WW welcomes letters to the editor via mail, e-mail or fax. Letters must be signed by the author and include the author's street address and phone number for verification. Preference will be given to letters of 250 words or less. Shrewed Oh my, everyone, see how smart Steffen Silvis is? He's not entertained by what the rest of the uneducated and vulgar masses find entertaining. He must know something that we don't! I mean, what with all of Steffen's formal theatrical training, how could it be any other way? I am caught in quite a quandary, folks. You see, if I respond to Steffen's idiotic and fucking, half-assed review of Tygres Heart's Taming of the Shrew ["Leading Hell to Apes, WW, Oct. 13, 1999], it might be thought that someone in the theatre community still actually takes his reviews seriously. And I wouldn't want Steffen to think that he actually has any respect from anyone other than the mindless-post-modernist-drooling-sniveling-lackeys that lick his ball sack in return for favorable reviews. So, I decided to laugh off Steffen's typically shitty, incomplete, inaccurate, pretentious, yet somehow sophomorically written first review of Shrew. I mean, how fucking stupid do you have to be to review Shrew and not once mention Petruchio or Kate? So, why am I writing now? Because one of my co-actors called Steffie and tried to politely explain to the comatose fuck head what he missed while he was jerking off during our play while dreaming up all the negative things he could write about us. Well, not only did Herr Silvis disregard the whole conversation, but he distorted what my co-actor said and proceeded to offer up a second piece of shit review. I guess I could relay what was said, but I've decided to go the Silvis route and write about everything but the relevant. I've decided to do what Silvis does and resort to personal attacks. Let's see, shall I denounce Silvis for his complete lack of theatrical experience? Nah, too easy, everyone knows that he is unqualified already. Or should I call him a lonely, aging man caught up in his self-created, self-important air who can only befriend people by scaring actors into being nice to him? Or perhaps I could point out that had Steffen any insights or valuable criticisms, perhaps he wouldn't be reviewing theater for a little alternative newspaper in Portland, Oregon. Food for thought for the high and mighty midden licker! I'm a bit upset at myself for expending such energy on such an expendable nothing. Yet, the fact is that Steffen's regular habit of personally and unprofessionally attacking individuals rather than character choices or directing decisions is pathetic. And to Steffen: As far as I (as well as the innumerable theater groups and individuals that have banned your presence at their performances) am concerned, you have long outlived your usefulness to Portland theater, if you ever had any to begin with. So do us all a favor and shove that new and oh-so-fucking-stupid-ass cane of yours so far up your ass that you actually have an excuse to be spewing shit from your uppermost cock-hole. You bore me, little one. Annette Harings (Biondella in The Taming of the Shrew) Northwest 5th Avenue What's So Funny? Last week's "Callahan" cartoon really offended me [WW, Nov. 3, 1999]. I am aware of the irony in being offended by a caroon that implies that Jews can't take a joke at their own expense. But what is a joke and what isn't? Is Callahan's insensitive stereotype of Jews considered a joke just because it's served up in a cartoon format? Forgive me if I don't laugh. Ian Reichenthal Southwest Barnes Road Easy, Tiger Chris Lydgate's story about Scarlet Letter and the sex-worker ordinance recently passed by City Council focused more on the participants' clothing than on the issues at hand ["Badge of Dishonor," WW, Nov. 10, 1999]. Why does Mr. Lydgate think that the attire of the meeting's participants is relevant to this issue? Is his sex life so dull that he must resort to making middle-school-level jokes about "panties being in a twist" and "coming out on top"? Does he think this is a way to scintillate your readers? I wonder if Mr. Lydgate would find it necessary to report on the steel-toed boots worn by welders or steelworkers? Pretty sexy stuff, eh? The article could have focused on a number of other issues, such as privacy, safety, the economic ramifications to the workers, issues facing sex workers in general, and the fact that the ordinance is a gross violation of these workers' rights. It didn't even mention that the ordinance was rammed through City Council within one week of its introduction with no attempts to contact the workers. Its unfortunate that Willamette Week chooses to ridicule a group already marginalized by the larger society. Grace Hague Southeast Nehalem Street Big Girls Don't Cry Regarding the Nov. 17 Buzz column entitled "Badge of Dishonor" I can only say, reefer is illegal and so is prostitution. Imagine a law that says you can have all the pot around the house you want and show all your potential customers as long as they don't buy it. In other words, they're just looking. The customers could sit around, check out the merchandise and even cop some second-hand smoke as long as they don't actually hit on the joint themselves or buy any to take home. This scenario requires the type of suspended disbelief sex workers are requesting, and getting, but that is not enough. It seems they want the glory but don't have the guts to stand up for it. To my mind, sex workers should appreciate the opportunity they have been given and stop whining about the slight on their integrity. They can strut their stuff where many (in other marginally legal trade) have not. And they're bitching about having to get a permit. Yeah, the background check and fingerprinting may be a drag, but have you ever tried to get a license to sell alcohol in this state? No less invasive you can be sure. And why shouldn't they have to submit to some sort of licensing and fees? Every other person doing above-board business in this world must. The price of the permit could possibly go to AIDS testing, or union organizing or even some education program that might offer young girls options to choosing prostitution and modeling lingerie, since I doubt a single woman would say it was a calling, despite our modern fascination with the hipness of sex workers. The fact is, these girls are standing up for a profession that yet objectifies woman in a way that has been historically offensive and dangerous to our gender. Putting a PC topspin on the industry doesn't change that fact. Having lived my own life on the sexual edge, I admit to having collected strong biases on the topic. I add this only to say I am not shocked nor repulsed by the inclination to push the limits of society's collective sexual morality but rather that I am disheartened it is still encased in cheap, pornographic imagery and fishnet stockings. Who's marketing who? The fascination with "bad girls" and "hungry, wet, twat--call Trisha" (and more of the same) is a male-centric mythology that is very, very tiresome. In the end, I doubt it has made a single woman cum harder or feel much better about their own sexuality, but I know I am making some assumption here. What I do know, however, is that if [in] this late date of the feminist movement some women feel called to market their sexuality then I say, be proud and focus on what the permit fees will go towards. You see, I just don't think they can have it both ways. If they want respect for the industry they have chosen, then act like there is nothing to be ashamed of. Or, better yet, transform it so that it speaks to and affirms women's sexuality in a way that doesn't demean us (or do they really like being called a hungry twat?) In the end, if they're afraid of the "scarlet letter" then I suggest they mine the recesses of their own double standards and stereotypes to figure out who, exactly, is shaming them and why. Could be there is something of value in those resources. One way or the other, I say, if the shoe fits, wear it or not but please don't blame the City for monitoring what goes on in this town an d how. As they say, big girls don't cry. Harriet Fasenfest Northeast 32nd Place - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Willamette Week | originally published November 23, 1999