Day 194- Bad Art Museum of Bad Art

Dear Mr. President,

The French government is another step closer to a full public ban on the burqa. I suppose this makes me grateful to live where I do. Not because I wear a veil, but because I could. Because, more than wear what we want, we can say what we want. We can open bars with "Obama rooms" celebrating bad art. Art can be subversive, offensive, contrary to the values or beliefs or faiths of so many people, and it is no threat to our society. It can hang on the wall, or be inked on some one's skin, or stitched into their clothing and it doesn't make them less American.



Tonight I was in a bar, drowning my AL sorrows, with an "Obama Room". I didn't find out what it meant, or why it was named after you, but the sign said it was a room of bad art. I think it meant that the room is safe for bad art, for art that not every one likes or understands. Art that no one wants to pay for, that no one would remember, otherwise. Art that doesn't have to justify its own existence.

I couldn't help but think of the women in France being targeted by this law. There aren't enough of them to defend themselves democratically. They are outsiders, isolated, kept apart from the rest of French society- not by their own beliefs or culture, but by a government that, by overwhelming majority, has declared their manner of dress to be out of step with what it means to be French.

I'm still pretty upset about the American League breaking a 14-year streak of domination at today's all-star game, so forgive me a baseball metaphor. Baseball has always been described as quintessentially American, but I could, with little fear of harassment, walk outside with a shirt saying "I hate baseball" or "Babe Ruth is stupid" and not worry that it made me any less American. I might be in an extreme minority, too few to ever have my opinion represented in the legislature or to count on it being defended by voters, but the constitution protects me, all the same. It is this bedrock principle that represents true "Americanism", this document which defends us all from the whims of the majority. I hope that, when the law in France must face up to their own constitution, that it is struck down. that the noble principles enshrined in that document are stronger than a passing fear of those who do not dress the right way.

What do you think of this law, Mr. President? Will you speak out against it, demonstrating that the friendship between the US and France is once characterized first by its frankness and honesty? I hope that you will, I hope that the Council of the State acts to protect the rights of these French women. Because, be we immigrants or baseball haters or bad artists or just believers in a faith different from that of the majority, we deserve our own corner of safety, the respect of our governments and of our fellow citizens. Speak to President Sarkozy, Mr. President, and tell him this law is not worthy of a modern democracy.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 96- National Pastime

Dear Mr. President,

It's baseball season! Even if you're a White Sox fan, (which is still considerably more forgivable than being a Yankees or an A's fan,) you clearly appreciate the ethos of the game. I'm not usually a huge sports fan, but Baseball recalls the best parts of my childhood. My family and I used to make the long drive into Seattle, to watch games at the old Kingdome and see Ken Griffey Jr. in his heyday. These days I live a short walk from the new stadium, and only make it to a game or two a year, but Griffey came back home last year and the city has seemed happier ever since.

My childhood was defined by the game of Baseball. My sisters and I would play in the backyard, each of us pretending to be our favorite Mariner. In the summer, my sister and I would set up the radio so that we could listen to the game while we played outside or in our garage. Even my memories of my father are often of trying to feel connected to him while he watched sports on TV. I don't know that my dad even likes sports all of that much. I don't know how much he watched because he was a fan, or how much was just to have enough noise to keep him from thinking about things. Sometimes, we'd be watching games, chatting about rules or statistics or prospects for the Mariners, and it would seem like we were really talking. I remember, watching a game with my family when an earthquake struck, seeing Griffey run onto the field and find his wife in the crowd, telling her to drive home. Even as a fourth grader, that genuine affection for his wife's safety moved me.

Sometimes we get carried away with sports, be it football or baseball; the final four, the Olympics or the World Cup. It's something all societies throughout history and around the world have shared. We unite, briefly, in cheering on our team, surrendering our differences to the higher calling of being a fan, and at the end of the game there is a Winner and a Loser and no one has to die. Our appetites for warfare sated on (mostly) bloodless playacting of combat. However illogical it may be, I still feel like a victory over the Texas Rangers is a victory over President Bush.

It may not be wholly accurate to describe one sport as any more "American" than others, but Baseball certainly helps define the American experience for many, myself included. As demanding as your job may be, I hope that this season affords you time enough to enjoy a few games. I don't know that it's going to be a great season to be a White Sox fan, but, I suppose there are worse teams you could support. So long as they're not playing the Mariners, I'll wish them well; it's not like they're NL or anything.

Oh, and don't feel too bad about that pitch at the Nationals Game, sir. I've certainly seen worse from the White Sox.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey