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Writing about aging rockers who are still touring has been done ad nauseam (Dave Wielenga's "The Rock & Roll Tragedies That Should Have Been," June 21). Nor is Dave's piece witty or insightful. Mostly, it's a rant about old guys Dave hates. Big deal! Let's find something a bit more creative to write about pop music, can we? Joe Walsh a burnout? There's a shocker! No one's ever said that about Walsh! The Who should have died before Quadrophenia? Who is Dave Wielenga, and why is he so obsessed with aging? Like, how about a list of current pop stars who ought not grow old? Or just kick it today? Who wants to be around in 30 years still hearing from Lil Bow Wow? Or how smug could Wilco get if the band still exists 30 years from now? At least Paul McCartney is recording music that is breathing. Who cares what he looks like? If there were not a fan base for people like Sting, Jimmy Buffett and the Eagles, they'd not be able to charge high prices for tickets at large venues. I'm not the least bit offended by artist longevity; rather, I'm disgusted by the current corporate music promotion that takes no-talent asswipes like [insert name of artist who appeared at KIIS-FM's Wango Tango] and acts as though they have something important to say. At least Elton, Sir Paul and the Beach Boys have given us some of pop music's best songs ever. And why don't you get someone who's funnyto write the funny stuff?

B. Dirk Yarborough Costa Mesa Dave Wielenga, who might be mourned today as our lost James Thurber if only he had died in that fender-bender on the way out of Dodger Stadium after writing his masterpiece ode to foul balls ("Goddamn You, Vin Scully!" March 26, 1999) instead of ending up alone and loveless—and as the oldest employee at theWeekly—and contributing his bitter diatribes to the drumroll to World War III, responds: My story was not a rant against "aging rockers who are still touring." It did not deny that "Elton, Sir Paul and the Beach Boys have given us some of pop music's best songs ever." It makes the point that if these artists had died younger, they would have left great legacies–instead of becoming "no-talent asswipes" kept afloat by the "current corporate music promotion."

Sting's post-Police music reminds me of John Lennon's line about Paul McCartney's solo music: "The sound you make is Muzak to my ears." I would like Sting to stop making music and stay in his castle, where he can spend all day pompously ordering his staff around. But he probably won't stop, since music gives him continued visibility as he baldly panders for knighthood. The idea of a Sir Sting—even if it were to shut him up—is arguably more nauseating than listening to his solo crap. The choice: Crap music or a knighthood? I still can't decide.

Mark Murphy Corona del MarSWAN SONGS?

I don't think the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station (SONGS) is a sitting duck for air or ground attacks (Nick Schou's "San Onofre Nightmare Generating Station:10 reasons we should say 'so long' to SONGS," June 21). I had a chance to tour SONGS and walk inside the "boobs." Very impressive. I mean the tactical layout of the facility, of course. Part of the tour showed a film clip of turbine blades and jet airplanes on rocket sleds crashing into the same sample of reinforced concrete used to make the containment vessel. There was not a scratch on the concrete, but the plane was a puff of smoke. All the pipes and door passageways into the containment vessel are angled to protect against a Desert Storm-type of direct missile hit. I think SONGS is within the protective air umbrella of other sensitive locations in Camp Pendleton. Another feature not visible from the outside is the presence of dozens of guards armed with automatic rifles.

Kurt Christianson Orange MMMM . . . SEÑOR DING-DONG

I am writing about the grievous omission of two of mythical Springfield's most powerful and well-liked Latino citizens (Gustavo Arellano's "Los Simpsones de Springfield," June 14). The first is the great hero of the doorbell industry, Señor Ding-Dong, who single- handedly saved the entire town from Marge's broken doorbell and its repetition of "Close to You." Señor Ding-Dong is not simply a doorbell repairman, but also a hero.

The second omission is Señor Spielbergo, the Latino Steven Spielberg who is probably the most powerful Latino citizen in Springfield and is rumored to direct the Bumblebee Guy's show.

I won't even mention Ned Flanders' Hispanic cousin (oops, I guess I just did).

Paul Groff Costa Mesa

I actually agreed with most of what Gustavo Arellano wrote about The Simpsons. However, here are a few of my own: the Simpsons go to Dr. Nick because they can't afford insurance—just like a lot of Latino families. Lisa is forced to be her own person because her insights and her intellect are never readily recognized by the males in her family unless they are in a bind (a lot like my familiaand myself).

Adelina HernandezGarden Grove


"I never met a man I didn't like" is code for "I shelter myself from the likes of Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Charles Manson, Osama bin Ladin . . ." (Greg Stacy's "The Original King of All Media," June 14). The cure for Will Rogers' Pollyanna piddle is simple: you introduce him into the maximum-security ward of a hospital for the criminally insane, with instructions to turn on the charm and talk his way out. Within a few days, he will assure you that he has met quite a few people he didn't like. That's all that need be said about Will Rogers.

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