That spinning sound you hear isn't your Maytag. It is Hippocrates whirling in his grave as a result of Jacqueline Marino's article "Abortion 101" [May 31]. At issue, among others, is the photo of the six pro-choice medical students standing next to the statue of Hippocrates on the campus of Northeastern Ohio Universities College of Medicine. Hippocrates was the Greek physician considered the "father of medicine," who admonished medical practitioners to "first, do no harm." A phrase in the Hippocratic Oath reads, "I will not aid a woman to procure an abortion." Yet here we have medical students supporting freedom of choice for doctors to kill unborn children.
The absurdity of the Medical Students for Choice's philosophy is near palpable, particularly when the article notes that "many women's health advocates want abortion to become a regular part of family medicine." Family medicine? What in the name of Hippocrates is medicinal about killing an unborn family member -- except in cases where the woman's life is in danger?
In the article, student Phoenix Ho said, "If abortion was illegal, then millions of women would die from illegal abortion." His comment is an out-and-out lie. The Centers for Disease Control estimates that, if abortion were once again outlawed, about 250 women would die each year as a result of back-alley abortions.
The question arises: Would it be reasonable to blame an anti-abortion law for their deaths? The answer is no. Essentially, two individuals would be at fault for the women's deaths: The first individual would be the desperate, emotionally distraught woman who made the choice to patronize a back-alley butcher, and the second individual would be the abortionist.
The future "healers" in Rootstown would best serve emotionally distraught women by referring them to a mental health professional, not to an abortionist. Trying to deal with the emotional turmoil of an unwanted pregnancy by supporting a physical "solution" (abortion) is simply bad medicine.
Louis H. Pumphrey
Say something nice, for a change:
Anyone who reads your magazine's concert preview or "promo" articles on bands appearing soon would definitely get the impression that Scene has it out for any large-name act and is on a mission to drive away any other large-name acts from coming to Cleveland. Maybe the people who do the reviews just don't like music at all.
Send people to the show who like the particular group or who can at least write an unbiased opinion. Scene used to be great about concert reviews, before the format changed a few years back. Every concert was well promoted, write-ups of the bands were present, and a review of the concert was published in the next issue. Now we're lucky to see any type of promotion and review. What happened to being the music showcase of Northeast Ohio? It seems like the purpose now is to piss off as many people as possible.
A car stereo victim has heard enough:
This letter is to Chris Gallagher -- the Jim Jones of the car stereo cult, as Scene so deftly described him ["Cult of the Car Stereo," May 31]. Chris, how proud you are of your stereo and the fact that your hearing is suffering because you need to play your "music" at eardrum-piercing decibels. I'm happy for you. In fact, I truly hope you make yourself deaf before you reach drinking age. The sooner the better, because then everyone around you won't have to be subjected to that shit you call music.
You see, believe it or not, some folks would rather listen to their own radios. Some people have their own choice of music. But when you're around, we listen to what you listen to, whether we like it or not. So once you're deaf, we won't have to worry about you anymore. No, at least you'll get treated to what everyone else wants when you're around: silence.
Oh, and Chris Walter: I live in the Brooklyn area, too. You know how you want to knock everybody's knickknacks off their walls? Well, you do. Know what else, buddy? You also wake up the kids. Let me know when you have a four-year-old and a two-year-old. I'll come on over and blow a fucking airhorn outside your house at 10 p.m.