Archive | October, 2010

Dear Jon Hamm

28 Oct

Dear Jon Hamm,

Please put on underwear. You are making it hard for women everywhere to get work done and they are also getting carpel tunnel from hitting “zoom” on their computers.

Look, you are generally considered to be extraordinarily handsome (even though I think you kind of look like a plastic Ken doll and that just weirds me out).  HOWEVER.  The guys who will inevitably copycat you will not be, and they will not be on our TVs / in our computers: they will be at the grocery store and in our yoga classes.  AND IT WILL NOT BE SEXY.

Be a role model, Jon Hamm.  Put some underpants on.

Thanks, that’s all for now,



Dear Sweatpants

27 Oct

Dear Sweatpants,

I recommend you for all occasions.

Except maybe funerals.

Wait. No.  WhatamIthinking.  If a dudette is going to a funeral, she is already feeling sad.  She does not also need to feel her pantyhose riding up.

Sweatpants FTW.



Dear B.J. Novak

25 Oct

Dear B.J. Novak,

Here’s the deal.  I’m hoping you’ll actually see this letter.  Because after watching this, I’ve come to believe a couple of things: 1. You regularly search the internet for your own name, variations of your name, and for the name of the fictional character you portray.  2.  We would really like each other.

Hear me out, ok?  We both really hate the way iTunes continually upgrades.  I wrote that letter before I watched you hosting the Webby awards.  I have no way to prove that to you.

Also!  Your parents established a Jewish matchmaking service (oh yeah, I Wikipediaed the hell out of you).  I spend a lot of time recommending my Jewish friends go on JDate.  I have an inordinate fondness for JDate.  I could start to recommend your parents’ service instead if you want.  I mean, part of my attachment to JDate is the name, which I think is awesome, but I’m not on it myself, and I’m not even Jewish, so I’m really not all that attached.  And now every time I see the name jeggings I think, Jewish leggings.  Obviously it’s time for a switch.

And I get that you’re into Natalie Portman.  She’s brunette, she’s smart, she’s Natalie Portman.  Hell, I’m into Natalie Portman.  On the other hand…I am not Natalie Portman, which might have its advantages.  Like: I’m not veganVegan people: the hardest friends in the world to please.  They don’t even pretend to be accommodating.  And they certainly don’t pretend not to judge you.  That sucks.  Nothing like a judge-y face to ruin a good hamburger and fries with a milkshake.  And they don’t even appreciate it if you offer them the tomato.  No gratitude whatsoever.

Now I have to hope you’re not vegan, too, B.J. Novak, but if you are, it never would have worked anyway.  C’est la vie.

Anyway, B.J. Novak, you’re clearly narcissistic.  You’re probably also deeply insecure.  Clearly this is not a new psychoanalysis of the profile of a writer, but I feel it bears repeating here.  Since you twitter-search for misspellings of your own name.  B.J.  The letter B.  Followed by the letter J.  How many ways are there to misspell that, exactly?  It’s a word that spells itself!  It’s made for Sesame Street.

Although I’m still not sure that justifies the beatings you probably took as a kid– what exactly was wrong with Benjamin?  Or Ben?  Or Joseph?  Was this an industry thing, where you were an adult and looking to make a name, and you thought everyone would be mature enough to move on?  Because I’m pretty sure Hollywood loves a good penis joke as much as the next playground.

Or is this a thing you use to separate out bros from potential friends?  If a dude giggles when you introduce yourself, he’s gone.  Out of the Novak entourage.  I have a friend who does that.  She tells people in bars she’s a “feminist studies major” then judges them by their reaction.  She swears it’s fullproof.  Personally, I just avoid talking to people in bars.  That’s foolproof too.  It also leaves me more time for writing things on the internet and baking and writing poems.

Man.  From that description, you would not think I have the level of social skills or personal hygiene that I do, in fact, possess.  Just took a shower and talked to some people today, in fact.

At any rate, B.J., you can find me here: dearmrpostman [at] gmail [dot] com.  I sincerely hope you do. I’m a big fan of your work.



Dear Doughnuts

24 Oct

Dear Doughnuts,

There’s something sexy about a girl shoving fried dough and frosting into her face on a Sunday, right? RIGHT?

Especially if she laughs in joy while she’s doing it and licks her fingers afterward and talks with her mouth full of doughnut about how awesome doughnuts are?  And insists on turning around and going right back to the store to buy another one?

Yeah I thought so.



Dear iTunes

21 Oct

Dear iTunes,

If you keep providing new, updated software, I will trash you so hard your head will hit the computer-icon garbage can and Steve Jobs will be all: “ow.”

Here’s the thing: I am what scientists call a “luddite.”  Which is a cool word, because it kind of sounds like graphite, and I like pencils.  Anyway: Who KNOWS how I write this blog.

I barely know how to make playlists.  And whenever Apple updates your graphics potential (pictures are graphics, right? right? oh whatever youknowwhatImean), it makes me realize I don’t actually have any pretty album covers or music videos, which just makes me feel hateful and uncool and ugly and like John Cusack circa 1989 will never love me.

And that hurts. So stop it.


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