By Gustavo Arellano
By Aimee Murillo
By Matt Coker
By Vickie Chang
By Matt Coker
By LP Hastings
By Michael Goldstein
By R. Scott Moxley
AND THEY SAY THE PATIENTS ARE THE CRIMINALS
God, what an incestuous situation [Nick Schou's "Collective Punishment," Feb. 3]. It smacks of your classic backroom politics: favors being handed out with a wink and an envelope full of money. Oh, and a little thuggery thrown in for good measure. Corruption and greed drove this train. And the patients suffer.
Were all the F-bombs necessary [Michelle Woo's "Meet You At the Playground," Feb. 17]? I'm sure you're talented, but this was really unnecessary and came across as kind of amateur. There are other ways to make it lively and unique without forcing "fuck" down our throats every two sentences. "Fuck" is a daily part of my vocab, and I usually chuckle when I hear it, but seriously, have a decent amount of respect for your readers. It was way overdone. I'm not trying to bash you or teach you how to write, just providing feedback. Otherwise, good job.
P.S.: I want to clarify that I did really enjoy the article. It made me want to eat there sometime.
Seth, via email
Growing up, I was an extremely picky eater. However, I now consider myself to be quite adventurous and a foodie thanks to my experiences at the Playground. I go in and ask sous chef Brad Radack what I should eat, and I never turn anything down, no matter how different it is. I know the talented chefs working the kitchen at the Playground would never send out a dish that isn't a work of art. The waitstaff is great, the atmosphere is so comforting (love the seating), the beer is good, and the food is out of this world. I am constantly recommending this restaurant. Apart from the couple of idiots who were looking for reasons to dislike this place, I've never heard anything bad!
L.H., via ocweekly.com
What's going on with you guys over there? Are you eating and writing about food 24/7? Most of the OC Weekly issues of late seem to be about the hottest new chef and his or her riveting culinary philosophy. Enough with bone marrow already! You're slowly straying from your activist/investigative-reporting roots. You're starting to sound like the bored, decadent rich. Burp!
A Weekly editor, having finished off his eighth turducken burger with a foie gras milkshake, replies: Our most recent stretch of cover stories has involved Little Arabia, rebel surfers, gay-positive sex stories, asshole developers, brutal cops, corrupt Long Beach pot lotteries, and this week's exposé of wacky Scientologists. BURP!
PAGING CLAYTON BIGSBY . . .
I don't think people join gangs such as this because they hate minorities [R. Scott Moxley's Moxley Confidential, "Prisoner of Love," Feb. 17]. Just a social thing, like going to church. I've got news for you dummies. Not everybody in church who wears crosses and stuff really believes that Jesus moved that rock all by himself. In fact, most probably don't. Same thing with white gangs.
I am sick and tired and fed up with OC law-enforcement corruption. It's 100 percent totally out of control. Every week, it seems, here we go again with another police officer turned criminal. Why does the general public tolerate this and treat every story as though it were an isolated incident? It's something that is growing by leaps and bounds in Southern California police agencies, as well as in the district attorney's offices.
This bullshit has to stop. I want to see the DA's office and all police agencies clean their houses NOW, from the top down.
Goldencody, via ocweekly.com
SAY IT WITH A SMILE
Anyone who is actually doing his job, whether it be at the drive-through window or dog server at PCH dogs on Chapman (my absolute favorite hot dog), deserves and receives my respect and smile [Hey You! "Hang Up Now, Please," Feb. 10]. I can be an arrogant asshole to rude people. Get the fuck off your phone when you are in a restaurant, butt wipe. And tip well when it is appropriate; if you can afford to pay each month to surf the web at any given point on the planet because you are so important, then throw a few bucks down on the table, fuckface.
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