Dear Crunch,

First of all, I’ve got to congratulate you—you are definitely the most well-behaved wolf I’ve ever heard of. I mean, you’re an apex predator and you’ve been with the Wolves for a long time, since 1989. In all that time, I haven’t heard of a single incident where you’ve attacked/eaten anyone. How do you do it? Do you satisfy your cravings by going to a fine restaurant now and again and ordering a rack of lamb? (When you do so, do people look at you suspiciously? If so, that’s not fair.) Or did the Timberwolves make you give up meat/livestock/children when you accepted the job with them? If that’s the case, I imagine there’s some sort of veggie Morningstar Farms product that is comparable to a recent kill.

However you’ve done it, congratulations.

Anyway, so I see that you’re soliciting ideas for skits, and I have a few.

First, you could do a really brief version of Gulliver’s Travels—you know, that one story where a normal-sized dude gets shipwrecked and finds himself on an island full of tiny people. Well, you could have one of the players be Gulliver—any of them, really—and normal-sized humans could be Lilliputians. If you wanted to make the height discrepancy even more shocking, you could add someone my size (5’6”) into the mix. Of course, if you did that, the whole skit would probably cease being funny and then simply start to be just a little bit sad, as a person my size would probably look like one of the players on a foosball table.

If you did go with Gulliver’s travels, you’d probably have to truncate things—I mean, it’s got four parts in all—but that’d probably be OK, as most fans would probably miss the wider metaphors about the Yahoos, Houyhnhms and Brobdingnagians. All you’d really need to do is to have the giant player tied down, free himself, then someone would throw him the rock, the Lilliputians would try to steal it, he’d avoid them with a cross-over dribble, drive to the lane, and BOOM, finish with a slam.

Or since you’ve got a Spaniard on the team now in Ricky Rubio, perhaps you could walk out onto the court dressed as a painting by a famous Spanish painter. Maybe something by Picasso. Obviously nothing from his Cubist period would work, and his most famous painting Guernica, probably won’t do, as it’s a bit involved. Plus, it’s a little too serious for a basketball game, as it’s about the Spanish Civil War and a town being bombed by the Nazis and eventual fascist dictator Francisco Franco. (For whatever reason, every time I think of Francisco Franco, I think of Franco-American, the makers of Spaghetti-Os. And then I think of two things—being happy—and their famous slogan, “Uh-Oh, Spaghetti-Os,” but then I suddenly realize I’m thinking of the fascist Franco instead of the maker of the wonderful lunch standby, so it becomes “Uh-Oh, Francisco Franco!” This makes for some weird mental images, let me tell you.)

Anyway, while Picasso won’t do, I think you could certainly do something by Salvador Dali. Perhaps his famous “melting-clocks” painting, The Persistence of Memory. Really flat basketballs would probably make good stand-ins for the melted clocks, and then someone could play that “Are You Ready For This” song from Jock Jams, and then the basketballs could suddenly inflate, you could pick one up and then do a windmill jam to rev up the crowd. Anyway, I chose that song because it has been played at every basketball game I’ve ever attended. (Then again, I haven’t been to one since the early 1990s, so perhaps this has changed.)

As you probably can tell, I’m a bit put-off by basketball because of the whole height issue. While I know there have been some successful short players, such as Chris Paul and Muggsey Bogues, players like that are few and far between. And even those “short” players are nothing like me. I mean, they’re like electrons. They’re small, they move at nearly the speed of light, and it’s physically impossible to predict how fast they are going and where they will be with any degree of certainty. Me, I’m more like the scientific concept of the “aether,” the supposed “fifth-element” that was benched years and years ago because it was totally useless.

In any event, let me know what you think about the skit ideas, and best of luck to the team.

Take Care,

Brett Ortler

P.S. This is a writing project of sorts. I’d love a response!

You can see all of my letters here: www.brettsletters.com

You can like my letters on Facebook here.

Dear T.C.,

I know you’re pretty busy during the regular season, so I wanted to write you during the offseason, as I imagine you have more time to respond. But then it hit me—it’s winter and you’re a bear; you’re probably hibernating right now. So I imagine you’ve got a bear den somewhere at Target Field, right? Is it in Gardenhire’s office? If so, that’d sort of make sense; he seems sort of bear-like anyway.  I mean, Gardy does all those commercials for KLN family brands and their various food products, so he’s definitely an omnivore, plus I never hear a word about him during the winter, so I guess he could be hibernating. Plus, he gets really angry at some umpires; my wife and I agree that it’s just a matter of time before there is a mauling. Plus, if Gardy’s office were a bear den, that’d be a great place to bring underperforming players, as that’d add some extra motivation.

Anyway, my next question is a little more sensitive. What do you do during bear-hunting season? Hide? I mean, it’s usually from the beginning of September to the middle of October, so I imagine you’re on the clock for a good month or so of it, more if the Twins make the playoffs. If we are clearly out of contention, do they let you go hibernate early? And I’m sure you can’t hibernate all offseason; I’m pretty sure there are events you simply have to attend—like Twinsfest.

But isn’t Twinsfest a little odd for you? I mean, I know some of the Twins players really enjoy hunting. Former Twins first baseman Kent Hrbek even had his own hunting and fishing show— Kent Hrbek Outdoors. I imagine the organization makes sure that you’re reasonably safe at events like Twinsfest, probably with signs that read: No Guns on Premises, No Bear Hunting, and so on. After all, you’re a valuable member of the organization, and if one of the Twins alumni harvested you at a team event, that’d look pretty bad. (Sports Page Headline: Twins Mascot T.C. Bear Gunned Down At Twinsfest by Former Twins Legend.)

But what about when Twinsfest is over for the day? Do you have a gentleman’s agreement with all the would-be hunters that you get a head start? How much of one? An hour? A half-hour?

Can you use a vehicle, or do you have to stay on foot/paw? I know you have that ATV that you drive around at Target Field, can you use that?

Also, can you shoot back? I know you have that t-shirt cannon, and I bet that could work pretty well for personal defense in a pinch. (I’ve always secretly wanted one of the guys who help you carry the t-shirt cannon to slip just before he’s ready to launch the t-shirt, so instead of firing skyward, he shoots on a level plane straight into the crowd.) Now, I know such a mishap probably wouldn’t be pretty, but the results in the afterlife might be pretty entertaining.

 St. Peter: Welcome to heaven. By the looks of things you are a baseball player, and your last name appears to be Punto. Did you die in a game?

Twins Fan: No, I’m not a baseball player, and this isn’t an actual jersey. I’m just a baseball fan.

 St. Peter: I see. This player must be greatly skilled, as you honor him by wearing a replica of his jersey.

 Twins Fan: Actually, he’s not even on the team anymore. It’s the only jersey I have.

 St. Peter: Oh. Well, how did you die?

 Twins Fan: I was accidentally shot at point-blank range by a t-shirt cannon.

 St. Peter: How unpleasant. What did this t-shirt say?

 Twins Fan: T.C. the Bear’s Fan Club. Sponsored by Waste Management.

St. Peter: Clothing options have become much more complicated since my time.

 Oh, one more thing I meant to ask you. I know you’re not the only animal at Target Field. I was at one of the games where Kirby the Kestrel showed up. I don’t know if you remember him, but he was an American Kestrel that landed on the right-field foul pole at one of the games in the inaugural season. I was sitting in the “Field View” section right by that foul pole, and I personally watched Kirby eat about 10 moths. Now, if I liked eating moths, I don’t think there’s any place I’d rather be. I mean, it’s like the Old Country Buffet of bugs up there. Maybe the Twins could call those sections “Bug View” instead of “Field View.” I mean, it looks positively terrifying, like that one scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Anyway, I remember reading that Kirby showed up for a few games after that. But then he disappeared. You ate him, didn’t you? If you did, it’s OK, I forgive you. I mean, you’re a bear. I just want to know the truth, that’s all.

Thanks for reading, and I hope the end of hibernation goes well!

Brett Ortler

P.S. Can you play shortstop?

You can become a fan on Facebook here.

Dear Senator Klobuchar,

Like many voters I know, I absolutely loathe election season, and it’s largely because of political ads. Over the course of the next nine months or so, I’ll be subjected to dozens of ads about a whole host of candidates.

Many of these will be attack ads. As I recall, you ran a pretty clean campaign in 2008, and I really liked that you didn’t make copious use of attack ads. I’d like to encourage you to avoid attack ads again in the coming election. Such ads are problematic for so many reasons.

First and foremost, they appeal to the lowest common denominator—fear. Almost all of them commit a fallacy of some type; more often than not it’s scare tactics. Example: if you vote for THE OTHER GUY, bad, bad things will happen to you and this adorable, adorable child eating ice cream. (I wish I were making that up, but I’m not. The 1964 election was a bad year for attack ads.)

They are also a colossal waste of money. According the New York Times, candidates spent $2.8 billion dollars on ads for the 2008 election cycle alone. That’s a lot of money to spend on something almost all Americans hate. I mean, if the political parties are absolutely dead-set on spending money on something most of the American public doesn’t like, then perhaps we could spend that money a bit more usefully. For instance, I think we can probably come up with a food—or at worst, a short list of foods—that most Americans dislike, but that are, in fact, edible. That way, we could put that money to use, and we could probably knockout hunger, at least during election years.

For instance, I really, really, really don’t like onions, but they are edible (or so I’m told). Senator Klobuchar, 2.8 billion dollars buys a lot of onions.

According to the USDA, the average price of onions in the U.S. is $1.55 per pound. If you spent all of the ad money on those instead, that’d be 1,806,451,610 onions. Senator Klobuchar, that’s like six onions for every man, woman and child in this country. And the campaign slogan would practically write itself: Onions for everybody, but hey, at least it’s not a political ad.

Of course, since not everyone hates onions, we could substitute other edible, but equally terrible foods, such as Cauliflower ($1.48/lb.) or Beets ($0.65/lb.). Senator, when it comes to awful food selection, I am certainly willing to compromise.

I don’t dislike the ads just because they’re useless; it’s more than that—they’re childish to the point of being embarrassing. There’s all that dingy lighting, the unflattering portraits, the garish fonts and quotes out of context, and of course, the gravelly voice of the narrator, who always seems to have just finished providing voiceovers for Life After People, which by the way, is a terrible, terrible show.

It’s exactly what I would have done to my enemies if I had a film studio in junior high—and it’s so easy to do. As a case in point, consider my cats and dogs. I have two of each, and they fight, well, like Republicans and Democrats. If the various beasts of my household were running for elected office—President and Vice-President of the Living Room, say—and the dogs created an attack ad about my cats, it might read as follows:

[Grainy black and white image of my cat, Xerox, standing on the kitchen table]

Life after People Voiceover Guy: This cat is on the table. He shouldn’t be on the table, but he is, because he’s a cat. Cats, they can’t be trusted.

[Cut to still photo of Xerox and Peanut devouring their breakfast, which they do in about fifteen seconds]

Life after People Voiceover Guy: But it’s worse than that, they expect handouts and they’re lazy.

 [Cut to a photo of a neighborhood stray wandering through the woods]

Life after People Voiceover Guy: It worse than that. They violate our borders, ignoring the rule of law. Look at this tomcat; it probably just ate a songbird, ask yourself: Hasn’t your back yard been a little quieter than usual?

[Cut to a video of Xerox the Cat meowing incessantly]

Life after People Voiceover Guy: Did you notice that he didn’t say “meow?” He said “Mao.” That’s right, like the communists. What if he’s like other—violent— Maoists? Is your cat a terrorist?

 [Replay a segment of the video with Xerox the Cat meowing incessantly]

Life after People Voiceover Guy: And he said “Mao” seventeen times in a row. With cats, freedom of speech has gone too far.

 [Cut to a photo of Truffles the Terrier surrounded by rawhide bones.]

Truffles the Dog: I’m Truffles the Terrier and I approve this message. I support bones for all and I’m tough on defense. These bones surrounding me? These are the bones of my enemies.

Do you see what I mean, Senator?

Let me know what you think, and best wishes for the 2012 campaign.

Take care,

 

Brett Ortler

P.S. This is a writing project of sorts. You can see more here: www.brettsletters.com

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Dear Ragnar the Viking,

I live in Minnesota, and I’ve been hearing about the NFL lockout, and while much has been made of how the players plan to spend their lockout, almost nothing has been devoted to how the mascots plan to weather a prolonged period of unemployment.

Since you’re the mascot in my state, and my favorite mascot of all time, I have a suggestion to help you keep your financial house in order and have a little old-fashioned Scandinavian fun—you should spend the lockout by plundering and pillaging!

Of course, since I came up with the idea, I’d like to join in, if that’s OK. But I’ve got a lot of suggestions to make our reign of terror more awe-inspiring and financially worthwhile.  First, I was thinking that we could begin by raiding Lambeau field and kidnapping the Packers’ mascot. But then I realized that I had no idea what their mascot is. At first, I assumed it was a large immobile block of cheese, or maybe a half-drunk Holstein, but after doing some research, it seems they don’t have a mascot at all.

That’s fine, I guess. We can go elsewhere. There has to be some mascot we can kidnap and then ransom for an exorbitant amount of money. Perhaps the Lions. Now I’m guessing their mascot is unemployment, though I suppose it could also be a foreclosed home of some sort, maybe an enlarged plush version of one those houses from Monopoly, except with a bunch of rats looking out the front window.

Anyway, after we kidnap a few mascots, I think it’s time to get more traditional and take to the seas. Of course, that requires a Viking longboat. Given how far we are from Scandinavia, that might be hard to come by; then again, Moorhead, Minnesota is home to the Hjemkomst, a full-sized Viking longboat replica, and it is seaworthy, as it traveled from Duluth all the way to Norway in the ‘80s.

Even better, the folks in Moorhead are holding the Midwest Viking Festival this weekend, and that seems like a perfect time to drive up and commandeer the Hjemkost, as they’ll probably think we are part of a historical reenactment or something like that. We’d totally catch them by surprise! By the time they realized what had happened, we’ll be on board, brandishing our battle axes, readying the sails, and forcing our mascot hostages to man the oars.

Once we eventually make it to the open sea, I was thinking we could begin with some traditional coastal raiding, and then we could transition to some attacks via river systems as well, amassing wealth, plunder and galley slaves all the while.

There’s only one problem with this plan. I don’t look like your typical Viking. I’m short (5’5), I wear glasses, and I don’t even think I’m actually Scandinavian. As far as I know, I’m German-Irish.

But before you rule me out, I’ve got a few things going in my favor. While I may not have Goliath-sized muscles, I speak German, and that makes me instantly intimidating. I’d be happy to stand at the front of the boat, yelling giant German words to intimidate our enemies.

Perhaps I’d yell: Du, Herr Fisch-Gesicht:

Dieses Krieg ist nicht Ihre Verantwortungszuständigkeiten!

(Translation: This war is not your area of responsibility!)

Or maybe I’d say: Deine Mutter ist eine Kartoffelsalat! Und deinen Vater ist ein Oberammergaueralpenkräuterdelikatessenfrühstückskäse!

(Translation: Your mother is a potato salad! And your father is a deli-style breakfast cheese with mountain herbs from the state of Oberammergau.)

Ragnar, I wouldn’t even need a weapon; our enemies would cower before so many needless syllables.

My German-language skills aren’t my only asset. I was an English major, and I even read some of the old Icelandic sagas, including the Prose Edda, which discusses some of the history of the Viking Age. Mr. Ragnar, do you know that this work was written by a man named Snorri Sturluson? Now if you ask me, that doesn’t sound much like a Viking name; it sounds more like a narcoleptic dwarf.

Some of the Prose Edda has got some seriously quotable stuff. So if speaking really long German words became less effective, I could quote things like this:

From the Elivogs
Sprang drops of venom,
And grew till a giant was made.
Thence our race
Are all descended,
Therefore are we all so fierce.

Now sure, if there’s someone out there who’s actually read the Edda, they’d know that those lines are taken out of context and were really spoken by a giant telling the provenance of his race. Still, when we’re bombarding them with burning arrows, they won’t exactly be running to the Cliffnotes.

Anyway, let me know if you think I’d be an acceptable Viking and we can start coordinating for the takeover of the Hjemkost soon.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett Ortler

Note: Both of the long words are from: http://courses.csusm.edu/grmn201mh/long%20words.htm

Dear Mr. Daudt and Mr. Nienow,

Hi, I’m a constituent for both of you, and I’m writing because I’m already pretty darn tired of this whole government shutdown thing.

I mean, at first, it sounded like such a good idea. I was really looking forward to an absence of political ads; I figured that with no government, there would be no ads telling me what to think about government officials. How wrong I was.

By the way, can we permanently shut down those ads? Or, can we pass a law that bans those stupid ominous-sounding voiceover actors and replaces them with actors that have just inhaled a whole birthday party worth of helium balloons? And at the end of the ad, the voiceover actor would have to emerge from behind a curtain, Wizard of Oz-style and then improvise some sort of jig. That would make those ads easier to withstand. I also really dislike the garish fonts, the cheap leitmotiv soundtracks, and the silly production effects that you folks use to try to make your opponents look positively evil. (One of the TV ads here is a good example: http://www.letsfixminnesota.com/).

I mean, no matter how hard you try, it’s unlikely the opposition candidate will morph into the Penguin or the Joker.

Besides, such ads are too easy to make. It’s easy to smear somebody outright, especially when they have no immediate recourse to defend themselves. So along with the helium idea I added above, I think all so-called attack ads should be required to show the opponent in the best possible light, at least graphically. So instead of a black-and-white photo of Governor Dayton frowning, with the words HIGHER TAXES floating over his head like a cloud about to pour on poor old Eeyore, you should feature Dayton (or whomever) in a full-color shot, smiling, maybe at Chuckie Cheese’s.

I digress. Back to the budget; I was kidding when I said it was a good idea. I mean, laying off 22,000 state workers is always a pretty bad idea. I mean, most of those folks are on unemployment right now, and that’s awful, as it’s a drain on the state’s obviously strained resources, and some real trouble for those families. (Mr. Nienow and Mr. Doudt, I remind you that 22,000 people is approximately equal to four times the population of Isanti, MN, a city which you both represent.) So for their sake, please compromise with the Governor and fix this budget mess. (The richest few percent can take a hit, and the rest of us will anyway when the budget cuts are announced. That seems fair, yes?)

The real question I have for you both is: what have you done with our beer? As I understand it, MillerCoors, one of the two major beer distributors in the country, will be forced to pull their beers from Minnesota’s stores and bars in the near future. And if the shutdown is not resolved by late summer, then Anheuser Busch/InBev will have the same fate.

So let me get this straight: The shutdown puts thousands of people out of work and floods the airwaves with asinine ads, but it also takes away our beer? You have got to be kidding me. Do you realize how much we have to drink just to put up with all this political nonsense? I mean, things have gotten so bad that we make drinking games out of political speeches. (Anytime they say “job-killing tax increase” it’s a shot. Anytime anyone says “tax-and-spend” it’s two.)

So not only does the current political situation make us want to drink; the shutdown will likely cut out a good portion of our beer selection. According to the Star Tribune, MillerCoors provides 38% of the beer sold in Minnesota. And Anheuser Busch/In-Bev constitutes a pretty good chunk of the rest. So thanks to your shenaniganizing, in a short few months the normal folks of Minnesota will be without a state government—and possibly without most varieties of beer.

Mr. Nienow, Mr. Doudt—that’s really, really depressing. So please, fix this mess, and compromise with the Governor.

Otherwise, I’ll have to start brewing my own beer. And I really don’t want to see how that turns out.

Sincerely,
Brett Ortler

Isanti, MN

55040

Dear President Obama,

So it’s about time to take my dogs back into the veterinarian’s office for a check-up, and it’s always a bit of an adventure, as I usually bring both of my dogs, even if only one of them is there for a visit, as they get pretty anxious if they are separated.

For instance, when we brought my dachshund Bullwinkle in to get fixed a month ago, he had to stay the night, and this meant that he had to be away from Truffles, our other dog. She’s a rescue dog, so we don’t know what breed she is, but she’s appears to be a cross between a terrier and a teddy bear.

Anyway, when we brought Bullwinkle home from the vet’s, Truffles was so excited she jumped on his head. And he was still a bit drowsy from the anesthesia, so his reaction time was off, and she kept jumping and spinning and twirling; it was like watching some sort of Ewok martial arts demonstration or an adorable mauling.  Not wanting a repeat of When Truffles Attacks, we decided to keep them together whenever possible.

One thing I noticed about many veterinarians is that they send you a sympathy card if your pet is put down. This is a nice gesture, but it’s also a handy way to rank whether the vet’s any good. When I walked in at one clinic, there was a whole stack of cards ready to go out in the mail. Needless to say, we stopped going to that clinic.

I suppose it could be worse. At really cut-rate veterinarian’s offices, they probably don’t send you a Hallmark card at all; they just send a postcard with a note scrawled on it: You better go rent All Dogs Go to Heaven.

And while I firmly believe that all dogs go to heaven, I’ve always anticipated the sequel, All Cats Go Straight to Hell. Now don’t get me wrong, Mr. President, I love cats, but they do seem positively infernal. I mean, just go through the list of the cardinal sins and apply them to cats: Sloth? Check. Gluttony? No contest.  Lust? Have you ever seen a cat in heat, Mr. President?   Wrath/anger? One of my cats is the quintessential example of these sins! Maybe he could be featured in his own movie, The Wrath of Xerox. I could go on, but I’ll spare you.

And cats wouldn’t even need pitchforks, as their claws are perfect replacements.

As an aside, I’d like to know, do other species go to specific spiritual realms? If so, we should make sequels! In particular, I’d like to see:

All Tarantulas Go to Valhalla.

All Llamas Go to Limbo.

All Hamsters Go to Hades.

I also have a little trouble with the word “veterinarian.” First, it’s way too damn hard to spell. I bet a lot of young kids wanted to be veterinarians, but had their dreams dashed when they realized they couldn’t even spell it. And that seems like a lot to expect from a six- and seven-year olds, when they’re just learning to do basic spelling.

Of course, the abbreviation “vet” isn’t particularly helpful either, as veterans are commonly called vets. This can lead to some confusion. For instance, when I was in first grade, I thought that the V.F.W. meant Veterinarians of Foreign Wars. This seemed like an odd club to join. I pictured a bunch of old men in lab coats in a smoky room trading stories about patching up war camels or narrowly saving the life of a famous battle donkey. And given my confusion about the name, I was seriously skeptical of their meat raffles, as I did not want to know where that meat came from. Anyway, I quickly realized my error when I visited a local VFW for a wedding reception, and I asked one of the members if he’d worked on any elephants in the Vietnam war.

It’d therefore probably be best if we could come up with another term for the veterinary field altogether. What do you think, Mr. President?

Thanks, and take care,

Brett Ortler

Dear President Obama,

I’m writing to address an important issue amid the upcoming budget debate. I was encouraged by the budget you recently released, which maintains funding for the Center for Public Broadcasting, which supports PBS and National Public Radio. Nevertheless, as the US House is controlled by the opposition, it’s not clear whether funding will allotted for public broadcasting, as Republicans  favor cutting funding in the name of fiscal austerity, and because they accuse public broadcasting of being ideologically biased, with some even saying it is tantamount to propaganda.

I’d argue that public broadcasting is essential, for three primary reasons. First, people love it, and its cultural signficance can’t be overstated. Secondly, the accusations of bias against it are unfounded. Finally, it’s relatively inexpensive and well worth the funding.

Elmo and Friends

Let’s start with the first point—people love public broadcasting. Consider Public Television: The line-up of children’s programming alone is unbelievable and has influenced generations of Americans. Sesame Street. Reading Rainbow. Where in the World is Carmen San Diego: the line-up of great shows is never-ending. Kids clearly enjoy—and benefit—from the shows, and parents depend on this programming every day. (I’m pretty sure that if PBS billed for babysitting hours, it’d easily earn its annual budget, no problem.) PBS is particularly worthwhile for less wealthy families, as PBS is one of the only channels that folks without cable or satellite TV receive. (If you got rid of it at my house, you’d be getting rid of 12% of my channels.)

Sesame Street is perhaps the perfect representation of public broadcasting. Not only is the program important for making a serious attempt at adopting television as an educational medium, Sesame Street is also just plain damn fun, and entertainment is a virtue in its own right.  Big Bird, Elmo, Cookie Monster and the gang are cultural institutions; does the 112th Congress really want to be responsible for evicting Elmo and friends? (I think supporters of public broadcasting should adopt this as their new motto: Don’t Evict Elmo!)

(As an aside, I loathe to see the day when our great nation goes to war and our army is staffed with a new generation of artillery specialists who haven’t seen Grover’s “near and far” routine. That might not end well. )

Now I’m not saying that Public Television children’s line-up is perfect. There have been notable failures. PBS was involved with Teletubbies, which is apparently about a cult that speaks an unintelligble language. (The show’s title also sounds like some sort of horrible obesity transporter.) And then there is Barney and Friends, which is essentially a window into some sort of hell. But even Public Television’s “failures” are successes; even though I vehemently disliked these two infernal shows, they were wildly popular.

As far as liberal bias, I think one would be hard-pressed to find evidence of such a bias on public television, as much of the programming is dedicated to children, and that which isn’t usually consists of educational programming (Nova, etc. By the way, public television first got me interested in science. Thanks, Carl Sagan).

But to be fair, one could make the case that Sesame Street’s “The Count” is quite suspicious. After all, if someone with a vaguely Transylvanian accent and a barritone voice started counting and then periodically laughing, I’d be more than a little creeped out.

Bias?

Jokes aside, many of the accusations of liberal bias are directed at National Public Radio, so let’s direct our attention there. Much of National Public Radio’s programming consists of current events and news, such as Morning Edition, All Things Considered, and Weekend Edition.

Now, I’d hardly call Morning Edition propaganda. I mean, if it is, then it’s really, really ideologically unfocused propaganda that is rather informative and well-balanced and goes well with coffee and a streussel. I listen to Morning Edition every morning on the way to work, and oddly enough, National Public Radio was the first place I heard about conservative think tanks such as the Cato Institute, the Heritage Foundation, and the American Enterprise Institute. Representatives from such groups are featured quite prominently on National Public Radio, and their views aren’t written off—on the contrary, they are often quite carefully considered. Since being introduced to such groups by NPR, I’ve followed them fairly closely, and while I don’t agree with all of these groups politically, I’ve found that knowing about them (and reading  their opinions/arguments) has been quite helpful, as it’s helped me consider my own viewpoints more carefully and craft stronger arguments. (In other words, it’s a boon for critical thinking.)

As I’d recalled that right-leaning guests had been on NPR quite often, I wanted to see what the folks at the AEI and Heritage had to say about the whole “cut funding” issue. I did a quick Google search of each group’s respective sites, and a good number of the references were links boasting that certain speakers had been featured on NPR.

This seems strange, given that you’d expect to find more reasoned arguments against NPR and public broadcasting out there (especially at these sites). But in a simple Google search of the wider web, one simply finds accusation after accusation of bias (and pun after pun, National Propaganda Radio, Nazi Public Radio, etc.) but in the end there isn’t much proof. And saying something over and over again doesn’t make it so. (As an aside, if Captain Picard ever wrote a cookbook, that’d be a good cookbook title for him: Make It So!)

Many conservatives claimed to have found that proof last October, when Juan Williams was fired from NPR after making a controversial statement on Bill O’Reilly’s show, where he said:

Look, Bill, I’m not a bigot. You know the kind of books I’ve written about the civil rights movement in this country. But when I get on the plane, I got to tell you, if I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous.

First, let me just say that any statement that starts “Look, Bill, I’m not a bigot…but” is headed in the wrong direction. The structure automatically gives some credence to the very statement that one just denied.

For instance, if I were to tell my wife, “Look, Wife, I don’t hate Grey’s Anatomy, after all, I watched that whole marathon with you, but I’ve got to admit, when I hear those stupid voiceovers at the beginning of the show, I get a little nervous.”

It’d be quite clear from that statement that I was no great fan of the voiceovers, and when you parse out what Williams said, the gist of it is pretty racist: When he’s on an airplane, he’s afraid of Muslims.

When you think about it, that’s a pretty absurd statement to make, given there are 1.4 billion Muslims, and about 2 million living in the States, and the vast, vast majority of those folks are peaceful, law-abiding folks. Let’s assume for the sake of argument that 1% of the two million or so Muslims living in the States were, in fact, terrorists. That’d be 20,000 terrorists already running around within our borders. And those folks have been here for years, so one would have expected a spate of terrorist attacks.

But that thankfully hasn’t occurred, and hopefully will not occur in the future. So Williams’s fears are clearly innacurate, but what of his firing? Is such a statement acceptable for a supposedly “objective” journalist? I’d say no. Had Williams or anyone in his position made his statement about any other group, he would have been fired posthaste, and without any fanfare—and rightfully so, as bigotry should have no place on the airwaves.

Now NPR likely made a political mistake by firing Williams because it provided the rare scrap that could be bandied about as “evidence” of bias, but I think firing Williams was ethically justified, as his comments were quite repugnant. That is to say, Williams has has every right to say whatever he’d like, but his employers don’t have to support his speech, as it reflects on NPR as a whole. (This is especially true since his integrity as a journalist could easily be called into question.)

Discussing the firing, Republican Senator Jim Demint framed the issue as an instance of bias and an attack on free speech, “Once again we find the only free speech liberals support is the speech with which they agree.”

Yet Mr. Demint’s comments seem disingenous here, as the recurring debate about funding seems less to be an issue of fiscal policy (it’s a tiny portion of the budget, relatively speaking), and more of an attempt to bump off the perceived competition (NPR), thereby making Mr. Demint and his party seemingly guilty of the crime they attribute to NPR. And Mr. Demint’s statement also ignores the fact that conservatives are not only featured on NPR, but (perhaps) even courted disproportionately. Not to mention that the whole discussion of alleged bias at NPR also ignores the many shows that don’t deal with politics at all: Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me?, Car Talk, This American Life, etc.

Cost

Finally, there is the issue of cost. For this fiscal year (2011), Public Broadcasting supporters have asked for a total of $611 million dollars, which amounts to 0.000172015766% of the 2010 Federal Budget. That’s $2 per person (divided equally). (For context, consider the F-35 Fighter program, which may end up costing $382 billion.)

While $611 million is no small amount, clearly there are other areas where we can cut much more significant amounts without losing institutions like Snuffleupagus, which are simply indispensable.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett

P.S. I’m tired, so I’ll plug my links (where I got my data) in tomorrow.

Dear Vice President Biden,

Hello, as part of a writing project, I’ve been writing President Obama random letters pretty often for the past year or so. Up to now, I haven’t written you, so I’m sending a note your way.

As you well know, the Super Bowl is tonight, and given you’re from Pennsylvania, I’m assuming you’ll be rooting for the Steelers. I’ve always liked the Steelers myself, but given all the serious accusations against Ben Roethlisberger, I’m having a hard time supporting him or his team.This leaves me in something of a bind, as the Steelers will be playing the Packers.

Mr. Vice President, I live in Minnesota, and rooting for the Packers is not something we take lightly, because cheering for the Packers means you have to sign onto the whole Wisconsin worldview and values-system, and that’s something I’m just not comfortable with. A real-life example might help explain things: My wife and I live in Minnesota about an hour from the border. One time we visited nearby St. Croix Falls, WI, and we got pulled over just as we cross over. It was a Wisconsin State Trooper and instead of one of those Dudley Do-Right mountie hats, he was wearing a cheese wheel. Aged cheddar, I think.

He then asked me to breathe into his hand and asked if I’d been drinking. I told him no, and he then launched into a long speech about how I letting Wisconsin down, and we were then and ticketed for not drinking while driving. When the locals heard about it, we were accosted by an inebriated mob, and most of the folks were armed with cheese wedges. They only let us go when we swore some sort of loyalty oath to Aaron Rodgers’ mustache.

And that happened during the football off-season. You couldn’t pay me to go to Wisconsin right now. Given that it’s early afternoon and the Super Bowl starts in three hours or so, I’m pretty sure the entire population of Wisconsin is already drunk. (Then again, most of Wisconsin is usually drunk by 2:30pm or so that’s not any really different.)

Mr. Vice President, now I know that you don’t drink anymore, but I can’t help focusing on alcohol in this letter, as it’s kind of inescapable when discussing Wisconsin. With certain states, you have to talk about certain things—when you mention North Dakota, you have to mention the Coen Brothers and woodchippers; similarly, any discussion of Nebraska is incomplete without a mention of sheer, unadulterated boredom.

Speaking of states and their claims to fame, I saw a Delaware license plate the other day, and I have to admit, the tagline “The First State” seemed a bit boastful.

I mean, if every state followed your lead, it’d simply be one-upmanship writ large. If I had to come up with a Minnesota equivalent, it’d probably be “We’ve got loons!” or something like that.

Then again, like I should talk. Minnesota’s license plate says “Land of 10,000 Lakes,” and this has already led to some trouble with our neighbors to the north. After we adopted the “10,000 lakes” slogan, Manitoba soon began calling itself “Land of 100,000 lakes.” After that, it got nasty pretty quick.

Minnesota responded with a license plate, “Insecure much, Manitoba?”

In turn, Manitoba, issued one that read: “You are all fat, dumb Americans without adequate health care!”

This tit-for-tat eventually led to a hostile stand-off at the border as military units from Manitoba (moose) stared down military units from northern Minnesota (bears); the conflict was finally resolved by a figure respected by both sides—a walleye (Wilfred) that served as a mediator. Shortly thereafter he was eaten.

Anyway, as Minnesota’s debacle proves, license plate boasting can have unintended consequences.

Finally, Mr. Vice President, I have a question about your title. Have you ever considered hyphenating your title so it reads “Vice-President?” Then you could be the President of Vice! That sounds sort of fun, if you ask me. Not that I’m advocating the use of illicit substances or anything like that. Not only are they illegal, but I’m pretty sure that if I took any sort of upper that I would burst into flames. (I’m kind of hyper/excitable.)

Still, you have to admit that it’d be pretty cool, plus I’m pretty sure you’d get to have a really cool car—maybe a Lamborghini Diablo with flames, or a vice-presidential Harley? And when you were airborne, instead of Air Force Two (which sounds soooo second-class), your plane could be called Air Force Vice, which makes it sound a bit like a TV series from the ‘80s. Plus, your official residence could be renamed. Instead of Number One Observatory Circle (which sounds like some sort of horrible geometry problem), your residence could be called “The Den of Vice and Iniquity” which sounds much, much cooler.

Anyway, let me know what you think about this, and thanks!

Brett Ortler

Dear Mr. President,

As you probably know, Groundhog’s Day is tomorrow.

I’ll be honest: it’s a holiday I don’t understand. I realized this when I tried to explain it to a foreign exchange student who wanted to know what it is all about.

Me: Happy Groundhog’s Day!

Foreign Exchange Student: What? I have not hogged any ground. I have stolen nothing.

Me: No, it’s a holiday. Let me explain: On February 2nd of each year, a whole lot of people gather very early in the morning in a tiny city in western Pennsylvania to see whether a large rodent sees his shadow. This indicates whether there will be six more weeks of winter or an early spring.

Foreign Exchange Student: Why would they do this? You don’t have weather satellite?

Needless to say, there wasn’t an easy way to explain the whole phenomena, especially because I was telling the exchange student a truncated summary, I hadn’t mentioned the “inner circle” of people closest to Phil, the fellas who wear top hats and tuxedos and are fluent in “groundhogese” and “translate” Phil’s prediction. I also naturally omitted any mention of the location—Gobbler’s Knob—because it is perhaps the strangest place name I’ve ever heard. It’s vaguely embarrassing, really. (Come to think of it, Gobbler’s Knob sounds a lot like a really poorly named adult film.)

Of course, Phil’s accuracy also leaves much to be desired. Apparently he’s only been correct 38% of the time. Mr. President, if I wanted inaccurate weather predictions from a somewhat chubby mammal, I’d watch Willard Scott. (Speaking of Willard Scott, did you know he invented the Ronald McDonald character? I always thought he was creepy, but now I know why.)

More importantly, Punxtawaney Phil doesn’t seem to have any idea that weather can be a serious issue.  Of course not, because he doesn’t live outdoors like the rest of his rodent brethren; he lives in the Punxtawaney town library, with his wife, Phyllis. (Mr. President, I think I’d be a much better weather prognosticator, and I love libraries—and top hats!—and I’m pretty sure my wife would be OK with living in a library, so please consider this a cover letter if the job ever opens up.)

What I mean is: In Minnesota, six weeks of winter can have some pretty serious implications. For instance, if we’ve got six more weeks of winter to expect, that means we have six more weeks to contend with potential frostbite, a landscape frosted in road salt, and of course, the snowmen. Let me explain: Snowmen aren’t admired here, Mr. President. The first snowmen were, sure. But then Mr. Punxtawaney goes off and mandates six more weeks of winter, and a few of them persisted to the next winter. And these snowmen begat more melting-resistant snowmen (kind of like an antibiotic-resistant germs), and Punxtawaney Phil gave them more winter, and so on. Eventually the snowmen took over and practically became our overlords. They monopolize all of our carrots, our hats, and worst of all, our coal. (We need that coal to stay warm!)

Finally, I’m concerned for Phil himself. It’s unfortunate that even mildly controversial public figures are often subject to harassment and threats online and in phone calls, letters, and so on. I’m sure it’s no different for Phil, and I’m curious, does Phil get hate mail? If so, what’s it like? Is it your standard nonsense, or do people get creative, perhaps sending him catalogs of hats or coats made out of groundhog fur?

I’m also concerned because Phil is even more vulnerable than most celebrities, since he’s a game animal.  Mr. President, in Pennsylvania there is no closed season for groundhogs/woodchucks. This is from the Pennsylvania Game Commission’s website:

WOODCHUCKS: No closed season, except during the regular firearms deer seasons and the legal hunting hours of the spring turkey season. Hunting on Sundays is prohibited. No Limit.

Mr. President, Phil is clearly in danger; please see to it that he’s protected.

Thanks, and take care,
Brett

Dear Mr. President,

I’m writing this letter rather than going outside and snowblowing my driveway. While it’s not terribly cold out in terms of air temperature, it’s pretty windy, and the wind chill is currently at 4 degrees Fahrenheit.

To be honest, Mr. President, I’ve never understood wind chill. I mean, I think I understand the scientific justification: In winter, low air temperatures are more liable to cause problems under windy conditions. The wind doesn’t change the actual air temperature, but the wind causes the human body to lose heat more quickly than it otherwise would, lowering the skin temperature and causing frostbite and hypothermia to develop more quickly.  On such days, it often feels colder than it actually is—and for all practical purposes, it is. (For this reason, windchill is sometimes referred to as “apparent temperature.”)

Mr. President, while the science is sound, this seems like a pretty semantic debate for most folks to encounter after the latest segment of “Where in the World is Matt Lauer?” on the Today Show.

And really, the “apparent temperature” is exactly what I’m looking for. It helps me answer all sorts of essential wintertime questions. For instance:

Question: Do I need really to wear a coat?

Answer: It feels like -20; if you’d like to keep your core body temperature in the 90s, yes.

Question: Will my morning commute resemble the ice planet Hoth?

Answer: Yes. It feels like it’s -35 degrees outside. You may now go back to your bedroom and cry.

Question: How long is it safe to have my skin uncovered outside?

Answer:  About 11 seconds. To be on the safe side, wear six parkas doused in kerosene and if need be, consider temporary self-immolation.

I have another suggestion for weather forecasts. I’m a big fan of anthropomorphic icons for weather maps, but it seems like that most weather reports are adopting generic icons instead.

This is a huge mistake, as the anthropomorphic icons make weather conditions that much more real.

For instance, let’s say tomorrow’s forecast called for snow and 15 degrees above zero (air temp.) The icon could be a little happy-go-lucky cloud icon with snowflakes, like this:

Now let’s say that the next day was going to be the same temperature, but with 15 mph winds too, making for a wind chill of 15 degrees. The icon could then look a bit more concerned, perhaps like this:

Finally, for a day with a dangerous windchill, it could feature an obviously angry/deranged cloud, and instead of a cloud with snowflakes, it could be shown depositing knives along the landscape.

Perhaps something like this:

Other Thoughts on Winter

When I think of winter, I often picture quaint cabins in the snowy woods, an image that seems to stem from fairy tales and magical worlds. This, in turn, brings two things to mind: The Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales, and the Lord of the Rings.

The Brothers Grimm fairy tales are among some of the strangest things I’ve ever read, and I’ve read them in English and German. For instance, if my kid is ever really naughty I’m going to read them the original version of Cinderella (in which the evil stepsisters have their eyes pecked out by birds), and then I’m going to buy them half a dozen parakeets for pets.

As for Lord of the Rings, while I enjoyed the series as a teen, I never thought it make for a useful genealogy tool. Nevertheless, as it turns out, the hobbit may not be simply be an imaginary character after all. Archaeologists discovered a possible subspecies of human beings—one they’ve tentatively dubbed Homo_floresiensis. Nicknamed “the hobbit” due to its small stature (3 ft. 6 in.), this subspecies bears a striking resemblance, to, well, me.  This pretty much eliminates any need that I might have for a subscription to ancestors.com or other genealogy sites, as it seems quite clear that I descended from Indonesian Uncle Frodo (as well as the Fightin’ Irish mascot).

While I’m glad to understand my heritage, I was also troubled to learn of another recent scientific finding. Terrifyingly, about the same time as the human-hobbit subspecies flourished in Indonesia, a giant stork that was six feet tall apparently lived in the same area. Mr. President, that means our hobbit friends were possibly hunted by giant killer storks.

Let me say that again: Giant. Killer. Storks.

Mr. President, while I know that the 2012 election is far away, I’d like to know: What is your position on giant killer storks? And what is your plan of action if an evil group of tall scientists resurrected such storks and set them loose on the unsuspecting population of short people? Would you allow the use of tanks to combat this threat? Would each short person get a bodyguard? Or could short people create genetic mutants of their own and modify an army of tough, yet short, animals to fight back? (Perhaps lion-sized dachshunds?)

I await your response to these important questions.

Thanks, and take care,

Brett

Notes:

Knife Image used courtesy of Carter Cutlery. Image licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported.

Weather icons courtesy of Lavana at Deviantart.com: http://lavana.deviantart.com/art/Flat-Weather-Icons-32021664