The last worthless column

Bryan lark Daily Arts Editor

No, Bivouac hasn't stopped carrying North Face gear - this is the last worthless column, the last time my name and face will grace these pages of Weekend, etc. under the banner "State of the Arts," hence revoking my ability to comment on the state of such arts.

Not that I did much commenting on the state of the arts to begin with. I don't believe my fondness for Minnie Driver, my rant against landlords or a description of my overactive hips as a child would qualify as in-depth examinations of cultural goings-on.

Still, I never intended to change the world with my hard-hitting analysis of "Ally McBeal," or astound the campus with my mathematical relation of Puff Daddy to all major events of 1997, or particularly impress anyone at all with social commmentary.

I only tried to hog as much of the spotlight as I could bear - yeah, that's the ticket - forcing my harebrained theories, my esteem for Debbie Gibson and all the twisted, pointless details of my private life onto an unsuspecting and unwilling community, with only the aspiration to receive fan mail driving me on.

I think I'll miss such raw, unbridled power. After all, the readership of this paper reaches upward of, what, 50,000? Wow, I'm almost drunk on the power this paper offers.

Seriously, I have enjoyed conveying the state of my mind, if not of my arts, at any given moment and I hope you have enjoyed reading it. So just bear with me as I relive my Daily Arts experience thus far with a column full of thank-yous.

First, I'd like to thank the man who sent me my first piece of hate mail last winter, thankfully calling me on my horribly flawed review of "Vegas Vacation." I apologize for my deep-seated stupidity, as I'm sure that this stellar film will be remembered and cherished as a classic for many generations to come.

I'd also like to thank the woman who, fulfilling the most narcissistic of my dreams, sent me my first fan letter. Your praise of my great writing and dead-on analysis of film made me a very happy, if self-centered, ego-driven, boastful boy.

Your kind words went straight to my head, so I'll overlook the fact that the letter was in response to my review of the lesbian noir film "Bound" and your letter conveyed your rather disturbing obsession with the film. It is the thought that counts, I suppose.

Next, I'd like to praise the thoughtfulness of one Miss Koko, for allowing me a few minutes of bliss (phone sex) for a small price ($49.95) as "re-search" for a journalistic endeavor. In addition, I'd also like to thank former Daily Arts editor and mentor Brian Gnatt, who not only let me fake an orgasm in his hallway, but also commended me on my performance.

It's all about positive feedback with me, as you can plainly see - and you thought it was all about the benjamins. You write down your innermost thoughts for publication on a bi-weekly basis and see what wonders it works for your self-esteem.

I distinctly remember one morale boost, when a caring, generous young lady sent me a virtual postcard when I ended a column with "Bryan Lark is a pitiful loser," a comment usually reserved for catty co-workers and ex-swim coaches. I was being somewhat sarcastic when I wrote that, ma'am, but if it makes you feel needed, I can browbeat myself anytime you like (wink, wink).

Speaking of beating, I'd like to thank the sleeping woman I accidentally kicked in the head while uncrossing my legs at a showing of "L.A. Confiden-tial" last week. Upon being rudely stirred from your $6 slumber, you managed to utter as you exited the theater, "That was the most boring excuse for a movie I've ever seen," and then bemoaned the fact that you didn't go see "As Good as It Gets" again. You're entitled to your opinion, of course, but please call me if you ever need your head kicked again. For real this time. It's no trouble, really!

Next, I'd like to thank John Cusack for allowing a starstruck kid to pose with him even after the kid tripped over a coffee table and spilled Cusack's Diet Coke. Pictures are worth a thousand words, especially if those words are, "Who the hell is this dork?" (See photo at right).

The embodiment of coolness, John Cusack, poses with a starstruck fan who, besides being a tool, possesses a large degree of self-loathing and an unfortunate hairdo.

Continuing on the celebrity beat, I'd like to thank Peter Howitt, director of the upcoming "Sliding Doors," for offering me bourbon and advice, which amounted to something like, "Follow your dreams and just laugh at the buggers you leave behind." We should have T-shirts made, mate.

I don't really know any famous people; I just want to thank those two men for affecting my life in ways they could never know, or even remember.

Now, I'd like to take a moment to thank you, the reader, for swimming in my stream of consciousness from week to week and not drowning in a pool of sentiment, self-loathing and sarcasm, which I think are the three words that describe me best.

The three words that best describe my Daily Arts cohorts, without whom I might have actually written serious meditations on the state of the arts, would most likely be bad-ass mother ... shut your mouth! You guys and girls have made me less sane, less boring and less "good cop" - in short, a better, not as mean-spirited person, and I love and respect you all for that - except you. Yeah, you. I hate you.

Finally, I'd like to thank Annie Lennox for writing the lyric, "Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death." Profound, yes, but for me it's living without an audience every other week that scares me to death.

Call me an exhibitionist. Call me egotistical. Call me kidding - just don't call me anymore.

- Bryan Lark thanks you for listening. He promises to continue therapy. "And how do you feel about that?" E-mail him at blark@umich.edu

04-09-98