I have a 20 year old, 7 year old twin girls, a funny albeit odd, but good husband, and a short stack of exes… not to mention a ridiculously tragic childhood (the memoir just finished) and hey, it’s funny, so I’m told…there is one thing I am not: normal…. but some one this crazy world is not ready for funny women, it scares them, we are supposed to be good little doobies, with no sense of humor! more later…. I have to go clean up 1) dog poo 2) finish doing my son’s laundry, HA, 3)oh shite I forgot to eat too… work at my actual job that pays me nothing, ….but re lunch it won’t be the poo

http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2009/09/14/090914sh_shouts_frazier

Frazier’s narrator is a woman who is a columnist in a lousy marriage that has driven her to curse a blue streak and guzzle misplaced vintage drinks — beverages used to much better effect in any episode of Mad Men. It’s impossible to imagine that there are not droves of real woman “out there” who could have easily written an infinitely wittier piece about domestic misery driving them in a direction other than the tired cliche of the bottle. As for the cursing, it was so banal, it seemed to be written by someone suffering fallen arches of the brain.

The editors at S&M must live in a parallel universe where they believe that a guy with a mindset as dated as Frazier’s can find his inner Phyllis Diller and write as convincingly from a woman’s POV as any woman in 2009. For an encore, will Frazier sit at his computer in blackface and channel his inner Nipsy Russell — since S&M seems to have a closed door policy to writers of color as well?

Let’s start a revolution at The NYer and call them out on their overt pandering to the breed of straight while male who has the capacity to find stale humor riotously funny. Who are these guys, someone’s Uncle Ralph and Grandpa Burt?

If publishing dreck like Frazier’s is supposed to demonstrate The NYer intentionally marginalizing the presence of women in their revered tome, they’ve proven their point. If they insist on publishing primarily the male of the species, at least improve the selection process and find some fresh and funny voices (go out on a limb and mix it up with some guys of color). Maybe the spirit of Dorothy Parker will haunt David Remnick into seeing daylight about the errors of The NYer’s direction. Or, better yet, more women in the here and now will call him out on these lame essays they publish week after week written by out of touch white guys whose ability to tell an amusing tale peaked long ago, even though they unfortunately continue to space hog S&M today.

You call the New Yorker sexist, but undoubtedly far more men submit to shouts and murmurs than women. This seems like a larger cultural question and not something to pin blame on individual editors or magazines.