By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
By Brian Rinker
By Rachel Swan
Finally, Grigg alleges that I treated DA investigator Ranon Ross unfairly. I reported that Ross, who works for Grigg, has friends and relatives living in the housing project that was raided. I wrote that prosecutors kept information about the raid from Ross and Grigg in order to avoid the understandable temptation Grigg might have to tell Ross, or that Ross might have to tell his relatives to get out of harm's way. How this is unfair is hard to fathom.
Grigg implies that I am motivated by racism. I did not seek to learn, nor did I care, what Ross' race was. It was not important to me.
Bugs vs. Elvis -- Let History Decide
While the quality of SF Weekly has improved dramatically since the New Times buyout, I found myself distressed that Brian Alcorn couldn't be bothered to check any of the readily available reference works on Warner Bros. cartoons to ascertain the title of the Bugs Bunny short which serves as the central metaphor of his review of Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach's Painted From Memory (Reviews, Nov. 18).
I find it especially galling since I consider the cartoon in question, What's Up, Doc? (1950, directed by Robert McKimson), to be approximately 10,000 times worthier of notice than the collected whinings and whimperings of Elvis Costello.
Drugs and Muni
Don't get me wrong -- Muni does suck, real bad ("Rewarding Failure," Dec. 2 and Dec. 9). And yes, everybody likes to complain about their local transit system. But did you ever consider that it's made so much worse by the fact that Muni riders suck?
I routinely see people trying to get into crowded trains without brushing up against anyone else, trying to elicit "excuse me"s from every other standing passenger remotely in their path, and other freaky unrealistic behaviors wholly inappropriate in this second most densely populated city in America. All that "Tuscan light" here in Frisco must be bleaching people's brains.
People would like to think San Francisco offers the casualness, space, freedom, and lifestyle of California combined with the urban bustle of New York City; it doesn't. The two things are pretty much mutually exclusive. Also, San Francisco is the promised city of drugs -- people here have been methamphetamine addicts for decades, heroin addicts are renowned for their irritability when not nodding, ditto cokeheads. And -- sad truth here, people -- this is still America, and we have been losing our ability to get along with others for God knows how long.
So next time those train doors open, issue a blanket "pardon me" and knife into the heart of the car as quickly and carefully as possible.
As for Mr. Coates, so happy now in the Windy City ("Chicago Transit Beats Muni," Letters, Dec. 23): I was born and raised in Chicago and lived there up until 17 months ago. You haven't really experienced bus "bunching" until it's in subzero temperatures (layering -- that's the key. And plenty of it). And as for those trains arriving every three minutes, I'm saddened that you couldn't make a clean start in the Big Onion -- you are obviously hooked on hallucinogens as no L-line can field trains anywhere near as often as every three minutes, not even in rush hour.
Aren't All Curmudgeons Cynical?
I'm not religious, and I'm not saying The Prince of Egypt is the greatest movie ever made, but it deserves better than the negative review given in this paper ("The Greatest Story Never Told," Film, Dec. 9).
I saw it on Christmas, and I suppose the heavily charged cultural, racial, and religious issues may affect one's personal interpretation of the story's presentation, but the movie is also a dazzling visual spectacle with a humanism that touched me deeply.
It was a mistake to send a cynical curmudgeon to review a film. To not recognize The Prince of Egypt as a classic is to ignore logic and reason while sadly exposing a lack of empathy and passion.