The Return of Open Letters!

Dear Winter:
I'm furious. It's December 19th. You are supposed to stay away for FIVE MORE DAYS. So seriously, back the hell off. Enough. 16 inches of snow in the last five days? 11 degree weather? What the hell? ENOUGH ALREADY, you overzealous bastard.

Please govern yourself accordingly,
RF


Dear fire alarm in my building that went off incessantly for the last two nights:
Seriously. Stop it. I feel like there's a gigantic mosquito in my head. And if there are two things I despise, it's mosquitoes and gigantism.

You dig?,
RF

Dear co-worker who I accidentally crashed into and knocked over and sent flying into that table with the printers when I came stampeding out of my office because I am sometimes careless and tend to walk too fast and without looking and with heavy feet and you're kind of small and I didn't see you:
Um... sorry 'bout that.

Apologetically yours,
RF

Dear Strung Out:
First off - I love you, and I think "Twisted by Design" and "American Paradox" are spectacular albums, and I think "Velvet Alley" is seriously a song that I can listen to on an endless loop, especially the part where you yell "I'll make you beg!" That said... "Element of Sonic Defiance"? .. Kind of blows.

Disappointed but not angry,
RF

Dear iPod:
Please don't die. Please? I love you so much. I cannot bear the thought of being forced to get some overly fancy new iPod that plays video and massages my hands and... shit, I don't know... speaks four languages and knows how to satisfy a camel. And frankly, I don't need any of that. You're fine. You're better than fine. But... you're kind of shitting the bed right now. You freeze up for hours. I've needed to wipe you clean and start over twice. And there's that creepy death rattle that comes out every now and then. I'd really rather not have to replace you. Plus, I kind of dig that you're old-school in that cool-like-Donkey-Kong kind of way. So, please don't die.

Hopelessly devoted to you,
RF