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 # 27 | Subject: The Great Outdoors

Letter to President Obama # 27 | Subject: The Great Outdoors

Dear President Obama,

I’ve been reading a lot about the economic downturn, and my girlfriend and I have done our best to spur the economy, so we’ve been staying at home and trying to spend our money in the community. To that end, we’ve been spending a lot of times at state parks.

Unfortunately, because of Minnesota’s budget crisis, I’m pretty sure that state park fees will be going up soon. Our governor’s been saying over and over again that we all need to “tighten our belts” a bit more, but it’s pretty tough to tighten your belt when you’ve already sold your pants.

Anyway, so there I was, in the woods, hiking to my campsite, without pants. (Thankfully, they were that kind of pants that turn into shorts and I only sold the parts that zipped off.) Well, we made it to our campsite, set everything up and went fishing.

We caught a whole bunch of fish and I was anticipating a fresh meal, but my girlfriend put the kibosh on that plan when she told me about the mercury levels in the lake. I was shocked. In case you don’t know, the Department of Natural Resources issues consumption guidelines for fish caught in Minnesota waters, as some fish contain an unsafe level of mercury. I tried to let the fish go, but a few died, so there I was, with a couple dead northern pike, but I didn’t want to waste them (as I feel bad enough keeping fish anyway). So I tried to put the mercury in them to use. I tried to use the first fish as a thermometer, but it didn’t work. I knew lightmbulbs have a lot of mercury in them, but I wasn’t about to apply an electrical charge to a toothed fish; plus, even if that would have worked, I didn’t want to see a glowing green-and-white spotted predator. It probably would have looked like some sort of spectral barracuda. No thanks. Finally, I thought of harnessing the high mercury content in the fish and the lake water and considered becoming a hatter.

I ended up just bringing the fish to a garbage can, but I never was able to throw them away. I tried, but there were all these wasps flying around, and every time I approached, they attacked. I’ve always thought that the government had something to do with this, that somebody at the Environmental Protection Agency secretly placed wasps in every garbage can to make the general population associate throwing stuff away with pain. Is this true? If so, please tell the EPA folks that, in my case, it worked. Every time I see a garbage can outside (especially at the fair!), I run away.

When you think about it, it’s really a brilliant idea, and it’s pretty harmless. Unless you’re allergic to bees or wasps. Hmm, maybe we should attach an EPI-pen to each garbage can. Anyway, if we really want to lessen our impact on the Earth, perhaps we could take this idea further and let even scarier animals inhabit our garbage cans. Pit vipers would work, or if we could give get the guys at a DARPA to engineer a tiny reverse-scuba suit, a moray eel could be right at home in our trash bins.

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


Brett Ortler

Letter to Obama #25 | Subject: A Note About Healthcare

Letter to Obama #25 | Subject: A Note About Healthcare

Dear President Obama,

I got an email yesterday from info@barackobama.com, in which you said that you need my help passing your health care legislation. Well, I couldn’t finish my letter, as I had a migraine. In this respect, it is the only migraine ever to be opportune, because it made me think a lot about healthcare.

So I have a quick suggestion about doctors. I think it’d be nice if, one day out of the year, we could declare a national holiday that reverses the doctor-patient relationship. I think they’d be better doctors if they understood what it was like on the other side.

First, of course, they’d have to make an appointment, which would entail talking to the robotic operator, and it wouldn’t be one of those easy-to-use voice recorded ones, no, it’ll be the “please say your option aloud” kind. Every time I call them up, the machine tells me to say the word “Appointment” if I want to schedule a visit.

So I say it slowly. The machine tells me it didn’t understand. So I say it again. It asks me to repeat it again. I do so, but now I’m saying it so slowly my voice sounds like I’m either in slow-motion or trying to do an Andre the Giant impression. Of course, it doesn’t process this either.

I really don’t get why this is so hard—there aren’t that many words that rhyme with appointment. Sure, I guess it’s conceivable that I could be saying I’d like to make an ointment, or I’d like to make an anointment, but that’d be pretty strange. Mr. President, why do we even use these robot things if they can’t hear? That’s like using my great-grandmother as a receptionist. She had two miracle ears for a reason.

Anyway, after the third attempt, I usually try making a bunch of modemy noises, you know, to try speaking the robot’s language, but no dice. This usually gets me transferred to the operator, so I guess I must know how to swear in robot or something.

Of course this is no real solution to my problem. I get put on hold and a really stilted voice tells me that my call is valuable to them and there is synthesized background music that was apparently composed by the answering robot in its copious free time. (Speaking of the voice message, if my call is really valuable to them, I wish they would give me money.)

Anyway, once the doctor set the appointment up, they’d get called into the examination room. I’d breeze in twenty minutes late, the smell of formaldehyde and those latex gloves wafting into the room behind me. Of course, I’d be wearing a lab coat (except I’d splatter mine with red food coloring and some uncooked headcheese to keep them guessing).

Then I’d start the interrogation, because that’s what a doctor’s visit feels like sometimes. I mean, no matter what you’re being seen for, they start you off with curt, terse questions. And no matter how truthful you are during the inquisition, the interrogation always gets worse—they shine bright lights in your eyes, stick things in your ears, and you’re often forced to wear a demeaning paper dress. A dress, Mr. President, and one that closes from the back. If that doesn’t make you feel threatened, I don’t know what will.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed the examination table, which looks like a tiny bed, until you realize that it’s really a torture implement for short people. Yes, Mr. President, I’m short, and I’ve seen the foot clamps and arm clamps. I pulled one out during one visit and asked why it was hidden, and the doctor said, “Oh, we don’t usually show people those unless we need to.”

And if you’re really unlucky, they put you in this torpedo-tube thing that makes loud noises and you think they’re going to shoot you at a ship or something. Or worse yet, they tell you need a shot or that they need to draw blood, which is really just another way to say that they are going to stab you slightly. If that’s the case, they’ll sometimes pull out the most painful torture tool of all; that finger catapult thing—the one that’s supposed to “just be a pinprick” but makes it feel like one finger is being attacked by some sort of raptor.

Of course, since I’m not a sadist, I wouldn’t subject my doctor-patient to any of this cruel treatment. Instead, I’d simply make sure to repeatedly test the doctor’s reflexes with that little hammer. You know, the one they always use on your knees? Mr. President, I have pretty small knees. And they are sensitive. If you wanted to torture me, that’s all you’d have to do. You can tell the CIA that; they wouldn’t have to waterboard me. Every time I go to the doctor’s office, I see that little hammer while I’m waiting for the doctor to arrive, and I always want to hide it so he skips that part.

I’d then spend the next ten minutes asking doctor-patient about their “symptoms,” and every once in a while, I’d whack them with that little hammer just to keep them guessing. Then, no matter what their symptoms were, I’d use big words like “nonspecific” and “hypochondria” and tell them that things should clear up on their own. And I’d threaten them with that little hammer and tell them not to come back.

Take Care,

Brett Ortler