The Tattler |
I admit ignorance as to the history of the open letter; therefore I will speculate that it became a forum to vent one’s opinions only after unsolicited, direct correspondence had gone unrequited. In recent times, however, the first step in the process, an attempt at direct communication with the recipient named in the salutation, has been deemed unnecessary. Much easier it is to pen an open letter to be posted on social media outlets, knowing full well that the person to whom your missive is intended will unlikely engage with the message or in any way be affected by your efforts. Its futility is prodigious. The hubris to write it is ineffable. It’s as pointless as the wings on a flightless bird.
Recent subjects of open letters to embattled public figures or controversial organizations include: Paula Deen, George Zimmerman, Teach for America, teenage girls who post sexy Facebook photos, the mom who wrote an open letter to girls posting sexy Facebook photos, Miley Cyrus, Miley Cyrus by way of Sinead O’Connor, the Supreme Court, the President, Congress, and show runners of successful dramatic television series.
I, as is now custom, would like to address the authors of open letters in my own open letter. In doing so I scream uselessly into the echo chamber of modern life. Behold world, not my achievements or contributions to the betterment of person kind, but these fickle words meant to satisfy nothing but my fragile ego. I am disconnected from my family, nature, the market place of ideas and goods, and sex- so long it has been since I had sex. These deprivations coupled with a robust online footprint give me the confidence needed to generate content equivalent in its contribution to the internet as a molecule of water in all the oceans and seas of planet earth.
Dear Authors of Open Letters,
Don’t write them anymore. Do something else instead. Take a nap or call a friend. Prep a bunch of vegetables to cook for the week or pick up your shoes from in front of the front door. Buy a magazine and read it on your porch with a cup of tea. Just stare out the window for a while. Masturbate. Did I already suggest taking a nap? Your letter won’t change anything. It’s dumb. So is what I’m doing. This especially is dumb. I should be doing something else right now. Like paying some bills or arranging my hat collection. Maybe learning a new song or putting away the cordless drill that I used three weeks ago and is still sitting out cluttering up my tiny apartment. What are we doing with our lives? What the fuck is going on anymore? I’m so bored. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this dumb ass letter to no one. Boredom. The truth is I don’t feel heard. And I don’t feel like I’m doing anything of significance with my time. What am I going to leave behind? A digital record of search behavior and purchasing patterns? Sometimes I create video and things but it’s mostly to keep myself from going goofy. I’m in my head too much. I need better distractions than television and food and booze and watching someone else have sex on my Macbook. “I have a good distraction for you,” says someone far less fortunate than I, “how about hunger or not getting shot.” Ah fuck, that makes me feel even more like an asshole. Good point voice of the downtrodden. In closing, an open letters is a poor man’s editorial, like monkfish or paddlefish roe.