Thursday, January 15, 2009

Open Letters

I have a couple of things I'd like to say to people I do not know (or know well) and thought of the awesomeness that is McSweeney's Open Letters. These won't necessarily be as funny or amusing as the stuff posted there, but they need to be said nonetheless.

Dear Male Teenage Movie/Television Stars of the 90's,

I had a dream about one of you a couple of weeks ago and for the life of me I can't remember your name. I can picture you... doing something... some kind of acting somewhere... just not what you're doing or who you're with. I can't remember if I saw you in movies or tv shows or both. I'm not even sure I have the right decade! I did however go to a website featuring 80's movies and clicked on every single damn link and couldn't find you. Thinking about it since then I'm pretty sure you're a 90's Almost Star. From the little I can picture of you, I see you with a sort of 90's 'do.

You're like a cross between Zack from Saved By the Bell and the oldest son from the tv show Home Improvement with Tim Allen. You have the face of the latter and the cool hot blonde high school boy attitude of the former. Around Tiger Beat cover age.

All those that fit the above description, please leave a comment with your name and a site I can google to find an image of yourself. This would be greatly appreciated.

Because seriously, its driving me insane that I can't remember where I've seen you before!

Your Not So Biggest Fan

Dear Sidewalk-Standing Sign-Holding Guy,

Boy do you rock out with those headphones on. Don't you ever get tired? I don't know if you're listening to hip hop or techno music, or maybe you're just really passionate about Barry Manilow remixes. Whatever it is, keep listening! And keep groving! Close those eyes and hold up that sign and pretend like no one can see you. Pretend like you're on a crowded dance floor and all you can do is dance until it hurts.

You make me smile every time I see you, even after long, crappy days of SUCK.

Rock on,
Girl Who Watches You Shake Your Ass Every Day

Dear Radio Station I Love To Listen To But Want To Slap,

Stop playing the same damn Offspring song over and over and over again. If you don't know which one I'm talking about, then that means you're playing too many god damn Offspring songs! They're okay, but when you play a song to death it makes we wish death upon you all!

(Okay that's harsh. Maybe I just wish a very nasty rash that doesn't go away. Or just flares up to cause intense pain every time you play that song.)

That song is 'you're gonna go far kid.'

I was indifferent to that song when it first came out. It was catchy, and grew on me a little (Ew! Get it off! Get it off!) but now I loathe the very sound of the singers voice with the passion of a thousand angry grasshoppers. When I'm in the car I can turn to another station, but at work I'm streaming you guys over the internet. I can turn the volume down of course. but then I have to play the "Is the song done yet? No. How 'bout now? Shit not yet. Now? Gah! Die song DIE!" game. I played that with that stupid paper planes song and its annoying. The song and needing to avoid it.

Yours Truly,
Long Time Listener, First Time Letter Writer

Dear Internet Google Sleuther(s),

If you found this site from the email address I gave you or you acquired through other means...


Now go away. Do it.

No really. Don't read any of this stuff. Pretend you were never here. And I'll do the same. :)

These are not the droids you are looking for.

I have found posts/comments made by people from email addys before. It's a thrill to peek in on another internet hemisphere that person lurks in. I get it, so I'm sure I'm not the only one that does it. And I'm sure any one of you might get an inkling to do the same. Some more than others but... Hmmm... I guess what I'm trying to say is this:

Don't tell anyone else?! K? Secret Keeping Powers Activate!

Gee, I don't sound paranoid or anything do I?

Ms. Loon

Okay. I can't think straight anymore so no more letters for now. The morning radio show I'm listening to is playing "highlights" from last night's American Idol show and the screeching is making me cringe.

Can't. Focus. Fingernails. Chalkboard. Brain. Death.

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