Chivalry

The "chivalry is dead" issue (Letters, April 11) was pretty pitiful. If the letter writers really believe that chivalry is dead--and they must, since they responded the way they did--why can't then at least be honest about their reasons? Since chivalry is mostly common courtesy, why don't they admit that they just don't want to be bothered? Instead we get these lame excuses of women's lib, "women dumping their kids off in day care centers," and "women taking men's jobs" as the reasons.

You know we're in the midst of a serious economic crisis when an R&B star includes the ability to pay one's bills on time in his list of what he looks for in a lover. Ne-Yo voiced that desire (along with many others) Saturday night in the first of two shows at downtown L.A.'s Club Nokia, where he introduced "Miss Independent," his recent radio hit, as a song about "the kind of woman who want a man but don't necessarily need a man."

Male chivalry began to die with the birth of equal rights! DANIEL COLOGNE Palos Verdes

Last night, I was sitting at the bar of my favorite restaurant, having a drink with a friend. I got up to go to the restroom, and I fell while getting off the bar stool. No, I wasn't drunk; my foot was asleep. And this was no dainty fall -- I did a serious face plant worthy of YouTube. Aside from my obvious humiliation at my spread-eagle display to the entire room, it later occurred to me that not one guy came to my aid. No one even attempted to help me up. Is chivalry dead?

Is chivalry dead? I always thought that covering up an extramarital affair was a virtue, not a crime. WARREN STARK Carlsbad

Perhaps I am a bit thin-skinned, but if City Spa is such a great place, why taint a review ("Men-Altering Experience," by Mary McNamara, Palm Latitudes, Aug. 27) with anti-male invective? In the process of confusing the point of her article, McNamara banishes her temporary hatred of men by visiting to a possibly chauvinist and recently desegregated men's health club. If McNamara really hates the men who "work with her, play with her and fix her car," then the exotic spectacle of Old World chivalry and steamy beatings with eucalyptus leaves probably would not be enough to inspire an emotional catharsis.

It is hard to be a man. At least, so I'm told. Castrating schemes and humiliating rites allegedly threaten the unwary male. Girlfriends have become assertive; the executive director wears a skirt. Even science has conspired against men: Increasingly sophisticated in vitro fertilization may yet render a male presence in the bedroom redundant. The problem has even come to the attention of feminists more and more concerned about the state of this new "second sex." Many men don't know where to turn.

"No one knows the real story of the great King Arthur of Camelot," intones a woman gliding in a boat across a mist-shrouded lake. "Most of what you think you know about Camelot, Guinevere, and Lancelot and the evil sorceress known as Morgaine le Fay is nothing but lies." She should know.

It's tempting to think of Ardal O'Hanlon's raucous debut--set in the still-sooty, pre-Euro Dublin of the early '80s--as Roddy Doyle lite. But even if, like Doyle's work, "Knick Knack Paddy Whack" cruises along with a slurry brogue, makes caustic asides about the Irishness of the Irish and showcases young heroes who appreciate a refreshing vomit behind the pub, it doesn't quite have Doyle's schoolmaster-like precision and control.

The glint of sunlight off a rapier pointed at an opponent's heart, the whistling sound as it cuts the air and the litany of elegant-sounding fencing terms--the "parte," the "riposte," the "glissade"--are vestiges of a cultural past that Spanish novelist Arturo Perez-Reverte looks back on with envy. "Fencing possesses a closeness, an awareness of one's mortality, that is lost in today's world," he says. "You had to come close to face your opponent, and you felt the consequences of your actions intimately.

I'd like to make a suggestion to the sociologists and psychologists who have been bombarding us in recent weeks with reminders to talk to our children about peer pressure, violence and guns. Drop a hint in there sometime about manners. It could make all the other lectures unnecessary. During the last month one high school or another has held its senior prom on Saturday nights at the Ventura Theater.

Is chivalry dead? I always thought that covering up an extramarital affair was a virtue, not a crime. WARREN STARK Carlsbad

Under a twirling disco ball clipped to the basketball net, with the "Get Ready to Rumble" World Wrestling Federation tune playing in the background, modern knights are jousting their way--not with sharp lances, but with pillows and wooden armor shaped like medium-sized pizzas. The T-shirt and jeans-clad Mesa Verde Middle School warriors, often giggling uncontrollably, were trying desperately to knock opponents off narrow wooden beams.

Barry Gordon's wife, Gail, met his ex-wife, Sandra, for the first time Thursday on a street corner in Altadena. It wasn't just any corner. Gordon, a Democratic candidate in the 27th Congressional District, held a news conference on the curb outside opponent Doug Kahn's former residence. Gordon called the gathering to rebut an attack mailer sent to 50,000 voters by the Kahn campaign--and to sling some mud of his own. But first, the mailer.