Author: rakemag

My family and I walk and bike the superb Kenilworth Trail upon which Charlie Lazor’s Flatpak house has intruded [“The Prefigured House,” July]. Now, instead of turning off a city street onto a gorgeous trail flanked with green, bikers and walkers first see Mr. Lazor’s concrete wall. Every lost piece of green growth in a city hurts somebody, but I appreciate that Mr. Lazor has a right to build anything he wants on his property. Still, although he states otherwise in your article, I am hoping that he realizes that he does, in fact, have neighbors. The people on the trail are neighbors. Virginia creeper grows fast. How about planting some, Mr. Lazor?
Louise Erdrich
Minneapolis

Thank you so much for Clinton Collins, Jr.’s column [“Ghetto is as Ghetto Does,” Free the Jackson Five!, July]. I built a house in North Minneapolis in 2002 and am now regretting that I did. Before I moved, I thought that the brothers were always getting hassled by the police. My views have changed now. I wanted the American dream. My dream has turned into a nightmare. My neighbors rarely come outside. I can sit in my window and watch a drug deal or prostitutes walking the street.

Name Withheld By Request
Hawthorne Neighborhood, Minneapolis

Collins’ column echoes many of the feelings and frustrations that my neighbors and I have. I live in the Old Highland neighborhood and have been battling crime for more than ten years. In my book, criminal acts in a community include those that contribute to the deterioration of a neighborhood. Abusive and violent behavior (which includes loud profanity), littering, loud stereos and parties, and general neglect of one’s home and yard perpetuate the “ghetto” mentality and are serious crimes. Last year at our neighborhood Clean Sweep, a friend of mine was reprimanded by a so-called “neighbor” for picking up the trash in this person’s yard. His comment—“leave my trash alone, I like living in the ghetto”—elicited the response, “Well, you might as well move, because this is no longer the ghetto.” It was refreshing to hear Collins express a zero-tolerance attitude. I have no intentions of moving and no intentions of lowering my standards to accommodate a victim mentality. Thanks, Mr. Collins; we need more neighbors like you.

Tracy Loso
Minneapolis

Though I am happy to see positive publicity for air guitar [“Mock & Roll,” the Rakish Angle, July], I do have some problems with your article. First off, the production company filming the documentary on air guitar is not associated with Project Greenlight or the Ben Affleck/Matt Damon production company Live Planet Productions. The producers of the film, who worked as executive producers on season two of the Project Greenlight series, are shooting the documentary of their own accord, under their own company, Magical Elves Inc. There is no connection between the two productions. Secondly, I take offense to being called a “ringer” in your article. Though I have a history working with Magical Elves, I was not assisted by the production, especially when it came to the results of the competition. (There are specific guidelines that each regional must follow which, I believe, are created by the founders of the Air Guitar World Championships.) My decision to participate in the Minneapolis regional air-guitar championship was due to my love of air guitar and my desire to perform in front of friends and family in my home state of Minnesota (something not mentioned in your piece; I am from St. Paul and a graduate of St. Paul Academy). I also wanted to bring my vision of air guitar to the Twin Cities in hopes of inspiring others to participate in future competitions and to help establish a fan base of air-guitar enthusiasts for years to come. In all honesty, I didn’t believe that I could win the competition, nor did I go into the evening with intentions of winning. I just wanted to give a good show and to put some smiles on the faces of my friends and family. I believe that I accomplished my goal.

Michael Rucker
Los Angeles

I first landed on the St. John’s campus almost sixty years ago as a prep school student. In six decades I have come to know the place and the Benedictines well, as a high school and college student, lay staff member, parent of several students, and board member of the university and some of its ancillary enterprises. I obviously love the place, which has influenced my life as much as anyone (excepting my mother). The article by Adam Minter [“Force of Habit,” cover story, June] was a classic, thoughtful, and accurate portrayal of the Benedictines and St. John’s. Thank you. I have never read a better story about St. John’s.
Tom McKeown
Mendota Heights

Readers would be well advised to remain skeptical before swallowing the water peddled by Dr. Masura Emoto [“Message in a Bottle,” the Rakish Angle, June]. Dr. Emoto has no scientific or medical credentials; his title refers to a degree from the Open International University in India, where such degrees may be obtained by mail for under $500. Chemists knows that water has unusual and unique properties that result from the tendency of its molecules to associate by hydrogen bonding, forming short-lived and ever-changing polymeric units that are sometimes described as “clusters.” The snowflake patterns are the result of crystallization of the water on some contaminant such as a speck of dust, and are highly dependent on the local conditions and rate of cooling. Yep, at the core of each of Dr. Emoto’s snowflakes is a speck of filth. The learned professor’s photographs of ice crystals are wonderful, but anyone who has seen the beautiful, intricate patterns of frost on a windowpane could attest to this. Dr. Emoto, however, makes the dubious claim that words, music, and prayer can somehow affect the crystallization of water, and that this modified water can somehow cure whatever ails you. He, of course, provides no proof for his claims, although they could be easily tested. These tests have not been done, because they would fail to support Dr. Emoto’s claims. So where is the harm? First, it separates people from their money. Like the snake oils and other nostrums that have been peddled to an unsuspecting public for centuries, much is promised, but nothing is delivered. More important, there are many who would take unproven or useless “cures” and forsake treatments whose efficacy has been proven. Before using any unproven or “alternative” treatment, I would advise readers to consult Dr. Steven Barrett’s guide at www.quackwatch.com. Information regarding specific water cures and other water-related pseudoscience can be found at http://www.chem1.com/CQ/.
Kent S. Kokko, Ph.D
Roseville

In “One Toke Over the Line” [Over the Coals, June] Nathan Rabin does a commendable job of dumpster-diving beneath the surface of our government’s cesspool of anti-pot propaganda. However, I think Rabin may have gone one toke over the line himself. He writes that once kids see through the government’s lies about pot, “who’s to say they won’t wonder if genuinely destructive drugs like cocaine and speed aren’t as dangerous as advertised either?” Maybe I’ve misread his intentions, but this makes me a little queasy because it seems to make use of one of the oldest scare tactics in the prohibitionist’s own arsenal: the gateway myth. Multiple studies have concluded with certainty that pot simply does not lead to the use of other drugs. Even if he wasn’t intentionally soft-pedaling the dreaded gateway myth, Rabin still used tenuous reasoning to reach the sort of open ended “what if…” conclusion that prohibitionists often deploy to present a worst-possible scenario as the typical case. Pot’s crusaders often appear to be against prohibition, but in their eagerness to defend marijuana, they end up restating arguments for prohibition on their own terms. Of course alcohol, cigarettes, cocaine, and speed are all more dangerous than marijuana—that’s why all these drugs need to share a level, legal playing field. Even tacit acknowledgement of drug-war hysteria surrounding other drugs gives a boost to the notion that we need this drug war, because society would collapse without it, what with all these crack babies, tweekers blowing themselves up in their “clandestine drug labs,” and pill-popping redneck Oxycontin freaks—or whatever drug panic is currently in vogue. When we contribute to the marginalization of other drugs and drug users, we take one step forward and two steps back on the way to our shared goal of humane, rational, and compassionate drug policies. While I may disagree on a few of the finer points of Rabin’s reasoning, I still thank him for an articulate article that takes a firm stand against the moralistic bastards in our government who wish us to wallow in paranoia and ignore the obvious.
Justin Teerlinck
St. Paul

I loved reading Emily Carter’s public transportation manifesto [“The Unreformed Bus Rider,” June]—it’s the kind of writing that grabs you, pulls you in, and, well, takes you for a ride. However, I disagree with some of the key points—ironically, points that those right-wing folks on the radio also made, that only the marginalized and poor use public transportation. As an artist and freelance writer who composts and bikes wherever possible, I am perhaps occupationally marginalized but lead an otherwise conventional bohemian middle-class life, a life that fits right into the profile of a twenty-to-forty-something, educated, politically progressive Twin Citizen. Depending on the route you take, plenty of green-loving, efficiency-appreciating, even-thicker-into-the-mainstream-than-me people are sitting in bus seats. In fact, when I have a project that requires me to show up in the same place at the same time, I see that those people are sitting in those seats on a daily basis. People above the poverty line do choose public transportation because it’s smarter environmentally, puts you into contact with folks with whom you’d otherwise never interact, and feels better than getting all cranky in your own metal bubble. What better contribution can you make to the life of the city than your bus fare? Like Ms. Carter said, it’s downright civic.
Shari Aronson
Minneapolis