1099
(1 vote, average 5.00 out of 5)
Written by Jamakaya
Jun 30, 2010
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I am writing you today
and I hope that you will read it so you know.
My heart beats like a hammer
and I stutter and I stammer
each time I see you on your TV show.
I guess I’m just another fan of yours
and so I thought I’d write and tell you so…
You made me love you,
it wasn’t hard to do it,
your brilliance drove me to it.
You made me love you,
when news is so depressing,
you make it less distressing…
At first, Rachel, as with all love affairs (even virtual, unreciprocated ones), I was bewitched, bothered and bewildered. That voice. That brain. Those looks. I soon became besotted, transfixed – and ornery.
“Why are you calling me now?” I’d demand before hanging up on friends. “Rachel Maddow is on, for god’s sake!”
People just don’t understand.
In a world gone mad, Rachel, in a media circus dominated by moronic shouters, you are my dream come true: a paragon of intelligence and civility. You are simply the best interviewer, researcher and anchor on TV today. You are credited with raising MSNBC’s ratings, and when you appear on the snoozefests known as Sunday morning public affairs programs, record numbers of people tune in.
Among a sea of hacks, you’re a professional journalist who’s become a media star. Respected, influential. And such good manners! Does anyone besides you model good manners anymore?! Even some of the wingnuts you interview who are frequently undone by your tough questions express admiration for your fairness and decency.
What a tribune you have been during the oil disaster! You’ve trumped other media outlets with exposés of BP’s underhandedness and tramped through the Louisiana marshes to hold extended colloquies with scientists to explain environmental issues. Muckraking and teaching – what a unique use of commercial airwaves!
No one but you, Rachel, has consistently reported in depth on the racism and corporate interests fueling “populist” resentment among Americans. Nor have they made clear the insidious, degrading effect it is having on our social and political culture. There’s such an impressive moral core that runs through your reporting.
And your faux Oval Office speech, presented as a powerful alternative to President Obama’s limp response to BP, was priceless. Pulitzer committee, take note.
But Rachel, I don’t just love you for your brain. You are beautiful. Those skanky, stringy-haired girls of “The L-Word” (except for Pam Grier, of course) don’t have anything on you, honey. You are what old lesbians like me call “dykely,” one of the highest of all compliments.
Dykeliness involves handsome features, no-nonsense hair and clothes, direct eye contact, and an assertive voice – all grounded in innate confidence. Your expressive face and hands, your plunging neckline and that occasionally furrowed brow (when reporting on some outrage or stupidity) are killers.
And your laughter! Given all the dreadful things you report on, you always find some story or angle that elicits a belly laugh or a giggle. What a tonic you are! You are never more precious than when your eyes crinkle and tear up in a moment of laughter.
I don’t care what happens,
let the whole world stop.
As far as I’m concerned
you’ll always be the top,
‘cause you know you made me love you.
Devotedly,
Jamakaya
(Props to Roger Edens and Joseph McCarthy for adapting “Dear Mr. Gable” and “You Made Me Love You”)
