Letters may be edited for clarity and length. E-mail to letters@ocweekly.com, or send to Letters to the Editor, c/oOC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701. Or fax to (714) 550-5908.


Regarding Ellen Griley's "Driving Miss Boozey" [Summer Guide, May 21]: How inane to relate verbatim the amusing little "conversation" you had with the bartender. It's called taking your order, and we really didn't need the details. "'Why not order a pitcher?' he asks. 'They're only $7.'" Riveting! Commie Girl would be rolling in her grave if she were dead. Truly the most amusing part of your story was the typos—thanks for leaving them in. Ellen Griley, your mother must be proud of you along with Rebecca Schoenkopf!

Mary Norris
Huntington Beach

Ellen Griley responds: Rebecca SchoenkopfIS my mother!!!

Rebecca Schoenkopf responds to Ellen Griley's response: Ellen Griley'shilarious response to Mary's thoughtful and insightful letter proves once again that Ellen Griley is JACKING MY SHIT! See, I'm the one who makes fun of people for being old. Me! Don't even get me started on that time she called Barry Koltnow "eleventy." He's mine, bitch! MINE! I will be pulling the car over now.


I, like most of my friends, felt physically ill when I read about what transpired on the video of the alleged Haidl gang rape [R. Scott Moxley's "Haidl Your Daughters," May 7]. After reading the latest about the defense's strategies, I felt totally demoralized and disgusted. I just hope the jury can see through their reprehensible character attacks, and I hope Jane Doe knows she has a lot of people on her side. I don't care how many boys she had slept with before or how she styles her pubic hair. She did not deserve the abhorrent, inhuman abuse that she got.

Sheila Peck
via e-mail

Bravo to Jane Doe for owning her sexuality and not cowering to defense attorney Joseph Cavallo. I commend her strength and grace while being publicly depicted as a "slut."

Leona Christensen
Long Beach

I am a 21-year-old college student from Michigan, and I read your articles on the Haidl rape trial on the Internet, and I'm nauseated by what I read. If there is anything I can do to make this a bigger issue or to inform other people about it, please let me know.

Mary Alice Kheir
via e-mail


As I read your column, I find there are a few salient points I neglected while discussing Commie Girl 2024 ["Commie Girl," April 30]. The Fling will be your local bar. "Commie Oldster" will steam through the young men at a maddening pace. They will be your toys, but your heart will still belong to another, whether he wants it or not.

The birthday extravaganza at Fleming's Steakhouse will be in your honor. Instead of receiving an abstract portrait painted by your artist son, you will be handed a gold-and-silver Nordstrom's box, and to your horror, you will fold open the tissue to find a crisp white pique polo shirt. You're son's bitch of a girlfriend picked it out herself. Your son lowers his eyes, your mom looks away, and your dad smiles slightly in empathy. The birthday card is not signed by your son but has the distinguished loop-de-loop of a women's hand—your son didn't even sign it; she did. Fuck you for taking my leftovers. You ruined my birthday.



I hated your Coachella articles not because of the rundown on port-a-potties and VIP passes, but because it was so typical for Orange County ["Coachella Hella," May 7]. I look to your magazine as the one saving grace for musical and cultural taste in OC, but I was completely let down. The only band your writer gave any tribute to was the Pixies, which is what I would expect from the overload of punk rocker/rock-star wannabes who live in Southern California. We were trapped in the "Bosch-like hell" of bodies and 106-degree heat with no shade or porcelain sinks but somehow managed to bitch less and enjoy more music than your writer. Next time, maybe you should send someone less concerned with the beer tents and more interested in the show.

Jessie Greene
via e-mail


Seor Gustavo Arellano, I rarely read the OC Weekly, but the Mexican cartoon on the cover caught my eye, and I decided to take it home to see what kind of nonsense I could find ["Mexcellente," April 30]. I'm a 23-year-old wealthy white male. I know, I know. Strike one. However, I'm not your average whitey. I have a deep-rooted love for Mexicans/Mexican culture that comes mainly from my rich, white, Republican parents who have taught me to be this way.

I was honestly blown away at the fact you think it's "racist" and "demeaning to Mexicans" to have a sombrero, something that is specific to Mexican history and culture, on the logo of a restaurant. You can't ignore the fact that from the time the Spaniards and the native people of Mexico started to mix, they wore that same attire conveyed on those signs. And are you that ashamed of those Mexican traditions that you would scoff at the people who try and keep that image alive?

When living in Mexico City, I got hit with rocks, got a bucket of piss thrown on me and got called "gringo" almost daily. It would have been justified for me to come home with the notion they didn't want me living there. But I met some of the kindest, most generous people I will ever come across in that city. Unlike you, I look at all the love they showed me and it outweighs the hundreds of racist comments I endured. I realize that you accepting the fact that we as a nation don't "hate Mexicans" would give you nothing to complain about and thus put you out of a job. I don't expect anyone else to ever read this letter because I know you're ashamed of the fact a white kid knows more about Mexican culture than you.

Taylor Ogden
via e-mail

Gustavo Arellano responds: Thanks for the lesson in Mexican society, Taylor. While I find it impossible to follow any thread of logic in your ramblings, your letter makes crystal clear why anyone would want to dump a bucket of urine on you.


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