Letters

Contact us via phone (714-825-8432), e-mail (letters@ocweekly.com), regular mail (Letters to the Editor, OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627) or fax (714-708-8410). Letters will be edited for clarity and length. All correspondence must include your home city and a daytime phone number.

HELLA TAYLOR

Concerning Elia [sic] Taylor's short-sided [sic] review of Bagger Vance(Film, Nov. 3): "terminally sober sermon from the Redfordian mountaintop" [sic]; "Jeremy Leven's tepid screenplay and the passionless self-control of Redfodr's [sic] direction makes [sic] this bloodless movie a chore to sit through."

Don't send this guy to intelligent films anymore. He wants to see blood and guts and funny movies with boogers and Adam Sandler. Bagger Vance is a story-motivated film—that's spelled S-T-O-R-Y—a lost subject matter nowadays, and a strong reason why people hate watching old movies on TMC and AMC. Give Taylor two free tickets to a Rugrats film or something with lots of tits showing, and make him eat at the kids' table. He bores me.

Max Espinoza
via e-mail
Ella Taylor responds: This guy has never written a short-sided review in her life. But there's always a first time.

RAISING KANE

Rich Cane [sic], you obviously know shit about the scene if your [sic] saying in your review you heard this about the band and you heard that [LowBallAss Chatter, Nov. 3]. Maybe if you were actually there or have [sic] been there, you would know what's really going on. You kiss Duanes [sic] ass, and praise him so much. Do you think Duane would sign them if they were in fact like you a poser [sic]. Do your homework before you write bullshit reviews, or at least see the Fukkin [sic] band a few times first. As for you heckling the bassist, he knows more about music and the punk scene [than] you'll ever know about your wife [sic]. They Fukkin rule.

A-DUB13
via e-mail

UNDERPANTS GNOME

Re: Manohla Dargis' review of Charlie's Angels ("Head Trips," Nov. 3): Overanalyze much? Your art-house film criticism does not apply here. Take this film for what it is: a high dose of fast machinery, beautiful women and kicking ass. I sat in the front row, allowing for an overwhelming view of Cameron Diaz shakin' her ass in underwear normally reserved for small children. Moviemaking at its finest!

Philip B.
via e-mail

RED BEFORE SHE WAS GREEN

Re: Commie Girl (Nov. 10): I can totally relate. All week long, all I've been hearing from dear old Mama is "A vote for Nader is a wasted vote!" I try to tell her, "But, Mom, I've been a Green since the inception of the Green Party. And before that, don't you remember ripping that copy of the Manifesto out of my hands when I was 17—and still under your roof—and throwing it across the room? It's not like I'm some turncoat Democrat or something. Geez, have another drink, Mom."

S. Buckles
via e-mail Rebecca Schoenkopf responds: Thanks for the note. Sorry I can't write more, but I'm busy being glued to KPFK.

REDNECK AND GREEN

I live way, waaaay, waaaaaay away from OC, on the East Coast in a part of Virginia that is trapped in the 1950s. Thus, I had never heard of the mighty Commie Girl and her explosive column in OC Weekly. But then Neal Pollock, who has done so much for all of us already, wrote about his reading in OC and you, and so I checked out your column and was mighty pleased that I did (as the good people at Smuckers might say, "With a name like 'Commie Girl,' it's got to be good!"). I was so pleased that I spent a big chunk of my workday reading your back columns (especially ones like "Ask Commie Girl") and generally enjoying myself. And then I began to wonder: Could Neal Pollock, the Pan of Publishing, be pulling our collective leg when he said you had a leopard-print eye patch? Is this some odd media prank or inside joke? That wily Neal Pollock, I thought. But then in your column about Nader, you mention that one of the goons in the bar asked if you were a pirate. Does this mean you really did lose an eye in a rock fight? Was this Green Party cat mocking your eye patch? Does Ralph know that some of his volunteer lackeys are insensitive nimrods of the highest order? Do you need me to send some big ugly redneck thugs to OC to teach these Green Party ruffians not to mock a potential voter—especially a lady? Where do you even get a leopard-print eye patch? Are there a lot of designer choices besides black? Anyhow, I just wondered, and I hope you won't take offense at my questions. Thanks for all the good writing.

Brent Garland
via e-mail
Rebecca Schoenkopf responds: Thanks for asking, Brent! As a matter of fact, the rock fight is true. My patches come from a crazy-lady artist friend of mine who makes them for me in all kinds of groovy patterns. She refuses to sell them in boutiques and make a killing; she wants me to be the only one who has them. Don't we just love her? Right now, I'm wearing black velvet. I saw Neal's column just yesterday and was glad to note that it was all about me. As for the Green Party guy, he and his girl were either extraordinarily drunk, or they were X-ing and couldn't deal in public. I guess it happens to the best of us. Wait. No. No, I don't: I like to think my poise in social situations is equal to any obstacle—organic or manmade—I could throw at it.
 
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