The counties, the state and the feds then take more money to control pests. The poison gas-makers have killed off every natural critter that would make a difference to the infestations that are about to occur. Why worry about who's paying the spray bill? We all know who will: people. They are paying to be killed off, a beau geste.

The town I live in spends a lot of money spraying poisons; the excuse is to eliminate mosquitoes, but the real result is the killing off of the pesky songbirds and other eaters of the insect so Cargill can sell more poison gas and employ more chemists. Thus the price of the bread that even a Westword reporter eats is leavened. People have little knowledge of what goes into the federally mandated policy of cheap wheat no matter what the price.

Since there has been total federal control of the Western rangeland for the past hundred years, we shouldn't have to look far to assign some of the blame. "Trust me, I'm from the government..." Until the Western rancher and wheat farmer become responsible citizens, it looks like they will remain on welfare in a very similar state to the inner-city welfare queens, except they'll be driving a new pickup and living on rented land.

Cordley Coit

Peak Performance
Regarding Michael Roberts's "Will the Peak Inherit the Earth?" in the February 1 issue:

The article on the ratings war between the local radio stations is very similar to wondering who farts the loudest, Tweedledum or Tweedledee. Music, not just rock, is in its worst state since Pat Boone was king of the rock-and-roll singers in the late 1950s.

Here's a thought experiment: Take the years from 1940 to 1967 and observe how popular music changed and grew in that period. Now do the same for the years 1968 to 1995. It is obvious to me that much of today's music is only rehashing the breakthroughs of the 1960s, and rather poorly at that. We need some leaders, and soon.

Neil Haverstick

I don't know how many people would agree that this is an exciting time to be a Denver radio listener. The ingestion of smaller, upstart stations by large-bankroll communication magnates and the fight by other "alternatives" to produce a "softer, safer sound" has left nothing but a bad taste in my ear.

How can stations profess to be "fresh and innovative"? Wake up and smell the coffee, people. To be safe is to be afraid.

If advertising and channel-surfing are all that you're relying on to keep your ratings, then you've already been emasculated. Toughen up, push the envelope a little. And maybe in the process you'll grow some balls (and listeners).

Butch Buckley

Ask and Ye Shall Deceive
Michael, Michael, Michael. Just dropping you a line in regard to your original "Stairway to Hell" article and the follow-up "You Asked for It" in the January 25 issue.

Do you think it's possible for you to be any more anti-Seventies? Must be that you and your readers are a bunch of Nineties-loving kind of clods--baggy-pants-wearing, brainless bozos who actually believe Hootie and the Blowfish and Toad the Wet Sprocket are important parts of music history. Well, I've got news for you, Captain Clueless. The groups of the Nineties have as much chance of enduring the test of time as Madonna's virginity had a chance of lasting till she was eighteen: none. And who is more dense, you or your readers? Putting down the likes of Journey, Elton, the Eagles and Zeppelin in any form is pure musical ignorance. When's the last time one of your Nineties clowns sold out a 70,000-seat stadium? Never! But they can fill a cafe or theater near you!

If you and your mindless readers think the Seventies were that bad, you all need to take a long look at the talentless, unmemorable decade you're living in now. Then, and only then, will you realize that the decade was pretty great, and never again will it ever be equaled!

L.J. Sobkowiak

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