will inadvertently compliment me in their attempts to threaten:"Ok, so you're real clever, and you write with unguarded sarcasm—but you don't know who you're dealing with!"
Then there are the letters that could only be classified as "glaringly ironic":"Dude . . . you must shut up! Obviously you don't appreciate women in the music business . . . so my decision for you is just 'shut the fuck up, bitch!'"
I'd be lying if I said the hate mail doesn't concern me at all. For instance, I often become worried about the state of proper English composition in the public schools—ergo, why can't people come up with more inventive insults than these yawners?"You are a little turd." "You are a fuckin' dickless fagot." "You are a great big piece of s**t." "Rich Kane, you frikkin suck!"
No originality! No technique! Completely devoid of color and rife with misspellings and even self-censorship, which is the enemy of true creativity."You are a big idiot . . . I think theOC Weekly should fine themselves a unbias music editor cause you aren't worth shit."
But please, keep those letters and e-mails coming. If you really wanted to bother me, though, you wouldn't send me any hate mail. Then it's like you're ignoring me, like nobody's reading me, and that royally screws my chakra up. Rich Kane