16 November 2005

an open letter to melissa etheridge

Dear Mel,

I'm sorry you experienced the trauma and pain of cancer, and I'm glad you're a survivor. It's cool you were brave enough to rock a bald head in public, helping call attention to a terrible disease.

Now you're deftly using your clout as an adult-contemporary musician to further breast cancer awareness and to help raise funds for research. Ok, cool...perhaps.

In October, you were the face of Kimberly-Clark's Health, Home and Hope campaign to raise money for breast cancer entities. One should be suspicious of corporations' philanthropic efforts. Does Kimberly-Clark see the dissonance in supporting breast cancer research while hawking menstrual products with potential carcinogens for women to shove in their crotches?

C'mon, Mel. You picked David Crosby to impregnate your lover. I expect more than an ugly—though musically talented—baby from you.

So you wrote a song. "At the behest of Race for the Cure co-sponsor Ford," because ford cares. If Ford really cared, they'd be all over alternative energies like supermodels at a coke buffet. Notably, you're donating all record royalties from the song "I Run for Life" to breast cancer charities.

This song has rudely woken me a few times since its release, thanks to 91.3. Frankly, Melissa, it's crap. Yeah, yeah, yeah; it will inspire other survivors and their kin. So does Jesus, but he's not on the radio, rousing me from slumber with husky, mawkish exalting. If I wanted to hear that, I'd go to the Salvation Army or Goodwill stores—where local Christian radio stationThe Fish is mandated.

What do your butch fans think of you now? Especially after they saw [didn't see] you on Oprah. Wait—do you actually have any butch fans? I kinda doubt it; I stereotype gays—I think they're generally more hip and, thus, they ain't going to be listening to you. And I would hope that they think before they pink. You should, too.


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