Call it "interactivity," "blogging," or current-catchphrase-of-the-hour, what you are proposing is nothing more than traditional vox pop.

And when any periodical turns over more and more of its news hole to "the voice of the people" it's a sure sign that the well of editorial inspiration has run dry.

I don't care what readers at large have to say. Such writing is predicably over-long, under-witty, and more about the writer than his or her putative subject.

Please stick to paying writers who have expertise in their specialities to report on issues that matter, providing insights which are not available in the mainstream press.

The "cute" kitty images in Video Dog are bad enough. Please, stick to serious journalism.

As the Editor's Choice picks virtually never include criticism of Salon's editorial choices, they aren't worth much to start with.

Thanks, but I'm more interested in the gut-reactions of readers who aren't leashed to a 19th century ideal of politesse.

And Editors, you ought to be, as well.

Dear Salon:

Please fire the witless 20-something who hired this writer to churn out her facile, pseudo-insightful logorrhea, and--at the very least--suspend the nitwit who elected to position this piece above the virtual fold.

Oh, come on.

This dame needs to be taken out to the figurative woodshed and have her geriatric buns slapped.

Unless Cary's right...after all, there was barely a mention of the husband's position in all this. Might the daughter-in-law be overreacting a mite?

Incidentally, there's a wonderful, spiky shrub grown as an ornamental in Indonesia. It has long, sharp leaves. Its name is, "Mother-in-Law's Tongue."

Oh, come on.

This dame needs to be taken out to the figurative woodshed and have her geriatric buns slapped.

Unless Cary's right...after all, there was barely a mention of the husband's position in all this. Might the daughter-in-law be overreacting a mite?

Incidentally, there's a wonderful, spiky shrub grown as an ornamental in Indonesia. It has long, sharp leaves. It's name is, "Mother-in-Law's Tongue."

While I now try to avoid flying in the US at all, up until recently I flew United 300,000-miles-plus per year.

Usually I travelled with a Yellow Lab, boarded as cargo, and would make a point of going up to the cockpit to ensure that the pilot was aware that the dog was onboard and that the hold heater would be appropriately toasty.

I'd ask whether he would be offering Channel 9 to passengers. This is United's ATC listen-in channel to radio communications. Most would, but a couple were downright hostile to the idea. Their objection was along the lines of, "Don't want to be sued by frightened passengers."

The most enthusiastic cap'n, however, was on a 777. After getting us up and level and dispensing with the usual banter, he announced that he was going to give a short lecture on flying generally and the 777 in particular. This guy was a Boeing exec's wetdream. For a half hour he described the commercial flight route system, air traffic control, and why the 777 was the aerospace equivalent of the Holy Grail.

Feast or Famine. Always the way.

Patrick:

I'm one of the fans of your media criticism. If some readers don't like it, tough. Who else in the mainstream/semi-mainstream media fills that role? Keep at it, please.

"Ned" is right to observe that holding another man's gaze for more than the socially prescribed microsecond is either an invitation to rumble or a solicitation to suck. This is male human Pack Behaviour 101 stuff.

I find it revealing that as of 48 hours after this piece was posted, none of the Editor's Choice letters reflects the strongly voiced opinion that Salon essentially had no business running the article to start with.

What gives, eds?

Of the occasionally moronic articles on Salon, this one takes the most recent cake.

Thank god there was no waste of paper. Only a few electrons and two minutes of reading what effectively is a corporate puff-piece.

"Death throes of my 30s." Jesus.

This ad is described in Michel Houllebecq's latest novel, "The Possibility of an Island."

And here I thought he was being his usual, sardonic self.

Brilliant.

This ad is decribed in Michel Houllebecq's latest novel, "The Possibility of an Island."

And here I thought he was being his usual, sardonic self.

Brilliant.

He's not "rendered speechless." He simply isn't given the opportunity to respond to what the host clearly understands is a prank call.

The arrival of puberty should be the threshhold for sexual maturity. To assert that a 14-year-old will necessarily make worse sexual decisions than a 24-year-old is absurd on its face.

Dull, dull, dull.

And probably staged.