Archive | February, 2010

Dear Zoo

26 Feb

From John James Audobon. So you know it's real.

Dear Zoo,

You fill me with joy.

Also, potentially, with tired feet and hopefully, sticky fingers from something disgusting to eat like cotton candy. Maybe rage when the little kids won’t get out of my way to let me see the pandas.

So the thing about the San Diego zoo is they tell you it’s too big to walk around and then make you wait in a giant wooden structure that looks a lot like the playground at my elementary school before they decided that little kids shouldn’t have the opportunity to jump off essentially a three-story building. Then they pack you onto buses and drive you around. And you can’t see anything because you’re on a bus so you can’t get even near a crowded fence.

I am always surprised, however, at how clear the gate is around the flamingos. Their knees! They bend backwards! Is that not the craziest thing you’ve ever heard???

I thought so.



Dear Zac Efron in “17 Again” (guest letter)

23 Feb

dear zac efron in “17 AGAIN,”

OH-EM-GEE. you wear that shirt welllll, boy. even though the plaid of it is so indiscreetly target brand, i like your STYLE. you make a collarless black leather jacket look good, and that’s really saying something. plus– the way your bangs stay against your forehead no matter what speed you’re moving at–now THAT is sexy. how do you do it, zac efron? how do you make dance moves with a basketball look more than plausible? how do you pretend to be straight enough to make vanessa hudgens want to sleep with you? is she just a high school (musical) thing? even when you were hitting on that mom who is played by judd apatow’s wife when you were supposedly young matthew perry, i watched with one eye just to see your hairless chest flash in the fake hollywood yard set. thank goodness for your BOD, zac efron. now all you have to do is say yes to a role that’s not set in high school.

your secret overage admirer

(by special guest contributor Taylor Katz) (not so secret)

Dear Olympics

16 Feb

Dear Olympics,

I don’t feel particularly strongly about you.  I also don’t have cable right now, so that’s contributing a lot of apathy to my previous neutrality.

But here’s the thing: I was at my parent’s house this weekend, and my dad likes to watch golf, my mom likes to watch Masterpiece Theatre (yes, with an -re), and I like to watch trash when I have a tv available to me, and my aunt was visiting, and I guess I don’t really know what she likes to watch, so we watched the Olympics.  Obviously.

The thing is, I don’t care that much about who wins (go usa…i guess…unless somebody else has a cooler costume/uniform/haircut) watching the competitions is basically soothing.  You know, people doing things on the screen without an emotional narrative to stress me out.  Like watching golf. Ok, I get that the journey to the Olympics is emotional, and a lot of these athletes are people (oh wait, all of them are) so therefore have stories and lives and therefore drama, but for the most part, I don’t know any of that so it doesn’t effect me (ignorance is ignorance, what can I say).

So soothing.

OR. People are falling and you watching their dreams crushed before your eyes, perhaps permanently, because the games are only once every four years and a lot changes in that time and well, CRAP. DREAMS. GONE. Ciao, dreams. And then it is really stressful and I hide my eyes and cringe a lot and hope nobody gets hurt.

So— not soothing.

I’m glad we had this talk.

Also, Bob Costas, how old are you?

Anyway, basically I want everyone to have the best skate/run/match/game/race/performance/event of their lives so they can all feel good about themselves and maybe have a celebratory party at Pizza Hut afterward like we did at the end of the nerf soccer season.  Which would also allow a lot of the budget from the Olympics to go to homelessness because I bet Pizza Hut would do it for the free publicity. Unlike the $10 a head they charged our parents.


Dear Me

10 Feb

Dear Me,

(This salutation reads 2 ways: as a letter to myself, and as an exclamation of surprise and disappointment, i.e. dear me! You’ll see why.)

This morning, I thought to myself, I haven’t left the house yet today (10:46 am). Then I thought, this isn’t unusual.

Then I thought, and this is where it gets weird, It’s ok. I have windows.

Right. So it’s time for me to either get a cat or go outside more often.

…I don’t really like cats.


Dear 7-Eleven

9 Feb

Dear 7-Eleven,

My sister has lived near you for a couple of years now, and frequently extolled the glory of your proximity.  I was all, yeah ok great totally! 7-eleven! abso-wonder-lutely.

Now I live half a block from one of your glorious locations and oh! 7-eleven! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING. My neighbors call you “the pantry” and for good reason.

Cold drinks. Beer. Wine. Cereal. Juice. Brown Sugar. Condoms. Firewood. Magazines. Marshmallows. Chips. Salsas. Crackers. Cheese. Milk. Eggs. Doughnuts. Donettes. Coffee. Cream. Batteries. Tape. Paper. Notebooks. Granola bars. Gummy bears. Gummy worms. Bananas. Chocolate milk (oooh). Hot dogs. Cream cheese. Scissors. Peanuts. Flashlights. Sunflower seeds. Candy bars. Pretzels. Little clippy thingies. Ice cream. Ice cream sandwiches (helloooo).

You see my point. You must concede my point: you are fantastic. You even have a redbox DVD rental for $1 a day now. HEY-O.

I do have one question though– can you explain why, every time I walk in your doors, I must look at everything? Even when I know very specifically what I want and I’m late?

I am never going to buy one of those hot dogs. Why must I walk by and look at them?

That’d be great. Thanks. Otherwise, keep up the good work.



PS– Maybe you could start stocking rice? I mean, only if you want to. It’s cool if you’re too busy being awesome.

PPS– I know I didn’t list Slurpees. It’s because I don’t like them. Leave the pitchforks at home, please.

%d bloggers like this: