By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
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By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Contact us via voice mail at (714) 825-8432, or by e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org. Or write to Letters to the Editor, OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627. Or fax: (714) 708-8410. Letters may be edited for clarity and length. All correspondence must include your home city or service provider and a daytime phone number.
BEST PROTECTED NIPPLES
DAMN YOU and your Best of OC edition (Oct. 16)! I happen to be the roommate of one of Orange County's so-called coolest people: Randy Pesqueira ("'You've never pinched nipples?!'"). Why did you glamorize an abusive fetish? You have no idea what it is like to live with a neurotic nipple pincher. The boy needs help. Since the interview was published, things have only worsened. I have resorted to wearing protective nipple cones that would make Madonna drool.
-David "Bruised but Not Beaten" Armendáriz
Thank you for the entertaining Best of OC issue. It was witty and clever. However, there is at least one error I noted that I would like to share with you. I am referring to the column on Page 34, titled "Best Republican Who Is Not My Mother," which contains a gross factual error. While I did not serve members of the Families to Amend California's Three Strikes (FACTS) coffee or orange juice, I did in fact meet with Tim Carpenter, Orange County Public Defender Carl Holmes, and a concerned mother whose son was in prison. In fact, not only did I meet with them once, but another appointment was also scheduled with FACTS members, who later canceled the meeting.
It was unfortunate that they were unable to make that engagement. My appointment scheduler asked them to call back with a better date to reschedule, but we have not heard from them since. As with any other constituents in this district, my door is always open to hear their concerns.
Member of the Assembly
Thanks for including The Blaring out Show in the Best of OC. I appreciated your favorable comments and will endeavor to continue producing quality music interviews.
The Blaring out With Eric Blair Show
LOVE ON THE ROCKS
After reading the piece on Steamers jazz club, I came down with a nasty case of mixed emotions ("Who the Hell is Terence Love?" Oct. 9). Having played Friday nights at Steamers with my contemporary-jazz group, Simpático, back in the club's early days, I was glad to see Love get some well-deserved recognition. What bothers me is the pervasive attitude in the jazz community of late that discounts any genre but straight-ahead or Latin jazz. Call it collective amnesia. Forget about the influence of fusion groups such as Weather Report, Pat Metheny Group or the electric ensembles of the late Miles Davis. Forget about the local groups that helped start the joint and who don't conform to the recent Jazz Purity Codes. This music is unwelcome at Steamers today.
I'm concerned that this purist mindset will polarize the already miniscule jazz audience that buys recordings and supports the artform. Petty infighting between the "keepers of the flame" and us "guys who play the Wave crap" will benefit no one. What will keep this music alive is cross-pollination of idioms and instrumentation. The schlockmeisters will always be with us. So will the innovators-on both sides of the fence. Let's lighten up and listen up.
A SANCHEZ A-PEEL
Hey, leave Loretta Sanchez alone ("Sanchez vs. Dornan, the Rematch," Oct. 9)! I voted against Bob Dornan every chance I had. If Satan had been a viable candidate, I would have voted for him just to throw out Dornan. I am a white, male, "angry" Republican. People such as Dornan have been usurping and ruining the GOP far too long. Sanchez may be sucking up to the ruling elite of this country, but she is still visiting her district. Dornan wouldn't do that when he was in office-not even for his rich, businessman backers. Now that he is out of office, he wants back at the trough.
Sanchez went to Washington, D.C., in a dress she made with her own hands, and I have yet to hear of her jaunts in Navy fighter planes at my expense. She hasn't shouted, "Fag!" in Congress, has she? I suspect the OC Weekly's real problem with her is the fact the she is so boring. There's no fun to poke when a congresswoman visits a school to look at peeling paint, eh?
The editors respond: Wanna bet? "What are you doing at an elementary school, congresswoman: passing out voter-registration cards?" "Hey, maybe your husband can enlist some of these kids to tear down Dornan campaign signs." Whoa, this is fun! Thanks for the tip, Ross.
DRESSING DOWN DORNAN
I read Buddy Seigal's article and knew what I must do ("'You're a Scumbag!' Bob Dornan brings out the worst in me," Oct. 2). Unfortunately, my mission fell flat. Even so, I know that I must at least send off this letter; it may be my only stab at Bob Dornan's attempt to put OC in a political headlock.
Fueled by weekly reports in the OC Weekly, my "impeach that bastard before he gets elected again!" fervor raged endlessly in the ever-patient ears of my faithful audience-friends I tortured all summer with tales of what I was going to do to Dornan this year. I stood on chairs, pounded my fists on tables, and foamed at the mouth like some half-crazed televangelist raising money to save himself from the providence his God cursed him to spend all eternity in should he fail to achieve a set dollar amount. In short, I was a convert.
So my diabolical plan evolved: make T-shirts and distribute them free to the local punks. Maybe even get a photo of a teen wearing one into the Weekly. Finances took an unexpected dip, however, and what was once planned as a coup to guarantee Dornan would never regain his throne became a thrift-store T-shirt with a design made on my computer and ironed on. I hope this gives you a laugh. I just wish I could vote against him in November.
The editors respond: But Dusty, you can. Didn't you see Bob Roberts?
MUSIC TO THEIR EARS
Buddy Seigal, have you noticed your mention several times of my favorite guitarist, Joe Maphis? His skill with virtually all stringed instruments and spectrum of styles of music has been unequalled and underappreciated. Maybe he wasn't as flashy and stood still while making his instruments-whether the pioneering two-neck Moserite displayed at the country-music museum in Nashville, a basic acoustic Martin, a fiddle, a banjo, a borrowed dobro or steel guitar-do the magic. Although best known as a country musician, Maphis was equally at home doing classical, flamenco, rock, jazz and other forms. That's probably why he was frequently called upon by the motion-picture and TV industries for soundtracks when he lived in Southern California.
Keep up your fine efforts in covering the variety of music in Orange County.
This is actually a thank-you letter to the Locals Only dude, Rich Kane. My penis and Khronic Break appreciate the publicity ("What's That Smell? Our biannual worst-of edition," Sept. 17). The other band members originally made me promise not to send you our music because they believe you have a fetish with dreaming up cruel, grotesque and even pornographic descriptions of struggling, undeveloped artists' material in order to get them to quit (or to get yourself off). But I think your reviews are hilarious, so I often read them to the other guys at rehearsals.
Your main complaint is lack of originality. Khronic Break is all about being different, and I was curious as to what you might say. So I sent a tape of our new single to you complete with a sticker bribe. I figured if we could survive a bad review from you, we could survive anything.
Our band is putting out music unlike the regular OC ska/punk or weak-ass funk you consume your time with. We're getting props from OC heavyweights like Clyde Grimes of the Untouchables. When we opened for the Untouchables, Clyde made a point of telling us how long he's been in the business and that Khronic Break is one of the most original and "coolest" bands that has opened for them. Local bros and now Warner Bros.' Dial-7 called us to fill in for them at a show at the White House. The owner of Big Fish studios agreed to engineer our single. As long as people like that are down with our sound, we have no need to meet the requirements of some self-gratifying, potty-mouthed pen pusher. But thanks again for the publicity.
I'm writing this letter to your wonderful paper because I realize a lot of neo-swing kids read it. A few months before the swing epidemic took full force, a bunch of friends and I became involved in swing. We'd go swing dancing once or twice per week-back when those were the only opportunities. When we had no money to go, we'd dance at home to Basie or Armstrong. As the swing scene progressed, we started meeting more and more snobby brats.
This neo-scene has become a snobby snit. In the rare instance I go dancing, all I see is a fashion show. These bratty children talk about how fun swing dancing is and then turn around and laugh at the people who come to have fun.
I'm sick of it. Look at those kids trying to mimic the past. Do you really think that the original swing kids gave a crap if that girl had a dumb rose in her hair or if that guy wore an ugly suit? I think not. The '90s have been all about a group of dumb kids who, thinking they discovered something, revived an old scene and then killed the true essence that began that scene in the first place. You were all dorks before you "discovered" swing, and you will continue to be after you give it up to follow the next fad.
Sure, you can scrawl rhymes onto the backs of napkins you'll never show anybody, but do you have the-what shall we call it?-outrageous sense of self to enter your best "work" in THE FIRST (and probably last) OC Weekly POETRY CONTEST?!?!? We want to read your best Orange County-inspired poems. Don't send us a buncha crap about how much you love LA, New York City or San Francisco.
For complete guidelines, e-mail us at email@example.com or send a self-addressed stamped envelope to: Meister Poet Victor D. Infante, Poet-Friendly OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247.
Now break out those pastoral odes to the Irvine Spectrum and dark ruminations on Jim Silva's soul, and get 'em to us right away. If Bob Dornan can read Yeats in public, we can get away with this!