HARRY SHEARER
As a one-time New Yorker, a former copy and editorial writer, I found Harry Shearer’s trite “High Desert Drifters” (Man Bites Town, April 8) devoid of humor, style or interest. At thirty- or fortysomething, who is he trying to impress with his reminiscences of a mescaline trip gone awry? Who cares? It was so loosely tied in to New Yorkers and what neighborhoods or delis they habituate, that surely I missed something.
His T.W. (“Then Wife,” as he calls his ex-spouse) is well rid of this bore.
BARBARA HOLTZMAN, San Bernardino
Sign up for The Wild
We’ll help you find the best places to hike, bike and run, as well as the perfect silent spots for meditation and yoga.
You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Los Angeles Times.
