Check out letters from those who agreed with us, and those who didn't


As I was standing in line at the grocery store, I glanced at the magazine rack and instantly fixed upon Yasmine Bleeth on a cover (#395, Sept. 5). Slowly, I moved up to the magazine, grabbed it, and was just about ready to buy it. Then I realized, hey, it’s EW! I subscribe to EW. It’s probably at home in my mailbox. I could only see Yasmine on the cover — and, of course, me, the ice cream cone. Guilt? Please don’t try to get me to think about guilt; I’m quite busy enough, thank you, thinking about Yasmine. My compliments to her and Robert Trachtenberg, the photographer, for a great cover. It sure worked for me.
Twiggs County, Ga.

Guilty? How can anyone feel guilty about listening to high-talent bands like Great White and Whitesnake? I was so relieved to find ”Hair Metal,” by Dan Snierson. I thought I was the only soul out there left with those thoughts. Why can’t we have those days back? What was wrong with big hair, happy guitar riffs, and videos laden with scantily clad women? Let’s make hair spray an environmental hazard once again.
North Andover, Mass.

I loved the Guilty Pleasures issue! I own Bread’s Anthology, and I proudly sing along with every song (of course, this is only in my car, when no one else is around). Everything about this album is a guilty pleasure — including the liner notes, which give the recipe for the perfect evening as ”this album, a jug of wine, and thou.” Now, that’s great stuff… just don’t tell anybody I think so.
Irving, Tex.

Any sociologist attempting to pin another marker on the elusive Generation X needs to read ”Teen-Sex Romps,” by Chris Nashawaty, in your Guilty Pleasures feature. No other half page grasped such a concept so firmly (pardon the pun).
Woodland Hills, Calif.

What a wonderful surprise to see that I’m not the only one that views watching Remington Steele as a pleasure loaded with guilt. Bravo, EW, for your article on stuff that’s so bad it’s good.
Columbus, Ohio

Damn. you guys are on to me. I thought watching the scrambled porno channel was my own dirty little secret.
Wilmington, Del.


In your Sept. 5 issue, I was surprised to read a comment attributed to an unnamed source regarding Terence Malick not being able to reach me by telephone. When Mr. Malick returned to the U.S. he would have been able to locate me by contacting any number of my representatives. Naturally, I would have been available to Mr. Malick and would have welcomed further conversations, but my phone number had been disconnected due to a number of harassing calls following its leak to the public. I was saddened and disappointed by the statements, especially since they were attributed to a man whose own privacy is so fiercely guarded. In any event, I am sure The Thin Red Line will be excellent, and I eagerly await its release.
West Hollywood