An Open Letter To David Mamet

12 03 2008

A decade ago, I attended a lecture you gave at Tufts University, during which you read a poem you had composed on a Dairy Queen napkin, during which I realized I was not to be a fan of your work. Or of poetry, if it was the kind of thing that made grown men think it cute to write on napkins.

You also mentioned that you think people write because they have “some pain inside that simply has to get out”, and then you left the hall with your wife, who was wearing the pelt of an entire polar bear,  and walked toward your car, where I assumed there would be a bordeaux and a radio that only worked when tuned to either NPR or nearsighted DJs named Ezra.

So reading your piece today was refreshing. And I also would like you to know that your appearance ten years ago may have helped push me towards the path you are on today, so I thank you for that as well.

I ask that you post another one of these some 12 months from now — I predict it will be less flowery, less theoretical, and include the words “reason”, “moonbat”, and “Lieberman”. You will also have played golf with Dennis Miller and Roger L. Simon, have read the Koran,  and have dressed down a coffee house employee whom you overhear calling Giuliani a “fascist”.






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