BRING BACK THE SAD OLD MEN
EDITORS: Could you please slap the bejesus out of the comic strip artist who does Rusty Brown? It seems to me that he already went on a long, boring, Fellini-esque, unfunny, uninteresting, rambling, so-called "arty" human-non-interest story with Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth. You must have asked him to drop that 'cause it was putting [your] readership to sleep. After a mildly amusing lampoon of sad older men who won't grow up (in Rusty Brown), yet again we're getting another cappuccino-sucker, alternative, wannabe artsy, Fellini-esque, non-human-interest story.
It seems that you relaxed your reins on this guy after he put out an amusing cartoon or two, and he's reverted back to his old habit of going into long, boring, non-story writing. As for the maniac with the hallucinogen fixation who paints crying baby elephants running down staircases for months at a time--can you please print a disclaimer? "Warning: Trying to understand this strip will cause serious brain damage!"
EDITORS: For me, reading Evan Sult's article ["'Tis Pity She's a Whore," May 18] was reassuring. I have less than two weeks before I move from Seattle to a small town in Eastern Washington. This is a major lifestyle change for me and my mate, and at times we both say, "What the hell are we doing leaving the comforts of the big city to move to a small town?" But after reading your article on Art Chantry, I know that we are making the right choice in leaving Seattle--it's become too expensive to live in, and the benefits outweigh the hassles.
What attracted me to Seattle--a cool cityscape, affordable housing, and a city aware of its own warts and flaws--are pretty much gone. At one time, Seattle used to try harder, because it knew it had to. Now, Seattle has become too much like San Francisco, New York City, and France--three of the most narcissistic places on the planet. When I moved here 15 years ago, I was a great admirer of this city, but Seattle has become less friendly to the people who gave it soul, substance, and imagination. I am counting on the people of The Stranger to keep kicking those left in this town in their asses, and not letting them rest on their laurels.
Jeff Wagner, Seattle
DEAR EDITORS: I've lived here for two years. Oh, you have a nice enough little town--the Sound, the sights, the nightlife--but you have absolutely no passion, no spark! You go about your daily lives in blissful self-absorbed superiority, patting yourselves on your backs for your good works and charity, issuing your platitudes to one another behind insincere smiles of silent contempt, completely oblivious to the fact that if it weren't for transplants from California and other prosperous states, you would still be living in a culturally and economically void cow town. Get a clue! You're biting the hands that are helping to feed you!
I've had it with your racism, hypocrisy, self-righteousness, antiquated laws, and yes, intolerance. Get over yourself, Seattle. You're not all that and a cup of latte, too! California, here I come. Right back where I started from. At least there I know who my enemies are.
Alex Bennett, via e-mail
DEAR TAMARA PARIS: Let's date. Why? Because you have a nifty name. Also, I like your writings [Last Days, May 4 & May 11, and other stuff]. Do I regularly write strangers asking for a date? No. First time ever. Let's see... you gotta know what I'm about: I have a B.A. in liberal arts; I've published photos, comic strips, and articles, and played in a couple of bands. I don't do hard drugs, smoke cigarettes, watch sports, mind and/or body rape people, or drive drunk.
I can pass any background check. I find various religions fascinating, but only go to church to hear the music. I dig George Gershwin and Ira, too (all music, really). I've had platonic relationships with gorgeous women. I'm a good guy. That's it. I'm decent-looking, and if you respond, I'll send you a photo. If not, you'll never hear from me again. Goddam stalkers! I ain't no stalker. On tattoos: I don't have tattoos. I have charisma, talent, smarts, and mild depression. MILD!! I fart, too. I live on the beach, sing well, act well on stage, play mediocre guitar, and write nifty lyrics and stories.
I want to spend the rest of my life studying history (Weimar culture, WWII), theater arts, and psychology (child psychology, abnormal psychology, police psychology, administration of justice, and teaching in prisons). These things tie together pretty well. Write me back?? I'm harmless and I can prove it. I hope you don't think I'm a lunatic for writing out of the blue. I think of funny stuff all the time, but I'm not a show-off. I'm 5'8" and 165 lbs. and white, and I want to meet new folks. I'm not just trying to "get laid," as they say. I mean it.
EDITORS: In Up & Coming [May 11], Barbara Mitchell listed David Gray as an "Irish singer-songwriter." David Gray is Welsh, NOT Irish. David's latest album, White Ladder, which recently had its U.S. release on ATO Records (Dave Matthews' label, but don't let that stop you from being interested in David Gray), spent many weeks in the number-one slot on Ireland's charts. Perhaps this led to the confusion?
Daniel Boxer, via e-mail
EDITORS: [I] read about autowraps.com ["Driving for Dollars," Pat Kearney, May 4], and I was wondering if you knew of anyone who might pay me to wrap my house in advertisements? I could really use the extra cash. Also, I manage a couple of apartment buildings, and if you think anyone might be interested, please pass this message along.
A Corporate Sellout, via e-mail
TO THE PERSON WHO WROTE THE ANTI-DOG I, ANONYMOUS ["You're Dogging Me," May 11]: I would like to take a chain saw and cut you up into pieces, crotch first, and feed you to a bunch of stray dogs. You sound like a piss-brained pussy no one could ever love, so I understand your bitterness. You say there are "people everywhere [who] need real human love," but it's given to dogs instead. Listen, puss, no one automatically deserves love.
If you ever so much as give a dirty look to me or my dog, I will cripple you. That is a promise. Pussies like you have gotten way too comfortable in America, and like so many others, you need to get your ass kicked to learn some manners. In the words of the brilliant animal behavioralist Konrad Lorenz: Never, never trust anyone who has an aversion to dogs--they are the more recent, lower evolution of humanity.
John Miller, via e-mail
KATHLEEN WILSON: In your recent column [It's My Party, May 18], you opened with a plea to the masses to not embrace the evil lure of Napster and the recent piracy party that is the Internet--or at least not if the band is good. You then go on to suggest that one should not steal from a band if you've included a song they wrote on a "mix tape carefully made for someone you love." Well, I'm sure the RIAA is glad to hear that Kathleen recommends purchasing a copy of an artist's album and then committing piracy, rather than just pirating it from the Net.
"Tigger," via e-mail
DEAR EDITORS: I've really enjoyed Charles Mudede's articles on hiphop. I believe hiphop is all about capturing the energy of urban life, and allowing the often-overlooked, average Joe to express themselves. Hiphop is all about taking the chaos and beauty of the street and doing something poetic when you've got people's attention. Imagination is our way out of this mess.
Casey Schmidt, Seattle
DEAR EDITOR: I haven't laughed my ass off like this in ages. "Red Lobster: A Nervous Breakdown" by Min Liao [May 18] is one of the best Chow restaurant reviews ever. She could easily be accused of missing the food point, except with this over-commercialized shithole of a brand-name place. Salty is right. The first and last time I ever ventured into a Red Lobster, I nearly puked my guts out and had doubled-over heartburn for two days straight. Never again. What's more important was her reaction to the Lynnwood white-trash surroundings and all those fat-asses scarfing down the salty cholesterol mass. I live there, and yeah, it sucks.
Carol Banks Weber, via e-mail