Dear Faircrest Management,

I am writing to thank you for not putting any screens in my windows.  Though I wrote you several weeks ago to request said window screens after being accosted by several large wasps, I have since seen the error of my ways.  

Indeed, your delinquency in fulfilling my request has become quite fortuitous.  For weeks now I have had the unparalleled opportunity to witness nature in its most wild, free state, without the unseemly barriers of unsophisticated, nay, uncivilized mesh screens.  You have enabled me to return my apartment to a pre-modern state.  Each morning I awaken to the soft buzzing of god’s soldiers, and every night I sleep under gossamer canopies spun by the silent yearnings of my eight-legged friends.  It is truly paradise on earth.

home sweet home

In the coming months, as the earth makes its weary journey around the celestial orb and day turns to night ever the more swiftly, I look forward with hope in my heart that more of god’s creatures will take their refuge in my humble abode.  May the noble sparrow build its nest in my lowly living room, elevating it to untold heights!  Hibernation is no match for the earthly delights my apartment may hold for the clever squirrel and her eager brood!  

For this exquisite menagerie I thank you heartily, Faircrest Management.  You have saved me from a world of modern horrors and cold machines, and ushered in the dawning of a new age of Enlightenment.  

Your humble servant,

Cindy

Dear Ex-Landlord,

I recently finished re-cleaning an already clean apartment, just so you could have the satisfaction of knowing that you could make me do something insane because you still have my security deposit.  Now, I am a pretty reasonable person, and if you refund my deposit in full with interest, I will eventually stop caring that you are an evil control freak.  However, if you choose to withhold one red cent of my money, I will go into revenge mode, which I warn you will not be pretty.  

You see, there are few things in this world that can sustain anger in me.  I tend to be more of the spiteful type, eeking out small retributions for mild irritations in my own little ways.  But you, ex-landlord, have triggered something more base in me, something almost primeval in nature, and fecund with rage.  In this case, mere spite will not suffice.  

Under the normal influence of spite, I would fashion a charm out of something dear to you, a toilet plunger perhaps, or a 2-yr lease, and channel the powers of the Dark Lord to plague your home with walls that will never be completely white, countertops that will never shine like new, wood floors that are permanently dusty, and a bathtub and toilet that will never be free of hard water stains.  Additionally I would ask He Who Shall Not Be Named to teleport all of your dishes and countertops to another dimension, forcing you to eat off the never fully-clean floor, only to then try and wash your hands in a sink whose water will always be slightly brown.  Yes, these things I would ask The One True Evil to do, if in fact I was only feeling spiteful toward you.  

Unfortunately for you, you have ignited a deeper rage, one that transcends good and evil; the flames of which no god dare approach.  Nay, instead of such petty little tortures, I will invoke your true name and emblazon your likeness here, on the world wide parchment, for all to see.  

Let this image be a warning to all of you would-be renters out there!  This is what John Wright looks like in his true form.  Cower in the shadow of his clown-like hair!  Fear his white tennis shoes!  And shudder at the many pastel-colored polos he is known to wear as light armour.  

You see John Wright, with your true nature exposed, your power will wane in this world.  May the gods have mercy upon your soullessness.  

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate!

Cindy

Dear Transportation Security Administration,

In this post-9/11 world, I understand the great lengths to which this noble country must go to protect the freedoms that too many of us take for granted on a daily basis. I, personally, realize that these freedoms come at a price, a price too high to tally or itemize. In fact, to try to even quantify the cost of freedom would be crass, vulgar, and disrespectful to the memories of those who have paid with their lives for the freedom of not only Americans, Iraqis, and Afghanis, but really, everyone everywhere since the dawn of time. 

It is for this reason that I do not fault you for my recent losses while traveling across our great nation. In fact, I believe that it is in the service of freedom that the TSA reappropriated my Battlestar Galactica: Razor DVD and Star Trek: Captain’s Log DVD. For this honor, I am eternally grateful, and am glad to have done my part to secure the freedom of the world, nay, the universe! For I believe that my DVD’s were recommissioned in order to help train military assets in your top-secret “Operation Intergalactic Freedom” program. 

I have long suspected that while our freedom on this earthly plane has remained secure, we are daily threatened by invisible, intergalactic beings who can only have the most sinister designs for America, and Earth at large. While I believe the training simulations run at prison camps like Abu Ghraib represent an effective start on how to deal with Alien invasions, truly, such training becomes elementary when compared to the undoubtedly advanced technology of the alien hordes who lurk just outside our galaxy’s borders. 

It is for this reason that I believe our soldiers need the wisdom and counsel of great future leaders like Captain Kirk, Captain Picard, and yes, even Captain Janeway. The diplomatic expertise of these collective leaders demonstrates the type of intellect, savvy, and sensuality necessary for making first contact with hostile alien forces. Soldiers must learn that before we resort to violence, we must present the guise of diplomacy, and lure the hostile aliens into thinking that Earth’s domination is, for lack of a better phrase, a sure thing. Just think of Janeway’s ingenius defeat of the Borg. She willingly ignored the sanctity of the temporal prime directive in order to achieve a greater good–the safety of humankind, and the safe return of her ship to the Alpha quadrant. Or consider Picard, whose intellectual curiosity and charming accent helped smooth over many a diplomatic nightmare with hostile species like the Cardassians and the Romulans. Once we have lured the alien forces into the comfort of our loins of freedom, we can then use the great military experiences of Admiral Adama as a guiding light for how to ultimately bring democracy to the universe. 

As you of course know, Adama’s universe was once foolish enough to assume that their Cylon neighbors were no longer a threat. Lulled into a comfortable freedom coma, Adama’s world was nearly completely annihilated by an unexpected Cylon invasion. Cylons, with their complete lack of compassion, would not hesitate to behead a baby if it meant there would be one less human on Caprica. What did we learn from all this? We have learned that aliens cannot be trusted, no matter how physically attractive they might seem, and that ultimately, the only thing that can save our humanity is the continued dissemination of democracy across the universe. 

In order to do this, we must first secure the borders of the Milky Way. Whether this means building a giant, energy barrier around the giant swirl we are proud to call home, or sending an army of drone aircraft to patrol our borders, we must make intergalactic freedom our highest priority. I, for one, am firmly behind Operation Intergalactic Freedom 100%, and indeed, if you should ever need my expertise in military strategy, I willingly volunteer my humble services. 

And truly, TSA, should you ever need to borrow more of my military training videos, all you have to do is ask. I’ll even bring popcorn. 

Sincerely,
Cindy

Dear Julie Lund,

 

monochromatic

You seem nice, and do a pretty decent job of delivering the local news.  Unfortunately, I can barely concentrate on the news you deliver because the color of your hair nearly perfectly matches the color of your skin.  I’m not sure if it’s the lighting of Fox studios, or some strange illusion coming from the color balance of my television screen.  But even in this press photo, you can see how your hair color/skin color meld dangerously into a single, monochromatic orangish-blonde tone.  I feel this monochromaticism vastly undermines the integrity of your newscast, and could easily be remedied with a good colorist, and less bronzer.  If you would like a salon referral, please let me know.  

Best of luck,

Cindy

Dear Heat and Humidity,

We need to talk.  Right now I’m sitting perfectly still in front of a fan, and guess what?  I’m sweating like a fat man at an Indian restaurant.  I’m not generally a sweaty person.  In fact, my distorted self-image often conceives of itself as having transcended sweat.  If I were giving a fake name like “Mega T. Ron” to the hostess at Red Lobster, I wouldn’t break a sweat.  Sometimes when I go to the gym and get on the running-in-place-from-your-invisible-worst-enemies machine, I hardly break a sweat.  When I steal strange, overpriced, fermented drinks with floaty chunks in them from Whole Foods, I’m cool as a cucumber.  So how come right now, as I sit here, doing practically nothing except moving my fingers, am I sweating?  

Heat and humidity, your unholy alliance is an insult to benignly inactive people the world over.  I feel a good sweat should be earned, from things like lying to your loved ones, or cheating on your taxes, or voting republican.

I challenge you to a bout of mortal combat.  Untangle yourselves heat and humidity, and fight like a man.  Like a really small, lazy man.  Only then will I totally crush you with my half-assed muscles.  

Sweatily yours,

Cindy

Dear Starbucks and Borders,

Please join the 21st century and offer free wireless.  It’s one thing to be a giant, lame, corporation.  It’s another to be cheap and withholding.  I’m willing to overlook the former, especially when it’s hot outside and your air conditioning is turned to sub-zero for chilling the hearts of mindless consumers.  However, it has recently come to my attention that Copps, McDonald’s, and Casa De Lara have free wifi.  A grocery store, a greasy fast food joint, and a Mexican restaurant.  You are being outdone by places where wifi is beyond unnecessary.  And yet, here I am wondering if it might be worth it to chill out in the produce aisle with my McDonald’s coffee and a quesadilla, just to enjoy the lure of free wifi.

Free wifi.  Do it.  

Warmest regards,

Cindy

Dear Laundry 101,

I am writing because I feel your name is misleading.  When I enter a place of business that claims to have “101″ status, I imagine remedial, but reliable services.  However, of your 50 some odd washing machines and dryers, nearly 30-40% are, “out of order.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In fact, these machines have been out of order for at least several months.  I will be the first to admit that I know very little about the art of washer and dryer maintenance.  I imagine it requires an above average knowledge of electrical wiring and circuitry.  I do however know quite a bit about 101 level courses, and your laundromat, with its voracious apathy toward washer/dryer upkeep, should be more aptly renamed “Laundry 100.”  Yes, it’s a minor quibble, but one that I think would better advertise the true nature of your services.

See you in a month,

Cindy

Dear Gratuitous Hipster Moustache,

I realize that my lonely cry into the dark against the perseverance of the hipster crustache will most likely go unheeded, but I feel duty-bound to devote this mini-missive to those who would insist on taking what is at best a humorous nod to the 19th and early 20th centuries and allowing it to walk the streets of the 21st.  The hipster crustache, as it shall henceforth be known, looks eerily similar to those found in early 20th century portraiture.  

Fig. 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This image, though you may think it is a new indie supergroup from Montreal, is actually a picture of railway workers from the early 1900s!  These moustached gentlemen, with their fine waistcoats, ties, vests, and handkerchiefs, actually worked with their bare hands to maintain the early rail systems.  They wear moustaches as a symbol of their rugged manhood, genteel virility, and readiness to mate.  I believe the modern hipster crustache likewise endeavors to attach these qualities to itself.

Fig. 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, the modern hipster crustache fails to achieve equivalent levels of manliness as established by their late 19th and early 20th century predecessors.  While this species of facial hair denotes a certain aloof yet overstated willingness to mate, the necessary corollaries of virility and manliness remain sadly absent.  

I am no expert on facial hair, being unable to grow any myself, but in the unlikely event that a super virus eradicates all men from earth except two, one who wears a hipster crustache and one who doesn’t, I am positive that the one without the crustache will get laid more.

Best Regards,

Cindy

Dear M. Night Shyamalan,

I recently paid money to see “The Happening.”  

You know those people who go through life thinking that everything happens for a reason, that whether it’s Fate or God or some Sentient Energy Stream pulling the strings, every single occurrence, from the sip of tea we take first thing in the morning to the mosquito you kill as its biting you at dusk, serves a specific purpose in Existence?  And that consequently, as we wither away into old age, we can look back on life’s events, from the most miniscule events to its most grandiose peaks, and have no regrets?  Well?  I am not one of those people.  In fact, I am often filled with regret, and after seeing your “movie”, I was not only filled with regret, but contempt.  

Now, I am not a filmmaker.  Why?  Because I would suck at making films.  I would wake up and say to myself:  ”You know what film needs to be made?  A film about a cataclysmic nuclear event where a family of stray Grizzly Bears swims in a contaminated lake and develop gills and webbed paws.  This family of water breathing grizzlies then takes to the open ocean, only to find themselves in an epic territorial battle against a school of great white sharks, who have likewise been accidentally gifted with the ability to foresee the future.  These prophetic great whites are being hunted by a team of evil Russian scientists, who are secretly being funded by a megalomaniac survivalist living deep in Alaskan interior, who is actually a deposed Croation Prince seeking revenge on the World.  Eventually, the Grizzlies and the Great Whites realize  (by looking into the future) that the only way to survive is to join forces, lure the Russians into a battle at sea, and eat them all.  

YES.  My film would suck.  It would cost billions of dollars to make, and scores of animals and extras would die in the process making my film.  But see, I have the foresight not to let this film see the light of day.  And I would definitely not want to be in my film.  

M. Night Shyamalan, all I ask is that you exercise restraint, take a break, take ten years off.  From my ill-informed perspective as a non-filmmaker, it is my theory that you wrote the happening while sitting on the toilet with your laptop reading headlines about how the honeybees have mysteriously disappeared.  Had you executed a number 1, The Happening might never have happened.  But perhaps an odd twist of fate–too much chinese takeout the night before or an allergic reaction to dairy–may have kept you on that toilet for 25-30 minutes, allowing you to build those headlines about honeybees into a whole movie script.  

Now I suffer the consequences.  I have to face my friends and family and admit that I willingly watched your film in the theater, albeit because of the company I was with.  But I’m not here to point fingers at anyone.  I’m here to let you know that if you ever, ever want to make another movie, please contact me first.  I have a very workable draft of “Grizzly vs. Great White” for you.  

Yours Truly,

Cindy

Dear Airport Food Court Restaurants,

Please stop the bad punning.  For the love of god, you have a CAPTIVE audience.  No one can escape your foul, grade D food product.  Once we’ve made it past those security lines there’s no way we can get any food other than what lies in your rank buffet lines.  So spare us your bad punning.  Mex and the City?  Really?  Was that the best you could do?  At JFK no less?  I just want you to know that the man looking so intently at your menu, you know, the one in the striped shirt–he’s hungry.  He wants Mexican food.  Even third-rate airport Mexican food.  And he’s going to get it from Mex and the City.  You want to know what else?  If you had named your stand “Handheld Ground Meat”, old stripey would have showed up.  He’s hungry and doesn’t give a shit because he’s been traveling for 8 hours on nothing but peanuts.  But you know what?  I won’t eat at Mex and the City because it’s just lousy punning.  If you want my patronage next time I’m trapped at JFK, please change your name to The Ground Meat and Greet.  Sincerely Yours,

Cindy