By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Letters may be edited for clarity and length. E-mail to email@example.com, or send to Letters to the Editor, c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701. Or fax to (714) 550-5908.
Why must people be so lame? In his review of Firewall, Michael Atkinson claims that Harrison Ford's "career was built upon his stature as besieged über-Dad" ["Fire Bomb," Feb. 10]. Whaaaa? Has Atkinson ever seen a movie made before 1995? Ever heard of a character named Han Solo who appeared in a little something called Star Wars? Or how about Raiders of the Lost Ark? Indiana Jones ring a bell? Huh? Huh? Besieged dad? No. Adventurous loner. The besieged dad shit—Regarding Henry? Not much!—came later, after he was the biggest star in the universe. I realize people like to just make things up, but this one was just so unnecessary. You know, like Hollywood Homicide.
In R. Scott Moxley's "Immoral Moral Majority of One" [Feb. 1], your primary evidence of political shenanigans by Larry Agran is a memo allegedly from him to Mark Petracca that contains false allegations about me. Those false allegations not only cost me my City Council seat but contributed to my failed marriage, the loss of my business and residence and eventually led to me leaving Irvine and California. I had neither the resources nor the time to refute the false allegations before the election, and after I left office, I was vilified by Agran and many of his supporters at City Council meetings, where I was held up as an example of a "crooked politician" by former friends and foes alike. In the end, I guess the only reputation that counts is the one you have of yourself, but you cannot even begin to imagine the pain, hurt and hopelessness that come with being falsely accused and not being able to defend yourself. It is my personal punishment for recognizing what Agran was before the 2000 election and not going along with his plans when he gave me the opportunity to be "part of the team." Thank you again for having the courage to write this story.
David J. Christensen
I happened across Gustavo Arellano's Nov. 22 "¡Ask a Mexican!" column on the Internet and came across this line concerning the feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe: "If your gardener seems wearier than usual on the morning of Dec. 12, cut him some slack." I hope to high heavens Arellano was roasted properly for propagating such a tacky and totally tasteless—not to mention negative and ethnically offensive—stereotype.
What's up with the Mexican's MySpace site? Is it not up yet, or am I que stupido gringo?
The Mexican responds: The day my special MySpace edition went to press, MySpace deleted my page. There was no reason given—e-mail Tom and tell him que chingada.
Having finally seen Michael Haneke's Cache, it took a second reading of Ella Taylor's very good but understated review to realize that, indeed, I had seen an extraordinary film ["What Lies Beneath," Dec. 22]. Those people who still don't "get it" about Iraq are like the film's Georges and Anne, who are too preoccupied with their own exaggerated class domain to realize we can only go so far in demonizing the "other" into impersonal non-importance before our failure starts destroying us by a direct blast to the soul.
Editor's note: The following letter is in response to Boyd Taylor's "Un-made in America" [Feb. 3], about an Orange County family that attempted to escape the crassness and materialism of the U.S. by relocating to Mexico.
It's so sad that Female Participant—and, to a lesser extent, Male Participant—have wasted so many valuable years searching for happiness and fulfillment. Neither your environment nor pleasure can make you happy. That comes from within. It's amazing that such smart, well-educated people can be so foolish!
Anna L. Davis
Editor's note: We had a remarkable paucity of letters this week—well, of good letters. I mean, if you think the ones here are bad, you should see the ones we had to throw out: stupid opinions, ketchup stains. Anyway, faced with the prospect of not having enough letters to fill out the section, we are taking the extraordinary step of running a letter that has nothing to do with anything we've written. We had more than a few choices—letters urging us to run the Mohammed comics, letters about desalinization plants, local corruption and ending the war. We considered them all and thought this letter spoke most clearly to our readers' concerns.
Is it just me, or does it seem like there's no escaping Tyra Banks these days? Her face is plastered on every magazine in the grocery store line, her TV show seems like it runs 15 times a day on four different stations, she's in half the commercials they run on TV, and she's on a million billboards and buses all over town. Everywhere you go, Tyra Tyra Tyra. Maybe someone should talk to her about the downside of overexposure. I know you just love looking at yourself, Tyra, but for the love of God, give us a break. And we don't give a damn whether your boobs are fake or not!