How could anyone admire such an arrogant actress as Kathleen Turner (PEOPLE, Nov. 3)? Turner claims that “if there’s a man who doesn’t look at me, it’s because he’s gay.” What an ego! Sorry to inform her, but she is not the gorgeous thing she thinks she is. Just take a look at your cover.
Whether she cringes from the word or not, Kathleen Turner is one of the sexiest screen stars of our decade. Her sultry voice and voluptuous figure are the key. What is refreshing is that she is far different from the other 90 percent of reed-thin Hollywood starlets. I say hooray to Kathleen and all us other full-figured gals. Debra Winger, Jane Fonda and Joan Collins keep on dieting while Kathleen continues to steam.
I’d like to see Kathleen Turner and Cy-bill Shepherd sentenced to spending an eternity together—in a room with no windows and only one small mirror. These two ladies could have given Narcissus a reputation for humility.
I was happy to see the article about a recovering addict. Being a recovering addict myself, I related word for word to what Bill went through. The lying, the self-deception, the hiding and, most of all, the feelings of guilt and utter hopelessness. I hated myself. Like Bill, I tried to stop using drugs and abusing alcohol many times, but always for someone else. It never worked, and I grew more and more desperate. Finally I got to the point where I thought the only way out of my addiction was to kill myself. I was contemplating the “best” way to do it. My choices were to OD on either Quaaludes or crack. Instead, I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and saw a hundred other people like myself, except they were smiling. Last night I received my nine-month-clean chip, which for me is a miracle. Please print more stories like Bill’s to let the addicts who are still out there dying know that there is hope and that life can be great without chemicals.
Merely working long hours in an occupation of one’s liking does not guarantee success. Most people accept life’s realities and select an occupation based on its economic merits. Those farmers, both small and large, who apply modern technology and good management practices are successful. Unlike these crybabies on the farm, responsible people do not overborrow and they meet their obligation to pay off their debts. Experience has shown that further handouts will not breed responsibility or success.
William C. Birley Jr.
King of Prussia, Pa.
I feel sorry for the farmer, but I’m sick of hearing how tough they’ve got it. We’ve all taken pay cuts in the last few years while the cost of living hasn’t gone down much. What makes them any better than the rest of us? They ought to get out in the real world for awhile. Food stamps for farmers? You’ve got to be kidding. At least they can take a small plot of their land to grow vegetables. You can’t grow much in a backyard—that is if you’re fortunate enough to have a backyard. No more poor farmer stories, please.
I think it’s ridiculous! As far as I’m concerned, Peter, Mike, Micky and Davy are and always will be the Monkees, and no so-called “new” Monkees will ever change that. I find it hard to believe that anyone would even consider the absurdity of “New Monkees” when we already have the Monkees. Yes, I’m a believer—in the original and only Monkees, and if I were them I’d tell those impostors to take the Last Train to Clarksville because we’re not your stepping stones.
Earrings, punk hairdos and sloppy clothes—these are the “New Monkees”! No way! Not with me. I’m sticking with the originals. They may be 20 years older, but they still have what it takes to put a smile on my face, which, by the way, is also 20 years older.
N. Hollywood, Calif.
I get the distinct impression that the “New Monkees” will go the way of “New Coke”—a lot of hype and no fizz. Davy, Micky and Peter have nothing to worry about. Sold-out concerts all summer and an extension of their tour have proven the dedication and loyalty of both their old and new fans. All this “New Monkees” hoopla is going to do is make baboons out of Columbia.
Michelle M. Stelmach
I have seen PEOPLE report on some outlandish things over the years—disposable clothes, jewelry made from dead animals and dozens of other equally bizarre things some young entrepreneur has decided is chic. But this Gourmet Ice that Mr. Donnan has come up with is the “ice-ing” on the cake. How can water (any kind) be gourmet? It’s hard for me to believe he has the audacity to present simple frozen water to the public as gourmet, and it’s sad to think there are people out there who will spend the extra $3.89 for a status symbol.
Barbara A. Eidt
Picks & Pans
Usually, Mr. Jarvis, I love your reviews; they never fail to amuse me. But your critique of Joan Rivers and The Late Show was downright blasphemy. You complain about her jokes, her mannerisms and her introductions to her guests. What do you like? I disagree with everything you wrote, but the worst insult was comparing Joan to Letterman.
New York City