WE'VE FAILED YOU, ROY SMALLWOOD

I FUCKING DARE YOU TO PRINT THIS: How can it be that so many thousands of relatively like-minded, intelligent, aware people can occupy every corner of what is ostensibly the counterculture of Portland, and still all we have to show for it in print is the FUCKING MERCURY? Consider that, simply by virtue of your existence as independent media with a broad, informed readership, it is incumbent upon your publication to print something of value—to challenge SOME idea. I am at long last beginning to smell the vile mold of complete irrelevance growing over my town and my culture. And, unlike the cheerleaders of indifference that rule your staff, I don't like the stench of it.

Roy Smallwood

The "Cheerleaders of Indifference" respond: Mr. Smallwood, we are in complete agreement with your assessment. Please see Blog Town, USA (portlandmercury.com) for personal apologies written to you from our staff. Our shame is weighty.

FAT: THE NEW SMOKING

LETTER TO THE EDITOR: Regarding Ann Romano's "fat-hating bullshit" [Letters, Feb 16, in which Krissy Durden took exception to Ann Romano's suggestion that obesity contributed to the death of actor Chris Penn, One Day at a Time, Feb 2]: Obesity stresses the heart, lungs, joints, and can cause asthma, diabetes, heart and other problems. All the feel-good politically correct fat-positive bullshit in the world doesn't change the fact that obesity is the new smoking.

 Laurie in Southeast

GNADE'S LAND OF DREAM

DEAR MERCURY: "Hearing some douche wax poetic about how music is an 'escape' to a 'land of dream' isn't the thing I'd want to do at the real Coachella, and it isn't what I want to hear in a film about it, either."—Erik Henriksen [Film, Feb 23] Well, that is fairly ironic given that the Mercury's very own MUSIC EDITOR talks just like this in practically every article/essay/whateverthefuckheisupto, particularly when he is a fan of something. If he likes the band or music, it is all "land of dream" hyperbole or, worse, browbeating the reader that if they don't like them, they must be insane or have no taste or whatever his myopic early 20s brain can come up with. I never thought the day would come when I would long for the lollipops and booty dancing in the Dunes-filled prose of a Ms. Julianne Shepherd, but here I am.  

Kristin Young

CHAS' FAVE NEW MUSICIAN

DEAR MERCURY: God knows I've read a lot of error-ridden, misinformed tripe in the Mercury before, but Chas Bowie's article on Neil Young ["Heart of Old," Film, Feb 23] sets a new low standard. "Devoted fan" Bowie says he downloaded Young's "latest album," Harvest Moon and declares it "mediocre." Funny, but I recall Harvest Moon being released in 1992. Why don't you stick to the usual kiddy crap you write about and leave the real music to the adults?

Dale Hill

CHAS BOWIE RESPONDS: Thank you so much for pointing out my error. On further reflection, I may have been too hard on Heart of Gold. Toward the end of the movie, Young performs two brand-new songs that completely knocked my socks off. They were called, I think, "Old Man" and "Needle and the Damage Done." Can't wait until he puts those on a record!

CHOOSE YOUR OWN BULLSHIT

GODDAMMIT: My story ended fast, because I chose the cat show ["The Choose Your Own Adventure Issue," Feb 23]. "Fuck this," I thought as I began to read the Merc more traditionally. All was fine until I came to my favorite feature—I, Anonymous which was replaced by the fuckin' stupid choose-your-own bullshit, which I was already excluded from, due to me choosing precious life over violent death on page 5. Now, if you fucktards find this amusing, turn to page MY FOOT IN YO ASS.

Kirby Gleason

CONGRATULATIONS TO KIRBY for enduring the wrenching loss of one week's precious I, Anonymous! As always, Kirby and anyone else can read the constant stream of bitching and bile that comes through the I, Anonymous wire on portlandmercury.com's Blogtown, USA, as well as its printed return on pg 59! Meanwhile, Kirby wins two tickets to see the Dirtbombs on Fri March 31 at Dante's, and $30 to No Fish! Go Fish!