Pedal It Somewhere Else

Thirty Years Ago
City traffic engineer Joe Casteneda says stretches of road which racked up the highest bicycle-accident rates (in the five-year period from 1969 to 1974) include Clairemont Mesa Boulevard from Highway 805 east to 163, Mt. Abernathy Avenue (in Clairemont from Mt. Alifan to Redbrook Road), Cable Street (in Ocean Beach) between Orchard and West Point Loma Boulevard, and 40th Street from Wabash Boulevard to Monroe Avenue.
— CITY LIGHTS: “PEDAL IT SOMEWHERE ELSE,” Jeannette De Wyze and Neal Matthews, February 8, 1979

Twenty-Five Years Ago
If Mayor Roger Hegedcock suspected that $95 million wasn’t enough to build the planned Navy Field convention center, why wasn’t he prepared to deliver a convincing response to a consultant’s report that predicted cost overruns? And if Hedgecock was convinced that $95 million was sufficient to build a 250,000-square-foot center, why didn’t he find out until the last moment about the damning consultant’s report?
— THE INSIDE STORY, Paul Krueger, February 9, 1984

Twenty Years Ago
Describing Robert Cray (“Reader’s Guide to the Music Scene,” January 26) as “somewhat talented” is like saying B.B. King knows a few guitar licks. And suggesting that the young guitarist should be relegated to 12-bar blues (and not rhythm and blues) is just too simple. Buddy Seigal: take it from the Fabulous Thunderbirds’ Jimmie Vaughan, straight out of Guitar Player magazine, “If you like the blues and you don’t like Robert Cray, then something’s wrong with you.”
— LETTERS: “A FEW LICKS,” Jason Dempsey, Del Mar, February 9, 1989

Fifteen Years Ago
I have no complaints about Duncan Shepherd’s analyses. He’s right to be tightfisted with the stars with a dead movie like Schindler’s List. The crybaby letter writers should have their karmas leveled or their asses kicked hard. Nah, my beef is with his dissing of actresses who are plainly terrific. It was bad enough when he called Michelle Pfeiffer anorexic, but his comment penalizing Madeleine Stowe (“It’s only Madeleine”) in the review of Blink (“New Year,” January 27) chilled me to the bone.
— LETTERS: “IS SHEPPY LAME, MYOPIC, OR DANCING THE HORIZONTAL BOOM BOOM PRONE AND SOLO TO THE MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS IN JOY LUCK CLUB?” Ernest Louis Ricardo “Bimba” Echaves, San Diego, February 3, 1994

Ten Years Ago
Unlike someone who reviews music, books, or movies, the food critic takes his subject inside his body and lives with it. There’s no turning it off, setting it aside, or walking away from it. This cohabitation can be benign, pleasant, or, in the worst cases, violent and brief. Eating food prepared by someone else is an intimate act, and like all intimate acts, it’s risky. While I get paid to take these risks, the people who eat with me do not. Over the past few months, two friends who ate with me got sick; two others ate insulting meals that left them dyspeptic and angry. Word got around that dining out with me wasn’t always fun.
— RESTAURANT REVIEW: “SAD HISTORY, WONDERFUL FOOD,” Max Nash, February 4, 1999

Five Years Ago
Well, what does San Diego think?

“Disgusting,” says Bill Lister, 63, owner of a San Diego landscape maintenance business. “I thought the whole thing was disgusting. I didn’t like the music, I didn’t like where she exposed herself, and it was done on purpose. Absolutely, it had to be a Velcro thing, and he just pulled it off. It was disgusting. I had a discussion with my son about that.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Dad, if you weren’t raised the way you were, you’d think it was funny.’ I had a discussion with my mom later on; she’s a great sports fan in Arizona. She said, ‘I tell you, son, I take offense at that.’”
— SPORTING BOX: “FEMALE BREAST 42, NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS 0,” Patrick Daugherty, February 5, 2004