dear Sinister. a few weeks ago one of my coeditors (funny that I have such things) and I revealed to each other quite by accident that we grew up less than a mile away from each other. which is unusual, in that she teaches at the high school I attended, a good many miles from there, and that she is now studying in the same, tiny program from which I am about to graduate. (well, almost the same program. I'm still an undergrad, blah blah.) anyway the coincidence was enough to get us both going on with stories about the settings we unwittingly shared through childhood. the eyeglasses shop indian, for instance (which, for all Chicagoans on board, is the best-kept secret of smut in the whole city. if you're unfamiliar with this glorious attraction, email me immediately for directions. it's worth the drive). she also mentioned the prairie. the prairie she referred to is not really a prairie at all. in fact, until she mentioned the place, I had assumed that my brother and I were the only creatures on earth that ever referred to it as such. it's actually a small field that surrounds the mess of train tracks beneath the bridge Pulaski makes just south of 71st street. we played ball in the prairie, sledded down the embankments (on proper sleds in the winter, and bits of refrigerator boxes the rest of the year), and looked for rats under the concrete slabs of the bridge. our mom would laugh at us when we called it the prairie, saying that when we were in school and we learned what a real prairie was, we'd laugh at ourselves too. instead, when I played Oregon Trail on the Apple IIG's in my suburban grade school, I was annoyed at more than just the lousy graphics -- there I was, out on the prairie, hunting for food for my family (while little Billie was dying of TB or cholera or snake venom or god knows what), and there were bunches of stiff-looking deer and bunnies frolicking about in a setting that was depressingly free of embankments and railroad tracks. what kind of prairie was this? who wanted to be a damned pioneer in the first place? not me. thankfully, I've been to the prairie for real, and I was definitely right. I mean, the vastness and the emptiness that my mom and my geography teachers described to me is there, and it's gorgeous. but it's crisscrossed with train tracks, now, too. and highways, and shabby little towns where people grow up and play with cardboard boxes, and all of that. the midwest, as it turns out, is growing into the prairie of my childhood. and Sue's too. anyway, this is all very poignant for me (no, not in a fisting sort of way, though the image is lovely), mainly because I'm preparing to move to the desert. not just this minute, or anything. I've got school to finish up. but plans are being made and money is being saved, and up until recently I have been quite excited. you see, I'm truly anxious to get away from this place. since I've last spoken to you, Sinister, many ugly things have happened. parents have died. plants have died. romances have gone horribly awry. Chicago has been a poor friend, in general. I'm lonely and tired and goddammit, I'm cold. but I will miss the prairie, which I have found little pieces of all across this city. ahem. enough of that. we haven't talked in awhile, have we? well. it's probably time to mention that I've changed my email address since the last time I posted. to boot, that was a year and a half ago. is a reintroduction necessary? I dunno. I think I prefer the idea of being someone new. though I've missed you all something terrible. love. baker P.S. i got the bit about the new single coming with poorly printed liner notes. has anybody else had the same problem with DCW? mine's got a bunch of blank pages where lyrics should be. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+