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WILL WHINE FOR FOODOC Weekly's latest example of utter ignorance of anything north of the 22 freeway is the inexcusable guide to restaurants ("Summer Eats," June 25). It seemed that most restaurants located in the southern part of the county got some pretty good coverage. However, Rebecca Schoenkopf's entry on my hometown made me want to move that much more.
Your awkwardly lame journalist who sleepwalked her way through Fullerton suggested Roundtable Pizza at the Cal State Fullerton pub for breakfast. Is it even open during the summer? I know what isn't open: my mouth for pizza in the morning. The writer did mention the Mustard Seed, but she only drank tea and made friends, so it's not exactly an endorsement of the food. And Angelo & Vinci's, a restaurant that has been around forever and does good business, has been spurned by those of us who really know Fullerton because of its bland food and poor service.
There are easily nine or 10 restaurants, many of which have opened in the past couple of years, that are far worthier for entry in a so-called alternative newspaper. They're affordable, and—not that this is apparently any criterion for the Weekly—the food is good!
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—Jared Rose, Fullerton ART CRITIC
Re: Art Pedroza Jr.'s comments on Assembly Bill 222 (Letters, June 25):
For a man who considers himself a "Christian" and advocates free will amongst homosexuals, he seems to backpedal on those words and condemn their lifestyle. No. 1: we have no right to intrude into other people's lives and tell them what to do or what not to do. No. 2: Isn't God an all-loving and caring God? He created every one of us and gave us our personalities, likes, dislikes, etc. I find it very interesting that many of his fellow religious right-wingers tend to conceal their hate and resentment toward homosexuals in something called "family values." Hate or anything related to it is something I would never teach or even hint about to my kids. It seems that the whole "God-love-thy-neighbor-What-Would-Jesus-Do?" thing is such a contradiction. Sheesh!!
One more thing before I conclude: Would you consider yourself safe, Mr. Pedroza, from discrimination and ridicule if you were gay and had a job in a school or were applying for a job at a school present-day? After you got over being gay (if you did at all), I don't think you would feel secure in your job. That is why this piece of legislation is necessary. And AB 222 is not "special rights"; it's equal rights.
—Chris Kelishes, Dana Point BAGGING BUKOWSKI
Alex Nicholas' review of Howard Sounes' recent biography of Los Angeles writer Charles Bukowski was not only mean-spirited and inaccurate, but it also smacked of intellectual elitism (Books, June 25). It's sad to note that much of his "review" was a harsh critique of Bukowski the man and Bukowski the writer rather than any sort of substantive critique of Sounes' book. Nicholas appeared to revel in the fact that Sounes has uncovered several inconsistencies in Bukowski's portrayal of himself in his many novels and poems. However, Nicholas conveniently omitted from his review the fact that Sounes also mentions several situations and behaviors that are consistent with Bukowski's tough, drunken reputation.
But easily the most disappointing aspect of Nicholas' review was his constant reference to academia and its collective disapproval of Bukowski's work. Since when is academia the final measurement of good literature? The importance of a writer's work should be judged by its relevance to society as a whole, rather than by whether it fits some narrow, boring academic standard. Bukowski's writing struck a chord with the common man because of its clarity, brutal honesty and lack of pretentiousness. These are traits that Nicholas and many of his more accepted academic writers are clearly in desperate need of.
—Greg Leos, Pasadena A KODAK MOMENT
Representative Dana Rohrabacher's gossipy comments about U.S. and China suggest the theme of his congressional vote is "an eye for an eye" (Letters, June 18). His use of the word "communist" as a prefix each time he mentioned China was mindlessly repetitive. We get the message. Then, as his argument weakened, he turned to "Monica" and White House cover-ups and crimes.
Rather than waging a symbolic, leveraged protest vote against permanent normal trade relations with China and its membership in the World Trade Organization (WTO), Rohrabacher and our other legislators are obliged to demand foolproof regulations that also improve relations between the two nations. For instance, the Eastman Kodak Co.'s recent $1 billion infrastructure investment to grow market share in China is a new channel that will benefit the world's leading photography company, its employees, its customers and our nation.
A balanced trade relationship promises the United States will be allowed to profitably share U.S. ingenuity, quality and culture with developing countries as a model for fostering change. As the third-largest market for Kodak, China is home to vast opportunities, especially if existing, prohibitive taxes are exchanged for low-tariff access to U.S.-manufactured products. China will conform to international guidelines and be pressured to do business on a level playing field only if it is affirmed with normal trade relations. While China is currently romancing its own rules, membership in the WTO would advance fairness and demand enforced compliance with virtuous regulations equal to other nations.
—Mitchell Goldstone, president, 30 Minute Photos Etc., Irvine COMMIE GIRL MANIFESTO
"Cover it up, sweetie pie"—and strap on that chastity belt because "Commie Girl" is actually Carrie Nation the Younger in feminist drag. You, Rebecca Schoenkopf, are more Stalinist than repression allows you to know, as could only be apposite in the psychosexual tyranny of boors and its premier gulag known as Orange County—your sarcasm and contempt for all things erotic glint of the "sexual decadence" laws of the former Soviet Union. In this, you more colorfully outperform your predecessor, Ms. Rose Apodaca Jones, who once wrote about a nightclub's clients that they "were too alive to worry about sex."
Lack of orgasm during intercourse and an unshakable castration complex qualify just about anyone with a B.A. in English to jot for the Weekly about OC "nightlife" (at least Mr. Michael Alarcon seemed to love the opposite sex, but, oh, what are appearances?). Perhaps instead of thinking in clichs, you should actually observe what's happened to our culture in the past 20 years, which is visible tenfold in any Orange County nightclub: Mae West, Janis Joplin and Gayle Rubin lost; Nancy Reagan, Alanis Morissette and Andrea Dworkin won. According to the Feb. 10, 1999, Journal of the American Medical Association, 43 percent of American women admit—and these are the ones admitting—to little or no interest in sex and an "inability" to orgasm. According to my friend and translator from Copenhagen: "Why are these American women so spiteful?" Women have regressed on their own navigation to the worst prudishness since the '50s. It's The Donna Reed Show with navel rings.
Let's review some of your stereotypical remarks from a random column (Commie Girl, June 4):
"Whatever happened to buying a broad a nice [drink]." Whatever happened to women sharing and rejoicing in their Californian economic parity with men and buying a man a drink, or even starting a conversation? It died in the '70s. Then, women understood men were fun things to fuck, not mere conduits for Boolean algebra. In 35 years, no woman has ever: 1) bought me a drink; 2) started a conversation; 3) approached me for sex. But in Germany and Holland, all these wonderful events befell me (oh and, of course, I'm ugly because I've earned only $120 per hour as a facial model and am 5-foot-4, a hopeless defect in Surf City, but what could looks matter when all value is reckoned in dollars? This is our first principle of aesthetics). The Orange County female could be a sexual subject, but so much more pleasure drips from whining of "being treated as an object," circling purses and rationalizing years-long celibacy, a new totemic ritual that anthropology has yet to well-document.
As for your appeal to the management for boy dancers, that supposes at least some women would be conscious of their (heterosexual) longings, and where is the evidence of such consciousness? Recently at Club Lunch, all the girls ignored the beautiful black man dancing, and, of course, those sideburned, barbarian men have no bisexual impulses. George, the Boom Boom Room dancer? Ah, yes, of course, a gay man is the object of your lust. I'll copy Karl Abraham's article "The Female Castration-Complex" for you; I'm too impatient to explain this old story.
The "sullen, silent" men? They're sullen because the answer is either "no, I have a boyfriend" or "no." Chris Rock pointed out that 90 percent of American women have sex with about 10 percent of the men. He's only half-right; half of American women don't have sex at all. Unless you're a movie star, forget it, boys; move to Europe or the Philippines.
When it comes to the girls "mocking" the go-go girl, this only happens when prudettes resent their precious commodity being undermined by an "easy"—that is, free-thinking and free-fucking—girl. Nothing's more hateful than philanthropy to the genital monopolists. For a "socialist," Ms. Commie Girl, you appear unpardonably ignorant of how modern women —excluding the flappers of the '20s and the hippie chicks of the '60s and '70s—have "gone into business for themselves." Wake up. To hoard, pawn and barter the body and mind is to cheapen them into commodity.
Incidentally, not all strippers are meth addicts, but most don't enjoy their instincts, except exhibitionism. Nor are all prostitutes victims of childhood sexual trauma; one of my girlfriends was an ex-prostitute, and she was the victim of Christian parents who refused to let her go on dates. So she left home at 17 and found a job she loved because she got to choose. . . . Oh, well, I won't bore you with details that might threaten your prejudice.
There actually ARE bisexual women, but Chasing Amy "was just a movie, boys"? Well, the movie did chronicle well how neurotic and uptight sexual life in the '90s is—and let's not excuse neurosis as rational fear of venereal disease when there are blood tests for all of them and HIV shows up within eight weeks of infection (Centers for Disease Control report, '98).
"Show me your papers!" isn't romantic? Aw, well, you can always sit at home and write tirades like this—or, wait, isn't there a new situation comedy debuting soon so we all can feel like we're fucking?
Oh, well, I'm sleepy, the war is lost, and it's too bad everyone can't make love instead of war.
—Jason Lynn, a.k.a. Elagabalus, via e-mail
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