Right on, Sister!

Right on, sister! ("My Two Breasts," Hannah Strom-Martin, Oct. 3). Give the lie to our society, where we have compartmentalized our sexuality to the point where sex is no longer an interaction between two humans, but rather a virtual reality mediated by the mass media, where it's OK to watch (only if it's on a screen) and never to touch.

Pornography is the expression of sexual repression. The fact that it abounds when we can't even talk publicly about sex, let alone show a little cleavage, is all you need to know. The Victorians hid their sexuality, as they did their porn, in the proverbial closet. We hide our pornography, like Poe's purloined letter, in open view, while our basic sexuality—which is, after all, what makes us human, the human need to touch and be touched, to love and be loved—we hide deep within our minds (or our computers). It apparently only comes out at night when the moon is full or, like Dr. Jekyll, when we've jacked ourselves up on some inhibition-busting joy juice.

Then, of course, there are those few fortunate among us who have been bitten one night by a beautiful, sexy, vampire.

David Magdalene Windsor

Woe is me, I'm a 36-c

I'm a great fan of the Bohemian, but I have to comment on "My Two Breasts." Having grown up not so thin but with a flat chest, I painfully learned at an early age that women with cleavage were much more attractive to the opposite sex. Perhaps it's the anatomical mimicry of a butt-crack right there below the enticement of red lipstick. Whatever it is, it sends millions of women into surgery to have two sacks of foreign material attached to their chest walls.

What was left in my mind after reading the article was how desperate the writer was about getting her breasts noticed: "By the way, did you know I have large breasts? Oh, what a problem they are! I have the same body as Britney Spears! Did I forget to tell you I have large breasts? Woe is me, I'm a 36-C. In case you missed it in every paragraph, I have large breasts and I love to wear tight camisoles and spaghetti-strap tank tops. That's because my breasts are so large.

Yes, they sure are big."

Was that a personal ad or a bit of Monty Python–esque humor? It's pretty much the most ridiculous article I've ever seen in your paper.

Norma Cronind Petaluma

Now, now, Norma, let's remember the advice of our first breast basher (Letters, Oct. 10) and play nice.

Trail Rail

Regarding trails in rural areas (Open Mic, Oct. 3), Marin County adopted its first trail plan in 1984. It created a vision that is gradually being realized of a trail network throughout the county. The plan has been valuable in securing grants and donations to open new trails that people use every day for their exercise and enjoyment. The plan has never forced any property owner to open his land to the public.

Claims that trail users spread animal disease or hurt agriculture are ridiculous. Where is the evidence? There are public trails in agricultural lands all over the country and throughout the Bay Area. In Marin County, trail users on Mt. Burdell, Bolinas Ridge, Pt. Reyes and Loma Alta mingle peacefully with cattle that seem just as contented as those on lands closed to public trails. If animals are spreading disease, isn't it more likely that it is the deer, foxes and turkeys (or ranch hands) who roam freely over the land 24 hours a day than hikers on a trail?

As to liability, California's Recreational Use Statute protects landowners against injury claims by visitors and also provides funds to defend against such claims—which have never been successfully prosecuted since this provision was created.

So what is behind this issue? I believe it is motivated by a few—mainly gentleman farmers and escapees from the urban world—who are happy to have the rest of us support their rural lifestyle with subsidies and tax breaks, but who do not ever want us anywhere around their private preserves.

Bill Long Novato

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