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The Bad Doctor
Your article on John Parkinson was quite interesting ("The Fairfield Wives," Aug. 5). I live in Fairfield and toward the beginning of 1992 I received a call at the law office where I was employed from a woman who claimed Dr. Parkinson had been treating her for Crohn's disease, and that for a period of one year he had given her pelvic exams two to three times a week as part of her treatment -- sometimes on Sunday, and occasionally without an attendant being present.

I had the occasion to be familiar with Crohn's disease and knew there was no reason for a pelvic exam to be done in connection with treatment -- and certainly not with that sort of frequency. I was absolutely astounded that a grown woman would not question a doctor who requested she show up on a Sunday for a pelvic examination with no nurse or other attendant being present.

This woman would still be seeing the doctor if not for an insurance coverage change which resulted in her not being eligible for treatment by Dr. Parkinson. This and the other women's stories are just a constant reminder of what a bunch of sheep we've become as a society and how a doctor can stand under the banner of his profession and his religion to take advantage of others.

Jennifer Hibner-Spencer
Via Internet

It Pays to Advertise in the Weekly
Regarding Matt Smith's report on the free ride apparently being enjoyed by Union/Southern Pacific ("Is This Any Way to Run a Railroad?" Aug. 12), I am disturbed by the details, especially if they're true.

To UP/SP's credit, please let it be known that we, at Toner Depot, a regular SF Weekly advertiser, have recently received from the railroad's officers a load of approximately 100 to 200 pieces of unused toner products -- hazardous material that, if disposed of recklessly, could do a fair amount of damage in its own right -- as a donation to benefit March of Dimes. UP/SP made a conscious effort to maximize the benefit while minimizing the potential effects of just dumping these toners.

By the way, it's quite likely they learned about us and our partnership with March of Dimes from our advertisement in SF Weekly.

Steve Schwartz, Sales Manager
Toner Depot
Via Internet

Movies: Now, More Than Ever
For the record, the first shot of Snake Eyes cuts before the arena ("Hot and Bothered," Film, Aug. 5). The transition is hidden by a passing coat, à la Hitchcock's Rope. Regardless, the first sequence (two shots) doesn't last 20 minutes anyway.

For the still-champion single-take first shot, check out the forthcoming rerelease of Welles' Touch of Evil, whose extended first shot is a triumph of form and content.

Marc Olmsted
Upper Haight

A Jug of Merlot and Thou
I was going to write in and defend Joe Householder from Mark Athitakis' stinging nettles ("Roses Are Red/ Violets Are Blue/ If You Think Jewel's Poetry Sucks/ You Should Read the Crap Her Fans Write," Riff Raff, Aug. 12) -- until I realized that "Age 14" was the title, not his actual age (which is 33).

I wrote some pretty crappy, lovesick poetry when I was 14 -- but by my early 20s I realized that red wine was a quicker way to a girl's heart.

Continue as planned -- make fun of Mr. Six-Pack at will.
David Chambers
Via Internet

More Than Her Phair Share of Attention
I am not "left pondering the shaky future of [Liz Phair's] personal life," nor the dubious status of her pop music life. Hence, I must question why you would devote almost three pages and as many writers to an analysis of her new record -- or career, for that matter ("Whitechocolate What?" Music, Aug. 5).

It seems Phair's persona from Exile in Guyville has hooked people for years despite totally marginal follow-ups. Didn't she tell you folks? The whole sex vixen in a cheerleader's body was a put-on, a bedroom fantasy of hers. Have you ever seen her try to play the guitar? The difference between Exile and her later material is that like a true artist, Phair did Exile because she had something to say. It appears that she did the next two albums because her ego or her contract or her husband or her manager or her label told her that she should.

Here's the thing: Are we not inundated enough already with mediocrity that you have to devote your entire column to someone who couldn't hold Barbara Manning's dirty panties when it comes to honesty and true creativity? If you're gonna probe the depths of the uncelebrated indie-artist, Liz already had her 15 minutes. Don't get me wrong -- Exile was brilliant. She should have quit while she was ahead. So should you.

Jeffrey Anderson
Via Internet

Soulless Masturbation vs. A Big Supportive Hug
I was fairly disappointed with the lack of coverage of Nadine's Wild Weekend ("Lost Weekend," Riff Raff, Aug. 12), when it came to actual band reviews. I couldn't find one review but instead petty gripe coverage of bands that won't be named. Not a very productive contribution to the local music scene.

I, personally, had a very intense and positive experience playing and attending this event. There seemed more a sense of community than with the usual so-called "industry showcases."

The sheer amount and quality of music I got to hear was much more satisfying than some bullshit muso-indo panel seminar (which can become masturbatory and soulless). Anyone who expected it to be some label-signing orgy missed the point of the event entirely. This was an opportunity for different acts to support each other, play in front of a more diverse audience than usual, and spread the buzz on the street level. At least that was my experience.

Maral Rapp
(The Artist Currently Known as Ledenhed)
Via Internet

Correction
Our story "The Kerouac Obsession" (July 29) incorrectly claimed that Gerald Nicosia spoke so long at an award ceremony that a reception had to be canceled; actually, the reception was held. The story also contended Mr. Nicosia once wore a T-shirt with the words "Kerouac vs. Sampas" on it; Mr. Nicosia says no such shirt existed, and we believe him. In addition, the story incompletely described Mr. Nicosia's relationship to the estate of Jan Kerouac. In his role as literary executor, Mr. Nicosia is to receive 10 percent of any income generated from Jan Kerouac's literary estate as a result of publications, sales, or licensing arrangements negotiated by Mr. Nicosia. The Weekly regrets the errors.

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