Demolition [Dec 10, 2002]

Perhaps the old people, hippies, and celebrities who wasted yesterday protesting our upcoming and wholly just war on Iraq would like to take a ride on an unmarked North Korean cargo vessel. When are the peaceniks going to learn that sometimes an eye for an eye is the only language that our enemies understand? I believe I said approximately eight months ago on this blog: "watch the coast of Yemen. For Yemen shall reveal the truth." And why didn't the New York Times put this story on the front page? Oh, wait. OK. Well then, why didn't they put it above the masthead, with a slightly bigger headline? What are they trying to hide?

Elsewhere in the Times, an excellent report by the estimable Julie Salamon on the mysterious, and, let's face it, oddly named Sudanese writer Kola Boof. Once I got over laughing at Ms. Boof's name, which it's hard not to do, I mean, Kola Boof, for god's sake, her story made me think. I've been campaigning for years against the government in Khartoum, so it makes me a little upset that an odd character like Ms. Boof has borrowed my fire. But her worst crime is to call the integrity of the Internet into doubt. Salamon writes: "The Kola Boof story demonstrates how flashpoints are reached in cyberspace, the new forum for underground literature and politics, where fact and myth become indistinguishable and publicity campaigns become a kind of performance art."

I agree that cyberspace is a new forum, but those of us who take online journalism seriously, especially me, would never dream of making fact and myth indistinguishable. And as for publicity campaigns becoming a kind of performance art, to that, I say, pshaw.

Now, on to the true matter at hand. Late last night, while wrapping up the blog, I briefly quoted a lyric by Ryan Adams, who I thought was my friend. Well, this morning, I got an email from Ryan Adams' lawyer, which quoted Ryan Adams at length. What he said was vile, filthy, and slanderous. And to think I've been defending him in his war of words with Jack White. I excerpt the letter in part, here, just to show you what horrible things fame can do to a young man's head:

"If fucking Neal Pollack wants to fucking quote my lyrics on his stupid girly blog, then he'd better pay me good money. Because I didn't see blogging anywhere on my job application to be a rock fucking star, you know. It's true. That's fucking fact."

He added: "Neal thinks he's so funny saying his little faggy poems and trying to shock people. And now he's got this stupid little rock band that he thinks is so fucking punk. Well, I can tell you that he's got no talent. I met him once and I was like 'fuck you man'. You're a fucking ponce. I make more money in a weekend than you make in six months. And I got more rock in my fucking pinky than you'll ever have in your whole body. So you'd better be careful."

Well, Ryan Adams, you foul-mouthed guttersnipe. The war is on. And I will prevail, in prose and in rock. Jack White? I can tell that we are gonna be friends.