Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

Obama reminds his besties: ‘Not everybody agrees with us’

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Free_speech_signup Apparently President Obama has been bugging the J&M Tavern, and the talk among my lefty friends there has been bugging him. Because when a reporter implied at yesterday's press conference that he's weak for making legislative compromises with Republicans, Obama went on a controlled rant that we made our Vital Speech of the Week.*

Now, if that's the standard by which we are measuring success or core principles, then let's face it, we will never get anything done. People will have the satisfaction of having a purist position and no victories for the American people. And we will be able to feel good about ourselves and sanctimonious about how pure our intentions are and how tough we are, and in the meantime, the American people are still seeing themselves not able to get health insurance because of preexisting conditions or not being able to pay their bills because their unemployment insurance ran out.

That can't be the measure of how we think about our public service. That can't be the measure of what it means to be a Democrat. This is a big, diverse country. Not everybody agrees with us. I know that shocks people. The New York Times editorial page does not permeate across all of America. Neither does The Wall Street Journal editorial page. Most Americans, they're just trying to figure out how to go about their lives and how can we make sure that our elected officials are looking out for us. And that means because it's a big, diverse country and people have a lot of complicated positions, it means that in order to get stuff done, we're going to compromise.

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TMI, HuffPo: I need privacy from the violations of my friends’ privacy

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I have an acquaintance who is on the wagon. Probably good for him, right?

So yesterday I'm scrolling the headlines at the Huffington Post and my eye is caught by the weird-let's-connect-everybody-all-the-time section that tells me (as if I care) which HuffPo articles my friends are reading.

And so, quite accidentally, I learn that my wagon-riding pal has read, "Classic Drink Recipes for Today's Economy."

And so now I'm worried about my friend's drinking, and his finances too.

When we all get famous, will we all forget where we came from?

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On and around yesterday's topic of nobodies:

People say everyone wants to be famous these days. Actually, I would have been more likely to say that ten years ago. But now we know that there's actually a tiny percentage of the American population that doesn't want to be famous. They're the ones who don't have a Facebook account.

The rest of us? Yeah, we want to be famous.*

In my twenties, I remember talking straight up with my wife about how I hoped to be interviewed by David Letterman one day. Shameless vanity is typical of young writers, who actually have a path, however unlikely, to some version of fame. ("The best fame is a writer's fame," Fran Lebowitz says. "It's enough to get a table at a good restaurant, but not enough to get you interrupted when you eat.")

But until the advent of Facebook, Twitter and Super Nanny, most people not named Lee Harvey Oswald couldn't imagine how they would ever become famous.

They never had the whiff of fame that 46 views of your YouTube video gives you, and unless they got up a head of steam and ran for town councilman, they lived and died without ever knowing firsthand that being known about by strangers is as fulfilling as eating cotton candy.

But these days the cotton candy is flying off the shelves, because the people who wanted to be famous all along are finding ways to feel like they're famous.

The trouble is—and I hope they will learn this—there is no such thing as being famous. There are a thousand such things.

There is having 123 Twitter followers, some of whom you have never heard of.

There is being well-known in a small and insulated circle. By that measure, I am famous, and have been for 15 years. But then, you—and only you—already knew that.

There is being well-known in a slightly larger, well-insulated circle.This is the level of fame you need to get an obituary in The New York Times, where more people learn about you upon your death than ever knew about you during your life. (I read the Times obits to meet new people.)

There are Tanya Harding, Philip Michael Thomas and Rickey Schroder. And there are the Beatles.

Thinking you want fame is like wandering into a bar and saying, "Booze, please."

The next question is, "What kind?"

* The only person who I know who does not want to be famous, even secretly and for only five minutes a month, is my wife. Sho is truculently unimpressed by fame. One afternoon some years ago well-connected movie-producer friend called to ask me what I knew about a young actress he was thinking of using in a movie. I didn't reognize the name, but I called downstairs, "Cristie, Tony's on the phone. He wants to know, do you know who Lindsay Lohan is?"

Cristie yelled back, "Oh, for Christ's sake, is Tony bringing Lindsay Lohan over for dinner?"