By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
The football stadium bard:Bill Gallo -- one of the few who still thinks we should sell the name of the Broncos' new home -- plays the Shakespeare card in support of his position.
"What's in a name?" Gallo quotes the Bard, "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
I'll see him that Shakespeare quote and raise him another one: "Who steals my purse steals trash...but he that filches from me my good name...makes me poor indeed."
And when Gallo suggests that you can't transfer the beloved name of an old sports venue to a new one, I have two words for him: Comiskey Park.
Practice what he preaches: I want this letter to serve Carl Kabat as a means to remain free, to live his life with conscience, effectiveness and without fear and misery (Eileen Welsome's "Send in the Clown," November 16). I want the superiors who are authorized the grace and good will to use it to retain him and his means of public witness to our times.
Father Kabat is a hero in a revelation. He should not become a man tracked on a desert.
Duty is only skin deep:Does Robin Chotzinoff read Westword? For more times than I can count on all my naked appendages, Mountain Air Ranch has placed ads with this publication asking everyone (including Ms. Chotzinoff) to visit during the annual Nude Recreation Weekend and find out firsthand what 'The Joy of Naked' is all about.
I will give Chotzy some credit. Her November 16 "Bare Facts" did nail to the wall some of the reasons to be naked. People who frequent nudist resorts/beaches/hot springs are a mix of Groovy (any body type is okay), Intrepid (it feels great) and Tennessee Williams (nothing wrong with doing it) Nakeds. We are a little of the Sporting (I dare ya) Nakeds. We admit it; that's how we usually get 90 percent of our members! But the Drunkly or Proprietary Nakeds? No obnoxious behavior or swinging allowed. Period! 'Nuff said.
I hope that next July, Ms. Chotzinoff will make a reservation to attend Nude Recreation Week. Maybe then she will discover what her two great aunts and any child knows -- that is, before they're taught guilt and shame by an adult. Nude is not lewd!
So come on, Robin, be a Sporting Naked. I double-dog dare ya!
Baring her soul:Hey, Robin, thanks for the smiles. But methinks you doth protest too much.
via the Internet
Gas pains: Bob Burtman's November 9 article, "Paying the Price," gave me the jitters. Not only did it tell the story of the cold-blooded practices the gas industry uses in putting private station owners out of business, but it also exposes, at least to me, the real reason gas prices are going up astronomically: GREED! I live here in Colorado, the state where the worst school massacre took place 130 odd years after the worst Indian massacre (Sand Creek, for those of you who live in a cave). Psychiatrists and social workers are looking for the culprits that are destroying our youth. They point to violent video games and movies. They point to Marilyn Manson and rap. The greed that feeds the kinds of things going on at Shell and the other monsters has offspring. Those offspring go to school with our children. Case closed.
Heavy petting: Usually Kyle Wagner is chowing down anything, starting with chicken and moving to bison and even bull's testicles (Rocky Mountain oysters). So I was very glad to see that she actually checked out an animal-friendly restaurant where no carcasses are being served ("Tempeh, Tempeh," November 16). Yeah, the WaterCourse has some faults -- or maybe it's part of the modern times that we are always rushed and stressed out.
Good things will take a while, Kyle! So kick back, relax and enjoy! What a great change in menu: I'm looking forward to more "food-without-a-face" articles.
via the Internet
My sweet Unbreakable you:I don't want to take too critical a tone toward Bill Gallo's "Night Moves," his November 23 review of Unbreakable. (I'll never forget hearing two prominent critics reviewing a performance of a work by Rachmaninoff with scathing contempt, until they discovered that the performer [whose identity had not been disclosed to them beforehand] was -- Rachmaninoff himself! Ah, what a glorious moment for an artist who actually creates something, to hear these parasites sputtering and stammering to explain themselves afterward...) Instead, I will simply offer my own humble opinion of the film, as a budding "Shyamalanite" myself.
After having seen two of his films, I can only gather that Shyamalan may be one of those increasingly rare fellows whose capacity to stay focused on character results in extraordinary skill with the camera, something I don't recall seeing to this degree since Hitchcock. Rather than getting lost in "cosmologies" (however "muddled"), perhaps we can understand something more of his intention when we take notice of the beautiful and concise characterization he gives, for example, to two figures of very little significance to the plot, and with very little screen time: the secretary in the security office where Willis's character works and the babysitter who greets him and his wife on their return from their second "first date." Or the careful use of music (also like Hitchcock), or the wonderful refusal to cut for anything but dramatic reasons.