DEAR MERCURY—It is sad to see what a narrow musical world is reflected in your article "The Year in Lists" [Music, Dec 18]. Certainly, there was much that was worthy, but no jazz, no blues, no classical, no folk, no "world." What an insular little community you all live in.
DEAR MERCURY—Not invited back in 2009 ["Not Invited Back," Feature, Dec 25]: Amy J. Ruiz. Amy has never reflected the true spirit of this town and instead has acted more like a damn nanny than an advocate for those who care about what this town could be, or is becoming, rather. Meanwhile, it appears she has Eskimo kissed enough back doors with city officials and the PDC [Portland Development Commission] to land a job where her crappy opinions might actually cause some damage.
THE NEW UNICORNS
DEAR MERCURY—To say that there are no hipsters in Portland is like saying there were no hippies in San Francisco, no punks in New York ["Not Invited Back," Feature, Dec 25]. The problem with hipsters is their lack of purpose and ideas. They are not the angry young men and women of counter-culture past, they are leaches of culture. Being a hipster is the opposite of a movement; it's a crawl toward death. Like an unconscious addict, of course no one admits to being one.
DEAR EDITORS—I will be damned if you guys have not picked our brains every single year. ["Not Invited Back," Feature, Dec 25] THIS ARTICLE IS EXACT ON EVERY SUBJECT—leaving no "blogosphere" unpopped. The Mercury clearly does know what time it is in this town, through crosshairs, and is invited back for '09 and every single week of the millennium!
The Mormon Tween Canvasser
TO THE EDITOR—It is a good thing that I was on the toilet when I read Graham Barey's article "Gods Among Mortal Men," [Music, Dec 25] because it made me crap in awe and anger. The reason Sandpeople haven't broken "out of the small pond and into the wider ocean of sound" is because there is only so far you can go on songs about "how good Portland weed is" and "why you are such a nasty rapper." Barey is obviously one of the many ignorant heads choking the local hiphop scene by choking on testicles of the Sandpeople. I advise immediate jocking removal surgery.
WHEREFORE ART THOU?
DEAR MR. HUMPY—You may not know this, but I am in love with you. Every Thursday I wait at the nearest Mercury drop for the white van to come by, but alas, you have better things/women to do. Last year I received the wonderful Christmas gift of your picture glazing the cover, along with "Chocolate Santa." I immediately cut out his face and replaced it with my own, because the image of you sitting on my lap was the best cover of all. I proceeded to change my pants. This year, I was let down; no picture of my Humpy, no masturbation aids and one lonely me. WHY STEVIE????!!! WHY??????!!!!! Where does that leave me? Crying on the curb of the Mercury drop site, the company van splashing me with the rainwater, as you pull out from the gutter of my heart.
CONGRATULATIONS TO CHANNAJ for... er... We think you are referring to the absence of a new Merc last Thursday, yeah? Well, we were on a wee holiday, but we're back! So dry your tears with two tickets to the Laurelhurst Theater and lunch at No Fish! Go Fish!, where nobody ever cries.