NBA Player Names

Dear NBA,

Per capita, nothing competes with your collection of fantastic names. To name a few:

Sonny Weems
Samardo Samuels
DeMar DeRosen
Royal Ivey
Jamario Moon
Thaddeus Young
Jerryd Bayless
Jrue Holiday
Pops Mensah-Bonsu
Kryrlo Fesenko (Krih-lo Fah-sank-o)
Quincy Pondexter
Von Wafer

Your archive of retired player's names is stacked... Anfernee Hardaway... Fat Lever (FAT LEVER!!!)... Muggsy Bogues... and my all-time favorite, Sarunas Marciulionis (Sha-Rhu-Nus Marsh-a-lone-us) Even your All-stars have great names: Carmelo... Chauncey... Shaquille... Amar'e... Baron... .

NBA, you are more than an organization of sporting professionals, you are a catalog of the greatest names in World History. Who needs a baby-naming book when you have a basketball roster right in front of you? No one does.

Thank you.

PS - I dedicate this post to my future children: Pops, Thaddeus and Samardo

Public Showers at the Beach

Dear Public Showers at the Beach,

You are my favorite place to shower in public. If it wasn't for you, I'd bring too much of the beach with me home, and I'd rather keep the beach where it is. Environmentalists speak of erosion, but I think a lot of beach "erosion" is from 300-pound men rolling around in the sand and accidentally taking a pound of it home in their back hair. I don't know what it is about sand, but you add it to sunblock residue and body hair and your skin just invented another recipe for glue. Fact: when carpenters want a smooth finish to their furniture, they ask un-showered beach-goers to sit on or cuddle with their wooden chairs and benches for a bit. If some beach people don't want to shower in public or they think your water's too cold, that's their prerogative. But if none of us had an option, that would be a disaster. Which is why we all want to thank you, public showers at the beach. We think of you just as highly as any other shower, even if you are the only ones we wear swimsuits in.

Sincerely,

The Beach Community

the Kids I Played Heads-Up 7-Up with

Dear Kids I Played Heads-Up 7-Up with in School,

It's time I came clean. I'm a cheater.

Remember how I got 65 people in a row one time? I wasn't a third-grade God. Far from it. Allow me to explain the method. Hiding in my arms with open eyes, I looked over the edge of my desk at your shoes as you touched my thumb and then I'd look at your shoes as you stood in front of the class and pin point you via footwear. What about when you touched me from way behind? I used mirrors, cameras, spies... whatever it took, really. One game I hypnotized a kid to get him to talk. You probably don't remember that because I then had to hypnotize the rest of the class and the teacher to make them forget. It's not something I'm proud of.

I come from a long line of Heads-Up 7-up champions. My Dad and Uncle were All-Americans. My grandmother's nickname was, "that lady really good at heads up 7 up." My great-grandfather even invented 7-up. My great-great-great-grandfather invented heads. Before him, people didn't have heads, just skulls, history often forgets about that but it's true, look it up. There was a lot of pressure on me to keep up the family tradition. I'm not trying to make excuses here, but at the same time I am. Okay, that's exactly what I am doing. But if you had been in my shoes you would have done the same thing. You should have been in my shoes regardless because it would have made it harder for me to pick you out if you had changed shoes mid-game.

Reluctantly,

A disgraced champion

Justin Bieber, of Bieber Fever Fame

Dear Justin Bieber,

Please stop spreading the Bieber fever. It's an epidemic.

I know one girl who got Bieber fever, now all the paint in her room is ruined because she put up too many posters and did it very hastily. Who's going to pay for that, Justin? Are you? I sure hope so. I surely do. But this isn't just about ruining paint, this is about America. I've been told you are from North North Dakota, sometimes called Canada. I don't like it one bit. And I'll tell you why.

All the sudden Bieber fever comes --from the great north-- as we inch closer to socialized medicine, which came from.... the great north. Coincidence? Not likely. I don't care what you think about socialized medicine -- we all know it leads to longer lines at the ER. Now, look what happens. Bieber fever strikes right as the lines at the ER hit record lengths, people can't get treated fast enough, and people start dying right there in the hospital waiting room. I've seen it happen with my own two eyes. It's a subtle plan - come to our country to spread a fever while simultaneously weakening health care's infrastructure. Baby, baby, baby, ohh? Yeah, you better start singing to the babies while you still can. At the rate you are killing little girls with your fever, pretty soon there won't be any more babies in this country, which is exactly what you wanted, wasn't it?

Go back to North North Dakota.

Sincerely,

Bieber Fever Vaccine Seeker

Military Time

Dear Military Time,

Stop adding extra math to my life. When someone says '14 Hundred Hours' I have to think, '14 minus 12 equals 2 -- it's 2.' When someone says 'it's 2' I think -- 'it's 2.' Granted, the benefit of military time is it takes away the pm or am at the end... but I think it's pretty easy to decipher whether or not it's a pm or am time by if the sun is out. If you aren't sure if it's 3 pm or 3 am, look at where the sun is and if you get glaucoma you must be in the afternoon.

Just when I thought the worst thing the military could do was invade my country without an exit strategy or maybe kill me, you had to come and bring your way of telling time.

Military time, why don't you do us a favor and stand 'at ease' and by 'at ease' I mean -- go away.

Sincerely,

Another person who hates subtracting by 12

the Drive-Thru Guy at Carl's Jr.

Dear Drive-Thru Guy at Carl's Jr.,

Remember the time I gave you exact change? Remember the time that change fell through your fingers? Remember when you asked me if I could get it?

Somewhere between that moment and the moment I was on my knees, halfway under my idling auto groping for 43 cents, I realized what my life had become. Perhaps you sensed my frustration.

But sometime after the change was collected and paid, and I was long since gone, something else changed... in me. Maybe, I thought, there are worse things than crawling under your car for pennies. Maybe there are people who don't have their own car to crawl under... people who have to crawl under other people's cars for coins... or people who have to crawl under their bicycle for coins... or under other people's bicycles. Maybe there are places where people have to get out of their cars to eat at restaurants. Maybe these sad places do exist. Maybe there are places where the cement outside the restaurant is unpaved. Places with Drive-Thrus that are dead ends. Maybe there are places where the restaurants don't have food. Places where the sink doesn't have water. Places where the drinks don't have liquid. Maybe it is that way. Maybe things aren't so bad.

Some people may tell you that the large gaps between your fingers are a genetic defect. But could a defect that serves as a catalyst of gratitude be a defect after all? Of course not. Thank you Carl's Jr. man. Thank you for not being great at what you do.

Sincerely,

A Formerly-Disgruntled-and-Now-Satisfied Customer

the Illiterate

Dear People Who Can't Read,

Recent studies show that America's rate of literacy is declining. Other studies argue the trend will not only continue, but worsen. You probably didn't see these studies because they were published in the written word, although rumors of a pending audio file addressing the studies are circulating.

Take it from someone who recently learned to read -- invest in some Dick and Jane books. Reading is important. In fact, I've found that learning to read has really bolstered my writing career. For too long I was writing but had no idea what I had written after the fact. Granted, I once took pride in being labeled as the "most prolific illiterate author of my generation" it wasn't until I started reading that I saw the statement in context and realized it was actually meant to be somewhere between a backhanded compliment and thinly veiled insult. As it turns out, one of my first books didn't have any punctuation, which made for a quicker read, sure, but it was arguably confusing.

Personally, I gained an appreciation for reading by watching movies. I've watched a lot of movies... probably too many. Did you know that they make movies in other countries now, too? You probably didn't. Here's the catch -- some of them aren't in English. They actually write the dialogue out on the screen. It's quite novel -- in fact, it's bit like a novel. Imagine a short book with pictures and occasional explosion sound effects. In the last few months I've read some really good movies. I really can't recommend them highly enough.

We need to be reading. And not just movies. Books. Magazines. Newspapers. Road signs. Even propaganda -- before we can dismiss it we need to give it a good read-through. Forget that old-fashioned, spoken hyperbole you are used to -- the most interesting propaganda is coming out in print these days. And that's not even just the subtitles on posters; I'm talking about entire paragraphs of lies.

For the handful of you reading this who may be literate, I encourage you to help those who can not yet read. Allow me to give some practical advice. When you meet someone who can't read, do what I do -- gift them a strongly worded pamphlet on the importance of literature or write them an open letter on the Internet. Change doesn't just happen, we have to do our part. You can't just wait around hoping people teach themselves.

Sincerely,

The Literate

Open Letters

Dear Open Letters,

Who do you think you're fooling? The persons you are addressed to never read you. Even if they knew about you, they probably wouldn't read you. But they don't know about you... because you didn't specifically send it to them. See, letters are meant to be sent to addresses, which enables the addressee to see the letter. It's a system that has been developed over the years with the aide of the post office and it's proven remarkably effective.

Which is easier? Writing a letter to your neighbor and delivering it to him? Or writing an open letter to your neighbor and walking outside and shouting that you wrote an open letter and hope that your neighbor heard you? I'm going with the former, because my neighbor is extremely loud, so much so that they'd never hear me shouting -- in fact, the letter that I was writing him was concerning his inappropriate decibel levels. (And the letter contained a strongly worded paragraph about his stubborn refusal to read my open letters on my blog and how that bothered me so.)

Open letters -- we're all open to the idea of ignoring you. So that's what we'll continue to do.

Sincerely,

Closed Letter Writers Everywhere

Persons Photographing Themselves with a Cell Phone in the Bathroom, Shirtless

Dear People Photographing Themselves in the Bathroom, Shirtless, with a Cell Phone,

You're doing life wrong. If someone wanted to see you in a pic without your shirt on, someone would have volunteered to take the picture. But no one did. That's why you're taking it of yourself... in a bathroom mirror. Instead of using the phone as a camera, you should take it and call a friend who can talk you out of it, the conversation will sound something like this --

"I've got the camera phone... and I'm kind of naked..."
"Put it down, slowly."
"But I feel so vulnerable right now... no one even comments on my profile pictures..."
"Stop flexing."
"But..."
"Please, we love you, we don't want you to do this to yourself. This affects the people around you. Also, the lighting is never good in these shots and they aren't particularly flattering, especially if the phone has a flash and here's that random bright white spot in the middle. And it's even worse when people don't Windex their mirrors properly and then sometimes we can see the spots, so just don't do it, okay?"

When you're ready to be photographed, someone will find you.

Sincerely,

Quiet Dignity

the Man With Two Teeth

Dear Man with Two Teeth,

Minimalism... well played. Easy to clean. Easier to floss. Easiest to love. I'm not sure if you've given up on impressing people, but if you have -- that's impressive. Don't ever consider dentures -- you've got all you need already.

Sincerely,

A Distant Admirer

Somali Pirates

Dear Somali Pirates,

In weighing your unpopularity during an era of unprecedented pirate popularity, I have a few suggestions for your public relations representative.

- Eye Patches. You don't have them -- old pirates did. If we are going to get on your side, we need some reasons to do so. Sad accidents never hurt this; by wearing eye patches you'd be able imply a horrible eye-gouging accident... and this creates sympathy. Sometimes I find myself thinking, "sure, he's pillaging ruthlessly, but I'm sure he comes from a challenging upbringing, I mean, he's missing an eye and such... who am I to judge?" Make us think that.

- Go Carribean. Indian Ocean pirating is not romantic. More importantly there has never been a successful movie franchise called, "Pirates of the Indian Ocean." Part of this is because of Disneyland, which isn't your fault at all, but part of it is basic syntax -- it's more awkward to say Indian Ocean than Caribbean.

- Ships, not boats. I don't care how effective an outboard engine motor boat may be -- you need ships. Cannons don't fit on boats made from tin cans and trust me, cannon balls are in. Just go to the local pool: Kid who does an missile/torpedo/WMD into the pool = lame. Kid who does a cannon ball = always in style.

You guys are barely pirates. You don't look the part and you don't act the part. When you're going to pirate, you go all out. No one wants a "vampire" who doesn't drink blood and no one wants a "pirate" without a peg leg. Your popularity will catch up to your pirate ancestors when you start gouging some eyes and sawing some knees. I don't mean to be gross here, that's just the reality.

Be your best. Be something we can be for Halloween.

Sincerely,

Seafarers and Land-wanderers

Cursive Handwriting

Dear Cursive,

You're going out of style, cursive. You need a change, a re-imaginng. A font face-lift.

Every school-child learns you about 8 times. Few will ever use you again, eventually forgetting you and then at that point, even if they want to, they can't use you.

Here's the problem, cursive. You're hard to read. That's good when playing poker, but bad when you are a handwriting. Yeah, you may be first-team all Texas Hold 'em, but you are cryptic communication, cryptic.

Cursive, I recently saw one sample of your work where I couldn't distinguish a's and u's. I wasn't sure if my friend was in a 'rut' or a 'rat,' and if they were in a rat, it would explain the hurried, sloppy handwriting but would leave other questions, such as how they had managed to get the letter to me and some more interesting existential questions about what it all meant and how exactly this was all happening. You may make letters more interesting, unintentionally, but that doesn't justify your cryptic-ness.

I have one word for you: standardization.

And I have one phrase for you: check yo'self before you wreck yo'self.

And I have one short story for you: but it's too long to share here.

And I have one open letter for you: this was it, dumdum.


Sincerely,

Legibility

Mexican Music that Features Trumpets or Sometimes Woodwinds

Dear Mexican Music that Features Trumpets or Sometimes Woodwinds,

Nothing says, 'Andale' like you do. Am I a fan? Who isn't?

The best news is I don't have to seek you out, you come to me like something that is attracted to something else, like maybe an insect to light or like rain to situations when we'd prefer to not have rain because that seems to happen a lot... There I am, walking on the sidewalk, and here you come, with each passing '88 Toyota truck, filling the air with your hand-clapping beats, your rhythm and your smoove-ness. It's the sound that announces, 'that man's stereo is working quite well if we are judging functionality on decibel level.'

Muchas Gracias. Y no me digas 'de nada' porque no es nada, lo que haces es algo muy grande.

Con sinceridad,

pedestrians everywhere

Padded Resumes

Dear Padded Resumes,

You've inspired me:

James Littlejohn
"Everywhere you want to be"

Selected Work Experience

CEP - Chief Executive Patron, Taco Bell
1996 - present
I told an employee that their food was disgusting. Later, their food got a little better, effectively saving the company by "thinking outside the bun."

Head Adviser, Self
circa 1991 - present
Regularly schedule an entire human's life, including social and financial aspects.
Demonstrated quick-thinking, sometimes.
Experience with people, especially me.

Crime Prevention/ Security Guard, Self
1994 - present
Proactive, acute analysis and avoidance of potentially dangerous people and sometimes dogs.

Independent Automobile Conductor
2001 - present
Licensed by federal government to operate large, fast-moving, and potentially dangerous equipment.

Coach, Golden State Warriors
winters: 2000 - 2005
Advised and made suggestions and encouragement to struggling basketballers on court.

Languages

English - Yes
Spanish - A veces
French - Wee (with subtitles)
German - I can communicate with all Germans that speak English

Special Skills

- Media Consumption, Discrimination and Critique
- Culinary Consumption, Discrimination and Critique
- Typing - 500 words a second
- Elementary Motor Skills
- Resume Padding

References

Barack Obama, President, Number: (Call me and I'll ask him whatever you want to for him)




Sincerely,

James

History Channel's "Mega Disasters"

Dear History Channel's "Mega Disasters" TV Show,

I've noticed your show is about the future, specifically, what could happen during a natural disaster in the future.

I also couldn't help but notice you, a show about the future -- or in other words fiction, is airing on the History channel.

The History channel is the only channel exclusively dedicated to things that have already happened. You are a show exclusively dedicated to things that have not happened and may never happen. Let me reiterate that. History channel = history. "Mega Disasters" = not history.

You blatantly contradict the channel that produces you. This would be akin to ESPN going out of its way to air a non-sport, like the Spelling Bee, or Music TV, MTV, going out of its way to promote anything but music, and we know these things would never happen.

Stay in your lane, History Channel.

Sincerely,

I-don't-have-a-Neilsen-box-but-my-opinion-should-still-count Television Watcher

Elementary School Valentine's Day

Dear Elementary School Valentine's Day,

I heart you.

You bring Superman and Batman to us on small cards, wishing us a kick-butt February 14. You bring us those tums-like chalk hearts with the all-caps phrases: B MINE, ONLY YOU, and GO GIRL. You bring pre-pubescent love to the forefront of public education.

Most importantly, you waste a day of school.

Thank you.

U R A 10,

The Childrens

Due Process and the Board Game Clue

Dear Concept of Due Process as Presented in the Board Game 'Clue',

You disregard our usual presumptions about crime and criminal investigation. Is this good? Maybe. But maybe not.

If I know Mrs. White killed somebody in the library, why does it matter whether or not I know it was with a lead pipe or a candlestick. Someone has been bludgeoned either way and you are worried about minutiae. Please, let's bring some common sense back to fictional murder investigation. Rope, revolver, or wrench -- they're dead and nothing will bring them back. Plus, the victim's head is now misshapen and we can't have an open casket... the whole thing makes me sick.

And why do we even care what room it was in? From now on, let's assume it was done in the room WHERE THE BODY WAS FOUND. If Peacock or the Colonel moved the body, we'll give credit where it is due -- they fooled us. But they didn't fool us on who did the dirty deed, and that's what counts.

And yet the purists will defend you, due process in the game 'Clue.' In a court of law, they'd say, you'd surely need a weapon and scene to pinpoint a killer. Well, if we are to be purists, we must do so in every sense of the investigation. Yet, in the very rooms of your mansions, in lieu of true investigation that turns to interrogation -- it is instead interrogation that pretends to be investigation. Citizens boldly accuse each other, without justified suspicion. It was Professor Plum! The scalawag did it in the lounge, I say! No, it was the billiard room! The billiard room! The knave used a knife! It could cut through a shoe -- I saw it on TV!

Due process in the game 'Clue' -- you have twisted an ugly distortion into our lives with your lies. The Parker Brothers did it, in the Family Room, with Dumb Rules as its weapon.

Sincerely,

Justice and Freedom... with a side of Freedom Fries and Just Ice

The 'Does Anyone Here Have Gum?' Guy

Dear 'Does Anyone Here Have Gum?' Guy,

A tad presumptuous, aren't we?

Let's imagine someone in the room does have gum. It's possible. In fact, in a room of more than a dozen, baker's or non-baker's, it's downright likely. Now, at what point did we get from, 'someone here may have gum' to 'I'd like that person to volunteer that they have gum with the intention of them offering it to me and then feeling like they need to offer it to everyone else in the room because it will be awkward if they don't'?

And yeah, that's exactly where you're taking this, 'does anyone here have gum' guy.

I mean, can you imagine this scenario:

'Does anyone here have gum?'

'Yeah, I do.'

The two look at each other, waiting. Until...

'Okay, cool, I was just curious.'

You'd get all upset, 'does anyone here have gum' guy. Suddenly, everyone else here is inconveniencing you. How could you be forced to live with the fact that you've ran out (if you ever did have any gum... but we'll give you the benefit of the doubt) and will now have nothing to stick under your chair or toss onto the ground in ten minutes once it loses its flavor?

And I know, I know, if you had gum you'd gladly offer it to anyone here. Great. Yet, it'd be equally presumptuous for me to expect you to. Did you consider that there are those of us who don't feel like asking everyone else in the room for gum when we don't have any?

No, you didn't.

Also, if you ever get gum disease, don't chime in at a party, 'Does anyone here have gum disease?'... we won't want to hear that question, either.

Sincerely,

Anti-Mooching Gum Association

The Latest Person to Be Clever with My Name

Dear Thousandth Person to Be Clever with My Last Name,

I understand the joke was new for you. Believe me, I do. You are very clever, just like everyone else. Remember the time you finished you witticism with, "you've probably heard that a thousand times..."?

Yeah, I have.

Why you went against your intuition and said it anyway, that I don't know.

Sincerely,

James INSERT JOKE HERE-INDUCING LAST NAME

Out-of-date Driver's License Pictures

Dear Out-of-date Driver's License Picture,

Remember the time you looked like me? I was 15, and I had just gotten a permit. Now, more than a decade later, your image is still my ID. When the government demands answers, your face attempts to provide them. Has this caused issues? Surely.

After all, we look nothing alike.

You were young. I am gray. I am wrinkled. Well, not yet, but someday I will be, and I'll have an out-of-date picture then too. Sometimes I feel older than every single picture of me...I'm not sure why though.

The other problem, of course, is you were taken during Arab-appreciation week and I happened to be wearing a turban in it. I also had a fake beard, although I can't pinpoint the exact reason for it. It's funny how life's minute details become so hazy to us now. I wouldn't even remember the beard if it hadn't been immortalized on a plastic card.

Indeed, I don't look exactly like you do. Different hair color...nose job...ear reduction...face tattoos. You have complicated my life, out-of-date driver's license.

When the government wants answers, you just give them plenty more to question.

I applaud your memory and curse your presence.

Sincerely,

My Current Face

// Forward Slashes //

Dear /,

As it turns out, for many years I have been incorrectly calling you a \. You aren't a \, you are a /.

It's embarrassing, but it's true. I've been saying H, T, T, P, colon, backslash, backslash, W, W, W, website name here for so long, when I should have been saying H, T, T, P, colon, forward slash, forward slash, W, W, W, website name here instead.

Wow.

And now that I've had time to think about this reverse directional name mix-hap, I've felt the error of my ways. I pause before saying backslash now. And let's face it, /, you are used much more often than your cousin, \.

And yet, with all due respect forward slash, I don't like calling you a forward slash. I prefer calling you a backslash because it saves me time. And the only reason I use you to begin with is to save time. So why should I call you forward slash when I can say backslash quicker. And to those who say: ' just call it a slash.' I respond: ' No gracias.'

Slash is boring. Backslash is funny. Forward slash takes to long.

Any slash worth anything is a backslash.

Sincerely///

Slashers

Neighbor with Unprotected Wireless Internet

Dear Neighbor with Unprotected Wireless Internet,

Things were good for so long. No password and no problem. I don't think you have ever had any idea that I was using your wireless Internet, and how could you -- you didn't even manage to set up a password. And then everything changed.

You didn't set up a password, but someone moved the router, I can tell. I remember the day, it was the day I couldn't check my email. The bars went down and so did my access.

Please, I don't know who you are or where you live, but can you please move your router back to its previous position? Perhaps you rotated it a little and have unknowingly created another obstruction. Perhaps you moved the computer. Perhaps you have added walls to the house. I don't know what it is, but it's a problem.

You don't need that router all to yourself. Read this letter, and let us go back to the way things were in our glory days.

Sincerely,

Your Neighbor

White Basketballers

Dear White Basketball Players,

What you lack in fast-twitch muscles, you make up for in fan affection. We know you've already overachieved... or that you are really, really tall, and speed and jumping ability don't matter that much anymore -- either way, we look up to you, white basketball players.

You break stereotypes every time you are good. There was a time when the stereotype wasn't so. All the best players were white... at least in the sense that society was racist and no one else had an opportunity. Yes, you had your moment in the sun -- it was the 1940s or 50s. You may be sad it's over, white basketball players, but in reality, doctors didn't know as much about skin cancer back then, so in a way it's good that you are now out of the sun. I guess I'm saying that you wouldn't be able to handle the ultraviolet sun exposure anyway so you might as well not be in the spotlight. I hope you're following this, white basketball players. On a related note, aloe vera gel is a beautiful thing.

When sociologists speak of white flight, they aren't talking about you guys. Indeed, Levar Burton used to sing, 'White guy in the sky, I can fly twice as high. So take a look, it's in a book, called modern racial makeup of the NBA.'

But don't let that bother you --

You are white. You still play ball.

Good on ya.

Sincerely,

Racial Athletic Expectations

Abandoned Blogs

Dear Abandoned Blog,

You're alone. Yet, you aren't. There are so many of you; each with its own domain name -- its own space and place. But abandoned nonetheless.

You began with optimism and hope. We all thought you'd go the distance, blog. We never thought your contributors would forget or get lazy or realize they didn't want so much of their personal lives out in the public... or maybe they finally noticed no one was reading you and it caused them to pause. That's probably what happened. And therefore, few, if any, care that you were abandoned.... but every once in a while, a reader does come to your space on the Internets, only to notice your last update was in 2005. Your current events are archives.

It's not unique to be abandoned; but unlike an abandoned toy or pet, your memory is digital, and thus, forever. An abandoned tortoise dies. An abandoned blog haunts. There's an old Chinese proverb that says something like that I believe.

Abandoned blog, you suck.

Sincerely,

The Internets

the Guy Who Waits Until the End of the Credits

Dear Guy Who Waits Until the End of the Credits,

We appreciate your independent spirit. We do.

It's the spirit of perseverance, the spirit of patience, the spirit of finding out who the assistant of the assistant's lighting, mixer specialist's cousin's right-hand man was in Daddy Day Camp. It's the spirit that keeps an audience seated while teenagers sweep up popcorn around their legs. It's the spirit that ignores the house lights hinting for them to leave. It's that spirit that says, "the theatre experience isn't over 'till I say it's over."

Few of us have learned what you already know: the movie doesn't really start until it's already ended. Did not Van Gogh leave his signature on his masterpieces? Did not Picasso? Did not Michelangelo? Others probably did too, but I don't know that much about art. And if they did, why shouldn't the masses behind Home Alone 3 do the same? And more importantly, why shouldn't you know who they are? It was a rhetorical question, but I know you know the answer. Your actions speak louder than any non-rhetorical answer ever could.

Guy who waits until the end of the credits, you don't hang around too long -- the rest of us don't hang around long enough. I'm just giving credit where credit is due; and credit is due for the guy who watches the credits. It's a credit to the credits.

Believe that.

Sincerely,

White type over black enthusiast

Chopsticks

Dear Chopsticks,

You are hard for me to use. My fingers aren't used to your ways. You are like the long, wooden, and joint-less limbs I never learned to operate.

Chopsticks, you came into my life last night. I didn't pick the restaurant, but you were there. The food was flavored for Americans, and you chopsticks, you were the marketing mechanism that added Eastern authenticity. You were also the default option. Could I have asked for a fork? Sure. But I didn't want to upset you. And why would I? Just because you're different doesn't mean you're inferior.

And it's true. I learned some tricks last night; I think we grew closer. If I ever drop a piece of food deep down in-between the couch cushions, and it's just out of reach, I'm going to use you, chopsticks. If I ever need to chop my food, I'm going for you, chopsticks. If I'm ever eating sticks, once again, I prefer the chopsticks. More sticks are better than less sticks, always.

Thank you chopsticks.

Sincerely,

Another Regular Consumer of Food

the Inventor of Marco Polo

Dear Inventor of Marco Polo,

Thank you. Thank you for immortalizing an ancient explorer through a game where children can swim blindly until, inevitably, someone smacks their face into a cement wall. A game where fish can be out of water -- as long as no one knows about it.

You have not only invented a staple of pool fun and shaped our views of history, you have changed the name Marco forever. It's because of you that Marcos everywhere will live a life where each time someone calls their name, a chorused echo of 'Polo' follows. Will it annoy them? Surely. But it's not your fault you invented a catchy game.

Indeed, inventor of Marco Polo man, in my book, you are a legend. You are a man whose only shortcoming is that you didn't labor further to extend the principles of Marco Polo to other athletic arenas. Who wouldn't want to play tennis shouting, "Andre...Agassi," or box blindly, "Mike...Tyson," or hunt deer amidst a refrain of, "Dick...Cheney"?

Thank you inventor of Marco Polo. You are a person of genius.

Will anyone ever yell at you, 'fish out of water!'? ....Only if the water is mediocrity.

Sincerely,

Swimmers Everywhere

My Friend Who Drives the Car Dumpster

Dear Friend Driving,

Oh, don’t worry about the trash my feet are in. I’m just a humble passenger, one without the expectations of clear floors or civil surroundings. The seat belt could be a little less sticky, but then again, I admit its glutinous nature would stabilize me during a potential collision, which is a real possibility considering the windshield’s current (lack of) visibility.

Oh, and please, I mean it -- you need not ever scramble to tidy up as I enter. Don’t rush to throw shoes and Wendy’s drive thru trash into the back seat. Seriously, those textbooks are fine where they are. I wouldn’t want you to clutter a section that has been so carefully stacked with the numerous necessities of life. It is, after all, apparent that for the past seven months you have been living out of your Accord, probably sleeping in the once-spacious back seat. If not, you are clearly preparing to live out of this sedan if your apartment blows up. And that isn’t something anyone is wishing for, but it is worth acknowledging that if it were to happen, we couldn’t help but celebrate the fact that a comparatively large percentage of your belongings would be safe because they are now stored in here.

I also would commend your ability to mask most of the auto’s scents through a robust use of the air conditioner or heater. The uncomfortable temperature certainly distracts me from the uncomfortable odors.

It’s OK you are messy. I am messy, too. I don’t drive my mess around, sure, but I have at times fallen victim to clutter as well. It’s actually quite refreshing to travel with a friend who says, ‘take me as I am,’ because at its heart it would seem contrived for you to, you know, live within the hygienic standards of most adults. That’s just not who you are. Don’t ever think you have to change for anyone. And don’t ever think about changing -- or cleaning -- your car.

Sincerely,

Your Passenger Drowning In Debris