Palm Latitudes

So, what's the big deal about Cecilia Rodriguez and her animal-research activism ("Palm Latitudes," Nov. 24)? She ate a hamburger one day, realized the animal protein between the buns was somehow related to her cat, and decided she would stick to tofu and bean sprouts instead. Wow! Another yuppie discovers the true meaning of life. FRED ROMERO Simi Valley

"The Lost City" (by Jim Heimann, Palm Latitudes, Oct. 15) sure revived great memories of the busy 1945 intersection of Laurel Canyon and Ventura boulevards. As a carrier for the Hollywood Citizen News, I used to fold my papers, which arrived in bundles on a red transit bus, in the doorway next to the drugstore during the World War II years of 1943-45. Even more fabulous than that corner was the filling station a block to the east, which featured a huge three-engined airliner, complete with spinning, neon-lit propellers.

Thanks for featuring Albert Valdez and his toaster lamps in "Toast of the Town" (Palm Latitudes, June 25). Please note, however, that Art O'Rama is not a product-placement facility, as was indicated, but is a consulting agency that provides film, TV and music-video productions with original artworks. PATTEE STAYROOK Santa Monica

In "Dress Blues" (Palm Latitudes, March 5), Kelly Carll Scott amusingly described her attempts to sell the "simple Laura Ashley" dress she wore at her wedding. The marriage had failed, and the dress was consigned to her mother's closet. Scott tried to sell the dress, gave up and returned it to her mother's closet, where, presumably, it languishes to this day. Brace yourself, Ms. Scott, I have a startling idea. Why don't you give it away? Yes, give it away. The Salvation Army, Goodwill and numerous other agencies operate thrift shops all over the place.

It's difficult to believe that credible morticians would use the "funereal phrases" that Janet Kinosian cited in L.A. Speak (Palm Latitudes, Dec. 4). I refer to such terms as "bake and shake," "good and plenty" and "in and out" when commenting on cremations. I enjoy wit and way-out humor as well as the next person, but these definitions struck me as offensive, even gross. Jack Mason Cypress

When Alex Uchitel described himself as a "godfather" who helped fellow immigrants by giving them jobs in his appliance-repair service, he surely could not have anticipated the headline identifying his business as "L.A.'s Russian (Appliance-Repair) Mafia" (Palm Latitudes, Oct. 16). Off to a gulag for your editors for carelessly misrepresenting Uchitel and his highly educated colleagues in focusing only on the last word of the item and for failing to recognize that such "cleverness" could cause the "melting pot" to do a slow burn.

"Rain Forest Remedies" (by Michael Tennesen, Palm Latitudes, Oct. 9) made me think of my mother, who maintained in our cellar rows of jars filled with herbs, leaves, roots and other strange, unidentifiable flora from Mexico, where she was born and raised. She had a cure for everything. But growing up American, I considered these old wives' tales, believing that when one of her remedies resulted in a cure, it was a coincidence. I really hated one of them: When anyone suffered emotional trauma or shock, she would simmer a pot of water, drop in some wood chips she called cuasia , let it cool overnight, strain it and force her patient to drink it. When my mother died, her jars of herbs were discarded, and the names of the plants and what they were supposed to cure were forgotten.

It sounds as if Deborah Smith is right where she belongs: hustling T-shirts ("Art-A-Porter," by Barbara De Natale, Palm Latitudes, May 15). The article perpetuates the comforting myth that the game is somehow rigged against those unable to succeed in the tough world of fine art. This myth is one that gallery owners themselves employ, often in kindness, to spare the feelings of some artist whose work they consider not good enough to show. REBECCA WADHOLM Santa Monica Art galleries exist for the purpose of selling art. They are private businesses selling a product, as are furniture stores or restaurants.

Try again, Kathleen ("Do Not Pass Go," by Kathleen Moloney, Palm Latitudes, April 10). Nineteen crossed horizontal and vertical lines will not create 361 squares, only 324. WILLIAM J. BAXTER Burbank Note: We stand corrected. But a box of 19 horizontal lines and 19 vertical lines will intersect at 361 points.

Obviously, Janet Kinosian can't see the word for the prose (as in "forest for the trees") in "Publicist Patois" (L.A. Speak, Palm Latitudes, April 24). The "Nightline"-originated word for Kissinger-type experts, "jaboney," is a verbal diminutive of "jaw-boner." DAVID B. REISS West Los Angeles

Regarding Peter Deep's letter (April 17) referring to California being called the state for "fruits and nuts" as "California bashing" with a "subtle anti-gay message" (L.A. Speak, Palm Latitudes, March 30): That joke has been around for about 50 years. Why can't people laugh anymore? I may not be a fruit, but I am a 71-year-old California-born nut; I may even be a flake and am proud of it. Why is there so much resentment? Why can't you pass someone in the grocery store and smile and nod?