LETTERS


 

HERE -- IN A FAMILY NEWSPAPER?

Editor:

I was stunned and horrified to read Wally Graves' "Confessions of a Midnight Gardener" (September).

First of all, here, in a family newspaper, he has the nerve to flaunt bald outright his odious, unrepentant thingy. He is a willful, nasty man.

Secondly, Wally Graves is making fun of women who are afflicted with the appalling condition known as p envy. Vera, my friend of some 40-odd years, has a bad case of it. I will not go into details, but I will say that Vera bounces off the walls and jabbers like a hyena when afflicted -- and that when she is just getting warmed up.

Tell me, Wally, what if on one of your midnight forays into the garden some old ladies or a group of Brownies happened to look over your fence? Can you imagine the terrifying effect that the sight of your spouting serpent might have on them? What goes as boyish fun could actually be the cause of a lifetime of horrifying nightmares and shivering fits.

No man I know, or care to know, has ever voided in my garden. But if I were to catch such a person in the nocturnal act you can be certain I would take swift and decisive action -- possibly including but not limited to sneaking up on him, throwing a noose around the offending appurtenance, and hauling him directly over to Vera's.

There would be a reckoning on that night that would make Wally Graves' hair stand on end.

Donna Pudnik, Westhaven

Editor's Note: "Donna Pudnik" is a pseudonym.


ARTISTS CAN MAKE A LIVING

Editor:

I looked up "suppurating" in the dictionary to learn the reality of Old Town, Eureka.

Nice comparison.

I didn't like it. And I didn't like the article ("Who Knew," September).

Fellow artists pointed it out to me. Since I work 10 to 12 hours a day as an artist, it's hard to keep up with my reading.

About 18 years ago I did change bed sheets, empty bed pans, drive a taxi cab, etc. But now, I sell.

If you do good art consistently and have help from good friends, you can make a living in Humboldt County.

Maka MacKenna needs to set her sights up a little higher, someplace far above excrement.

Frances Boettcher, Eureka


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