Sorry to hear about the freelancer who had to spend the night in jail ("Epic Cop Fail," Mobtown Beat, Nov. 12), but I am 100 percent behind the Baltimore City Police in this circumstance. He obviously does not live in Charles Village by Johns Hopkins. This happens every night--the Giants win, there are students yelling in the streets at 3 a.m., the Giants lose there are students yelling outside at 3 a.m., McCain wins, there are people yelling outside at 3 a.m., it rains, it snows, the Phillies win. . . . Last night, JHU students were, again, out yelling and drunk again at 3:30, I guess because Frank Kratovil won. This is bullshit produced by a bunch of habitual drunkards. Can we get a full night's rest at least once this term so we can work? When I went to college there were 9 a.m. classes and curfew at 11. I guess not at JHU. Go yell outside of the dean's house at 3 a.m. and see how long you will stay in school.
P.S. I voted Green because Obama was not liberal enough for me.
This letter is in response to Joe MacLeod, aka Mr. Wrong's Nov. 5 column "Deep-Fried Thoughts." My thought, as your reader, is that you are slowly descending into a state of deep-fried depression. If you hate Arby's that bad, then just don't go there anymore. Like you said, Joe, we're in Uncertain Economic Times! And money doesn't grow on trees--hey, I should know, my last name is Lumber. I lived in Maryland for 33 years, and to this day I have never seen an Arby's. Speaking of the Burger King Man, have you ever seen his television commercial? He puts dollar bills in your pocket! And also you can have it your way, as they like to say.
I believe you are a Checkers man. I can almost picture you driving down the highway, 100 mph, music blaring, cursing and screaming. Next time your stomach tells you . . . You GOTTA EAT, then speed on over to Checkers. And the good part, Joe, is that after you get your food from the drive-through, you can peel wheels outta there! Yeah, you can burn rubber and leave some tire tracks! That should cure your deep-fried depression. And if that doesn't do it, then you will have to go to Taco Bell and get that Volcano Taco. Then you can change their slogan forever, because you won't be running to the border, you'll be running to the bathroom!
I read "Things Unseen" by Vincent Williams (Social Studies, Oct. 29), and I must confess my faith in God is shrouded in pessimism because my black skin is "the evidence seen in my existence" in a very negative way by white folks who know God the least.
I believe most white folks believe that Christianity is a white biblical concept for white folks to rape the natural resources of the Earth for their white-race opportunities.
As a child growing up in segregated Virginia, I lived with black parents who struggled in constant prayer to keep a roof over our heads. I heard my parents say many times when one bill would not be paid because of shoes needed by one of their children, "the Lord will make a way somehow." Jesus did, but I also remember eating hot beans and dumplings and no meat. I wanted to complain about having no meat. I wanted to complain when my parents turned the heat down at night to save on the heating bills. We kids thought it was a form of human punishment to be in bed shivering under blankets and waking up in the morning to take a medicine of demonic taste because we had gotten a cold from an icy house.
In his article "Things Unseen," Williams asks, "After all, if you don't have faith, what do you have?" Personally I don't have anything if I don't have faith--the consent of grace and the discernment of the Holy Spirit.
If I cannot buy all the food I need, I have faith that I can cook a good meal and get by with what little food I still have in the house. If I have to wash a blouse with dish detergent instead of laundry detergent, I have faith that the strength in my hands will rub the dirt out of the blouse.
From childhood to adulthood, I have watched black men and women in my family purchase homes and cars and send their children to state colleges or universities when they really could not afford it. Prosperity preaching was not being preached in our black neighborhoods. But, old words like "the Lord will make a way somehow" or "God did not bring me this far for nothing" were words I heard my parents murmur when doubt was in their pocketbooks and pain was in their hearts to rob God's divine goodness from their souls. I know the faith I have, and it makes no difference to me if the world breaks down in economic hell. I know what my Jesus can do.
Larnell Custis Butler
Clarification: In his review of Center Stage's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (Stage, Nov. 5), Geoffrey Himes stated that "It's a long show, about 195 minutes, but that doesn't justify [director Ethan] McSweeny cutting Honey's big scene at the end of Act 2." The observation was correct, but the attribution was not. The production in question is the now-approved version licensed for professional production, as cut and revised by playwright Edward Albee himself for the 2005 revival starring Bill Irwin and Kathleen Turner. City Paper regrets the error.
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