Andrew,

Like I said, I’m a regular reader – going on two years.  It took me a while to understand the format of the Daily Dish.  The rapid fire posts, the jump-links.  The various awards and photos.  You are right, this is a broadcast medium at heart and I climbed the learning-curve because you were constantly refreshing content and I was stimulated enough to endure.  Now I’m on top, so to speak, and the view is a crystal clear vista of a brick wall.

I do not associate your content with the Atlantic Monthly.  I think that’s important.  I do not associate your content with anything other than yourself.  Your friends, your enemies, your opinions, your arguments, your obsessions, your everything.  For a while, I was satisfied with that.  Your perspective offers readers your expertise on various DC goings on.  Additionally your personal story is compelling enough to color several socio-political issues with a relevant point of view.  But your POV is only valuable if it’s directed outward.  But The Dish is an inward-facing organism.  Hence, my shabby view.  I only see you.

So…

This is all about you, Andrew.  Isn’t that weird?  Sit on that for a minute.  As your reader, I’m tracking you in real time deal with too much information.  I know you know that.  You’ve said it before – this is what blogs do.  But that doesn’t sit well with me.  I don’t care that much about you.  Should I?

I started reading Studs Terkel recently.  I see meaningful connections between his work and yours.  Our evolving society has meaning and texture.  Essentially, you both strive to document and ponder our life in this place.  Studs found meaning in the people – their fragments and stories – the things that they did, didn’t do – the fun stuff and boring stuff.  Some of it meaningful and lots of it confusing.  Studs took fragments out of the whole and weaved together a contextualized story.  It took time and patience and editing.  Studs was a hub of information.  He organized it and provided that context.  Your work is on the other end of the spectrum – the boring stuff, the fun stuff, the right stuff, the wrong stuff – the dissents, the back-pats – all of it is from you, about you.

Your expertise is valuable.  It is lost on Chris Matthews’ rapid fire show where fellow pundits pass around a hot potato until the next issue.  It is diluted by the wide-open valve that is the Daily Dish.  It is hollowed out by an echo chamber unto itself, as represented by the blog roll on the bottom right of your page.

This is not an email where I tell you that I’m done reading your work.  I’m trying to make a broader point.  Why does your process matter? Patton Oswalt has a great bit about preventing George Lucas from making the prequels. The punchline (word for word): I don’t give a shit where the stuff I love comes from; I just love the stuff I love.

Well anyway, I’ll keep reading.  This is getting interesting.

This is a language spoken by many many human beings on the planet earth that were not born and raised in Milwaukee, WI.  To be fair, I’m sure there are several such people who can contradict that generalization (I am not one of them…. yet).  It is Bengali (Bangla).  It’s the other mother-tongue of my household and the one I don’t know.  I have been teaching myself this language using the Teach Yourself Bengali book and CD set.  At this point, it’s been years.  I can repeat the same phrases and understand or misunderstand or not understand the same vast expanse of human communication in Bengali as before.  So I’m stuck – but that’s not very interesting nor is it the point of this post.  Every language student gets stuck and the solution to that problem is always the same – talk more.  Listen more.  That’s an easy problem to solve with hard work.  (Side note: if you know of a good Bengali class in the NYC area, please let me know).  The real point of this post is about the neural realignment that is slowly taking place deep inside my brain.  The Bengali neurons are clearing brush somewhere in my brain; cutting down trees, digging trenches, laying pipe for what ostensibly will be a new thought-center.  This foundation is coming at some destructive expense.  Before these foundations are complete, I’m working at half-speed.  There’s a bottle-neck in my brain and when it hits me hardest, I start to feel homesick.

I’m still here (here is not there and there is where Bengali speaking non-Milwaukeans live and work).  Homesickness is probably not the right word because it connotes geographical displacement.  What about mental displacement?  I can’t process thoughts the same way, so I can’t react to predictable circumstances in familiar ways.  The familiar is now unfamiliar.  I blame the grammar.

I’m not educated enough to explain Bengali grammar.  If you happen to speak that language (and English) you will notice that quickly.  But the grammar breaks my thoughts before I can finish them.  Quick example: Bangla does not specify gender in subjective personal pronouns.  There is no ‘he’ ’she.’  It’s all relative.  This makes things interesting in my mind when I consider notions such as God (”He” in English and “Or” in Bangla).  But my Bangla level is not deep enough for theology.  I also had to look up ‘pronouns’ before I could identify my point as specifically: subjective personal pronouns.

The point is this: each successive thought requires strenuous deliberation to complete.  There are no more reactions to things – there are contemplations of grammar rules, vocabulary restrictions, and speed.  By the time a thought is generated, it dies before it can go anywhere.  When I’m robbed of my internal monologue (robbed is too strong a word, I realize), I lose a sense of self.  Then I become unfamiliar to myself.  That’s when I feel homesick.  Is this why it’s harder for adults to pick up new languages?