Lesbian Ass vs. the Commuter Class
This past weekend, Manhattan's customarily quiet and genteel neighborhood of Chelsea was overtaken by lesbian rage, as 22nd Street became the site of the LTTR Block Party, in honor of the release of the fourth issue of this largely-unknown feminist art/literature/music journal. (That's one more issue than n+1, in case you're wondering. Collect them now!)
So, what sort of clash ensues when the upper-income brackets of Chelsea's brownstone-residing queers play host to a bunch of art-world dykes? Hmm...phrased like that, the whole situation becomes confusing. Let's sort it out by pitting LTTR versus that beacon of aspirational capitalism, BusinessWeek.
| BusinessWeek |
LTTR |
 |
 |
| The publication's title pretty
much says it all...you're getting the news of "this week in business".
Concise, but boring. Kind of like your typical V.P. of Development. Not very
gay in the least. |
The publication's title
serves a dual function; first, it's an artful abbreviation of LETTER,
get it? Because the printed word is comprised of letters. Secondly,
it's an acronym of sorts, wherein issue number 1 went by the longhand
variant of LESBIANS TO THE RESCUE, issue number 2 spelled out LISTEN
TRANSLATE TRANSLATE RECORD, and then there's some additional wordplay
with the idea of LESBIANS TEND TO READ. Semi-clever, mostly creative.
And, therefore, very gay. |
| Inserts: Each issue includes subscription
invitation cards that frequently fall out on the floor of the Metro North
train on which its readership rides. |
Inserts: Past issues have included
insert CDs with rare and exclusive tracks by artists such as Le Tigre.
Apparently the group's frontwoman Kathleen
Hanna has some sort of penchant
for lesbianism? |
| Current Cover Story: When
Rita Came Calling, examining how "after Katrina, Gulf Coast outfits like
SBC, Coke, and Texas Instruments prepared extensively for this hurricane."
Informative and matter-of-fact. And, again, boring as all fuck. |
Potential Cover Story: When
Rita Came Calling, examining what happens when an ex-lover
comes by your studio apartment in Williamsburg while you're racing to
hide your new girlfriend's undergarments. Assuming she wears undergarments.
Poetic and beautiful. |
| Packaging: Bound like ninety percent of all other magazines. Three staples straight down the side, gloss on the front, and poker in the rear. (Sorry, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Account Executives are just so goddamned aggressive after happy hour!) |
Packaging: The latest issue comes wrapped in textured paper, bound by a frilly ribbon. Very feminine, but not very durable –– and certainly not built to last in perpetuity. Where are those all-important subscription cards? |
This, then, is why the breeders will always win.
