If you can't stand the heat, go back to the kitchen: Unbelievable! That is the only word I can think of to describe the ignorance with which Rebecca Meiser penned "Leather & Laces" [May 19]. As a player, I was offended. As a woman, I was disgusted by the Rush Limbaugh-style attack on the players. The insults to the players were juvenile at best. And if my "cream-filled" memory is correct, the author did quite a bit of sleeping on the bus trips to and from Columbus. That would explain her need to ad-lib some parts of her tale.
Ms. Meiser (how fitting a name for you), in your quest to establish yourself as a mediocre writer of half-assed comedy, you have only managed to make a mockery of women's sports. At least on the field, we expect to be hit with blows from the opposing team. The last thing we expected was to be blindsided by one of our own. If I hadn't seen your breasts with my own eyes, I would have sworn that you were another pissed-off male chauvinist who wants nothing more than to see his woman back in the kitchen rustlin' up some beer and chips.
If you haven't returned the balls you borrowed to write that garbage, maybe you'll be "man" enough to apologize to female athletes who play hurt every day, all day, just to get a fraction of the respect that men get for doing the same thing!
Don't use the "L word" with Dad: "Leather & Laces" was a nice article, but what reason did Rebecca Meiser have to relay the story about what happened on the bus ride from Columbus? The football players are just women -- real women who play football. Not lesbians playing football. Do you think dads are going to take their children to see a bunch of lesbians play football? A person's sexual preference has no bearing on how a sport is played. The Fusion is a fun, family-oriented team to watch.
Beam him up, Scotty: In response to "Leather & Laces": It seems like every week that I read Scene, I become outraged. This week, the article by Rebecca Meiser did the trick. If it wasn't for wonderful articles by Elaine Cicora and her mouthwatering food talk to appease me, I don't know what would become of me.
I've heard of women hanging around football fields, but I assumed it was for cheerleading purposes. Now I understand that Sappho is alive and well. But good God, aren't these girls a little close to Woody Hayes country -- or at the very least, Paul Brown? Women were the ones who were to lead us to salvation, to discover cures for our illnesses, and to reap our fields. Not three yards and a cloud of powder. A bustier made of steel? I'm outraged, to say the least!
Caught in the Sweeps
Plusquellic can't quell this one: I enjoyed the May 12 First Punch story about house-razing in Akron, "5 on Your Hide!" It is sad that this story had to unfold the way it did, and even sadder that, as many years as the Akron Don has been in office, he still can't get anyone to put a good spin on a bad situation.
If Mark Williamson truly expects me to believe that Channel 5 knew of the demolition and sat on the story, maybe drug testing is in order for those working at City Hall. After all, this would have been just the story to wait on for two months. Then again, these are the same folks who thought there was nothing wrong with putting a mile-high landfill on the edge of a national park or using eminent domain to force families and a few mom-and-pop businesses out to expand a car dealership.
An Unkind Cut
Nothing is new under the sun: In response to "The City" and "This Modern World," May 5: Give it up! "The City" by Derf (organ grinder Cheney with monkey Bush) and "This Modern World" by Tom Tomorrow (ventriloquism) are old news and tiresome satire. The theme was amusing four years ago, somewhat amusing three years ago, boring last year, and a waste of my time this year.
I read Scene because it is fresh and cutting-edge! Derf and Tomorrow's knives are extremely dull.
G. Michael Skerritt
A modest proposal: Regina Brett has it all wrong: Sex is good ["Sex Is Bad," May 19]. It's her writing that is bad. There wasn't one even slightly amusing sentence in her entire article. I realize that Scene needs to fill the pages, but in this case more ads or a completely blank page would have been more entertaining. Please, oh please, next time the paper runs an article with Regina Brett's name attached to it, let it be her obituary!
Recreation, not procreation: I applaud you, Regina Brett! What a perfect point of view! I am not as selfish for not wanting kids as some parents are for having them. I'm in a lifetime commitment because I want to spoil my husband and I want him to spoil me. I am the apple of his eye, the center of his attention! If I wanted to commit my every effort of life to a child, I'd buy a puppy! Isn't this why threesomes aren't accepted or don't work out? Because someone is always feeling left out.
One reader's trash is another's hilarity: I just wanted to comment on Regina Brett's article "Sex Is Bad." I think it is hilarious! I loved it! I really enjoyed her sense of humor, and I think her style is very similar to that of Ellen DeGeneres, who is my favorite comedian ever! Well done!
Save some for the boys' lockers: Regina, we should stick a copy of your article in every teenage girl's locker; it's an early warning clue. I hope they get it.
Not saying there is anything wrong with "just sex" -- it's great. Just recognize it for what it is, along with all the possible consequences of "just sex."
The word goes forth: Excellent article! My daughter will have five copies of this article for her and her friends. The children today are too manipulative and "grown." Hopefully, Regina Brett's article will get through to her. She is only 11 and built like a 16-year-old. It's scary.
Thanks for the straightforwardness and compassion on this subject.
But it seemed so obvious: The parody was most flattering. Only one problem -- many of your readers actually think I wrote it. I did not. Next time, at least draw a beard and moustache on my photo to help your readers avoid confusion. Parody is good. Confusion isn't.
The Plain Dealer
Everyone's a critic: In response to Christine Howey's review of The Cult, entitled "Brain Farts," April 28: After much urging by a friend, I finally agreed to visit him in Cleveland. He convinced me that I could make a living in Cleveland as a writer, if only I would move. I agreed to spend a few days and at least listen to his sales pitch. Two stops on the tour were I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change and Cult.
Although Cleveland has a strong love of theater, apparently it has a vacuum when it comes to theater critics, because it has Christine Howey. She missed most of the showing of Cult. No plot? She must have nodded off during the intricate unveiling: the cult is in a state of chaos after their charismatic leader's death. Spiritual panic is crossed with the need for leadership so that the cult may survive. There was even a twist in the plot: One of the cult members was present for the leader's death -- did she do him in?
No characters? Did she miss the control-freak bell-ringer? Did she not see the panicky doubter who kept trying to break free? How about the hopeful successor? It was hard to miss him; he had a cricket bat.
What Ms. Howey mistook for pretension was attention -- to detail, the structure and histories of cults, and to the central need to discover something that everyone else has missed. Every religion, whether a cult or something more benign, is intent upon creating a different way of discovering truth. The players of Cleveland Public Theatre displayed this with skillful acting, precise choreography, and extremely talented singing.
I'm hoping that Scene recognizes the lack of thought and attention in Christine Howey's writing.
Bands should take a stand: In response to "Sensitive Young Man Alert," May 19: They should call Cleveland Music Festival "Cleveland Money Festival." Struggling bands are asked to sell tickets to their own shows for $10 to $20 apiece, and then they are supposed to hand over more than 90 percent of the cash to the concert people. (By the way, the tickets say right on them that they do not guarantee entry.) Not only that, but when our band showed up for our show, no one knew where we were supposed to go, where to park, or when and where to load in or set up. We ended up taking it upon ourselves to load in through the back door. I feel really bad for the other bands who didn't find the back door to the Pirates' Cove and who had to load in through the front, which was practically blocked off by the door person and the crowd waiting to get in. This makes loading in almost impossible. Every other band I spoke to was extremely angered and frustrated -- not to mention completely crushed by the way they were treated.
Cleveland Music Festival is a huge scam that leaves thousands of musicians broken and discouraged. Bands are promised a chance to be seen by record-label executives; none were present. Bands played two stages at the same time, making playing almost impossible -- unless you can completely tune out the noise bombarding you on the breaks and during your own songs.
This was the second CMF my band has played; after last year's horrible experience, we realized that selling tickets to this thing was a total scam and rip-off for us, so we decided not to sell any tickets this year. More bands need to come forward and boycott this scam!
P.S. The Peabody's/Pirates' Cove Promotion guy spent the entire time up in the VIP suite with some hoochie mamas, while everyone was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Please print something about this! Bands need to be warned that the whole CMF thing is just an attempt to make thousands of dollars off bands who make no money and gain hardly any exposure. Help boycott this scam!
Maria Bahruth, Son of Dad