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