Brett's Letters to the President Has A Dedicated Site!

You will now be redirected to Brett's new site!

Letter to the President #46 | Subject: Getting Engaged, The New Year, Disney Movies, etc.

Dear President Obama,

Well, I’ve got some news to share at the start of the New Year—I got engaged! Yep, my girlfriend and I went to the Foshay Tower, the first skyscraper built in Minneapolis, which is now a hotel, and we stayed the night and went to Murray’s, one of the finer dining establishments in town.

That wasn’t my original proposal idea; I’d contacted the folks at the Como Zoo in St. Paul and asked if I could propose amid the penguins, but no dice. Apparently the penguins are as aristocratic as I thought. They have all these unspoken rules about dress codes and social order, and the zookeepers tell me that the penguins likely would have scoffed at anything but Tiffany and Company jewels. In short, they’re kind of like Victorian British people.

And really, the whole marriage proposal/engagement process seems somewhat aristocratic to me. First, there is the term “proposal” itself. That’s not a word most people use very often; when I think of proposals, I usually think of business—building townhomes with a highway for a front yard or draining a bunch of wetlands for a strip mall. (Well, that or Jonathan Swift and eating babies.)

And once a proposal has been accepted, it’s declared an engagement. It’s strange we generally use the word engagement in one of two different ways— either one can either expect cake or artillery shells. (If it’s a military wedding, perhaps both.)

Anyway, as I’m now officially part of my fiancee’s family (Mr. President, do you also associate the word family with the mob? I do.), I attended their Christmas celebration, which as tradition dictates, involves a movie and a steak and crab dinner. Now I’m going to state the obvious here, but crabs have a lot of legs. As I was disassembling my meal, digit by digit, it struck me that perhaps we’re using crabs for the wrong purpose. Yes, they certainly are tasty, but they have a lot of legs. I bet king crabs could type really fast if we gave them typewriters. Of course, keyboards would be problematic, as we’d have to protect the electronics from the water, and that’d probably involve scuba suits. And then the copiers and all the other office equipment would feel left out and want one and pretty soon we’d have a whole menagerie of office equipment under the sea. First off, that’d look really weird, and there’s a pretty good chance that they’d turn that into a Disney musical like The Little Mermaid.

(I don’t know if I could handle another one of those movies; sometimes I buy king crab at the grocery store hoping that it’s one Sebastian’s relatives.) If that seems farfetched, remember that movie The Brave Little Toaster?

I’m pretty sure that movie was created in similar fashion. The writer had a deadline and was desperate. He looked in his living room and saw a blanket, a lamp, a vacuum cleaner, and in the kitchen—a toaster on the counter. The toaster was sitting all alone next to the blender, which nearly made the writer’s girlfriend an amputee, so the writer decided it was brave.

Really? Even as a kid, I knew there wasn’t much to associate with in that show. I mean, blankets aren’t that tough, lamps wear lampshades (apparently they haven’t heard of hats?), vacuums suck, and toasters are ridiculously vulnerable to forks and/or knives, as my mother always warned/informed me.

Anyway, thankfully we didn’t see a Disney movie or anything like that. We saw Sherlock Holmes; it was fun, but I was unaware that Sherlock was an expert in Muay Thai boxing and was not very tall and didn’t carry a magnifying glass everywhere he went. (It was also a surprise to find out that he was Robert Downey, Jr.)

With that said, it was a lot of fun, and I’m certainly excited for the New Year.

Take care,

Brett




P.S. After a break, I'm back at the letters to President Obama. Here's the deal: I write him a random, zany letter, then I send it. Here's to hoping to getting a response. Read them all at this link:

http://brettsletterstothepres.blogspot.com/

If you like these letters, PLEASE help me get the word out. I am the world's worst marketer, so please tell your friends, post them on social networking sites, and whatnot.

You can also join my gather group here: letterstothepres.gather.com

Become a fan on Facebook here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/pages/Brett-Ortlers-Letters-to-the-President/211691443300?ref=ts

Or join my Facebook group here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/group.php?gid=133461535328&ref=ts

Letter to President Obama #45 | Subject: Santa, Ghosts, That Stupid Dog That Laughs At You In Duck Hunt

Dear President Obama,

Each holiday has its own associated stories and tall tales and characters, and as Christmas just passed, I’ve been thinking about Santa and the elves, and other holidays too. When separated from their holiday context, some holiday stories don’t make a lot of sense. Some are even a little creepy. Santa Claus is a good example.

Santa Claus

I mean, consider Santa Claus. If you walked up to me and told me that an obese bearded man who lives at the North Pole on a bunch of pack-ice knows if I’ve been naughty or nice because he’s been watching me and is planning to sneak into my home via my chimney and then abscond with milk and some of my freshly baked goods, that’d be creepy.

But, if you were to add that he’s going to bring me a toy, that’s not creepy. That’s wonderful, wonderful news. The presents make all the difference. They make logic superfluous.

Like most kids, I loved Christmas, but I didn’t believe in Santa for very long; the jig was up when I was about 5 or 6. I still remember going to the kitchen table and calling my parents into the room, telling them that there was something I wanted to discuss. I sat with my hands folded, and like a miniature lawyer, I outlined my case. Santa visits every house, but there are far too many houses to visit in one night. More importantly, he visits every house, but the world is full of all sorts of poor people and they don’t seem to get any presents. If they did, the sleigh would have to be a lot bigger, and it’d be full of chickens and cows and sandwiches. I admitted that this might be possible to deliver in a very large boat of some sort, or perhaps a wagon train or caravan of some sort, but that wasn’t how the story went.

When I realized that my parents were Santa, it made me realize how kind my parents had been to me and my sister, as we weren’t rich, by any means. One of my favorite Christmas moments came soon thereafter; my parents asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told them a Nintendo, as I’d been trudging over to my friend Jeff’s house to play Nintendo, and specifically, my favorite game, Duck Hunt. My friends were partial to Mario Brothers and repeatedly told me that Duck Hunt was lame.

Back then, a Nintendo was expensive, about $100, and I knew we didn’t have a lot of money, so when my mom told me that we couldn’t afford it, I was disappointed and I told her that I understood. Well, on Christmas morning, there was a large rectangular box under the tree, and when I opened it up, I couldn’t believe it. Strangely, it was then that my parents informed me that I’d have to go to bed an hour earlier, at 8 instead of 9. This was a small price to pay, but I wondered why until one night when I was lying in bed and I could hear furtive whispering in the background. It was my parents.

Mom: Are they in bed?

Dad: Yeah, I put them to bed ten minutes ago.

Mom: Do you think they are asleep?

Dad: Yeah, OK. Turn the game on. Give me that controller, I want to be Mario.

Sure enough, my parents were playing the Nintendo, and through the crack in the door I could see my mom leaning with the controller while trying to avoid the goombahs and koopa troopas.

That was fine with me, as I got to play Duck Hunt as much as I wanted. I still like that game, and I don’t even like hunting. I also don’t like the Duck Hunt dog; you know, the one that jumps up after you miss and laughs at you despite your fruitless attempts to shoot it? What kind of hunting dog laughs at you if you miss? That’s like a seeing-eye dog chuckling as you tumble down the stairs at the mall.

The Tooth Fairy

While Santa was at least convincing for a short time, I never really believed in the tooth fairy. There wasn’t much of a back story there. So let me get this right: My tooth falls out, I put it under my pillow and some fairy comes and gives me some spare change for it?

That leaves a little too much to the imagination. What does he or she need them for? Does the tooth fairy simply collect teeth, like some people collect stamps? Weird. In retrospect, that sounds a little Ed Gein to me. I suppose an argument could be made that maybe other kids needed those baby teeth (babies?), so maybe it was a really gross form of recycling.

The whole tooth fairy thing also seemed to encourage violence. I remember many occasions when my sister and I, strapped for cash, discussed how we would split our haul the next morning after we punched a few teeth out of each other. My parents thought that we were always punching each other because we didn’t along, but they were wrong, we were simply good capitalists in it for the money.

The whole tooth fairy charade came crashing down after I lost a pair of teeth when I was five or so. I put them under my pillow and woke up the next morning, only to find my teeth and a bit of a bloodstain, which I thought was gross. OK, so the tooth fairy was late. So I slept a bit more. When I awoke, same thing. I tried to sleep a bit longer, and when I was just about to fall asleep I heard a jingle, jingle and felt my pillow being wrenched up while the teeth were yanked out. I opened my eyes to catch my mother with the change in one hand and the teeth in the other. Then she started laughing and couldn’t stop; this happens sometimes.

Halloween

Halloween is another holiday that I really enjoy, as there is candy involved. It is a holiday that can get rather strange at times, as you never know what you’ll get from your various neighbors. For instance, one lady on our block was a little bit loony. For instance, when her mailbox fell off, she tied it back on with a bra, and when her dryer broke, she hung up her clothes in her trees. On Halloween, instead of handing out candy, she gave us a choice, we could have a dime or a pencil. It always seemed like a trick question. I usually picked the dime, and then used the dime to buy a piece of candy from my sister.

Sadly, Halloween is sometimes considered a ‘bad’ holiday, as some people object to the inclusion of witches, ghosts and goblins and the general veneration of the “occult.” Personally, I think that the religious holiday on November 1, “All Souls Day” is far creepier, as it sounds a lot like a death metal band name. I don’t see the harm in Halloween, as I don’t believe in demons, witches or ghosts. (While I don’t believe in ghosts, I do believe in really, really white people. I’m one of them! I’m kind of like those snow hares that turn pure white in winter, except I stay that way all the time.)

I don’t really believe in Ouija boards either. Every time I play with one, I try to communicate with one of the Parker Brothers, or at least one of their board game representatives (e.g. the Monopoly guy) as they sell the Ouija board and it says Parker Brothers in big letters on the side. I figure, if I can’t get in contact with them, or at least supernatural customer service, then the game totally must not work.

Wow, this letter really got long! Well, as you can tell, I like holidays, and I sometimes talk a lot. My apologies for that. In any case, thanks for reading, and take care.

Brett Ortler

P.S. After a break, I'm back at the letters to President Obama. Here's the deal: I write him a random, zany letter, then I send it. Here's to hoping to getting a response. Read them all at this link: brettsletterstothepres.blogspot.com

If you like these letters, PLEASE help me get the word out. I am the world's worst marketer, so please tell your friends, post them on social networking sites, and whatnot.

You can also join my gather group here: letterstothepres.gather.com

Become a fan on Facebook here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/pages/Brett-Ortlers-Letters-to-the-President/211691443300?ref=ts

Or join my Facebook group here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/group.php?gid=133461535328&ref=ts

Letter to President Obama #44 | Subject: The “War on Christmas”

Dear President Obama,

So Christmas has come and gone once again, and with it, we can say goodbye to the perennial fight about the so-called “War on Christmas.” But come every October or November, we can look forward to various political groups and news commentators bewailing how Christmas is under attack. (I won’t point fingers, but the last name of the guy I’m thinking of rhymes with “Nosmiley.”)

Now I think I understand their main concern: They feel like the culture at large is hostile to Christianity, and such hostility, they argue, is readily apparent in the media around Christmastime, especially in the marketing campaigns of various national retailers, which prefer to produce inclusive marketing campaigns and use terminology like Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings. They feel that such companies are purposely excluding Christianity and denying it its rightful place as the primary cultural influence on American society. After identifying such groups, they take action—usually by boycotting that establishment until it relents and includes the terms “Merry Christmas” or ceases running the ad.

First of all, I don’t really think it is my place to tell a retailer how to phrase their marketing campaigns. Though now that I think of it, I’d like to consider creating an advocacy group to make sure some of my favorite holiday phrases are included in the corresponding holiday advertisements.

I’m an agnostic, so maybe I could band together with other agnostics to have retailers reflect our uncertainty about our metaphysical beliefs. It could feature banners and ads with the slogan: Happy Agnosticism Day?

Similarly, I’d like all Thanksgiving ads to include LOTS of gobbling, to the point where the viewer wonders if it will ever stop. (Gobbling jokes are inherently funny.) I’d like all Halloween advertisements to include a kid draped in a sheet in the old stand-by ghost costume. This is probably my favorite costume, despite the unexpected consequences that it may bring, as I learned on one Halloween in college: I didn’t have a costume so I cut a couple holes in a sheet and walked around the dorm trick-or-treating. Unfortunately I had pretty poofy hair, so much so that I kind of looked like a clansman. I didn’t realize this until I came to an African-American’s door. He answered, looked at me and simply said, “Oh, you came to the wrong door!”

And really, I don’t think that including the phrase “Merry Christmas” in a Gap commercial is going to do all that much. It’s not like one could ever forget which holiday is coming up. By the end of December, I’ve already heard Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” at least a hundred times, and it includes the word “Christmas” seven times, so I’ve heard the word “Christmas” at least 700 times from that song alone. (Don’t even get me started on the 12 days of Christmas.)

And even if Gap does include the phrase in their ads, it’s not likely to convert all that many people. The Gap isn’t exactly a theological powerhouse. Theology is simply not what they are out to do; they are out to sell dorky pants and sweaters and socks to fairly rich white people.

Even the outright inclusion of Christian proselytizing in Gap’s ads wouldn’t solve the problem. I mean, let’s say they put Jesus in Gap jeans and one of those puffy winter jackets and have imploring you to buy Gap jeans or face eternal hellfire. That’d be blasphemy, and it would make for really creepy commercials.

And then there are the problems with the individual phrases themselves. I’ll deal with each one by one.

Merry Christmas

The problem with this phrase is that it’s really specific. Christmas occurs on one day, but it’s bookended by a number of different holidays. In December and January alone, we’ve got Christmas, New Year’s Eve/Day, Hanukah, and sometimes Ramadan.
First, there is the problem of accuracy. If you tell someone Merry Christmas in November, that’s weird and will probably make that person want to buy you a calendar.

And then there’s the problem of people with different belief systems. Saying Merry Christmas to everyone you meet is more than a bit inconsiderate, as assuming everyone shares your beliefs seems a bit pushy if you ask me. I usually like to get to know someone first, before bringing up my personal religious convictions. (My parents always told me—it’s not polite to talk politics or religion to strangers, and this seems to be such an instance.) Sure, once you know someone is in fact, a Christian, then Merry Christmas away! I said it a whole bunch of times over the holiday. (On the other hand, telling a Jewish stranger Merry Christmas doesn’t seem like the nicest thing to do).

Season’s Greetings

Season’s Greetings is problematic for a different reason. Since it’s a possessive, I imagine we’re talking about what each season might say as a greeting. This got me thinking: what exactly would a given season say? I suppose it depends on where you’re from—the seasons in the Sahara probably have the same message (I hope you brought water and sunscreen), just as all the seasons in Antarctica might say something like (Here, watch these crazy birds in tuxedoes as you freeze to death!)

Since I’m in Minnesota and we have four distinct seasons, I suppose the seasons would say something like this:

Spring: Do you like mud and slush? If so, you’ll enjoy March and April!
Summer: Go fishing and drink beer in the sun while you still can!
Fall: Watch out, I’m going to throw leaves at you!
Winter: Misery!

As Christmas occurs in winter, “Misery” doesn’t seem like an appropriate tagline for such a joyful season, so I’d say skip this term.

Happy Holidays

That leaves us with Happy Holidays. To me, Happy Holidays seems the most accurate phrase. Let’s face it: there are several widely celebrated holidays toward the end of December. So it’s always accurate, it’s got that nice alliteration, and it helps one avoid being too presumptive in the company of strangers. As marketing campaigns are designed for the general public, this makes sense for major retailers to use.

Most importantly, the whole “Merry Christmas” fight seems to be diverting attention from the theological problem I think Christians should be more attentive to—the commercialization of Christmas. I mean, we’re talking about a guy who seems to be pretty anti-wealth.

The Gospel of Mark (10:25) comes to mind:

It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

It’s a bit hard to marry that verse up with Black Friday and customers sprinting through stores for the latest electronic gadget. Then again, I suppose that’s a topic for another letter.

Take care,
Brett Ortler

P.S. After a break, I'm back at the letters to President Obama. Here's the deal: I write him a random, zany letter, then I send it. Here's to hoping to getting a response. Read them all at this link: brettsletterstothepres.blogspot.com

If you like these letters, PLEASE help me get the word out. I am the world's worst marketer, so please tell your friends, post them on social networking sites, and whatnot.

You can also join my gather group here: letterstothepres.gather.com

Become a fan on Facebook here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/pages/Brett-Ortlers-Letters-to-the-President/211691443300?ref=ts

Or join my Facebook group here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/group.php?gid=133461535328&ref=ts

Letter to the President #43 | Subject: Health Care, Abstinence, Weddings, etc.

Letter to the President #43 | Subject: Health Care, Abstinence, Weddings, etc.

Dear President Obama,

Since everyone in the country is talking about health care right now, I thought I’d chime in too. Well, actually, I’m not going to chime in on the whole health care bill. In particular, I’ve been reading about the feisty debate that’s sprung up around abstinence-only education and certain provisions that were proposed in the healthcare bill. From what I’ve read, several measures in the bill will fund abstinence-only education.

Now, I have to be honest, Mr. President, I don’t know if this is such a great idea.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand why people would suggest that abstinence is the answer. A number of health-related issues—teen pregnancy, the spread of STDs—certainly stem from the result of sexual activity, and if there is no sexual activity, there’s no chance of these problems. Some groups have therefore been popularizing the idea of “abstinence rings” in order to combat sex-related ills; these rings symbolize a purity pledge that the wearer takes, which states that they promise to remain a virgin until they are married.

This doesn’t seem like a very good idea for several reasons. First, it probably is setting up our young people for unhappy marriages. Let’s be honest; certain aspects of marital life take a bit of practice, so giving one’s teenage bride-to-be an abstinence ring seems a little like saying, “Here, the first night of our honeymoon is going to be really, really awkward.”

Of course, the bigger problem has to do with how humans (and especially young people) seem to work: First, we’re hardwired for reproduction, so we’re automatically going to be aware of the subject. (There was a reason Baywatch was popular. It wasn’t acting.)

And then there’s the psychological factor; prohibition is almost always the doorway to overindulgence. This is probably why our culture is permeated with sex—we want what we’re told we can’t have and we compensate. This is also why there will never be an Amish Britney Spears; clearly very few people care what Spears or Lady GaGa (what IS she saying in that Bad Romance song?) or Rhianna are actually saying, many of us (like it or not) are interested in their low-cut tops and the hip thrusting.

(Then again, I suppose my mention of an Amish superstar is a bad example. Yes, the Amish are quite chaste and Amish women do not generally wear revealing clothes, but an Amish superstar would necessarily depend on the use of electronic gear, microphones, and whatnot, so that kind of goes without saying. Perhaps one day there will be an Amish singer with a really, really loud voice and really catchy lyrics in Pennsylvania Dutch, but I doubt it.)

And then there is the problem of failure. For instance, let’s say you have one of those promise rings on as a teenager, and you break your pledge. What do you do the next day? You can’t take the ring off, obviously, or your cover is totally blown. So then you either have to fess up (have fun with that) or lie until you get hitched. (I suppose you could lose the ring in a freak accident.) In any case, then the ring becomes something much more negative; a harbinger of impending doom. (OK, I didn’t have to type that phrase there, but I really wanted to type “impending doom.” It’s a lot of fun to type. Try it!)

I digress. In short, rejecting our healthy, innermost urges seems arbitrary and counterproductive; instead, tempering them and shaping them seems a wiser course of action. Guilt is almost never a healthy educational tool. Unless you are a Catholic. Then it is the only educational tool. (I’m kidding, Mom!)

In addition to the abstinence-only approach, why not push sexual education too? This sounds like the best of all words. Abstinence-only education is a bit too much of a “one size fits all” approach; it doesn’t consider much nuance (i.e. a teenager who is well-adjusted, smart and ready for such activity at that age).

In this respect, it’s a little like proposing marriage by having a skywriter write, “Will you marry me?” in giant letters above the horizon. Sure, it’s romantic (if the skywriter can spell), but what about the innumerable other wholly-committed-but-hitherto-unmarried couples down below in sight of the same proposal? What does one to say to the poor sap stuck with a gushing girlfriend who is crying because she thinks he is finally proposing and then is crying the whole way home once he explains that he doesn’t have a ring (yet) and that’s it’s probably for someone else.

[The same goes for writing wedding proposals in chalk at the park. This too could make for awkward moments; what if two friendly, but single coworkers were on a walking lunch in the park, and after crossing a stone bridge see “Marry me?” in big letters. For a moment there would probably be awkward silence and then perhaps a polite refusal, or worse, a sudden acceptance.]

In any case, there are certainly other options at hand, so I’d like to see a proper sexual education provision added to the Health Care bill.

Take care,

Brett

Letter to President Obama #42 | Subject: Politics

Letter to President Obama #42 | Subject: Politics

Dear President Obama,

I guess you could say that I’m a political junkie. I’m pretty interested in politics—I read all sorts of articles—everything from Wall Street Journal and the slightly-crazy Washington Times to the New York Times and the sometimes-cartoonish Huffington Post. (I’m sorry, but I can’t take the name “Huffington” seriously. I always think of Harry Potter—you know, the “Hufflepuff” house— and in turn, the word Hufflepuff makes me think of little marshmallow people waddling about.)

Sometimes the word “Huffington” makes me think of the three little pigs story. You know, the one with the wolf that huffs and puffs? This story never made sense to me. So there are pigs…and they live in…houses. Now I never knew about the suspension of disbelief as a kid, but OK, I’ll roll with it. So each pig lives in a house, and each house is constructed of a different material. The first has a house of straw (ok?), the second has a house made of sticks (I guess his neighbors weren’t beavers), and the third had a house made of bricks. As the reader becomes aware, the structural integrity of these materials becomes quite important to the story, as the wolf huffs and puffs and blows the first two houses into oblivion and eats the inhabitants. (Yeah, what a great message to pass on to four-year-olds.)

In the end, only the third pig survives, because he lived in a brick house. As a child, I had one response—utter terror. Specifically, I wanted to know—did wolves like this actually exist? I quickly realized that I lived in a house that was made largely of wood. That is to say, sticks. I soon begged my father to get the .22 from the basement and to shoot any wolf-like creatures he saw. Unfortunately, my cousins were outside and one of them had one of those rat mullets so popular in the ‘80s. He was seriously grazed by a bullet. I still feel guilty about this.

Anyway, back to politics. So when I’m reading these political stories, there are often “comment” buttons at the bottom of each story where one can chime in and say whatever they want about, well, anything. These buttons should probably be renamed. If the buttons said “share your hasty generalization” or “we’d like to hear your conspiracy theory” then these buttons might be more accurate. Occasionally I’ll take the time to offer a reasoned opinion, but thanks to the anonymous nature of the web, when I do I usually called a bunch of names. (What exactly is a pinko, anyway?)

Now political ranting happens all the time across the political spectrum (the Bush years anyone?), but for some reason people on the right have been particularly vocal lately. They’ve got some pretty inaccurate ideas about you—that you’re not an American, that you hate white people, that there will be death squads for grandparents if the health plan passes.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone has a right to an insane opinion, but it’s just that all that stuff is clearly untrue. Such slander is harmful, because it interrupts the difficult process of compromise—if we keep flinging around insane accusations, then we won’t get any real work done. (Then again, maybe that’s the point.)

Anyway, I assumed that those ideas would seem laughable to any reasonable person, as they’ve been debunked by serious folks from across the spectrum. (When the National Review—the same publication started by William F. Buckley—debunks the birth certificate notion, then one thinks this sort of thing should be settled.)

But people still believe this sort of thing, so to try to make light of the situation, I started adding my own “facts” to these comment sections. I tried to make things as outlandish as possible—to fight misinformation with hyperbole.

There’s been a lot of bad mouthing going on about Canada, so I told everyone that not only were you not an American citizen, that you’re actually from Canada, and that you secretly planned to merge the governments of both countries into a new country, Americanadia. This would mean we’d all have to have Canada’s apparently-dreadful healthcare—in Canada, surgeons use hockey skates as scalpels and the end-of-life care there is particularly chilling—you’re provided with an iceberg and told to “fall asleep” as you float into the nebulous dark.

And I told them that any of us younger survivors would have it bad too—we’d all have to go to (hockey) camps where we’d be given “swine-flu” shots (mind-control!) and then subjected to vigorous “re-education” where we’d have to swear allegiance to the new nation and its flag, which would feature a Canada Goose pecking at a defenseless bald eagle chick.

The problem was, people started to believe me.

Let me know what you think,

Brett

P.S. This is letter #42 to the President. Brett is sending them all to the White House and has gotten two form letters in response. If he gets a real response, he'll let everyone know. If you like these, please tell your friends by sharing them. Please join my Facebook group here. Above all, thanks for reading!

Letter to President Obama #41 | Subject: Baked Goods, the Internet, and The Afterlife

Dear President Obama,



I was using my computer on the Internet the other day and I got a notification from my security program that a website was “attempting to send me a cookie.” Now I don’t know why that’s the name they chose for those little bits of data that help website track their users. Nevertheless, it was a good choice, because I can never resist a cookie, even if it’s virtual.



But really, who refuses a cookie? The only other time I’ve turned down a cookie was in a video game. In the game, you fought all these monsters and got these prizes afterwards, hamburgers, milkshakes, and sometimes, cookies. But sometimes you could only carry so much stuff, so you’d have to leave it behind. Then the screen would read, “Brett decided to abandon the cookie.”



That’s probably the saddest sentence I’ve ever heard.



I do think it’s a little unfair that the computing term is universally known as the cookie. I mean, if I ran a muffin company and my website were sending cookies out to everyone, I’d be mad. Then again, if I ran a muffin company, I’d probably eat breakfast more often.



Given the choice, I accept all cookies, virtual or not. Even if someone gave me a poisoned cookie, I’d probably take it and eat it, because if I died, I could at least say that I got to eat a cookie first, which means that I’d die happy.



And in the afterlife, I’d be beaming and everyone will be bummed because the conversation would go like this:



Recently Deceased Person #1: How’d you die?

Me: I died because of a poisoned cookie. How about you?

Recently Deceased Person #1: No fair. I got attacked by an angry stork.



Of course, cookies are best when served with milk. As a duo, cookies and milk are the superstars of the culinary world. They are inseparable, at least on screen. But I’ve always wondered what their relationship is like behind the scenes. I’d like to know if they are really good friends, or if they had more of a contentious William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy thing going on. In fact, I’d like to see the E True Hollywood Story of cookie and milk. Of course, it’d probably include a lot of less than savory material—I’m betting that Milk is pretty weepy and spills her guts all the time, especially whenever there’s any mention of her erstwhile lover, coffee. And then cookie is probably all macho and tough, but I bet he has some serious chemical dependency issues (there’s a lot of preservatives in there!). I’m pretty sure the E True Hollywood Story’s haunting final shot could be of a pile of syringes and a desiccated clump of stale cookie crumbs on a hotel floor.



There’s only one negative association I have with cookies, and that’s the Keebler elves. Let me put it this way, I ate a lot of cookies as a kid, and I’m short and I have pointy ears and I do not think this is a coincidence. What if cookies are the elves’ recruitment tool? Plus, how can we be sure such food is safe? Are foods that created by magical creatures (Lucky Charms, the Keebler Elves, Count Chocula) inspected by the Food and Drug Administration? If so, by whom? Harry Potter? If so, cool!



I went looking for the Keebler elves once, as I understood that they lived in trees. So I went from tree to tree inspecting the various cavities and holes, but I only found a family of angry squirrels. This got me thinking—are the Keebler elves squirrels? If so, that’s strange.



Thanks for your attention, and take care.



Brett Ortler



This is letter #41 to President Obama. These are jokes. If you like them, please comment and please tell your friends. I haven't had a response yet, but the Prez has a lot of other things to do, so I can't blame him.

Letter to President Obama #40 | Subject: Cartoons

Dear President Obama,

In my experience, cartoons are quite effective when selling things to children, but the U.S. government's record on utilizing cartoons as an educational tool is mixed, at best. There have been notable successes-- perennial favorites like Smokey Bear and Woodsy Owl and "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute" campaign.

Nevertheless, there have been failures--for instance, thanks to the McGruff "Take a Bite Out of Crime" campaign, I'm always tempted to bite criminals when I see them. I'll admit that if everyone in society bit criminals, that would be a pretty good deterrent, but as far as I know, I was the only one to do this, and I got a big old black eye for my trouble.

To be fair, the private sector has had failures too. For instance, every time I think of Trix, I think of a bunch of kids starving a rabbit. Animal cruelty rarely makes me think of breakfast, that's for sure.

In any case, many governmental organizations don't have cartoon campaigns at all! This seems like a glaring error, as that means there are no cartoon ambassadors for the military. Of course, because we're talking national defense, we'd want to promote two different ideas at the same time--one, that the U.S. is a rational and diplomatic nation, and two, that the U.S. is fully prepared to defend herself when necessary. This would require a good-cop, bad-cop sort of set up.

The good cop could be First Sargent Friendly from "your Department of Defense" and he'd be kind, generous, and willing to listen. His bad-cop pal would be a pro-wrestler-sized-commando simply referred to as "the Department of Offense." We could then show First Sargent Friendly cordially talking to our would-be-enemy and being really diplomatic about things, listening to our enemy's reasoning and arguments intently, getting him a cup of coffee, and always quick to proffer a compromise solution that works for all parties. When this appears ineffective, Friendly perserveres, while quickly glancing at his watch and taking note of the time; while Friendly's still talking, The Department of Offense is slowly climbing up the ropes of the ring. (Oh, I forgot to mention, for this episode, they just happen to be next to a wrestling ring in a stadium with a capacity crowd.)

If Friendly doesn't reach a conclusion in time, he'll quickly step out of the way as the Dept. of Offense leaps down, and WHAMMO, our enemy is eating a foot-sandwich.

To give such characters added depth, we could give each of them pets. Friendly could have a pet Dove or a Butterfly or something and we could call it Harmony. The Dept. of Offense could have a pet too--maybe an oversized vampire bat named Impending Doom.

The referee could have a United Nations jersey or something and the judges could be members of the Security Council. If this campaign were successful, perhaps a spin-off could happen at the U.N.; every country in the U.N. would get to pick a representative for the throwdown (I'm glad Brock Lesnar is American!) and then it'd on--U.N. headquarters would be a total cagematch and all resolutions would be decided by no-holds-barred matches. If countries were allied, they could fight in a tag team match, and so on.

This pro-wrestling, in turn, could replace actual war, thereby (a) making life better and (b) always ensuring that something interesting is on TV. Even if the U.N. wrestling league is a pie in the sky idea, I think it's pretty apparent that our military should be represented in cartoon form soon.

Please ask the folks at the D.O.D. to look into this for me.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas
Dear President Obama,

I'm writing because I'd like to discuss a pair of topics that don't get much coverage in the mainstream media--romance novels and soap operas.

When I think of romance novels, I think of Fabio (and butter). As you probably know, Fabio was famous for being on about every romance novel cover during the '80s and '90s, and while I developed an inherent distate for him (read: jealousy), I did develop a grudging respect for the guy after reading about an incident that happened to him at an amusement park.

Apparently, Fabio was invited to take the inaugural ride on a Busch Gardens rollercoaster, but the genius who created the ride thought it'd be a good idea to install a full-fledged pond immediately beneath the ride. This was problematic for one simple reason--birds live in ponds, Mr. President. (To my mind, this seems a bit like installing nesting boxes for large birds in the middle of an LAX runway.)

Well, Fabio was enjoying the best part of the ride (where it goes 70 miles per hour) and then WHAMMO, a 20-pound goose hits him in the face.Luckily, he was OK, except for a minor cut. When I heard about it, I was surprised that he survived; I mean, I kind of expected his head to fall off. I credit his surival to the fact that he's got a big head and that geese are essentially flying pillows.

Nevertheless, if Fabio had lost his head, that doesn't mean he would have been out of a job. Instead, it would have opened up a whole new market of romance novels: Zombie romance novels. (Just imagine it--Fabio is still on the cover, only his body is holding his head while it gives all the ladies out there a smoldering, come-hither look. He'd still be alive and all--sort of like Orpheus, just way less poetic.)

Zombie-themed titles would be a lot of fun too. You could have something like, "A Love That Wouldn't Die" or My Body or My Face: Now You Have to Choose.

In fact, if we chose that last title, we could make the book a choose-your-own adventure book! An excerpt might read like this:

You have forgotten Fabio's head in the other room again, but his sculpted body is ready and waiting. You can hear him sweet-talking you from a distance.

Turn to Page 65 if you choose to ignore his head and ravage his body.

Turn to Page 98 if you choose to go out to the other room and listen to the latest love poem he has composed (in his head!) for you.

(Fun fact: When you throw a romance novel in the fire, it burns with desire.)

Of course, when I think of romance novels, I also think of soap operas. I've always found it strange that some soap operas take place in hospitals, which don't really seem all that romantic to me. (The coffee/antiseptic smell has never really done it for me as an aphrodisiac.)

Then again, the hospital setting does provide some interesting plot devices, and from the few episodes I've seen, soap operas are all about those. (In fact, some of the writing seems a little like mad libs. Seances? Yes! Ghosts? OK!)

Anyway, as far as I know, no soap opera character has ever contracted MRSA (Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) and that's pretty common at hospitals. I think we should give one of the bold and the beautiful beauties this--let's call her Porsche--she could contract it and we could show her fighting it while receiving high-doses of antibiotics and many visits from her estranged husband, Chet, and then we'd show the illicit visits from her secret lover, the gift shop cashier, Dirk, (who has wooed her with his copius supply of flowers and bears and chocolates).

Then, she could be wooed by her husband's dedication and fall back in love with him, just before he develops skin-eating boils, providing an acid test of their relationship. (The boils, of course, are just a ruse by the husband, who wants to know the true status of their marriage--when he's confident that she's still in love with him, he dramatically tells her the truth, and reproposes marriage to her, just after removing his boils. Unsure of what to do with the fake boils, they put them on the dog. The dog is displeased, but falls asleep and they hold an immediate service in the church chapel.)

(Incorporating the morgue would also be an interesting touch, though that could get really gross pretty quickly.)

In any case, let me know what you think, and thanks.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas

Letter to President Obama #39 | Subject: Romance Novels and Soap Operas
Dear President Obama,

I'm writing because I'd like to discuss a pair of topics that don't get much coverage in the mainstream media--romance novels and soap operas.

When I think of romance novels, I think of Fabio (and butter). As you probably know, Fabio was famous for being on about every romance novel cover during the '80s and '90s, and while I developed an inherent distate for him (read: jealousy), I did develop a grudging respect for the guy after reading about an incident that happened to him at an amusement park.

Apparently, Fabio was invited to take the inaugural ride on a Busch Gardens rollercoaster, but the genius who created the ride thought it'd be a good idea to install a full-fledged pond immediately beneath the ride. This was problematic for one simple reason--birds live in ponds, Mr. President. (To my mind, this seems a bit like installing nesting boxes for large birds in the middle of an LAX runway.)

Well, Fabio was enjoying the best part of the ride (where it goes 70 miles per hour) and then WHAMMO, a 20-pound goose hits him in the face.Luckily, he was OK, except for a minor cut. When I heard about it, I was surprised that he survived; I mean, I kind of expected his head to fall off. I credit his surival to the fact that he's got a big head and that geese are essentially flying pillows.

Nevertheless, if Fabio had lost his head, that doesn't mean he would have been out of a job. Instead, it would have opened up a whole new market of romance novels: Zombie romance novels. (Just imagine it--Fabio is still on the cover, only his body is holding his head while it gives all the ladies out there a smoldering, come-hither look. He'd still be alive and all--sort of like Orpheus, just way less poetic.)

Zombie-themed titles would be a lot of fun too. You could have something like, "A Love That Wouldn't Die" or My Body or My Face: Now You Have to Choose.

In fact, if we chose that last title, we could make the book a choose-your-own adventure book! An excerpt might read like this:

You have forgotten Fabio's head in the other room again, but his sculpted body is ready and waiting. You can hear him sweet-talking you from a distance.

Turn to Page 65 if you choose to ignore his head and ravage his body.

Turn to Page 98 if you choose to go out to the other room and listen to the latest love poem he has composed (in his head!) for you.

(Fun fact: When you throw a romance novel in the fire, it burns with desire.)

Of course, when I think of romance novels, I also think of soap operas. I've always found it strange that some soap operas take place in hospitals, which don't really seem all that romantic to me. (The coffee/antiseptic smell has never really done it for me as an aphrodisiac.)

Then again, the hospital setting does provide some interesting plot devices, and from the few episodes I've seen, soap operas are all about those. (In fact, some of the writing seems a little like mad libs. Seances? Yes! Ghosts? OK!)

Anyway, as far as I know, no soap opera character has ever contracted MRSA (Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) and that's pretty common at hospitals. I think we should give one of the bold and the beautiful beauties this--let's call her Porsche--she could contract it and we could show her fighting it while receiving high-doses of antibiotics and many visits from their estranged husband, Chet, and then we'd show the illicit visits from her secret lover, the gift shop cashier, Dirk, (who has wooed her with his copius supply of flowers and bears and chocolates).

Then, she could be wooed by her husband's dedication and fall back in love with him, just before he develops skin-eating boils, providing an acid test of their relationship. (The boils, of course, are just a ruse by the husband, who wants to know the true status of their marriage--when he's confident that she's still in love with him, he dramatically tells her the truth, and reproposes marriage to her, just after removing his boils. Unsure of what to do with the fake boils, they put them on the dog. The dog is displeased, but falls asleep and they hold an immediate service in the church chapel.)

(Incorporating the morgue would also be an interesting touch, though that could get really gross pretty quickly.)

In any case, let me know what you think, and thanks.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #38 | Subject: Conspiracy Theories

Letter to President Obama #38 | Subject: Conspiracy Theories

Dear President Obama,

So it’s almost the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, and that’s got me thinking of conspiracy theories. I’ve always thought it was strange that a small percentage of people believe that the moon landings were a hoax. I mean, if you ask me, I think the evidence is pretty definitive—the moon rocks, the pictures of Earth from the Moon, and the general hassle that it would be to orchestrate a multigenerational worldwide conspiracy involving tens of thousands of people and keeping it secret for 40 years.

But, if the moon landings were really filmed in a studio, I want to get to the more important question—why didn’t we ever make that a full-length movie? That set design was great! And the reduced gravity, it looked so real! Needless to say, we probably should cast different people this time around. I mean, all of the Apollo 11 astronauts were decent looking guys, but let’s be honest—Armstrong famously stammered over his big line, leading some to the impression that he skipped an indefinite article in “one small step for (a) man,” leaving himself open to criticism from self-appointed grammarians and jerks everywhere. If you ask me, I think he did a pretty good job, but critics would probably have the director’s head (Tim Burton?) if he were to be in the sequel.

It doesn’t matter which actors you pick, really, but props will be key to this movie, as we’ll want to take advantage of the cool low gravity environment. There should definitely be a trampoline (how much fun would that be?) and we’ll have to write several dramatic high jumps into the script, maybe as our hero (a gymnast?) flees his enemies (a track and field team bent on taking over the crater/neighborhood?) by leaping straight up fifty feet into a waiting moonicopter.
In any event, the movie should also include pogo sticks. Maybe pogo sticks could be to the moon what cars are to us.

Speaking of Apollo 11, I remember there was a guy running around trying to get Buzz Aldrin to swear on a Bible that he landed on a moon and I remember Aldrin eventually punched him in the face. I thought that was fantastic. I think it would have been even better if Buzz would have hit the guy in the face with the Bible. If he had, could he have been charged with assault with a deadly weapon? If so, awesome, but weird.

Anyway, I guess I can understand why people are skeptical about the moon landings; I mean, first of it all, it’s complicated stuff, and to understand a lot of the explanations about why the photos are real, you’ve got to do the work to understand the science of light rays bending and so forth. And science can be confusing, especially today. Subatomic physics are a good example—many physicists speak a language that could fit right into an forwarded email message averring claims about a one-world-government and the Illuminati.

I mean, contemporary physics actually argues that most of the mass in universe consists of “dark matter” (the enemy of the Illuminati?) and they use other nefarious-sounding codewords like “the god particle.” I hope that last term is just a play on words because it’d be pretty depressing for us to physically locate a divine entity of some sort and then have Him or Her get eaten by an amoeba or something. The only way I’d express a divine entity at the subatomic level is if it had a beard of some sort, gluons, zero spin quarks, whatever. A beard is sort of necessity.

I guess that’s how conspiracies start—there’s a gulf of knowledge that gets filled in with, well, filler. Anything that works. And if something gets discredited, it’s pretty easy to make up something else to fit the theme. To prove my point, consider shriners. After all, no one knows what they really do, they wear those funny hats, and they have some sort of shrine. And they really like kids. If spun maliciously, that could all sound pretty bad.
To debunk my own conspiracy—unless their world-conquering army consists of a bunch of sick kids flanked by old guys in go-karts, I don’t think that they’re up to no good.

In any case, let me know what you think.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #37 | Subject: The Fourth of July and Parades

Dear President Obama,

As you’re well aware, it was the Fourth of July a little more than a week ago. I forgot the holiday was coming up, as I was pretty busy moving into my new digs. For a while there, I thought I’d moved into the wrong neighborhood, as my first week here was full of inexplicable bangs and booms and pops. Let me tell you, from a distance it’s pretty hard to tell the difference between a rifle retort and a black cat firecracker. And I live in a pretty rural area and since many people (my parents!) have told me that I look a lot like a deer, I wasn’t about to take any chances. (Admittedly, it doesn’t help that my favorite hat looks like a pair of antlers.)

Anyway, it took my girlfriend and me a week to realize that we were hearing fireworks, not gunshots, so it was a while before we stopped cowering on the floor. (In retrospect, that time was pretty productive; we have really clean floors now.)

You probably think that I’m exaggerating, but in my first few days here I met my new neighbors and one of them of had a HUGE confederate flag in their garage. I’ll admit, this was a little spooky. When I saw it, I wanted to mention the 1^st Minnesota and Gettysburg, but I figured that wouldn’t exactly be neighborly. Then again, referring to the Civil War as the “War of Northern Aggression” isn’t exactly neighborly either. (Especially in Minnesota!)

Anyway, I digress. So I wanted to express my patriotism for the Fourth, as I love this country. So I attended a 4^th of July parade, but when it ended I didn’t feel particularly patriotic. To be honest, I felt pain more than anything else—Mr. President, when Jolly Ranchers are thrown at you from a float moving at twelve miles per hour, they really hurt. By the time the Marching Band and the VFW and the Lions Club floats all went by, I had welts the size of nations. Everyone else was ready to stage readings of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence but I needed a nurse.

So I went home and tried to teach my family (my cats) something about patriotism. In short, my cats aren’t patriotic, as they don’t understand the concept. I tried to explain it to them by defining freedom in terms they could understand: I asked them how they would feel if someone tried to take away their right to sleep. They didn’t understand this, as the only English phrases they understand have to do with food, water, and of course, get-the-hell-out-of-the-refrigerator-you’re-not-produce. (Seriously. Every time I open the fridge my cat Xerox tries to get in. I don’t know why.)

To help them learn, I tried to be more direct. Every time they fell asleep, I walked up to them with one of those marshmallow roasting skewers (the kind with the metal fork on the end) and I poked them in the stomach until they woke up. Naturally, they weren’t pleased by this development, but I wanted to drive the point home, so every time I poked them, I said a word that I associate with a lack of freedom—to help my cats develop a Pavlovian association of sorts. For a few weeks, I woke them up and then screamed FASCISMO! The next week, I’d jab the skewer at them and start singing “the Internationale.” Finally, for the last week of their training, I’d jab the cats and immediately make references to Evildoers while continually referring to myself as the Decider. Of course, the training had no effect; they’re cats. On the plus side, they did develop an inherent distrust of marshmallow skewers, which I suppose is good.

All in all, it was a good, if painful, Fourth of July. I hope yours went well too.

Take care, and thanks for reading.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #36 | Subject: A Housewarming Present from the President?

Dear President Obama,

First of all, my apologies for not writing sooner. I’ve been pretty busy for the past few weeks, as I’ve been moving into a new house. Nevertheless, I’ve been scribbling down notes for these letters, so here we go:

I didn’t know how to set this up, so I’m just going to out-and-out ask it: Can I have a housewarming present from the White House? Not from you, personally, I mean; I know you’re basically the busiest dude on the planet right now. Instead, I’d just like something that had been at the White House that you don’t really need. As things currently stand, the only items that I have from the White House are those Christmas ornaments they sell every year and some of those White House Easter Eggs. Unfortunately, I only have ones from the Bush Administration, as a friend of a friend got them for our family. Don’t get me wrong, they’re pretty nice, but it’s a little weird at Easter. I’ll see the Easter Eggs on display and then I’ll inevitably think of Dick Cheney in an Easter Bunny costume, which is basically the worst image imaginable. In this recurring mental image, he’s always armed with a shotgun in a blaze orange bunny costume and slowly hopping towards me. Then I’ll snap out if it and the Easter Egg hunt starts, but by then it’s too late and I’m hesitant and wary and subconsciously shielding my face.

So an Obama Administration Easter Egg would be great, as it’d help me cleanse my emotional palette, so to speak. I’m not asking for anything big—a White House pen or a towel would be cool (though if it’s a Clinton-era towel, I’d really want it sanitized first). Anyway, if those are too spendy, that’s ok; the weirder the object, the better. Maybe just a Tupperware top that the White House chef can’t find the container for—that happens to me all the time. In fact, I’m pretty confident that I could start my own business just manufacturing extra Tupperware tops and containers; then I’d sell them separately and people would be able to create a new pair. Conceivably, one could do the same thing with other things that often go missing, like socks or pet cats, or children. Anyway, you could find one of these and you could just write “FROM THE WHITE HOUSE” on it or something and that’d do. I’d totally frame it and put it on my wall.

If that sort of thing isn’t available, I just have to ask, did Nixon ever make a mix tape? I knew he was big in recording everything (and himself, which I never really understood); anyway, if he made a mix tape, that’d be great. I’ll take a copy. On second thought, maybe that’s not a great idea. I’m pretty sure that he liked music I’d hate. I just looked up Nixon’s favorite song and apparently it was Richard Rodgers and his song, “Victory at Sea.” This doesn’t sound promising, unless it’s a cool Johnny Horton “The Battle of New Orleans” sort of thing.

Update: I just listened to the Rodgers song on YouTube. It was more than a little terrible. With my luck, Nixon probably liked Lawrence Welk too. And I’ve reached my lifetime quota on champagne music, so please scratch that idea. In retrospect, a pen or a towel would be best.

Thanks for reading, and take care.

Brett Ortler

P.S. This is letter #36 to President Obama. Brett was writing a letter a day, but then he moved. So there was a delay. Now he's writing letters again. Let him know what you think, and he'll let you know if he gets a response.

Letter to President Obama #35 | Subject: Babies and Baby Names

Letter to President Obama #35 | Subject: Babies and Baby Names

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I’ve got a more personal question to ask you—I’ve reached a strange point in my life—I guess I must subconsciously want a kid, because I’ve been thinking a lot about children, and specifically, what names I’d give them, if I were to have any. Now just in case my mom’s reading this, there isn’t a baby on the way or anything, so I’ve got some leeway here, but I’ve definitely been entertaining the idea.

But it’s not like the familial pressure isn’t there. My folks want a grandkid too. For instance, you know that the family abstinence-only policy has been thrown out the window when your parents see your cousin’s new son, look at you, and sigh before saying, “What about our grandbabies?” and then hang their heads dejectedly.

Anyway, Mr. President, I’m asking you because your family seems to be an unqualified success—and because your children have great names. For me, that’s a pretty big compliment; I’m a bit paranoid about names.

I mean, there are so many ways to screw up a name. Of course, there is the general problem of initials. Consider the following ostensibly appropriate names:

Anne Susan Stewart

Frank Upton Kilborn

Sarah Heather Thomas

Paul Oliver Ortler

When these names are made into acronyms, they are all dismal failures. I’ll leave the mental legwork to you, but they all stand for various naughty words. My name is an excellent example of this—my initials (BEO) can be short for “Body Odor,” but as I learned in middle school, they are also short for such treasures as:

Butts Eating Oysters

Busty Earthling Orgy

and of course, Burping Early Orlater

Needless to say, being called such things was pretty stressful. I certainly don’t need to tell you that children love swear words. They are experts in all things related to toilet humor and they’d endlessly tease any child with such initials. (In fact, I’ve always believed that children would be excellent plumbers if they could be appropriately trained. This probably explains the success of the Mario Brothers video game franchise; don’t forget that the Mario Brothers were plumbers. This explains all the pipes.)

Of course, there are other general naming rules. If possible, avoid middle names that are old-fashioned. I was named for my grandfather, whose middle name was Eugene. It’s a great name, and one that I like a great deal now, but as a child, I got a bit of grief for it. I mean, when a kid makes fun of your middle name you and scream back but it’s an important city in Oregon! that’s not much of a defense.

This next point might seem obvious, but it’s always important to avoid names that are already famous. The name “Jesus” is a good example. Like it or not, that name is already taken. And when viewed realistically, there’s no way your child will live up to such a name, unless he’s really good at making fishes and loaves. Really good. The same goes for any of the seven virtues—if you name your kid Faith, she’ll probably become an atheist. If you name her Chastity, she’ll be pregnant at 16. (I actually saw this at a Wal-Mart in rural Minnesota. No joke.)

By extension, if you name your kid Adolf, there’s no way they can screw that up any more than it already is. The same goes for Judas. Then again, those names come with their own problems, so I’m certainly not advocating for those.

Finally, there is the problem of shoddy etymology. My first name’s a great example. It’s “Brett,” a pretty rare name. When people ask what it means, I tell them it’s complicated. By that, I mean, that my parents thought it meant “strong”; that’s how they found in a baby book. They chose this name because I was born prematurely (three months!) and I was lucky to be alive. I had a rough go of it at first; I was in an incubator for three months (chicken eggs stay in incubators for 24 days, take that chickens) and I was only 2.5 pounds. My parents wanted me to get all the help I could get, and I can’t blame them.

As I learned in elementary school, many children knew what their names meant early on. The biblically-named kids had it pretty easy, I thought; I knew like 12 Jakes by the first grade. I only went to school with one other Brett; in fact, he’s the only one I’ve known personally. Sadly for me, he was about 6’4 by the fifth grade. I wasn’t. Thereafter, I was known as little Brett.

Only later did I find out what my name really meant. I learned German in high school. I was watching some boring German-language show in class and I heard a reference to a “Sprungbrett.” The show was about gymnastics. Then the lady in the show pointed to a spring board. So I went home and got online. I searched for my name; of course, I found a lot of references to people with my name, and then I found a lot of websites in German. At first, I thought Germans really liked me! Then I realized that my name was really just a German word—so I looked it up. My parents’ initial hunch wasn’t too far off, if viewed rather abstractly—Germans would probably recognize “Brett” as something “strong”; unfortunately for me, that’s because “Brett” means “a board” or “a plank” in German. So a springboard is a Sprungbrett, etc.

For all intents and purposes, my name literally means “a piece of wood.” This led to some odd encounters in Germany. I’d show up at a friend’s house and he’d greet me with, “Hello, my American piece of wood!”

Of course, things don’t seem to be getting any easier now. It seems the Internet is no help here. What I mean is, it’d be a little embarrassing to explain to one’s child where their odd name came from if you got it from the Internet; imagine that conversation:

Child: Where did my name come from?

Parents (in unison): Um, babynamesworld.parentsconnect.com

Anyway, I’ve made a little progress in my own search; I’m leaning toward the names Oliver William Ortler and Sophia Ann Ortler (Sophie for short).What do you think, Mr. President?

Thanks, and take care,

Brett Ortler

This is letter #35 to President Obama. No response yet, but I will let everyone know. If you like them, please let your friends know and tell them to tell their friends. Also, feel free to leave comments and join my Letters To the President Facebook group here.

Letter to President Obama #34 | Subject: Food-scented shampoos, cleaning products, and shopping

Letter to President Obama #34 | Subject: Household Products and Consumer Protection

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I’ve heard a lot of talk about consumer protection in the news recently, and I’ve got a few questions about consumer items myself. First of all, I’ve got a general question about shampoo. I’ve noticed that a lot of shampoos for women smell like food—you name it, strawberries, apples, coconut. This doesn’t make a lot of sense; shampoo isn’t even edible (believe me, I’ve tried). It smells good, but tastes terrible, like a snack Willy Wonka was making just before he totally lost it.

Food-scented shampoos lead to strange encounters at the store too—for instance, I’ll be at a store somewhere and a woman will walk by and I’ll catch a whiff of her hair. Then I get hungry! Subconsciously, I’ll follow her for a few seconds before realizing that the object of my hunger is a human being. That’s a pretty disconcerting situation, Mr. President; there is a lot of self-guilt and shame involved when you realize that, for a moment, you were some sort of hair zombie or in the movie Alive.

Food-scented shampoos can also lead to misunderstandings at home. My girlfriend uses this crazy strawberry shortcake like shampoo; she washed her hair one night and walked into the living room and I smelled what I thought was dessert; the conversation went like this:

Me (excited): Did you make a surprise dessert for me?

Girlfriend: Um, no.

Me (still excited, thinking she was tricking me but really had made food after all): Oh. Well, why does it smell like strawberry shortcake in here? (coyly smiling)

Girlfriend: I washed my hair.

Me (confused, less excited, no longer smiling): Wait, what?

Girlfriend: The shampoo was strawberry-shortcake scented.

Me (sad, angry at the Unilever corporation): Oh, darn.

Needless to say, hair shouldn’t make me feel hungry, Mr. President; I’m already hungry enough as it is. I mean I have enough to contend with at most Targets and Wal-Marts; there’s that terribly addictive rotisserie chicken that they put right by the checkout (I bet that’s another wonderful product from Philip Morris), the veritable phalanx of Little Debbie Snacks (why is Little Debbie not fat?), and the array of candy bars within arm’s-length of every checkout.

In addition, I also have a general question about cleaning products. Whose idea was it to use sponges as cleaning implements? The idea of using an animal (and one from the ocean!) as a household product is strange—I’d never consider using a flounder as a doormat or a pickerel as a pitchfork. Part of me wonders what sponges would say about this; I guess we will never know, as we have no way to communicate with them. Then again, maybe they are more intelligent than we think. Perhaps they can read; they do spend a lot of time near elementary school room chalkboards.

Anyway, if we are going to continue the using sea-creatures-as-household-objects trend, I’ve always thought that squids and octopi would make good (and fun!) mops, and I’ve always thought we should give starfish a chance at astronomy.

In any case, let me know what you think about these ideas.

Take care,

Brett Ortler



This is letter #34 to President Obama. No response yet, but I will let everyone know. If you like them, please let your friends know and tell them to tell their friends. Also, feel free to leave comments and join my Letters To the President Facebook group here.

Letter To President Obama #33 | Subject: Hospitals

Letter To President Obama #33 | Subject: Hospitals

Dear President Obama,

In a recent letter I mentioned that I was at the hospital, as I had this reoccurring pain in my side. Well, the doctor diagnosed it as a muscle strain, but it took a while to figure that out. In the interim, I sat in the examination room wondering what could be wrong with me. I’m a bit of a hypochondriac to begin with and all the exam rooms at the hospital had these “Rate Your Pain From 1-10” scales plastered all over the place. I don’t know about you, but I find them pretty disconcerting; they’ve got these little stick figure guys depicting varying levels of pain and discomfort. The first guy looks OK, but then he’s gets progressively more unhappy, until it’s quite clear that he’s in unbearable pain.

I’ve always felt these drawings are incomplete. I’d like to know what exactly is happening in the foreground of those pictures. There are a number of possibilities; for instance, maybe we could make each picture its own frame and make it a comic strip. For instance, in one, we could place stick-figure man into a brick-lined room, and show him entering the room with a pair of men wearing fedoras. He is offered a chair and sits. He is asked a question but doesn’t answer. Then he is tied to the chair and he looks uncomfortable. Pretty soon, in picture #4 or #5 we see that one of the fedora guys has taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and he’s rifling through a toolbox for some reason. At that point, smiley-face man is really hurting.

We could also make each have a corollary message. For instance, the one listed above could be pretty general, like “Don’t Steal From The Mob” or it could be more specific, for hospitals in New York City say, and read, “Watch out for the Gambinos!”

Anyway, while I was waiting, I started wondering what had happened to stick-figure man, and I immediately thought of science fiction movies and specifically, the movie Alien. It seemed to be an apt reference; the guy looks fine and is at breakfast and suddenly he’s get worse and worse, until he’s a goner and an alien is loose aboard the ship.

Because I’m a hypochondriac, I started wondering if that might be what was wrong with me. (My girlfriend texted me and said it was probably a wandering uterus, which I didn’t think was very nice.)

Only later did I learn that the Alien sort of thing happens in real life. I was reading a science article about this crazy species of insects that lays its eggs inside caterpillars, and when the larvae emerge they cause the caterpillar to writhe all over the place before dying, just like in Alien. I never thought I’d say this, but boy am I glad I’m not a butterfly.

In any case, please let me know what you think about my revisions to the pain level chart; if you agree, please forward them on to Health and Human Services.

Take Care,


Brett Ortler

P.S. This is letter #33 to President Obama. I'm writing one a day (or thereabouts) and sending them. I haven't received a response yet, but I will let everyone know if I hear back from him. In the interim, please tell your friends and send these letters along.

Letter to President Obama #32 | Subject: Dreams

Letter to President Obama #32 | Subject: Dreams

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because my girlfriend had this dream I wanted to tell you about. She dreamt that you lost the keys to the White House and you addressed the nation on primetime TV and asked for our help in looking for them. Of course, all the reporters and newscasters giggled and as you were probably expecting this, you told them that there was presidential precedent for this sort of thing. You said that President Bush had done this all the time during his eight years and that’s why the terror alert system kept changing colors.

After she told me this, it got me thinking, and now I’ve got a few questions. First, does the White House even have keys? My girlfriend and I have a bet going on this one. I bet her a dollar that it’s so high tech that it doesn’t even need keys—you probably have thumbprint identification pads and retina scanners and all that. If I were you, I’d be careful about the retina scanners; I’ve always been leery of them since I saw Demolition Man and Wesley Snipes poked out that one guy’s eye just to use it for the scanner. If the security folks insist on the retina scanners I’d recommend that they teach you a Jujitsu version of that Three Stooges move where you protect your eyes from the crazy eye poke. They probably even have special hats (you know, with eye shields!) for that; I’d get one.

If you do have keys, I bet you guys have all sorts of other security too. That makes sense. If I were you, I’d get something like those Life Alert notification things; you know, those things featured in the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” commercials. Except yours could play a version of “Secret Agent Man.” (As a kid, I always thought the title of that song was “Secret Asian Man.” Really!)

Then again, Life Alert isn’t a panacea either. One of my friend’s grandmas had one of those Life Alert notification things, but he lived with her and was kind of a misfit, so he always put it on his dog. This was a big dog, some Rottweiler mix and it was always rolling around and roughhousing. I hardly got to hang out with him because the cops were there every time I’d try to visit, which was a lot, like five times a week. It was kind of like the boy who called wolf, except in this case it was the boy who called fire department. A few months later, their house burned down and the dog died, so I didn’t get to go over there anymore.

Finally, I have a general question about dreams. I’ve been tuning in to most of your speeches, and I’ve enjoyed them. I’m a particular fan of your cadence, which is wonderful, and at times, it reminds me of other great speakers, particularly John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was listening to one of your speeches the other day and a line reminded me of MLK’s famous, “I Have a Dream” speech; I went to sleep thinking about it, and that night I also had a dream. I dreamt of little black boys and little black girls joining with little white boys and little white girls as sisters and brothers, but in the end, they all turned out to be zombies and they tried to eat me. That was weird.

I’ve looked through all the Freud I have on my bookshelves and I can’t find anything about zombies and what they mean if they appear in your dreams. If you can help with this latter question, I’d appreciate it. I’m a bit flummoxed.

In any case, I wish you the best, and thanks for the good work.


Brett Ortler

Guest Letter To the President by Matthew Hicks | Subject: Beards

Dear President Obama,

I saw your speech in Cairo reaching out to the Islamic world, and let me tell you it made me proud to be an American. Since the speech I've been brainstorming to try and help with your outreach, and I think I've hit on a great idea. No, not burkhas on our statues: John Ashcroft already tried that. America needs to cover something else that Muslims like to cover. It's time to bring back the public figure with facial hair.

Our country has a grand tradition of prominently bewhiskered people. Two of the presidents on Mount Rushmore were carved with their facial hair. Teddy Roosevelt had a mustache that he used to help him aim at Spaniards and lions, and Abraham Lincoln had a beard that comforted him when Mary Todd was off hunting ghosts. Lincoln actually started a long trend of bearded and mustachioed presidents, and look at what presidential leadership accomplished: General Ambrose Burnside went with the "bat attacking the face" look, Andrew Carnegie built the world's largest steel company along with one of the world's most impressive beards, and John Rockefeller saved time to think up anticompetitive practices by not shaving under his nose. Today what do we have among the rich and prominent? Not much beyond Larry Ellison's baby's first beard and Governor Charlie Crist’s wife. Half the senate is hiding a bald spot yet none of them let their hair grow where it still can. Americans used to the world leader in innovative facial hair (Burnside gave us the word “sideburns”), and I believe with a little presidential leadership we can be again.

Now I remember reading once that you said you don't really grow decent facial hair. That's okay. Groucho Marx was known for his moustache, but in truth it was nothing more than greasepaint. Alright, that might be a little tacky for the president, but you encourage other people inside your administration to grow something. How about Joe Biden with mutton chops, Rahm Emanuel with an evil-Spock goatee, or Hillary Clinton with a soul patch? It doesn't need to be all of you, the idea is just to take back the public space for follicled faces. Once John Boehner is sporting a ZZ Top beard, then everyone who wants to can shave. But I bet by then they'll be loving it.

One more thing before I'll let you get back to running the free world. I know you love trying to act like Lincoln, giving speeches where he did and following the same route to the inauguration. Well Lincoln didn't have a beard when he was elected. He actually grew it in response to a letter he received. Did I just blow your mind?

Your fellow American,
Matthew Hicks

Letter to President Obama #31 | Subject: Cats, The Transportation Security Administration, and U.S. Customs

Dear President Obama,

As you know, I’ve been writing you letters fairly often, once or so a day for about a month now. But I’ve slacked off the last week or so, as I’m pretty busy, as I’m moving into a new house soon. As you can imagine, I have boxes all over the place.

Unfortunately, I also have cats. This means that my cats keep investigating every box I have, and by “investigate,” I mean they tip them over. Then they spread all of the contents over the floor and then hide in the box. They usually do this at night, so every morning I wake up, I find that my “kitchen” box is halfway down the hallway and it looks like a culinary hurricane passed through the living room in the night.

This has some unexpected consequences—because when I’m in a rush to get to work, I sometimes miss a few items. Then I’m at work and I get a phone call from my girlfriend, who reminds me (again) that it is less than pleasant to sit on the couch and then realize you’re sitting on a spatula. I always tell her that it could be worse, it could be a whisk, or something, but apparently that’s not much consolation.

In any case, I haven’t gotten that much packing done yet. In any event, to prevent this from happening again, I’d like to get my cats temporary jobs. That’s where I need your help, Mr. President; I think my cats could be a great fit for one of several government positions.

First of all, I think my cats would be a great fit for the Transportation Security Administration. As I mentioned, my cats love all varieties of packages, boxes and luggage. Sitting by the conveyor belt with all that luggage would be perfect for my cats. Dogs would be a poor choice for this position. For instance, my dog’s pretty selfish; he just investigates every plastic bag we bring in the house because he thinks there is a toy in it for him.

My cats are also really, really crabby, which I’ve concluded is a necessary requirement for candidates at the TSA. Even better, my cats are also quite suspicious, but unlike their human counterparts, they don’t discriminate on the basis of race. In fact, my cats don’t discriminate whatsoever; my cats are suspicious of me all the time. More than that, sometimes my cats are outright contemptuous. (To tell the truth, sometimes I think my cat wishes I didn’t exist. Especially when I try to make the bed when he’s sleeping on it.)

Now, there is a downside to employing cats at the TSA. There is the problem of catnaps.

Even if the TSA thing didn’t work out, I think my cat would be a great Customs Agent. I mean, other than the general curiosity and grumpiness, my cats are also very clever; I mean, there’s no swindling a cat. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I could get my dog to bite his own tail if I gave him enough treats. Not so with a cat.

I think this characteristic would be a benefit for the Customs Agency. For instance, if someone were trying to sneak a few dozen cases of Labatt’s Blue Beer across the U.S.-Canada border without paying the required taxes, my cats would see right through that. Once, I tried to trick one of my cats, Xerox, into thinking that I’d put extra food into his dish, but I’d really just moved some from his sister’s dish (Peanut) into his. He looked at both dishes, back at me, and then he literally shook his head “no” three times. If he could have reported me to some sort of authority, he would have.

Finally, my cats also have the chutzpah to stand their ground and turn offenders and rule- breakers in, if necessary. I have personal experience with this—I was coming back to the States from Canada, and I was bringing a whole bunch of fruit back from Vancouver. I didn’t know that certain foods weren’t allowed across the border, so according to the rules, the Customs people had to seize it as contraband.

If that were me, I wouldn’t be able to do this all the time; I’d probably be too nice about it and let them go. Instead, the border control person, who looked a little like a cat, seized my food. For a moment, I thought she was going to eat it in front of me. She didn’t, but I’m still pretty sure they never have to bring in lunch to work. Jerks. To be sure, I have no doubt that my cat would have done the same thing.

So please consider my cats for the TSA or the Customs Agency; if they have jobs, maybe I can get some packing done.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett Ortler

This is letter #31 to President Obama; I was writing one a day for about three weeks, but slowed down the pace a bit because of the problems listed in this letter. I'm sending all of these letters to the President; I'll let you know if I get a response. If you like these, please let me know and tell your friends. Thanks.

Letter to President Obama #30 | Subject: Patriotism and Religious Symbols

Letter to President Obama #30 | Subject: Patriotism and Religious Symbols

Dear President Obama,

As you know, I’ve been writing you letters fairly often, once a day for about a month now. But in the last few days I haven’t written much at all; I have a pretty good excuse—I was in the emergency room for most of Wednesday afternoon. As it turns out, I’m fine, but it took a while for the doctors to find that out. In the interim, I hung around at the hospital for a while, and I read every good magazine that they had—two copies of Smithsonian and one of National Geographic. After that, the only magazines left were things like Good Housekeeping and Ladies’ Home Journal, so I reluctantly started reading those. I don’t remember which magazine I was looking at, but I was taken aback by the cover of one of the magazines, which had the phrase “God Bless America” prominently displayed on the cover.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against America, or God, or God blessing America. On the contrary, I think it’s quite clear that God has done so, and quite abundantly. The phrase just seems to be a little obvious—it kind of goes without saying. And it seems like an unnecessary addition; I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever wished for the converse—for God, or any other deity for that matter, to damn a particular nation. Now that I think of that, it’s a little disappointing that I haven’t. It would be kind of fun to yell out “God damn you, Swaziland!” in the break room or have “Shiva, please destroy Iceland!” emblazoned on a button or a bumper sticker.

Then again, I don’t have any real beef with the phrase, it’s their magazine; they can put whatever they want on the cover. I’m writing this because those covers made me think of the fish symbols that some Christian folks put on their cars. I’ve always been disappointed that car dealerships only offered a few different choices—the fish symbol, the Darwin one, and the fish eating the Darwin symbol. That seems like a pretty limited selection to me, and certainly not one representative enough to cover everyone’s religious and metaphysical beliefs. So I went to my local car dealership and asked if they had any other symbolic options.

I started out with the big three monotheistic religions, thinking it was my best bet. I asked if they had Christian symbols, and of course they had the fish and the anti-Darwin fish (which has no teeth, oddly). I then asked if the symbols got more specific. The salesman was confused. I told him that I was Catholic and wanted an outline of the Pope’s hat or maybe the Popemobile for my car. He said they didn’t have that. I was surprised, and so I thought they had only one symbol per general monotheistic religion. So I asked if they had the crescent moon symbol. He didn’t know what I was talking about, so I told him it was Islamic. He looked like he was going to call the police. After that, I didn’t bother asking whether he had an agnostic question mark or a symbol for Rastafarianism; I simply asked if he had other biblical symbol options, like the burning bush, Jacob’s ladder, or David’s sling, or maybe even a sheep, but they said no, they just had the fish. I asked if they had chips, but they didn’t get it.

Needless to say, I think this is an area where American automakers could certainly take the initiative and beat the competition. Specifically, I’d like to have a Noah’s Ark symbol; I’d put that on my car. Maybe just the outline of the ark with a pair of giraffes’ heads peeking out of the top? (Though in that story I’ve always thought that Noah would have made the giraffes little umbrella hats—I mean, if he didn’t that’s not very nice. 40 days of rain would get pretty old if your head was sticking through the roof.)

I just thought of this—if the 10 plagues of Egypt could be encapsulated in car-symbol form, that’d be pretty sweet too.

Finally, it’d be nice if the automakers made those symbols a bit easier to remove. One of my pals, an ardent atheist, bought a used car and a nice one at that, but it had one of the fish symbols on it. Like I said, he was an ardent atheist, but he was even more particular about keeping his car in immaculate shape. This led to some odd meetings—people would see the symbol and think he was quite religious and then invited them to church or tried to discuss Scripture, and he’d have to try to explain the situation. In this respect, it was sort of like a pass code, but he didn’t really belong to the club.

In any case, let me know what you think about these comments and thanks.

Brett

Letter to President Obama #29 | Subject: Presidential Public Service Announcements

Dear President Obama,

I’ve got a question about public service announcements. Every once in a while, I drive by this billboard with this strange public service announcement on it—it says Leadership: Pass it On. I don’t like this billboard. Every time I drive past it I immediately signal the wrong way with my blinker and begin swerving.

I’ve seen others like it, and I’d like to know, is the government responsible for these? If so, can we please stop funding them? I saw one a while back that essentially told me not to swear, and I never wanted to swear more in my life! And boy can I swear! (For a while, looking up swear words was my job. Really! I researched swear words in about 30 languages for a multinational corporation to make sure that those bad words didn’t appear in their products.) In the process, I learned how to tell someone to “have no cow!” and to “get blind at celebration time” in Rwandan. Anyway, so I drove past this sign and I started swearing, and the guy in the car next to me did too, and I think the school bus driver behind me did as well (though that probably just comes with the territory.) It was sort of like that movie Pay it Forward, but with curse words.

And it’s not just that these billboards are pretentious, they seem to indicate that the “negative” emotions are totally worthless, but I couldn’t disagree more. Every emotion has its place and time. For instance, I think a giant advertisement featuring Marvin the Martian with the tagline, Anger: Sometimes it’s funny would be a great fit!

Anyway, I’m not just angry about the weird values billboards. There’s another sign just off the highway by my apartment that bothers me too, but I don’t know if it’s by the same people—it’s a little blue highway sign that just reads, “Concentrate on Driving.” Let me tell you, I’ve never wanted to hit anything with a car more in my life! Every time I drive past it, I want to start texting and swerving and playing chicken with oncoming traffic. Mr. President, can you please call the Isanti County Department of Transportation and tell them to change this sign? If I call, they’ll probably hang up on me. But you could probably make it happen.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not against Public Service Announcements, generally. I just think we could be doing a better job. I think the current ads are ineffective and self-defeating. I’d like to encourage you to create Public Service Announcements based upon various U.S. Presidents. To be sure, the presidents represent all sorts of virtues as well as a variety of cautionary tales.

For instance, we could feature William Henry Harrison in an ad for the National Institutes of Health or the Centers for Disease Control. You know, he was the 9^th president and the one who gave that really long inauguration speech (two hours!) in the rain without wearing a hat or a coat. Then he died of pneumonia on his 32^nd day in office. That PSA has already written itself—we’d just need a picture of Henry Harrison looking deathly ill with one of those speech bubbles: If it rains, don’t forget a coat!

And of course we could feature President Taft in anti-obesity PSA. We could show a picture of his giant bathtub along with the tagline: Don’t eat that burger! Or you might need a bathtub like mine—and it could hold six people!

If we really got into the swing of things, we could even co-opt the likenesses of various presidents to support various contemporary causes that didn’t exist during their time. For instance, we could feature George Washington in a PSA for climate-change awareness, but the tagline would be a little more esoteric. Something like: Turn off that wood-burning stove you young lad! It’ll pollute the phlogiston or whatever it was they thought the air was made up of back then.

Of course, this might be going a little too far. But you get the general idea. In any case, I think the Presidential PSAs would be far more effective than the current approaches.

Thanks for reading.

Brett Ortler