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We enjoy mail—who doesn't?—and appreciate your correspondence. Please send us letters. And photos, good golly photos. We will print anything.

Letters to The New Yinzer should be sent electronically to or physically through the USPS to: The New Yinzer, 315 Gross Street, #3, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15224.

From: Steve
Sent: Thu 14 Aug 03
Subject: Tippy the Turtle is a Feeling

Hi Jennifer,

I enjoyed reading Bill Julin's article { Tippy the Turtle is a Feeling }in your recent issue.

Please forward this email to him for me. I'd like to have him contact me.

Steve Unverzagt
Director of Marketing
Art Instruction Schools
Creating Better Artists Since 1914

From: Adrian
Sent: Tue 12 Aug 03
Subject: innovation

How about a rhetorical question?

What is the major innovation in art from the last 500 years? It's the examination of the commonplace, the insight that the actual appearance and simple existence of any thing, in itself, is just about as profound as it gets. This is, I guess, the line that connects Constable to Weston to Warhol. But what I wonder is, where is the frontier of this advance? Is it mere cruelty to say flowers, famine, and beery football fans are equal in beauty?

Or am I all wrong?

Adrian Adams

From: David C. Madden
Sent: Thu 21 Aug 03
Subject: malls and things

Dear New Yinzer:

Malls are only as strong, only as popular and worth visiting as their anchor stores, by which I mean the "big box" department stores with names known by all and visible on signs from the major road that runs past. Here the mall is anchored by Sears and J.C. Penney and another store called Dillard's. I don't know this store, do you know it? The mall is only a single story, which story is the second story, the first story being parking. It's a mall on stilts. I spent about fifteen minutes walking through all of it, searching, in vain, for a store to repair the crystal of my watch face.

It's funny that watches and clocks have human-named parts. This reminds me of an adult joke. Once there was a clock shop, situated, oh, in a mall near a store called Dillard's. It was called the Clock Shop. Well one day, this guy saunters in like some gunslinger, unzips his fly, and slaps his unit on the counter. The saleswoman reels back in shock and covers her modest eyes. "Sir!" she says. "I'm sorry, this is a clock shop!"

"Oh I know," the guy says. "Why don't you go ahead and slap a face and two hands on this bad boy?"

Today I saw my first local pigeon, if you can believe it. It wasn't on the sidewalk in my way, but rather perched on the very top of a house near mine. Right on the angled tip of the roof. It sat so still that I thought it was a decoy (for what, I didn't know), until it turned its head to watch me walk past. Then it turned its head back again. What could it have been looking at, the aluminum siding of the neighboring house?

Here the reception is bad despite wide, clear skies, and most television channels are stationed in Omaha, so many of the houses have large and elaborate aerial antennae sticking trianguarly out of their roofs, making many of the homes here look like churches with steeples of wire and cable.

I miss you, do you miss me? Are you seeing anybody? It's okay if you are, I know we talked about it. But I just think ... I feel I have a right to know if you are. Call me sometime, hey?

Sincerely Love,

ps: I still want my sweater back.

From: John Llamas
Sent: Mon 25 Aug 03
Subject: I am seeking a reputable vendor of inflatable sheep ...


I am a 'generously proportioned' male (375 pounds) with a less than generous penile length (4 inches erect). I seek a vendor of quality inflatable sheep who can give away free samples as I am unemployed.

Best regards
John Llamas

From: Janet Gunter
Date: Wed 27 Aug 03

Dear Light of my Poor Sad Life,

Of course I only exist to hear your sweet petal voice, look upon your kind visage and to breath the air that has been lucky enough to share the hemisphere with you. Of course!

Alas, however, I cannot get out of other responsibilities and.... meetings! and such to come and share your being. Or a drink. What will become of me??!? I fear a slow death via broken heart.

I also expect to make my 6:30 Board of Director's meeting and the much needed grocery hopping and laundry afterwards. Not to mention you all are all the way over on the South Side, c'mon! Jeez!

Are you always so geo-centric? Doesn't anyone with any literary wit live on the North Side? Besides me, I mean? I find that very hard to believe. The Park House? Didn't I just see Mr. Proust down there crying into his tea and petites madeleines? Some of those bombasts who live down on Beech Avenue must occasonally read something other than the NY Times and the Wall Street Journal and Granta, no?

Oh. Maybe not. Well, regardless, I wish you well and lots of beer and hope that the next time I get an email from yinz (so to speak) I get more than a day's inform. And that it's closer than Zythos.

Ta, my beloved,

From: Pat Clark
Sent: Mon 25 Aug 03

Stop touching me!

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