WHAT YOU PAY FOR

DEAR MERCURY—Before dissing on a restaurant for being
more expensive than the taco shack down the street, maybe Katie Shimer
should get a clue about what Autentica is trying to accomplish [“Uppity
Mex,” Last Supper, Aug 9]. Sure, Autentica has its flaws; service is
usually awkward at best and the place is dying for a good bartender,
but the food kicks ass.

Joe King

CONSIDER THE WOOOOOOOO!

DEAR MERCURY—When I saw last week’s “NASCRAP” headline
I thought I would read a truly analytical look at the sport and find
out a definitive answer as to just why NASCAR sucks so very much, but
instead I only saw a relentless slam on anyone who happens to enjoy it,
who can apparently only be rednecks [I Love Television, Aug 9]. And
what’s wrong with yelling “YeeeeeeeeeeHAAA!”? Maybe that’s just their
equivalent of a high-pitched “WOOOOOOO!!”, have you thought of
that?

Dylan T. Martin

WHITE HISTORY

DEAR MERCURY—Regarding Damon Ray Hymer’s letter [“More
Whities, Less Brownies II,” Letters, Aug 16]: I grew up in North
Portland—four houses south of Portland Boulevard—in the
1970s and ’80s. Mr. Hymer seems to be under an illusion that North
Portland is becoming increasingly white, but in the Arbor Lodge
neighborhood I’m not certain that such a thing is possible. North
Portland has never been a “black community.” The differences between
now and 30 years ago are (1) property values have shot up, and (2)
Portland Blvd. has been needlessly renamed “Rosa Parks Way.” There
surely must be a better way to commemorate Rosa Parks.

Aaron Thompson

WE’VE BEEN WARNED

DEAR MERCURY—What was the point and purpose of printing
such blatantly RACIST letters [“More Whities, Less Brownies I &
II,” Letters, Aug 16]? Typically I would just say “To Hell with the
Merc!” But I continue to read in much the same way I check up on
Fox News on occasion… gotta know what the enemy’s up too, right? I’ll
continue to check up on THIS publication as well, and forward my
findings to the appropriate parties. You’ve been aptly warned.

Damos Abadon

CALL ‘EM AS YOU SEE ‘EM

DEAR MERCURY—After reading recent letters sent to the
Mercury in reaction to your “Best Of” issue [“Best of Melting
Pot Portland,” Feature, July 26], I’m left with several questions. Such
as, why doesn’t Damon Ray Hymer say what he really means, and advocate
changing Rosa Parks Way to David Duke Boulevard [“More Whities, Less
Brownies II,” Letters, Aug 16], or why doesn’t Richard F. LaMountain
come clean that his real fear is not the twilight of American culture
in the wake of immigration, but that his women will be stolen by
savages [“More Whities, Less Brownies,” Letters, Aug 16]? Or we could
go back another week when someone claimed that it is the influx of
Latinos forcing schools to teach children Spanish when what they really
meant to say is, “I don’t believe in academic standards because
learning is hard” [“Mexicans Go Home!” Letters, Aug 9]. Cloaking
blatant racism like this behind the guise of concern for our
communities, our children, or pseudo-social/economic theories fools no
one but those doing the cloaking, and it’s time to start calling
spades, or bigots, as they are.

Josh Gross

ASSHOLES OF ALL SHADES

DEAR MERCURY—In response to “More Whities, Less
Brownies” (x2) [Letters, Aug 16]: Race only clouds the truth. My block
used to house a violent drug dealer. He was black. My neighbor behind
me has lived in her house since 1955. She is black. She is a lovely
person. The house next to me used to be rented to a rock band comprised
of young, financially comfortable men. They were self-entitled
assholes. They were white. My neighbor across the street is a drummer.
He is a good neighbor. He is white. My parents live in Hillsboro. The
beautiful trees in the forest behind their house are being defaced with
Mexican gang graffiti. The creeps doing this are assholes. My parents’
street houses a family of Mexican nationals. They are good people. You
don’t define anyone’s character by race.

C. Garcia

CONGRATULATIONS TO C. for pointing out that anyone can be an
asshole, regardless of the shade of their skin. C. wins two tickets to
the Laurelhurst Theater and lunch at No Fish! Go Fish! where there are
no assholes allowed.