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The cover story on No Doubt (Dave Wielenga's "The Happy Ones," Dec. 7) was excellent—except that I couldn't find the end of it. The article just stops in the middle of the sentence on page 22. Is there more to the story, or am I missing something here?

Leena Kanal
via e-mail

An ex-production department employee who cannot blame his layoff on Sept. 11 replies while not letting the door hit him on the way out: My error killed the last few lines of the story, and all I can say is, "Do you think I should try a career as a cabby?" That and, "Are you related to Tony?" Here are the missing lines: "Look, I'm just wondering how it's going to affect uscreatively," Gwen says. "I don't know. It's going to affect us, no matter what. And I'm wondering if it will be beyond, you know, where everyone's like, 'Did you wear a different outfit tonight because of the whole terrorist thing?' And I'm, like, 'No, I didn't! I'm not!' Oh, you know what I mean. We hear the stupidest questions."


I was glad to read how poor Eddie and Jo Ellen Allen were able to find a new place to live after all their troubles with the banks and lawyers and stuff (R. Scott Moxley's "Home Run," Dec. 7). They're like the Joad family in Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, having to pack their car and escape like Okies fleeing the Dust Bowl. There but for the grace of God go I.

Eric Christensen
Costa Mesa

Scott Moxley's coverage of Eddie and Jo Ellen Allen's financial adventures is accurate and intelligent. His accounts of Eddie's trial are direct from court records, county records, witness testimony and the federal bankruptcy-court judgment. As a former Chapter 13 bankruptcy trustee attorney, I can say I have never seen a more detailed and thoughtful bankruptcy judgment than that issued by Judge Robert Alberts. As a witness in that trial, I can say Moxley's reporting is consistent as far as my testimony and observations of the trial proceedings. As an American, I can say that I was shocked and offended to learn, as the creditors did, that Eddie Allen was not a Harvard attorney, not a former POW, nor a colonel in the U.S. Air Force. (I would think Ms. Young would be offended as an American, too!)

As Eddie Allen's stepdaughter from his second marriage, I will say nothing.

Tamara Leslie
via e-mail


Thanks for pointing out how San Clemente City Council members Scott Diehl and Jim Dahl have taken thousands of dollars in exchange for their work on the toll road agency's board (Dave Wielenga's "Toll Road Collision," Nov. 30). Your article seems to suggest they might be for sale. If so, could you please print their price list for different projects?

Ken Trotta
via e-mail


The factchecker was asleep at the wheel in regards to 45 Grave (Andrew Asch's "Cancer: Survivor," Nov. 30). Rob Graves (a.k.a. Rob Ritter when he was performing with Gun Club or Thelonious Monster) played bass. Paul B. Cutler (who later moved on to play in the Dream Syndicate) played guitar. Don Bolles (the Germs) drummed. The songs were mostly collaborations, abetted by sidemen such as Pat Smear (Germs, Nirvana) and Alex Gibson (B-People).

I usually couldn't give a shit about such hairsplitting, but I saw 45 Grave at least a thousand times during the early '80s as well as their brief reunion, and I hate to see musicians who played such a big part of my formative years get such short shrift—especially in a publication I work for.

Jack Gould
OC Weekly photographer
(two desks over)

Andrew Asch replies: Jack, you're right. Punk rock historian Brendan Mullen confirms everything you noted.


After reading Rebecca Schoenkopf's interview with Roseanne, I found myself angry . . . with Rebecca Schoenkopf ("Menopausal, Bitter, Old, Deranged," Nov. 30). She tried to make the point that Roseanne is mean, but who wouldn't be rude during such a poorly conducted interview? The case was more clearly made that Schoenkopf has no idea how to listen to her subject because she is too self-involved. She should really just be allowed to write autobiographical pieces.

Costa Mesa


You people disgust me. In times like these, people need real answers to real problems, and yet you suggest that going to church will solve nothing and that people should drink alcohol because "it's better just to dull the pain"? (Holiday Gift Guide, Nov. 30). For your sake, I hope you were joking.

Carlina Godfrey
via e-mail

The same ex-production department employee—now drunk—responds: Despite obituaries declaring irony dead, we're still unsure when we're joking.


Matt Coker's A Clockwork Orange ("Green With Anger," Nov. 23) may have left the impression that the Balboa Bay Club pays no rent to the city of Newport Beach, even though it's on public land. State law forces the city to charge the club fair market value for the land (fiscal year 2000-2001 lease payments totaled $2.7 million), and that revenue is dedicated to public tidelands restoration and maintenance. But the point of that item stands: a private club on public land—which only benefits members of the public who belong or who rent banquet and conference rooms—is now nickel and diming its low-wage service staff. That calls for another round of drinks!

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