Lou Harry’s [March 9] wink-wink-nudge-nudge review of Twin Peaks isn’t a moral outrage. It’s not demeaning to women (who certainly don’t need a man’s help to defend themselves). It’s just laughable.
Lou’s review makes the IBJ look less like the sharp, tailored businessperson I often “see” in its pages, and more like that balding, bulging businessman you see on the street at lunch time, with the too-short tie, the pleated slacks from 1998, and the big pizza stain on his shirt. The guy well past his prime.
You guys aren’t past your prime; your reporting remains sharp, and any gut you have is a gut business intuition. Sure, the Boys Club still is out there, but there’s no need for it in the pages of the IBJ—except to say that it is past its prime. (Whether its prime in relevance, or prime ribs, as the case may be.)
Please consider this letter a polite, “You’ve got a big mustard stain on your shirt.”