Smoke It Out
Great that some kid decided to trek out to Long Island to score some cigarettes (“Smoking and the Bandits,” Aug. 20-26). But what about the fact that millions are dying from cigarettes all the time, and we need people to stop their stupid smoking. What? Do you want people smoking in bars and restaurants and pregnant women lighting up, too? Whatever, tell Ben Lasman, smoking ain’t cool.
—Syd Nadler, Brooklyn
The Meat of the Matter
Thanks for the Josh Bernstein article about obsessive, compulsive grilling and succulent sausage balanced with simple Midwestern pleasures (“Kiel-ing Her Softly,” Aug. 20-26). Great title, too.
His article has several sexual undertones to keep us laughing and reading it several times. From his opening line of “smacking my sweetie with processed pig” to his close of “aiming for that dark, shallow hole.” It was a funny read for us ass-smacking, pyro-enthralled, grill-masters.
Just like Angela said, “Fire it up.”
—John “The Greek,” Bay Ridge
Forget the Girl
Dude, we get it. You have a “girlfriend.” Woo hoo!! I’m not sure if Joshua Bernstein is just trying to convince us that he’s a big boy now, or that he’s not gay, but what’s with the multiple and constant references to his “girlfriend” in his columns?
From one recent issue (“A Trip Down Mammary Lane,” Aug. 13-18) alone:
“‘Well that certainly explains far too much about your childhood,’ my girlfriend says.”
“A fierce sticking point is my refusal to facilitate my girlfriend's sweet-and-milky coffee addiction.”
“To appease my girlfriend, I could easily nab a gallon at the local Key Food.”
“Though I prefer whole milk, my girlfriend prefers excess calories in chocolate form.”
And it’s like that in most of his columns. OK, you have a girlfriend. Message received. Of course, if the illustrations accompanying his columns are an indication, I can understand why he seems so thrilled that he has a girlfriend. A pudgy, balding, pot-bellied, perpetually 5-o-clock-shadowed fellow probably has had some problems in that department.
Not to mention, from his own words, it seems he lives in borderline poverty, with a shitty copyediting job, and he usually eats/drinks in (and reviews) Brooklyn establishments, so again, it’s understandable the gals are probably not flocking to him.
But enough already. We get it, Josh. You finally got a girlfriend.
Now, how about reviewing some Manhattan places instead of telling us about your biking travels to some out-of-the-way Brooklyn joint that no one (even in Brooklyn) is going to go to. And yes, kudos on that girlfriend. If your boys could only see you now, huh?
—TJ McAlister, Manhattan
Get On the Obama Love Train
In response to Mark Peikert’s “Olden Showers,” (Aug. 20-26): A few weeks ago, I hooked up and went home with a guy who turned out to be a young gay liberal Democrat (yes, they DO exist!). As I was engaged in the act of topping him, he began slowly sighing, and then shouting, “Ohhh, Ohhhh... OOOOObaaaamaaaaa! True story.
—Rick Wyler, Upper East Side
Just Oldies, Stupid
In reference to Armond White’s suggestion in response to the reader who corrected him in “Mailbox” on his erroneous statement that Superbad was set in the 1970s that perhaps “the gaffe was Rogen’s”: No, stupid, the error is yours. Superbad is set in the 21st century. This is clearly established by the dates printed on the fake “McLovin” ID. I don’t know why you would think otherwise. If it was just because there were a few oldies in the soundtrack, you will probably be shocked to learn that Pulp Fiction wasn’t set in the ’70s either.
—Wayne Hepner, Staten Island
Great that some kid decided to trek out to Long Island to score some cigarettes (“Smoking and the Bandits,” Aug. 20-26). But what about the fact that millions are dying from cigarettes all the time, and we need people to stop their stupid smoking. What? Do you want people smoking in bars and restaurants and pregnant women lighting up, too? Whatever, tell Ben Lasman, smoking ain’t cool.
—Syd Nadler, Brooklyn
The Meat of the Matter
Thanks for the Josh Bernstein article about obsessive, compulsive grilling and succulent sausage balanced with simple Midwestern pleasures (“Kiel-ing Her Softly,” Aug. 20-26). Great title, too.
His article has several sexual undertones to keep us laughing and reading it several times. From his opening line of “smacking my sweetie with processed pig” to his close of “aiming for that dark, shallow hole.” It was a funny read for us ass-smacking, pyro-enthralled, grill-masters.
Just like Angela said, “Fire it up.”
—John “The Greek,” Bay Ridge
Forget the Girl
Dude, we get it. You have a “girlfriend.” Woo hoo!! I’m not sure if Joshua Bernstein is just trying to convince us that he’s a big boy now, or that he’s not gay, but what’s with the multiple and constant references to his “girlfriend” in his columns?
From one recent issue (“A Trip Down Mammary Lane,” Aug. 13-18) alone:
“‘Well that certainly explains far too much about your childhood,’ my girlfriend says.”
“A fierce sticking point is my refusal to facilitate my girlfriend's sweet-and-milky coffee addiction.”
“To appease my girlfriend, I could easily nab a gallon at the local Key Food.”
“Though I prefer whole milk, my girlfriend prefers excess calories in chocolate form.”
And it’s like that in most of his columns. OK, you have a girlfriend. Message received. Of course, if the illustrations accompanying his columns are an indication, I can understand why he seems so thrilled that he has a girlfriend. A pudgy, balding, pot-bellied, perpetually 5-o-clock-shadowed fellow probably has had some problems in that department.
Not to mention, from his own words, it seems he lives in borderline poverty, with a shitty copyediting job, and he usually eats/drinks in (and reviews) Brooklyn establishments, so again, it’s understandable the gals are probably not flocking to him.
But enough already. We get it, Josh. You finally got a girlfriend.
Now, how about reviewing some Manhattan places instead of telling us about your biking travels to some out-of-the-way Brooklyn joint that no one (even in Brooklyn) is going to go to. And yes, kudos on that girlfriend. If your boys could only see you now, huh?
—TJ McAlister, Manhattan
Get On the Obama Love Train
In response to Mark Peikert’s “Olden Showers,” (Aug. 20-26): A few weeks ago, I hooked up and went home with a guy who turned out to be a young gay liberal Democrat (yes, they DO exist!). As I was engaged in the act of topping him, he began slowly sighing, and then shouting, “Ohhh, Ohhhh... OOOOObaaaamaaaaa! True story.
—Rick Wyler, Upper East Side
Just Oldies, Stupid
In reference to Armond White’s suggestion in response to the reader who corrected him in “Mailbox” on his erroneous statement that Superbad was set in the 1970s that perhaps “the gaffe was Rogen’s”: No, stupid, the error is yours. Superbad is set in the 21st century. This is clearly established by the dates printed on the fake “McLovin” ID. I don’t know why you would think otherwise. If it was just because there were a few oldies in the soundtrack, you will probably be shocked to learn that Pulp Fiction wasn’t set in the ’70s either.
—Wayne Hepner, Staten Island
