Becoming Somebody

Sometimes I run out of things to say. It’s not because I’m not thinking or writing or creating or arguing or paying attention. It’s not because I’m not trying. I just reach a place in my own skull where I find myself sitting around, feeling alone, even in mixed company, lost in quiet, nothing to contribute to the collective discourse. My every thought becomes abstract for a while, and I can’t shake it. My method, of course, wades entirely in the concrete. Even the most OUT-THERE idea has to be expressed in a very real, ordinary, IN-HERE sort of way. And it’s just boring. Everything is boring compared to these thoughts, even thinking them into words and phrases, images and scenes, which do them no justice at all. Nothing but marks and symbols for things that don’t really exist and probably never will at all. At least for now.

Please stop playing the same character in every movie in which you appear. I hate to say it, but it was only kind of funny the first time around when, as Ron Burgundy, you portrayed to cringe-inducing perfection the arrogant, smarmy caricature of a random pop culture cliché. Now it’s just sort of annoying, not to mention a little insulting to anyone who’s not twelve years old. It’s not that silly hair and short-shorts aren’t funny, it’s just that … well … no … I take it back. They’re not funny. You’re better than that, Will Ferrell.

My advice: a little more Harold Crick (Stranger Than Fiction) and Corbit the understated, guitar-playing caretaker (Winter Passing), and a little less Jackie Moon (Semi-Pro) and Ricky Bobby (Talladega Nights), would do us all a lot of good.

Other than that, I have no complaints. I’m a big fan. Really.

Thanks,

Chris

Marion Cotillard, who won Best Actress for “La Vie en Rose,” is crazy hot. And she’s not young either. She’s 32. That’s old as hell for Hollywood Hot. I don’t know if it’s the French accent or the light-eyes-dark-hair combo, but — whatever it is — I like. Very much.

I sent the following e-mail to Tom Buffenbarger, president of the machinists’ union, and a Hillary Clinton supporter:

Dear Mr. Buffenbarger,

Fuck you.

I say Fuck you not because of your political allegiances, but in response to the ignorant, divisive, anti-intellectual rhetoric you spat in your introduction of Hillary Clinton at a rally last week. You said, and I quote:

I’ve got news for all the latte-drinking, Prius-driving, Birkenstock-wearing, trust fund babies crowding in to hear [Barack Obama] speak! This guy won’t last a round against the Republican attack machine. He’s a poet, not a fighter.

I’ll ignore the fact that the language you used to characterize Senator Obama’s supporters — who now seem to make up the majority of the Democratic party — as, basically, smart people who drink coffee and care about the environment comes right out of the same Republican attack machine play book you implicitly condemn. Anyone with half a brain, trust fund baby or not, can see through those lines and realize how stupid they are. The transparency of your ignorance saves me from making that point.

I’m writing, instead, to focus on your primitive, frat-boy view of poets.

You suggest that poets are simply masters of the written or spoken word, that they lack the fight found in hard-nosed macho types like yourself. But do the names Pablo Neruda, Langston Hughes, Allen Ginsberg, Daniel Berrigan, Martin Luther King, Suheir Hammad, David Lerner, Woody Guthry, Amari Baraka, Umar Bin Hassan, and too many others I can’t think to list mean anything to you? If you were to, you know, actually read some poetry, you might gain an understanding of the fight inherent in anyone brave enough to publish his or her dissent.

A poet is, by definition, a fighter, you pompous idiot. A poet is fueled by an internal rage against injustice, violence, and corruption. A poet fights with his pen, his mind, and his brain, not with bigoted my-balls-are-bigger-than-your-balls posturing and some false sense of alcohol-induced courage, the only strength people like you seem to recognize. Where has that type of fighting gotten us recently? I feel compelled to remind you that the words of poets — filled with indignation and tenacity — rouse the masses to fight for real change. It gives them a reason to get up off their asses and rage against their oppressors. This country was founded by poets, Mr. Buffenbarger. Poets inspire people and lead them to battle against forces they would otherwise think too big and powerful to oppose.

You may recall a little document titled, The Declaration of Independence. Without it, there is no colonial revolt against tyranny, no America, no Constitution to protect morons like you from staying stupid things in public. It was a brilliant piece of poetry. Its architects were not on the front lines fighting, but they were doing something equally brave and noble: They were giving thousands of people a reason to fight.

Of course this kind of macho, testosterone-driven, neanderthal bullshit shouldn’t surprise me, especially coming from the mouth of a fat, beer-guzzling redneck. But it does surprise me coming from the mouth of an apparently prominent Democrat, someone whose constituents have been forced to live, for the past seven years, in a state of war waged against intellect and reason by the right-wing attack machine you mentioned. But instead of rising above it, you went right along fueling the notion that all we need to do to get change is sit back and let other people do it for us. So who are you really speaking to, Mr. Buffenbarger, when you deride poets, environmentalists, and those who (gasp!) drink Italian-style coffee? What, exactly, are you trying to say?

* * *

For those who missed it, here is the video clip of Buffenbarger’s remarks.

I’ll just copy and paste the description from The Huffington Post. I’m feeling under the weather and can’t think of a better way to summarize the following video clip.

Olbermann Timeline: How The Bush Administration Exploited Terror Threats For Political Gain, 2002-2008 (click here for Huffpost coverage)