Letters to the Editor

Page 3 of 4

Give me a break. Why isn't the media reporting on something really meaningful, like the culture (of which the media is a large part) industry's ongoing subversion of critical thought, rationalism, intellectualism and cultural values that mean something? Or about the fact that our politicians are steering the world into the ground and no one cares as long as their chai latte is sweet enough and they get laid every week? Who gives a fuck about Dent or whether baby-boomers are up to snuff on hip-hop culture? Read some books and get a clue of your own, you ageist, superficial dumbass.

Steve Sedlmayr

Michael Roberts responds: I may be a superficial dumbass, but I'm pretty good at counting. Hip-hop was born in the early 1970s and continued through the '80s and '90s well into today -- meaning the genre is in its fourth decade. As for what planet I'm from, it's a little place I like to call Earth.

Killing Time

Give the man a hand: I found Bill Gallo's November 14 "Nuggets, No Glory" quite amusing, although I am not a sports fan. However, with regard to his point number 19: Rolex watches have a sweeping second hand; they don't tick. Not that this point matters much, but his departure from his apparent area of knowledge -- i.e., sports -- undoes his otherwise funny article. Besides, if someone can afford a Rolex, couldn't they afford to do something more interesting, or at least be sitting in front of you?

You shouldn't undermine your writing by slipping into bad humor to fill space, especially when you don't know what you're talking about.

Screw sports and the taxes I have paid to support them.

J. Ebersole
via the Internet

Yeah, that's the ticket: About Bill Gallo's column on the Nuggets and how to kill time:

I received two complimentary tickets for last Wednesday night's game against the Phoenix Suns -- great $67 seats, tenth row. So I went. I'm really more of a symphony person, but I had never been to the Pepsi Center and I hadn't seen the Nuggets play in years, and I thought: "What the hell? Get a friend, go out. Change the pace a little."

Well, I couldn't get a friend at the last minute, and at my age and my somewhat new singleness, my philosophy has been that I'm not waiting to get somebody to do things. So I hopped on the light rail and took off. The Pepsi Center didn't impress me. I found the Nuggets dancers/cheerleaders degrading to females (don't you?) and the whole opening hoopla unnecessary -- fire and smoke, loud music, darkness. I came to see basketball being played! Let me see some good basketball!

And that mascot -- why is he out there still? Didn't I just see him in the paper being arrested for domestic violence or something? So what credibility does he bring to this team or the game? I didn't see any Phoenix Suns players faking any drama-queen fouls, and yet some Nuggets did. I have no respect for that: Just play the game well.

There were times when I actually found myself grinning and applauding some good plays, but not enough. I wasn't that satisfied. I left at half. Maybe I'll try again, but only if I'm given comp tickets (so please don't publish my name).

Name withheld on request

Boob and Bust

Strip search: Regarding Robin Chotzinoff's "Face Time," in the November 7 issue: Not everyone is singing the praises of Dr. John Grossman. After spending a lot of time getting a "good" referral for a mastopexy (that's a boob job and lift at the same time), I settled on Dr. Grossman, absolutely convinced I'd made the right choice. It cost me a fortune (for me, 12K is a fortune), and I supplied him with a good "palette" to work on -- an athletic body, non-smoker, etc.

One year later, my tits look like used condoms with rocks in them. He did not listen to me when I asked him for smaller, firmer (hello), functional boobs since I'm an exercise freak. Now I'm a DD cup, and I'll be paying this mistake off for at least five years.

Take note: When your surgeon of choice has an ego the size of Invesco Field, there's a good chance he'll do whatever the hell he wants. I hope anybody looking for a "job" will have the guts to walk out of a consultation with a doctor who is not telling you exactly what you want to hear. Making a silk purse out of a sow's ear apparently only applies to the desires of the surgeon. I'd have been thrilled with only what I'd asked for. But when I said "I like to run," he must have heard "I like to strip." Easy mistake, I guess.

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