Letters from the week of February 5

Studies in Crap: “Quivering Masses,” January 29

Quivering Masses, Indeed

Bravo to Alan the Archivist for peeling back the layers that have kept Rush Limbaugh’s bruised psyche hidden for all those years. I used to think it was unjust that he received such a light tap on the wrist for what would surely have sent a brother up the river for a very long time. Now I see the depth of the pain he is living with and will be establishing a charity to help underwrite his Oxy prescription.

Judy Jones, Bonner Springs

Editor’s note: It has come to our attention that “Under the Sea Salad” was first inflicted on the Limbaugh family by Rush’s grandmother rather than by his mother. We join the Limbaughs in regretting everything about “Under the Sea Salad.”

Feature: “Edge of 50,” January 22

Speed Racer

Hey, thanks for Carolyn Szczepanski’s article on Steve Tilford. I’ve been a local cyclist and mountain-bike racer since the mid-1990s, and Steve is a staple in the local scene, a role model and impossible to beat! He has been one of the people who shaped cyclists coming out of our region as long as I’ve been doing it, and I was glad to see him in the news.

Bryce Lawrence, Kansas City, Missouri

Night + Day: “Blood On the Rink,” January 22

Mediocre Mayhem

I took my fiancée and 11-year-old daughter to roller derby on opening night. I remember watching the real roller derby of the 1970s. They had banked tracks, railings and fights — the kind of scene I would want my daughter exposed to. Unfortunately, I relied on your pitiful rag and did not realize that for almost $40 for the three of us, not to mention the 30-minute line for $8.50 beer (and $2.50 water), where most of the crowd seemed to have gone once they realized what they had paid to witness, the action would be pitiful. The half-time band? It made me want to eat my colostomy bag.

I’ve done a lot of things poorly in my life, but I never felt that I had the right to charge $16.50 to observe my dunlap gut in a counterclockwise motion.

Tell us of the Best of Kansas City, let us know what’s going on, but Good Lord, let us know when it’s just large-venue-pathetic.

Phil Becker, Kansas City, Missouri

Art: “Everybore,” January 22

We’re Seedy and Highbrow

I can usually turn the other cheek when I see gossip and slander slapdashed across the face of The Pitch because that’s its role: to be the “seedier” version of Kansas City’s media. But when I see something beautiful, which has taken vast amounts of energy and love, treated as if it’s garbage, I have to say something.

Dana Self’s “review” of the work by Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison is probably the most unintelligent thing I’ve ever read. Her quaint reference to them getting a showing at the Nelson-Atkins simply because he graduated from the Kansas City Art Institute is nonsense. If she had done some research, she would have known that it was a dual show at the Jack Shainman Gallery in New York City. Her highbrow shrugging off of their term “everyman” is wrong again — the press dubbed him that nearly 10 years ago, and the new series is a way to get away from the term that made him a character instead of something people could relate to.

Yet even all that I could almost swallow, as if this world wasn’t already brimming full of apathy and a myriad of quick fixes. Self says, “Few and far between are the folks who seek out morality lessons on museum walls. That’s what church is for.” I’m sorry she has never felt something akin to spirituality while looking at something made as a direct message from one human to another, or that she believes art shouldn’t carry a responsibility to reflect what our society is and should or could be.

Dane Zahorsky, Kansas City, Missouri

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