Friday, September 22, 2006

Dear Hugo Chavez,

Look, I know he's not the most likable guy in the world, but the devil? Seriously, say it ain't so, Hugo. The devil? Did you really smell sulfur, or was that just dramatic effect taking a bow? The Daily Letter does not ally herself with President Bush, but she is aware of the dangers--oh! the mistakes-- of charging someone with possession. President Chavez, you may disagree with him, yet he is not the devil. I can get down with some Hannah Arendt on the banality of evil.

Speaking of devilry, perhaps a review of Venezuelan social policies and poverty statistics would be helpful to you at this time. Unemployment is really high! Terrible health care! Vast gulf between affluent and masses! Hmm... seems familiar. Venezuela is pretty much 97-98% catholic, so an abortion is out of the question. No same-sex marriages, or homosexual military service. Heavily influenced media. Your poverty level is 47%. 47%! Wow, that is alot. In almost every social policy, the policies of the U.S. are far superior than Venezuelan law of the same issue. Not so liberal, says I. Doesn't it bother you to besmirch one man in one administration? Just in a self-interested way, at least. What about the repucussions? The finger pointing at you? Although I do enjoy a good argument. I'm not offended that you criticize Mr. Bush. Rather, it is essential to my idea of my how the U.S. should work. Just, a good argument, please.

I cannot wait for the day when no current world leader evokes a political association with god, or God, or the related affirmations of such an alliance. Is there no longer a problem with hubris? I feel we should be past rewarding a person's claiming to know the will of god, or enforcing acts of god.

It's just that now-- any credibilty you had-- any sense you made has been decimated by your recent behaviour and allegiances. You seriously think it's cool for Hizbollah to be celebrating victory? Isn't joy at the defeat of another something a catholic works to vanquish?

Please, for the love of, um, pete, try to calm down.

Bereft of your gods,
The D.L.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Dear Margaret Atwood,

Thank you for this poem:

Habitation

Marriage is not
a house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:

the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn

the edge of the receding glacier

where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far

we are learning to make fire


It puts the hurt to you! Are you friends with Alice Munro? You are, aren't you? She's cool, too, and also from Canada. I love Canadians. Call me if you get a chance, and want to eat some dinner, or mourn.

Love,
The D.L.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Dear ESPN Classics,

Dudes. Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuudes. Remember what you had on this evening? Oh yes, baby-- you showed me a good time. September 16th, 1981. Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Thomas "Hitman" Hearns. What an unbelievable fight. They are both so focused, so fast-- it is a testament to human athleticism. ESPN Classics, you went all the way, showed each round like another story that formed the relationship between the fighters.

Hearns seemed to take most of the rounds on the cards, but Leonard took the punches. And took them. He also threw in a few damaging rallies, and near the fight's end, Hearns was fighting organically, the fight as much a part of him as his stomach, or femur. Amazing. In the last three rounds, each man is performing at his most essential, almost to the degree of caricature, too pure for posturing.

You remind me that Leonard won by a technical knock-out in the fourteenth round. The decision has left itself detractors and resentments, but it is widely unchallenged. ESPN Classics, you are welcome over any time. Ahem.

Later,
The D.L.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Dear Simone,

You are the prince of Florence. You are way too cool to be a king-- you'd be like "Dad, the people need more food. Dad, this building is going to negatively impact the countryside."

Thank you for hauling us around your fair country, for being Dad to our Mom. Hopefully we'll be able to terrorize you again.

Don't be too sad, either. You'll see her again.

I hope you're not laying on the floor, empty grappa bottle in your hand, Oscar and Sasha licking honey and fig syrup off of your unconcious body. Seriously.

Grazie,
The D.L.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Dear Tim Russert,

I know we don't always agree, but I like your work. Meet The Press makes me feel many different things, most of them good. Your interview program and news work are usually satisfying, so I'm not sure why you take it so hard from various critics of news programming. You can't do everything, can you? These people are vultures! Forget a few questions-- and shazam!-- You're a Bush-administration-loving burner of the constitution.

Settle down, people. Did you see MTP this past Sunday? Even I felt like a very reasonable, albeit vampiric, V.P. Cheney was somehow making sense of their political and international blunders. You did really well! Dick Cheney is terrifying! He was totally trying to hypnotize you, but you survived! It's a good thing, too, because your wife would be sad to discover your bloodless body in an alley behind the D.C. Morton's.

The coup de grace was at the interview's end, when a tired joke about hunting transformed the studio atmosphere from mildly tense into bare-toothed glee at your mutual animosity.

It's true, after all-- you're not in season.

Helluva job,
The D.L.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Dear Siena,

Remember how your Museo Della Tortura made me cry? Though i have something of an obsession with the middle ages, you showed me things I was blissfully unaware of. Like the pear. What the fuck was going on back then? Disgusting! If you tried to put a pear-shaped iron torture instrument into any of my orifices, I would come away with at least an eyeball. For reals. I'd push my fingers in as far as they could go...

Listen, Siena-- I know you didn't corner the market on torture or anything. We have new ways to confound a person's nervous system these days, but the old methods are still the best, right? Earlier today I voluntarily endured laser hair removal from my nether regions. The thing is, I'm lazy, and my skin is really sensitive (thus waxing sucks), so I figure-- fuck it-- the pain can't be that bad, right? Wrong. Now that it's over, I feel like it's worth it. However, while it's happening, it is just about the most pain I can handle. Particularly regarding my most delicate of flowers. There is an area near the... forget it. Let's just say it was a lesson in vanity and consumption. Maybe you could add an area for modern self-torture!

Also, It is sort of unfair that there is no "interrogation techniques" chamber, a "we'd like your junk, and here's how we're going to get it" amphitheatre, or a "your religion bites compared to mine" great hall. Think about it.

All things considered, though-- good times! You are lovely, and that lime sorbetto was awesome.

Warm Regards,
The D.L.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Dear pink-haired woman at the last chance diner,

It wasn't your hair, highlighted pink, completely unruly, decorated with fake roses. You are just amazing. The open-faced turkey sandwich (with gravy), and your highlighted, flowered head were in competition for attention, but neither matched your incomparable joie de vivre. Your wrists were circled by pink quartz. Your shirt featured pink flowers on a white background. Your shoes were white, and pink. I still don't know your age. Forties? Late forties? That's how you looked-- that's how you seemed-- reading the paper while my Oma and I had our meal.

I encourage you to continue not giving a fuck. Dye that shit pink. Crochet, or whatever crafty thing it is you do to make yourself feel arty. You are way ahead of us.

Keep going.

Very truly,
The D.L.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Dear Notorious B.I.G.,

In the off chance that we meet on some metaphysical plane, you will love it when I call you big poppa-- the show stopper-- the rhyme dropper.

Thank you VH1: Behind the Music: Notorious B.I.G. for showcasing such an unbelievable story. Puffy would be nothing without you, Tupac is a jackass, and most of us mourn you still.

Also-- Fugees? No one, at any time, is bumping too much Biggie Smalls.

Brava!,
The D.L.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Dear Japan, Norway, Iceland, Russia, and the U.S.,

Stop whaling. Seriously. I understand that some (rare) indigenous communities rely on whaling, but that doesn't make it right. Ivory is illegal now, right? It's not cool to buy tiger skins, or to kill gorillas for bushmeat, right? Sure people still do it anyway, but isn't that because they have no economic recourse? I'm going to go ahead and say that ye addressed nations do indeed have economic recourse. People could be directed to slay a less endangered species of whale, couldn't they? Times change, and it sucks, but that is not the fault of the whale.

At least most of you pretend to care, or vaguely monitor your whaling situations. You try to stay on the down low, so that the people of your fine nations don't become too riled about the dwindling number of larger whales. Because Minke whales have a more stable population, Japan and Norway have argued for a total removal of the international bans placed on whaling. Come on, dudes-- you don't eat enough fish? You gotta fuck with whales? Mmmm, blubber. What is wrong with you people?

I guess that's another letter altogether.

Bitterly,
The D.L.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Dear man who bore an uncanny likeness to Dick Cheney,

I am so sorry. Sir, I know that blanching, and then grabbing the nearest piece of wood and fashioning it into a stake I could drive through you heart is inexcusably rude. You were so surprised. Only trying to finish your grocery shopping. In the future I will try to avoid going out that early in the morning.

Again, I apologize.

Sincerely,
The D.L.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Dear Ryan McPherson,

You are an asshole. It hurts me to use a word like "dear" in this address, but I appreciate a sort of formality you are likely unacquainted with.

When you were in high school, and had the first glimmer in your beer-bonged little brain regarding your "Bumfights" series, was it a general misanthropy that lead to this idea? Too many video games? Rock music? I love the rock music, but it has never lead me to pay a homeless person five or ten bucks to do horrible things to themselves. When you sold the rights (for 1.5 million dollars) did you find the person whom you encouraged to pull out a tooth (with pliers), and reward them handsomely for your entertainment?

The New York Times Magazine (8/6/06) wrote that, according to the producers, it became the "fastest-selling independent video series." Was it your idea to encourage viewers to "submit 'ruckus' footage of their own?" Did you imagine those Australian boys would kill someone? Being consumed by a fire some kids set to your tent can't be all bad, right? Or the Canadian assault, or the four young men in Cleveland who snuck up on homeless people and shot them with stun guns-- the Times says you are "unapologetic." That you described your schlock as "fresh and new."

It should be said that there is nothing either "fresh" or "new" about what you have started. I think the word you were looking for is "schadenfreude", and sadly, it is neither fresh, nor new.

At the article's printing, only one formerly homeless man has settled a lawsuit with you.

I suppose you can't be blamed for it's popularity, and you can't be blamed for the money jackasses around the world have poured into perpetuating such an elemental indignity. You can be blamed for your coldness, for your part in this ongoing business of hatred and violence. So if you, or the "Bum Hunter" wish to release your current addresses, perhaps we can have a little fight of our own.

En garde,
The D.L.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Dear Italy,

How i miss you. Your burning sun, your colors, your easy way around modernity. Remember our delicious afternoons? You would feed me: wine, olives, taleggio with honey. In your arms I could lay awake in tears, and still enjoy the following day. We agree that work is for chumps. We agree that Florentines loves them some linen suits. Who isn't a fan of your elaborate aesthetics?

Oh, Italy. We didn't have enough time together, but the time we shared was magical. The laughter, the hijinks. The discovery that it is in your southern regions that your boundaries are as poor as mine. Poor, poor Tuscany. Mi bimbo. Mi amore.

Remember when we tried to get gas on the way back to Florence, and you were all "Nah. We need naps. However, we will get you tanked. Glass of wine with your diesel?" You totally rule. That tiny fox in the marine park. The beach lousy with driftwood yurts. Signore cock and balls. I missed him, but you showed him to my friends, and they were delighted. The smells of the countryside, windows open. Horseback riding through your vineyards, dogs at our heels, magnificent Giorgio with his noblemans (long-haired, but not too long) persona as our lead. Forgiving Noni and Liliana, protecting us from our own idiocy and witchy Austrians. Chris' spectacular dinner presentation. I should stop. It is enough. We will see each other again, si? As far as the madness goes, non importa, mi e indifferente. No worries.

Love,
The D.L.

P.S. Seriously? One word-- infrastructure. It can help on so many levels. Finish that highway.