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 #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 #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 #22 | Subject: Code Names and The Secret Service

Letter to President Obama #22 | Subject: Code Names and The Secret Service

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I have a few questions about the Secret Service. First of all, I understand that the Secret Service issues codenames for the First Family and for important members of government. Now, I know that I’m not a member of the government, but I’d really like to have a codename.

I’ve put a lot of thought into my secret codename options. Of course, I don’t want it to interfere with any of the official business at the White House. And really, the Secret Service folks wouldn’t have to memorize it or even use it; I’d just like them to call it over the earpieces once.

Really, this is my attempt at a footnote in history. I’d like my name to make it in on Wikipedia, with a short note saying, “was once referred to as _____________” by the Secret Service.

So I’ve got a few options lined up. My first choice would be “Rabid Wombat.” I know it sounds silly, but there’s no way you’d mistake it for anyone else’s codename (unless that name is already taken by Dick Cheney), and think about how cool it would be to hear Roger that, the Rabid Wombat is entering the Library of Congress. If that name is already taken, “The Do-Gooding Pirate” would be a good one for me too; I think it’d be great to hear, The Do-Gooding Pirate Is in the Capitol Cafeteria. (Wait, does the Capitol have a cafeteria? If so, do they have those little chocolate milk things like in Elementary School? And do they have lunch ladies, or do they have really attractive scantily clad 20-something co-eds as lunch ladies?)

In any case, if the codename doesn’t work out, I’d like a little help obtaining some Secret Service gear. Don’t worry, I’d like to do this for entirely benign reasons—I’d like to go as a Secret Service agent at Halloween next year.

To that end, I’d like to know: Do they sell those Secret Service earpieces anywhere? And by the way, what do Secret Service agents listen to on their earpieces? Is it just a running update on the status of the situation, or can they tune into radio stations? I ask this because one time I saw a Secret Service guy on TV and he was dancing, or at least bouncing around a bit as he scanned the crowd, and I swear I heard a really tinny rendition of a Bob Marley song in the background. Of course, I could be wrong, but this was during the Bush Administration, and I don’t know why they would have been playing Bob Marley. Ever.

Anyway, if Secret Service Man was listening to music, I’m not saying this is a bad thing. On the contrary, I think relaxing music would probably help those guys focus, and I’d encourage this. But whatever you do, don’t let the Secret Service guys listen to New Age-y music—in my experience, that stuff either puts me to sleep or makes me really, really angry. I’ve never wanted to suplex someone more than when listening to the supposedly relaxing music of Yanni or John Tesh. Either scenario could end badly if it occurred on the White House lawn.

In this respect, New Age-y music is sort of like those motivational posters. Both have noble intentions but utterly fail. An example: Once, my boss bought a motivational poster with a picture of the Great Wall of China on it and the word “Teamwork” in big letters. I started laughing when she showed it to me, thinking it was some sort of absurd joke. When they didn’t say anything, I frowned, and told them that I’d read that the Great Wall of China was built largely by slaves and it was rumored that some of those folks were buried in the wall when they died. Now it was my boss’s turn to frown, mutter something about demotion, and then she made it quite clear that the stupid thing was going above my desk. I don’t work there anymore.

Anyway, if I can’t get all of the Secret Service agent gear, maybe I could combine costumes; I could dress up like a Secret Service guy and then double as the guy who has that briefcase handcuffed to his arm all the time. But in order to make my costume as accurate as possible, I need answers to a few questions. First, is the whole briefcase thing in his job description, and what is his job title, by the way? Is it something simple like Nuclear Code Briefcase Man or something more grandiose, like The Protector of the Codes? In either case, I’m pretty sure there’s a comic book superhero in there somewhere, Mr. President.

And what happens if that briefcase handcuff chafes his arm a lot, it gets infected, and he has to take medical leave because of it? I imagine that’d get pretty awkward, especially if he had to specify on some form that he was missing work because of handcuff usage on the job. In this respect, I can empathize with The Protector of the Codes. Once when I was a kid, my sister handcuffed me with those fake kid handcuffs and then broke off the latch. I had that thing on my arm for a week. There’s nothing weirder than explaining that you have a handcuff on your arm because your sister handcuffed you to the deck. That story gets even worse—my neighbor friend, who was ten at the time and thought he was MacGyver, wanted to use an ax to get the handcuff off. Let me tell you, it’s not as easy to do as on TV.

Thank you for reading Mr. President, and let me know what you think.

Thanks,


Brett Ortler

Letter to Obama #19 | Subject: Homeland Security

Letter to Obama #19 | Subject: Homeland Security

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing because I’ve got a few questions about Homeland Security.
First of all, remember when the Department of Homeland Security came out with the recommendation that everyone get duct tape and plastic lining for protection against chemical and biological weapons? Is that recommendation still in force?

If so, great! Then I’m all set. Except, I don’t call it protection from terrorists; I just call it a fort. I built it for the neighbor’s kids, but they got tired of it. So now I just use it for a temporary greenhouse. But I’d be more than happy to use it as a shelter against chemical and biological weapons—just let me know if that’s OK.

As an aside, is it OK to incorporate a secret password into the WMD-fort? The kids made me promise that I’d use the password every time I entered it, even if they weren’t there. I keep my promises, so if you want to visit the fort, you’re definitely welcome, but you have to say the password “Beagles” first.
In addition, as I was looking at the DHS’s website, some of the entries on the emergency preparedness kit seemed a little obvious. I mean, emergency or not, I don’t forget water or food wherever I go. Well, sometimes I forget breakfast, but that’s different, right? I was a little disappointed to learn that the emergency preparedness kit didn’t include gas masks or those cool Darth Vader-like HAZMAT suits. You know, the ones with the internal respirators? If you’d add those to the preparedness kit, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would be a lot more interested in Homeland Security; you have to admit, they do look pretty cool.

I also have a question about the National Threat Assessment Level. It doesn’t ever seem to change; it’s been at elevated for as long as I can remember. Is that good? Or is the person we hired to change it just really, really bad at their job? In either case, we need to change the system to make people pay attention again. I suggest we broaden its scope a little bit. I’d like to recommend that we start applying the Threat Level aesthetically and culturally. For instance, if our operatives detect that an upstart daughter of a washed-up country singer could soon have her own Disney program, I’d like to prevent this, at all costs. I think you know who I’m talking about, Mr. President.

Let me know what you think about this idea, and the others too.
Thanks,

Brett