KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE
DEAR PORTLAND MERCURY—I am so grateful for all of the attention the media is finally giving to the dangers of bike commuting. Every time I bike across town I nearly get run over at least once. Just today a driver cut across two lanes without signaling and started backing up so she could parallel park! She nearly ran me over, and I actually considered getting off my bike to confront her about it. It's definitely time to take the right steps to prevent drivers' ignorance of bikers. Then... maybe, just maybe, some drivers might actually know the traffic laws pertaining to bicyclists!
WHEN BIKES AREN'T ENOUGH
DEAR TAGE SAVAGE [Letters, Nov 1, in which the letter writer identified himself as a "law-breaking bicyclist"]—You are a giant pus-filled boil on the entire bike culture of Portland. Assholes like you, who hold a holier-than-thou opinion of themselves for riding a bike because there are no carbon emissions, leave no room for those who work outside of Portland and must rely on transportation other than something that would turn their commute into a two-hour affair, those who have handicaps and must rely on cars or public transportation, and those that really just want to mow morons like you over with our cars, like I certainly do. I'm glad that you at least realize that street smarts are always necessary to get around the streets. But if you think that even half of the bikers in Portland (of which I am one) do the same, you really are a deluded fool.
DEAR MERCURY—I keep seeing bits of culture in your paper that seems to make me a little tight in the britches—that is white guilt ["White Guilty," Letters, Nov 8]. I am a redhead, so white guilt is not a real issue for me, because WE got shipped here as slaves too, so quit acting like there is something wrong with you and be proud of your pale ass!
Friend of Redheads Engaging in Acquiring Knowledge for Social Stability
HEARTLESS IS HEARTLESS
DEAR MERCURY—Wow. I can't even believe you printed this week's I, Anonymous "Heartless vs. Homeless" [Nov 8]. Take 15 seconds of your time and visit Outside In's website (outsidein.org), where you will learn that 90 percent of homeless youth have had violence in their homes, 36 percent of homeless girls have a history of childhood sexual abuse, and 30 percent are sexual minorities whose sexuality was most likely not accepted by their families. If the author wants to scorn someone, they should be scorning the scumbags to whom these kids had the unfortunate luck to be born to.
LESS ARTS COVERAGE, PLEASE
DEAR MERCURY—Do us a favor. Don't write about opera anymore [Arts, Nov 8]. When you review Portland Opera's Cinderella, and don't mention the singing once in the article, you obviously have no idea what you're doing. So instead of writing a decent review you make snarky comments like Too Much Coffee Man's opera adaptation being a "questionable distinction" ["Book Lovers Unite!" Feature, Nov 8]. If you don't know opera, and you're just gonna bring the hipster 'tude, spare us who actually know opera your poor journalism and just stick to what you know (read: indie rock).
Tyler Bradford, Production Manager, Opera Theater Oregon
DID THE FAT LADY SING?
DEAR MERCURY—Hmmm... I best remember Will Gardner for his article, "Journey to the Bottom of My Colon" [Feature, July 21, 2005]. Little wonder his review of Portland Opera's Cinderella seems to be pulled from his ass [Arts, Nov 8]. Every opera review I've read in the Mercury has a standard format: 2/3 plot synopsis, 1/3 description of the set. Kudos for branching out on this one: 5/8 plot synopsis, 2/8 description of set, and 1/8 reference to fucking one's mother.
DEAR MERCURY—It's that time of the year again. That time I write to you and tell you how much you fuck pigs. You dirty, dirty pig fuckers. Well, I guess my job here is done. See you next year.
CONRATULATIONS TO NOAH for remembering this annual holiday—we totally forgot, and didn't get you a gift, so instead we're giving you the letter of the week, which includes two tickets to the Laurelhurst Theater and lunch at No Fish! Go Fish!, where pigs are more likely to be eaten than fucked (go figure).