My Unborn Children

Dear Unborn Children,

I hope you don't get as many of my genes as I did. I ended up with 100% of my own genes. If you are fortunate, you'll get less than 50% of mine and the rest will be from a woman who --although I don't know her-- will likely be a better genetic bet than me. I have some issues. Physically, I have this weird skin discoloration on my right arm, and you don't want any part of that. Athletically, I'm just good enough to delude myself into visions of grandeur, but nothing more. Mentally, my attention span isn't as good as advertised. And emotionally, I'm regularly accused of not feeling things I do... so you'll want to avoid that, too.

I guess I'm saying that I'm not a perfect genetic specimen, okay? But that doesn't mean you can't lead a normal life. I've led a normal life, at least on paper. The truth is I'm going to be handicapping you as much as the next guy. You're going to have problems. But if I've been able to overcome my own handicaps (which I haven't but that's besides the point) then you can do it, too.

So I guess I'm apologizing in advance.

Sincerely,

A Future Parent

So I went to the hospital and the sonogram revealed that not only am I not pregnant but that my insides look like the planet Mercury. I think this is because I've been eating a lot of contaminated seafood.

the US Postal Service

Dear United States Postal Service,

Not only did you lose $8 and half billion dollars last year, you lost some of my mail. I'm not even upset, though. You are all about delivering letters and this blog is all about writing letters -- we're a great match.

That said, some of the letters you don't lose confuse me. If I send a letter to an incorrect address in upstate Maine, you will take that letter all the way to Maine and then, realizing it's incorrect, send it all the way back across the country to my return address. A piece of paper just traveled an extra 3,000 miles at no cost -- you should have thrown that thing away in Maine. If I don't know where I'm sending my mail, I don't deserve to get it back. These are the types of financial decisions you are messing up. Look -- I could drop a letter in a post office box without a stamp, and you will send it to my return address to tell me I forgot the stamp. Did you ever consider that I could put the address where I want something delivered as the return address and trick you into delivering a letter for me at absolutely no cost? I could.

You have a monopoly on people's mail boxes, literally. Yet, you are losing money. What kind of monopoly loses money? You don't seem to understand how monopolies work. If you were playing the board game, you'd think Mediterranean and Baltic Avenue were the keys to success.

Sincerely,

A Mailer

Tomato Bank

Dear Tomato Bank,

Oh, how my heart fluttered when I saw that you are a real bank.

Is your name lost in translation? One can only hope. But then again, there are a lot of good commodities to invest in in the world -- gold... silver... oil... frozen concentrated orange juice.... so, why not tomatoes, too? I like ketchup. Now, that I opened up an account with Tomato Bank, I'm one checking account at Sugar Bank away from ensuring the future of both my finances and hot dog condimentation.

Admiring your APY,

Another Tomato Investor

April

Dear April,

At last count, there are twelve months. But there are only two months you can name someone after: April and June.

You can name someone May, but the spelling is debatable and the results are precarious. And you can almost name someone August, but I think that's supposed to be Augusto. If you were to name someone after any of the other months, it's hard to say what would happen. January is a girl's name, but before you name any girl January you need to realize a disproportionate number of Januaries are strippers. Same could be said about December. October strikes me as very masculine, but I worry that anyone named October will be an alcoholic. July and November are disconcertingly androgynous, creepy names. And anyone named February might not be human at all. I'd name a robot February. March? That's a verb, not a noun. September? That's not even a good month, let alone name.

Anyway, the reason I write you this is you are in a unique position, April. There are only two real month names, and you are one of them. Also, you have an edge on June, as that name's popularity has really plummeted and for good reason, it's old-fashioned. April, you have an edge on the season names, too. Summer? Too flowery. I have a friend named Fall, who was named after her Grandmother Autumn, but I don't know about that name either -- you shouldn't name a child after a time when the plants start to die.

So this month, lots of girls will be named after you, April. And I guess that what I want to say is this: I hope all the people who want to name a kid after a month or a season have their kid in the next thirty days. We don't need any more Decembers or Februaries or Octobers or Summers running around. But we can always use more Aprils.

Sincerely,

An Observer of Names

READERS: If you have heard of any other day/month/season names I missed, please share.

3D Movies

Dear 3D Movie,

You are quite clever, 3D, the way you can pop out of the screen, hurtling shards of glass at my face. You're the novelty that keeps on giving.

Though, I have to confess something. After about twenty minutes, I decided I'd rather watch a blurry 2D version of you instead of the head-ache-inducing 3D version. I was the one in the front who threw my glasses at the screen and yelled, "not worth the money." I was the one who left early. I was the one who asked the teenager at the concessions for an Advil.

When I go the movies, I don't want to have to wear glasses. You wear glasses when you want to do something intelligent, like read. If I wanted to read, I wouldn't be at the movies.

Sincerely,

"Next Time I'll Pass"

Mort, A Victim of Circumstance

Dear Mort,

It's been some time since I last wrote, and I apologize for not being a better friend. It's amazing how life always seems to get busier and busier. As I was sitting in my study today, it occurred to me that I have yet to formally apologize to you for that time I shot you in the leg. I'm sorry. I really mean that. I do not, of course, mean that I feel any regret about my actions. I still believe I made the right decision, but I am sorry that it had to happen. I am very sorry that you felt it was necessary to continue tickling me when I strongly asked you to stop. I know you thought it was funny, surely, I understand your point of view here... but I could barely breathe. If I had not happened to be packing heat at the time or been quick enough on the trigger, I may have suffocated. And that's not a laughing matter. You should know better. We're two grown men. I gave up tickling other men years ago. That said, I do so wish you would return my calls. It seems that the only person I can get a hold of in your family is your brother-in-law, the attorney. In fact, he keeps calling me. I don't really know him well at all, though, and I am not actively looking for new friends. So if you see him any time in the near future, you can tell him I don't care much for his attempts at fraternization and he can stop calling.

Your old friend,

James

The Admissions Board

Dear Admissions Board,

It's hard for me to share my entire life story in just 500 words. I also find it daunting that you've left the door open a bit by suggesting the essay comes in 500 words or less. When I read that we could write less than 500 words, I immediately started wondering if that's your way of hinting that that is actually what you would prefer. If it was what you were trying to say, I must add that it was quite the sly way of doing it, and you would do well in dinner conversations that involve code, ciphers, and double entendre and such. Anyway, I researched the topic, but was unable to find any definite answers about your preferred word count. Most web sites suggest brevity and relevance to topic in these sorts of personal essays. I decided that was the only advice that I would need and left it at there! So, I can't definitely say how many words it will take me to summarize my life. All I can say, is that not one single word will be wasted... no matter the quantity or quality of aforementioned words. You know, it’s funny, though, the way words have a way of saying so much about a person. I think it’s quite astute of you to encourage them (words) as the means to convey (tell) one’s (an individual's) story (tale). You could have insisted on a short silent film, a dramatic portrait, or some other medium that didn’t involve any words at all. But you wanted words. So that’s what I’m going to do, use words. Now, one thing you should know about me, however, is that if you change your mind and don’t want a written essay, I could pop out some nice works of art that explain very clearly where I came from, where I am going, and where I have been in the meantime. It would be a very large portrait though, perhaps bordering on mural-size because of the girth and depth of the story behind it. This would be, of course, quite complicated to pull off as an admissions board. You would have to find plenty of empty wall space near freeway overpasses for the mural. I think I would do well in this type of environment, not because I am a great artist, but because I am comfortable around freeways. The noise bothers some people, but not me. I love the nice constant buzz of air pollution. The truth is, I’m hard to distract once I’m focused, in a zone, facing the challenges put in front of me. It’s been that way ever since my uncle’s unexpected death and my unexpected incarceration regarding the incident, which was eventually all sorted out. Just some miscommunication between me and the police, most of it stemming from my poor handwriting. They misread my praise of their job for a confession! Anyway, looks like I’m already at 500 words. You should definitely let me in -- I’m great.

Sincerely,

The Next Student in Your English Doctorate Program (hopefully!)