Now He's Appalled...
I am quick to admit that I am not a regular reader of the Houston Press, so I don't know what tone you normally use in commenting on readers' letters. But your recent comment to Annette Stark -- "Did they teach spelling at WORLD FAMOUS KILGORE COLLEGE?" [Letters, "We're Appauled, Too," January 9] -- was out of line, a real cheap shot.
I admire the courage it took for Ms. Stark to write the letter. I agree that poor spelling detracts from the content, but it appears from your response that your only interest in printing her letter was to make fun of her.
If this is so, you practice perhaps the most immature form of journalism. If that was not your intent, please do better in the future. Respect for our fellow humans should never be put aside in favor of a cute remark.
Please resolve in the year ahead to spare us worthless dining reviews like Joanne Harrison's recent "Sushi Safari" [Cafe, January 2]. Not to be mean-spirited, but here's a gal who in the opening paragraph confesses to know nothing about sushi, and then endeavors to prove it for a full page. What's the point?
Yeah, sushi is obscene to those who can't get past the idea of eating "raw fish," and certainly some John Cleese-ian experiences have arisen over this fact: the first date, the parents in town or the overly suave business dinner ... you know, something kind of funny. But do we glean any humor from the blithe Ms. Harrison's first experience? Errr ... um ... not exactly.
But wait, back up to the first paragraph -- there was a twinkle of hope. After admitting complete ignorance of sushi, Ms. Harrison confides: While her trendy friends had spent a decade wolfing down the nasty raw stuff, she'd been in tow, honing her palate on the cooked specialties such as tempura and teriyaki. She then goes on to mention exactly nothing of that which she apparently knows best. (Hint: There are some great new Japanese places on the west side, Nara and Koto are two that spring to mind, that serve not only great sushi, but inspired and original cooked items as well.)
But, hey, what the heck, a feckless critic finally eased into sushi at some old Houston haunts. And my oh my, it's already '97 ... the poor beleaguered '90s could use a little '80s fun once in a while. But please spare us the ride next time round, or else make it a lot more fun.
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I read the letter dealing with Paul Broussard's death ["Revisionist Garbage?" January 2]. I also read the article ["Gayland's Choice," by Brian Wallstin, November 14] to which the letter responded, and I didn't like it. Each to his own. However, I was appalled by Brian Wallstin's answer tothe letter.
Rather than restate all that the original letter writer stated, I will just cut to the last paragraph of Mr. Wallstin's answer. If you are with a group of friends who are doing great bodily harm to another, and you do not try to stop it, you are an animal!
It's fairly simple: Gayland Randle's very presence gave tacit approval to a hideous crime, even if he did not participate. Mr. Broussard is dead, and Mr. Randle helped, be it by actually doing it, or doing nothing to stop it.
Name withheld by request