Dear Saudi King Abdullah,

Word up. Nice job on your pardoning of a teenage girl of her penalties for being gang raped. Still 'convinced and sure that the verdicts were fair'? Jackasses. Please use this situation as a way to enact judicial and sentence reforms. You need to stop hurting women.

It is good that you acted (somewhat) on her behalf, and I am grateful for any scraps of reason out there.

Warily,
The D.L.

Dear Halliburton/KBR,

I will be brief. A true list of grievances would take more time and coordination of materials than I currently possess, but many of these are already fairly well-documented. Of Course, when DeWine and Voinovich voted against independent committee hearings on contractor fraud in Iraq, I wanted to punch them in the face (not unusual).

How fervently I wish for for legal penalties to unfold swiftly against you, completely, and with devastating impact. Perhaps until that point your employees in countries other than the U.S. will stop committing egregious crimes that you cover up in the name of protecting yourselves from further lawsuits. USING the U.S. MILITARY. Believe me, I hope that our representatives push for keeping corporations and those working for them abroad to fall under the purview of U.S. law, but if that doesn't happen you are not therefore excused from acting against that which is ethically imperative. Because I will tell you what, Halliburton-- if you don't, there will be more to ruin your day than the helpless muckracking of fantasy military forces created by loony bloggers. Not that it shouldn't already be ruined by guilt and self-loathing, but if you felt guilty I'm guessing you would allow victims of crime to do crazy stuff like make phone calls and receive proper medical attention. You wouldn't deny them food and water for twenty-four hours. Right?

Right?

I'm also guessing that if your last name was Jones, and your daughters name was Jamie Leigh, you would be very seriously considering a militia of your own.

Doesn't it literally make you sick? It should.

We cannot have you lawless assholes running around the middle east and elsewhere-- it is insane (do you co-host 'How to construct plausible deniabilty' seminars with Blackwater? Roll dice using the last few souls you've eaten as ante?)-- be decent. War profiteering, however constant and seemingly essential to those savages who revel in it, is gross.

Buckets of Weltschmerz,
The D.L.

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

A fight exists in me between peaceful negotiation and aggressive intervention. Overall, I'm a peaceful negotiation supporter, but it often lacks immediacy. It does, however, avoid the shiny-eyed militarism of aggressive intervention. Mmm, but results. So fast. Too fast? What about a small unit-- not mercenary, or anything-- of idealistic military talent with shared views that could be described as humanistic. Would you join such a group? We would do stuff like free people from the slavery of human trafficking, save lives, superhero action, but extremely quiet, invisible superheroes. I'm pretty sure it's not right, but man, it really likes to present itself in elaborate detail when certain circumstances of life are glimpsed.

This is an issue that I struggle with, so please think carefully on your possible commitment.

You will have to possess an almost delusional sense of idealism about your world, and enough bitter cynicism so that no one else hates you. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
The D.L.

Dear optimism,

You are a doozy. Oof.

Well, you can't win them all-- right?
Take it in stride, LBJ.

Subordinately,
The D.L.

Dear Justice Ministry of Saudi Arabia,

On behalf of women worldwide, whether or not I have their approval-- fuck you. Seriously. Fuck you. Using words you believe are holy to punish two victims of being assaulted and raped? For 'illegal mingling', because they were unrelated? F-u-c-k-y-o-u. We should do our best to respect the right to practice other forms of governance, but basic human rights supercede such philosophies. Regrettably, your judiciary feels that 200 lashes, six months in jail, your lawyer being thrown out of the courtroom, or-- as the man-- 90 lashes, and your licence being revoked are fair penalties for being attacked and raped by seven men. Totally fair, right? Seven men. Seven, people. Terrifying.

Hmmm, I definitely see this as a human rights issue. A women's rights issue. I know the unrelated man in question also received lashes (Lashes? Come on! Quit whipping people!), but the woman received an amended version-- um, a worse version. Sure, she would have had her licence revoked if she were ALLOWED TO DRIVE, SAY, TO SCHOOL FOR EXAMPLE, but that's one less worry for her. Like riding a bicycle on public roads, or leaving the country without her husband or male guardian's permission. What a relief it must be! So spiritually rewarding. I understand the value and reward of submission, but that is when it is by choice, with love, not accident of birth or governmental decree. Feel me?

Endless letters piling in your courtyards would never have sufficient numbers, nor their words enough weight to truly reveal what a devastation treating a person like chattel is, so that must find illumination in your own hearts and minds.

Gentleman, lay down your sabers and look for it--

Best of luck,
The D.L.

Dear LeBron James,

Serious world issues have been furrowing my brow, and the considerable lather such ills produce has left my weakened brain seeking light release in less serious matters. Like why LeBron James wore a Yankees cap to an Indians (home!) game.

Have you gone mad? Listen LeBron James-- I love you. Really. You represent the zeitgeist being awakened again in the soul of a city that has lost many battles. You represent winning the war. You are exceptionally talented, usually gracious, and as Dr. Von Drinkensnorten would say 'full of win.' It's not the success of your wealth, it's your success we elevate. I feel certain thousands of other Clevelanders feel the same. People here would kick someone's ass for you! You know it's true! These people are insane. Have you never noticed? How could you betray these people? The Indians are a part of this zeitgeist as well, of course, and breaking on the inside is how everything winds up breaking on the outside. Sigh. Totally! Do not break the inside, LeBron James! We trusted you! We believe in you! I know you've borne a great deal of responsibility, but there's more, and this is part of it, dude.

It's not like you can't like the Yankees--if that's your thing--, but you absolutely cannot wear their fucking hat to a playoff home game, or any kind of game involving the other great team from the city you play for! Come on! Nike contract, friends, childhood heroes-- all of these should pale as though drained of all blood when compared to your debt as a local hero and worldwide representative. That's the way the ball bounces, superstar. You have plenty of other time to wear the shit out of that cap, damned though you may be.

So, thanks for your time. You make basketball so much more fun to watch.

I have to go, for we are stomping the Red Sox, and surely on our way to the World Series!


With tender diplomacy,
The D.L.

Dear CVS pharmacy technician,

I swear to you that should you handle a future encounter with the same rude incompetency you displayed today I will leap into your pedestaled refuge in an unstoppable fury, and possibly harm you. At least my imagined fury will be more explicit.

CVS outlines its role for PT's thusly:

The role of the Technician is focused on customer service and prescription order processing, as well as problem resolution and inventory management. The role of the Technician is important because he/she helps to ensure that the right customer receives the right prescription, every time. Alas. I know what seemed to be a lively conversation was interrupted by my penetrating stare, but it was really unnecessary to launch into ill-informed chatter about my refill and its dangers of abuse, over and over again, more shrilly each time, to anyone in a thirty foot radius. The woman behind me was certainly piqued. I briefly considered asking for thirty boxes of cough syrup to help her ease into a lively internal dialogue. Alas, I was too busy explaining to you-- a woman whom I sort of viewed in the kindly light of sisterhood as a result of your 'Hello! I am mentally ill!' behavior-- that of course I knew of its nefarious reputation, but that I was accustomed to taking such risks under the advice of many esteemed mental health professionals. Your next explosion of parrot noises included questions about how many I took each day, whether it was a ten-day prescription, and that if it was a ten-day they could only fill it as such. I placidly reasoned that it had been well over a month since said prescription was last filled, and therefore should not even remotely raise the flags of concern and vigilance you so frantically waved. Service! Problem-solving! Nice one, CVS! You never did settle back into a feeling of ease about it, did you? No, and then you said the second prescription did not exist. You would have to call the doctor, but were unable until tomorrow. I should wait five minutes for my first prescription, and you would call me to the counter. Twenty-five solid minutes into JANE magazine, and pretty much bored to tears quite literally, I sauntered my drug-addicted ass to the pick-up counter. There waited two filled prescriptions! I asked after the validity of the new script, and made clear to another PT what you said to me regarding its possible non-existence. Your co-worker seemed befuddled (and perhaps a bit too sad, as we MDD's like to say). Much explosive parroting ensued. As the cacophony softened to chirps of advice or contentment I was told that the call was made, the new prescription not remotely exotic, and the meds were uneventfully refilled. She said she had no idea why you did not call me back to explain, but I do, nutjob. I do. Balefully, The D.L.

Dear Alberto R. Gonzales,

Whew!

It is about time!

With cautious relief,
The D.L.

Dear Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto,

I like to say your full name, out loud, dork-style.

Oh, Pablo Neruda, so many of your poems have influenced my process of romanticisation it's difficult to single any one out of such a gorgeous lineup.

If it were possible, I would stalk you.

Lately I've come to some difficulty as a result (albeit indirect) of Sonnet XI. This is what I want.

Please see: Sonnet XI

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.



I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.



I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,



and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Damn you, Pablo Neruda.  Damn. You.

Can you help me out?



O ye romanticized, suck it.



Yours Faithfully,

The D.L.

Dear China,

What the fuck, China?

TIGER FARMS?

Is there no end to this barbarous world's attempts to snuff out the tiny lights that remain (pulsing weakly) in our souls?

For the love of all that is still good DO NOT lift that ban on domestic trade in tiger goods. And don't even start with the '... but it could help the wild population' bullshit. It is completely crazy that there are tigers in farms right now --and bear farms, alligators, etc.-- because we are so attached to our own cultural traditions that we (still!) just don't mind committing outrageous acts of cruel oppression to foster them. We are all guilty of that. Can't we just agree to keep the good stuff we trade-- the art, the food, beautiful customs, awesome dances, outfits, philosophies, terrible pop music-- and leave off the part where we kill each other for differences in personal beliefs and FARM TIGERS?!

It's like you want to ruin us at our very core, tiger farmers. You will not ruin every one. Not ever. We need what is wild in our world. What makes us feel the earth deep inside of us, and that everything moves to a common rythm. That is the real wildness, that which is the most unaffectedly common in the purity of it's tone. I'm going to continue in this pretentious vein and add that it is NO COINCIDENCE that Blake's famous poem is 'The Tyger', and not a more issue-laden creature.  Anyway, you make me cry.

Now go look at some pictures of tigers, and think about what you're doing.

Angrily,
The D.L.

Dear comments@whitehouse.gov,

You should seriously consider changing your automated response once in a while. Just for fun, you know?

Late!,
The D.L.

Dear Pottery Barn Kids,

I admit surprise upon finding your catalog with my mail delivery. Perhaps you found my address deep in the brackish waters of the Williams-Sonoma summer catalog mailing, dreams of clambakes and lobster rolls nestled among its many pages, but you should leave the unwilling alone.

Furious at your gall (What if I couldn't have children? What if they antagonized me?), I called your 800 number, and the most delightful woman answered. I lost my fight. I was being bratty. She made right what you made wrong.  She sympathized like an oma who adores you.

Also, does Abby really need that giant bathroom? I guess she does. Do Erica and Logan need that cabana? With lockers? It freaks me out, PBK. It makes me feel gross and indulgent, which I guess I am by many standards. I have bathrooms! I have no time for extra existential crises, PBK! I will fight you back, crises! Como Mac Dre, I switch hit, and play with both mitts (Rest in thizz, Furl). Do not start!

We're square. I have to eat something.

H.A.L.T.,
The D.L.

Dear Robert Mugabe,

Some time ago my friend Chris and I considered who stayed in the suites at the Hay-Adams with a direct view of the White House. It was one of the '...things you would do if you are the louche head-of-state to a collapsing nation.' It was of you I was thinking.

Not only you, of course, but your situation is extremely serious, Mr. Mugabe. However, pretty much the thing that appeals to me least is leading a nation, so I try to comprehend the enormous responsibility and concomitant misrepresentation such a position would naturally involve. The thing is, I can never get past the blind-in-one-eye part of louche, metaphorically speaking. Are you turning a blind eye? Is it that you are no longer able to attach yourself to your own actions? It's something we all struggle with, though usually minus the dramatic scale and devastating repercussions. Ours is a slow death. You should, if your crazy ass is capable, think about what has happened in your Zimbabwe.

Forced property seizures. Food shortages. Fuel shortages. Rampant political repression. Hundreds of thousands of people emigrating. Political assassinations. Economic collapse. I'm pretty sure what is the world's highest inflation rate. It was one thousand or so percent, now it's four thousand, and expected to hit one million percent in less than a year. You are completely insane. Destroyed slums. Mostly state-run news and broadcasts. Torture. Intolerance. Shopping sprees.

You were jailed a decade for 'subversive speech' (Though you managed to arrange for that coup on Sithole). Ugh! How could you be that which you fought against? Like our own John McCain-- forgetting his own words, his own life, and sanctioning torture-- fuck the Geneva Conventions! Practice makes perfect, everyone! Act as if! You can do it.

Dude, let it go. Sally. Grace? Come on! You've had long enough. I'm not sure if I could do anything daily for thirty years, and there are some things you shouldn't even try. Alas.

You've already alienated most of the acting-as-if world, and yet you've managed to also alienate the Commonwealth of Nations, intending to come to your aid. I can literally only imagine what it must be to band as nations because of shared colonialist periods, but it is harder to imagine giving up my own fight, or becoming the willful oppressor. Honestly, I don't know how you do it-- it's bad enough indirectly! Congratulations on becoming the new colonizer. Noble!

Resign Immediately,
The D.L.

Dear two older dudes who regularly dine at Petie's,

Hi. What are your stories? I would love to know.

When my Oma chooses Petie's, I know I am going to see you two, sitting together, wearing your crazy hats. I love those hats! One of you is a little more heavy on top, and you wear a beaten black motorcycle jacket and-- seriously-- a beret. You rock that beret! You carry that thing off like nothing I've ever seen. Honestly. It's a tough hat to sport without looking like a total jackass. You usually have a newspaper quartered in your left hand, and your eyes follow it like a pet.

Your friend is just as amazing. He wears a beaten brown leather/canvas thing. A plaid shirt with metal-rimmed aviators folded into the V. A groomed, salted, peppered beard, and an Indiana Jones fedora. I am not kidding. And you rock it like it is your damn skin! You are often leaned against the wall, wedged into your booth, sleeping. SLEEPING! I love you. Last week I was thinking about talking to Petie about egg scrambling, but you guys were talking about Vietnam, and then hard candy, so I was barely able to focus on eggs, or Oma. I am terrible.

I could really get into a hard candy discussion.

Then Oma and I went grocery shopping, stopped to get hearing aid batteries, et al., and a bit after I dropped her off I pulled up next to you two on my left. Naturally, I waved excitedly to you. We rolled our mutual windows down exclaiming about recently seeing each other at Petie's, and Fedora Man told me of how the little dog in the back was really excited, and Beret Man looked vaguely stirred. Fedora Man: Her name is Badger. Me: Maggie? F.M.: No, Badger! Me: Ah! Then light was green, and it was over.

It made me really happy, thanks.

Gentlemen, to you!,

The D.L.

Dear Weather,

You're delightful. A long spell of bitter coldness broke up endless days of snow, which has blossomed into a wet greyness of such uniformity it becomes breathtaking. Honestly, it's like being pinned by various invisible tethers whose positions change, but not much. Well, Cleveland-- you're the boss.

Sleepily,
The D.L.

Dear Lloyd Dobler,

Remember how you were all "one more time would be nice," and whatnot when Diane said she loved you, that she needed you? You said "Do you need someone or do you need me? It doesn't matter anyway", and gave yourself back to her like the champion of all delusionally-expectationed romantics that you are? Thanks to you (and Cameron Crowe would probably like a mention), I and my kind have purchased countless tickets for a ride on the real thing, as you would have us believe it, and waited to hear our song uncurling on some warm, magical night, finding our ears like we always knew it would, filling the empty spaces in us, around us, until we are humming with goodness.

You know, I can't even do it, Lloyd Dobler. I cannot allow bitterness and inaction on my part to be used against you in some half-assed, overly sarcastic ghost of a diatribe. Fictional though you are, Say Anything remains unassailable. Lloyd Dobler.

Moonbeams and kittens,
The D.L.

Dear unnamed Jordanian man who shot his daughter four times in the head,

There really is no place to start without beginning a perilous journey toward never-ending accusation. We'll have to settle on this: You pretty much exemplify something which cripples humanity. You use the shelter of morally weak, deeply flawed dogmatic structures to commit terrible acts. How can such an act be just? How can such an act pretend to know the will of something like your idea of god?

How could you?
There is wretchedness a-plenty in this world. Way to stoke the fire! It helps us become even more accustomed to impotently watching each other bear such horrors.

Jordan, I'm going to have to call you out on this one. You wish for an earnest reform to seem in place (now that you don't get only SIX FREAKING MONTHS for killing women), yet you allow conservatives to push for sentence leniency for 'honor [sic] killings' while they disregard proposed harsher terms? You need to check the whole "if the penalty isn't too harsh, it will lead to greater promiscuity" faction right the fuck now. With the quickness, as we might say if this were 1987. SERIOUSLY. Are you not sick of people being killed, raped, tortured, abused, or a combination of these and more because of some hypocritical nutjob's overweening vanity? Come on, Jordan-- help make this a world where YOUR FUCKING INSANE FATHER (from whom you've had to run repeatedly) MAY NOT MURDER YOU BECAUSE HE DOESN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE A VIRGIN. Come ON! There is NO defense! No religious or cultural more provides the right to override another's right to not be shot by their morally preening sissy crackpot of a father. I wonder how King Abdullah II and Queen Rania explain the killings each year. What do you say at a cocktail party? A diplomatic event? "Man, we are trying! These people are hillbillies!" For real. Rough stuff.

Also, if I see one more variation of 'an autopsy shows the girl was a virgin'-- dun-DUHN!--I may have to throw in the towel, because it means you are ALL fucking troglodytic wax figures if you think the fucking irony is lost on anyone, or if you don't realize that using such information as a journalistic device entails the galling act of reducing the grievous reasoning therein to a damn 'but she wasn't even lying'-- which is one reason all this is possible! Fuck!

I do apologize for all the fuckings, Jordan. I feel so angry.

Stop killing women.

You are crushing me,
The D.L.