Dear People Making All Those Lists,

I find it strange people are not sick of this fad yet. I am.
And to drive that point all the way home and out the back of the garage, I've created my very own list. Here it is.

11 Reasons I'm Sick of the Whole List Thing

1. A couple of the items are almost always very similar.

Sure they’re all worded uniquely, but when you really examine them, there are usually two that are only slightly different.

2. At least one of the explanation paragraphs starts with a question.

Remember when you were a kid and you had that universally shared experience? That’s what I’m talking about.

3. The title of the list is always provocative and self-assured.

And for some reason, I really do want to know the four reasons you slapped your boss or the eight reasons you plan to gain weight this year. And after I read your six reasons everyone should use Twitter, guess what? I'll resume being perfectly content without it.

4. Every item is always filled with superlatives.

And then in the explanation paragraph things aren’t so absolute, as you find out that, in fact, many items often have superlatives in them. But still.

5. The length of the list is ridiculously arbitrary.

Can’t we just stick with the classics: 3, 5, and 10? They fit so nicely in my brain. I don’t like seeing lists of 7 or 9. Or if you’re BuzzFeed, there’s just no telling how long the list might be.

6. The explanation is often just a rewording of the heading.

It’s true. A lot of times the explanation is like a different way of wording the heading.

7. Usually the list could be one item shorter.

This is because there’s only a subtle difference between two of the items in the list, and if not for trying to reach the required number of items, as stated in the title of the list, those two items could be combined.

8. This trend encourages poor reading skills.

Yes, this is a serious problem. The internet has trained us to scan the page for the “most important” information, without reading for comprehension. Our attention spans for reading are so short we don’t. There are even clubs now at which people just sit and read a book. It’s that bad.

9. Lists encourage poor writing skills.

Most people would find it easier to make a list than write a traditional, paragraph-style essay. Know why? Because these days writing skills are hard to find, like an NFL player with no behavioral problems.

10. The list is full of links to the author's other lists.

I don't have any other lists to link to. But I do have some pretty worthwhile blog posts, like this one, this one, or this one.

11. It’s just getting old.

We really don't need much more reason than that.

Dear People Who Don't Use a Leash,

I find it strange that you don't mind if your dog gets caught between my legs like a thick branch in a dull loppers.  Especially since that's what almost happens every time I'm out running.

You might think your dog is a canine Stephen Hawking, but the truth is dogs are unpredictable.  So while you and I can pass each other at high rates of speed on a narrow trail with almost no risk of a crash, the same can not be said for dogs.

You know how you meet someone head-on in a doorway sometimes, and both you and the other person dodge back and forth to avoid colliding, but you only end up mirroring each other?  Well, that's what it's like every time I pass your dog, only I'm running and your dog is trying to sniff my shorts.  Without exception, either your dog ends up between my legs, tripping me and hurting your dog, or I end up just tripping and hurting myself.  I shudder to think if were a cyclist.

And then comes the pompous smile and the barely-audible "sorry."  Do you have any conception of how insincere that seems?  Like after my neighbor drove his skid-loader across my lawn, and then admitted he "probably should have thought about that" beforehand.  Or when that smoker threw his butt on the ground next to the ash can, then thanked me after I picked it up for him.  Unforgettable, really.

Oh, I know, your dog "has never bitten anyone," which may be perfectly true, but as they say in the investing world: past performance does not guarantee future results.  And from my experience, even a dog that makes Eeyore look like a monkey on uppers is bound to venture at least a nip when it feels threatened.  And I'm going to go out on a pretty sturdy-looking limb here and say getting kicked in the side and having a 180-lbs human fall on it is enough to make a dog feel threatened.

More bizarre than your disregard for my safety, is your disregard for your dog's safety.  Why would you want your dog to get hurt?  Don't you treat your dog like it's your own offspring, referring to yourself as its parent and spending thousands of dollars a year on doggy health insurance?  Don't you love your dog?

And you know what else?  While your dog was off nosing through the underbrush, and you and your walking partner were complaining that the shoe salesmen at Nordstrom don't wear ties anymore, your dog left a nice, steaming pile of putrescence for someone to enjoy later.  You walked right past it, actually, but since you didn't see your dog do it, why should you pick it up?  I realize poo is bio-degradable, but so are banana peels, and you don't see the rest of us throwing those all over the trail.  And those don't even stink.

There is one other thing, which may not interest you, but I consider it important.  It's illegal for you to let your dog off the leash.  Just thought I'd mention that.  Seeing as how you care very little about the way your actions affect others, maybe you care how they might affect you.

Dear Anger, Hanger, and Danger,

I find it strange that you each think you're unique.  Sure, two of you have a little consonant for a first letter, but after that, you're all just anger.  Seriously.  I have my doubts about whether an h can make that much difference.  I mean, in some languages, they don't even pronounce h, especially if it's the first letter of the word.  And a d?  Come on.

There are people right now, today, all over the world trying to learn to read and spell English properly.  And you have the gall to sit there and tell me you are all pronounced differently?  Can you imagine the toll that takes on our poor kids who just want to play with dolls?  They have sufficient trouble just trying to figure out why one puts a boot on a foot in a flood.  Well, enough is eenuff.  Guess what?  You all should rhyme!  None of you is special!  You're just anger, anger with an h, and anger with a d!  There - I've said it.

Look, I know it sucks that despite what the establishment has told you all along, your phonetic root is anger.  But at some point, someone's going to tell you the truth.  And it's gonna hurt.  And I didn't want it to come from a stranger.  Especially since stranger is off the hook because his root word is strange, which is totally different.  Likewise for ranger.  That would have been extra painful.  Like rubbing salt in a wound up ball of suture, and then using that salty suture to stitch up your wound.  One day, you'll thank me.

Dear President Obama,

I find it strange that you said I'll be able to keep my healthcare plan under your proposed reform. For the record, you said, "Nothing in our plan requires you to change what you have." I think you meant to say there's a chance I might possibly get to buy a plan somewhat resembling the one I have now. Yeah, I think that's it. Because when I read the proposed legislation, I see that you intend to appoint a "Health Choices Commissioner" who will decide exactly what all health plans will include. Then all plans will have to conform to that standard. Since there are a lot of different health plans out there, logically speaking, only the identical ones can conform to any one, specific standard. Logically speaking, of course.

Maybe you were saying the "Commissioner" will use my plan to formulate his standards. That would be cool. I do feel bad for all those other citizens who will have to find a different plan. A lot of them thought you were talking to them in your speech. Boy, they're in for a surprise.

You also said, "Under my plan, individuals will be required to carry basic health insurance - just as most states require you to carry auto insurance." I'm not sure those two requirements are the same thing. I knew this guy once who didn't have a car, and he didn't have to have any auto insurance. It was almost like he had to buy auto insurance only if he wanted to drive on public roadways. But then, I suppose it depends on one's definition of "require." Maybe you're saying I have to buy health insurance only if I want to live. Admittedly, I wouldn't truly have to have it then.

Since what you claim your reform will do and what you propose to sign into law contradict each other, I'm not really sure whether you never read the bill you vehemently support or are just lying. But either way, I guess you'd be just like most other politicians.

Dear Female Building Janitor,

I find it strange that you seem to show up to clean the bathroom every time I'm in there. Sure, that's going to happen once in a while, but today marked the third time. It's embarrassing.

I go in there thinking it will be just like any other trip to the men's room. I sit down, settle in; there's someone in the other stall. He leaves. And that's when it happens: you knock on the door. "Janitor!" you shout. I never know what to say. Is there a socially-correct response? Should I say, "Just a minute?" What if I'm not done? I've thought of saying, "It's gonna be a while," but I know you've got a lot to clean, and I don't want to be rude. It's just so tricky.

So ends my only time of solace and reflection for the whole day. The one thing I count on when I go to my job is a quiet repose in the washroom, a respite from the hectic hubbub of cubicle life. It's a chance to catch up on the important reportage in the EW issue from three months ago. It's a chance to survey and consider the latest trends in men's footwear. It's a chance to examine some of the most non-uniform grout lines ever seen. Mostly, it's a time of escape.

You see, when I'm in there I can fully immerse myself in the alternate reality comprising all my visions and dreams of the future. Who am I? Am I still just a widely-read blogger, a bored employee, a local rock star? No! I'm a real rock star. But right in the middle of our best song, even though less than half of the audience is using a mobile phone, the great time for all is abruptly cut short by a jarringly-loud rap on the door. You're like the police showing up at a college party. Or the teacher finally returning from the copy room.

One thing I'll give you credit for - you do always smile when I walk out. I, of course, try not to make eye contact, but I can never avoid your face entirely. So I know you always smile. Maybe it's more of a smirk. It's possible you know that I, in a repeated exercise in futility, sprayed the air freshener. Or maybe you're amused at the irony of the enormous contrast between the restroom's beautiful aesthetics and less-appealing atmosphere. It's likely you're smiling because there's really nothing more to do in such a thoroughly-awkward situation.

The important thing here is that the poor air quality in the bathroom is mostly the fault of the other guy. I'm sure you saw him. The climate actually improved while I was in there. Think about that! The other important thing is that I don't use the restroom at the same time every day. So how can you always be there? See how messed up that is? The last important thing is that I'm not the one who uses all the TP. I just wanted you to know that. From now on, just put the cleaning schedule on the door. I'll do whatever it takes to avoid your appointed cleaning time. It will be better for both of us.

Dear Auto Mechanic,

I find it strange that very many people would hire you to work on the ignition system on their cars. You said this repair is "what we used to call a major tune-up." Like back in the Golden Age of Car Repair? You initially wanted $900 for this. I guess since it's a "major" repair, some might not be surprised by the cost. But since that money could buy a formidable computer, a set of MSR cookware, and a 10-channel mixer, it was an alarming figure to me.

Now, I wasn't sure what was wrong with my car when I brought it to you. It was acting up. So the $100 you charged me to diagnose the problem may have been worth it. I'm sure you used some expensive tools I don't have. Only you guys can cross your arms and shake your heads in that certain way that says, "She's acting up alright." And you did identify the problem. For that, and the tiny cup of coffee-like brown stuff, I was content to pay some money. To have you fix the problem, I was ready to pay you even more.

But when you called to tell me what needed to be replaced and the cost, I began to reconsider. You said it was not the transmission, which I had previously suspected. It was the ignition system. Hmm... that's why having you clean the trans fluid a month ago didn't help. I suppose that's not your fault; you did offer to do your $100 diagnosis at that time too.

I asked you to go through exactly what the ignition job entailed. You listed the three parts you'd change out, the cost of each, and the labor required to swap each one. Replacing coil, wires, and plugs for $900. That seemed high. You see, I've replaced the spark plugs and wires in a car before. It was pretty easy. And the parts didn't cost much.

That's why I felt confident in calling you out on the labor times. "How can it take 1.4 hrs to replace spark plugs and 1.2 hrs for the wires? And why should they be entirely distinct jobs?" The plug wires have to be removed to get the plugs out; I figured you knew. After admitting you weren't "really sure how involved it is," you said, "There's usually not any overlap on these labor quotes, but I'll go ask the tech." When you called back you said, "The tech agreed with me that there's not usually any overlap on the labor quotes. But he did say the quotes were too high. So he knocked down the labor for the wires and the coil by about half." Well, I'm glad you can feel good about your quote assumptions, but I'm even more glad your tech is somewhat honest about them.

So instead of 1.2 hrs for the wires, and 1.1 hrs for the coil, you then allowed it would only take a half an hour for each of those parts. Really? Let's get this straight. Half an hour to pull the plug wires off of the ignition coil (which is in plain sight, right on top of the engine), remove three screws, and affix the new coil. Doubt it. Then 1.4 hrs to pull the other end of the wires from the plugs, unscrew the plugs, and insert the new plugs? Not likely. Finally, an entirely separate, 30-minute job to connect new wires in place of the old wires you only just pulled off? Hard to believe. All for the now-reduced price of $775? Um... let me try my hand at home.

With a trip to the auto-parts store, I acquired each of the requisite parts. I had the coil switched in about 8 minutes. I pulled three of the old wires off the plugs in about 2 minutes; the last one was stuck, so that one took 5 minutes by itself. That comes to 15 minutes for the coil and wires. Then I realized I couldn't access the spark plugs very easily. I stood looking at the engine.

At that point, I considered that maybe the labor quote for the plugs was legit. How could I reach those buggers? So I consulted a team of expert DIYers I've assembled over the years. They are known as the internet. They told me I had only to remove the wiper-fluid reservoir and the intake plenum to gain ample access to the plugs. I returned to the garage, and continued working. Removal of both obstructions was straight forward. I would have preferred not to spill a quart of wiper fluid, but whatever.

All told, I finished the entire job, from hood raised to hood closed, in 1:45 hrs. That includes the following:
- several trips to the basement for miscellaneous tools
- identifying and locating each part in the engine compartment
- pondering again why I haven't purchased a better socket wrench
- internet use
- telling my son not to carry any tools outside to fix his trike
- finding a plastic jug
- pouring wiper fluid into a plastic jug
- staring blankly at the engine
- pouring wiper fluid back into the reservoir

I think, assuming your technicians know exactly what they're doing, you could have done this job in an hour, at most. Oh, and my parts cost? $24 for 4 plugs, $36 for a set of wires, and $170 for the coil. My total cost, after taxes? $264.20.

Your income from the job? $0

Dear Sleepless Compadre,

I find it strange that the other day you said you "slept like a baby." You're like the third person I've heard say that in the last few months. I totally know what you're saying.

Last winter, I had a vicious cold. I was so congested my forehead actually looked swollen. I was coughing so much I thought I had emphysema. My body ached almost as much as the time I didn't outrun that avalanche in Paraguay. Throughout the ordeal, I was able through heavy drug use to sleep in short increments from which I awoke wishing someone would just bring me some food and wanting to go back to sleep. I was continually attempting and failing to catch up to myself, myself as would be if I could just sleep. I was really sleeping like a baby.

Sometimes, you need to sleep like a baby to get people to take your situation seriously.

There are a few important things to keep in mind, I've found, if you really want to sleep like a baby effectively. When you're asleep, make sure you seem calm, tranquil, at peace with the world. Try sucking your thumb or nuzzling a blanket. This helps others realize just how exhausted you really are.

Did you scream relentlessly and as loudly as you could every time you woke up? That's essential for getting proper attention. Better yet, when someone asks you what is wrong, shut your eyes tighter and continue to scream. I suggest raising the volume each time someone asks. This shows you are important enough that no one should have to ask what you need. Honestly, your needs should be met before you need them. By the time you know you need something, it's too late; someone deserves to suffer a good hard bawl for not keeping on top of things.

When someone finally does bring you some food or drugs, or adjust your onesie, open your eyes only enough to get a look at them. If you open them all the way, your attendant might suspect you've rested sufficiently. Your face should say, "That was pretty good, but I expect better next time. I'm going back to sleep now. And I know what you look like, so don't think I'll forget."

If your spouse attempts to ignore you by letting you "cry it out," try to get up to use the toilet or something like that. It's very effective to indicate you just might have to vomit, then slowly work your way to the toilet, keeping your body doubled over and one hand out for balance. When you get to the toilet, make a few really hard swallows while shaking your head. Then say that it must have passed and you can probably make it back to the bed on your own. No one should be able to ignore that.

A word of caution: if it gets really desperate, you might be tempted to pretend to stop breathing until someone comes to see whether you're okay. Don't bother with this. With babies, everyone is all worried about respiratory function, and will turn up the $100 room monitor so loud it drowns out the $800 hi-fi and the dinner guests. But with adults, I guess, nobody really cares. I agree, not fair.

It's not easy to sleep like a baby; it takes persistence and humility. And it probably won't help you feel well any sooner. But sometimes, if you really want to get the treatement you deserve, it's the only way.

Dear Seth MacFarlane,

I find it strange that you think your show, "The Family Guy," should compete in the same category as live-action comedies. I know you want the show to be viewed as a comedy, not an animated comedy, but to do that is to disregard a truly salient feature of the show. Namely, that it's animated.

Of all people, I would expect you to understand the importance of animation as a medium. You got your start as an animator, and I think you're an artist at heart. There are artistic capabilities inherent in and unique to every medium: literature, music, film. As such, each medium allows an artist to do things impossible, or at least difficult, with other media. Let's call these capabilities organic traits. It's not that these traits have no added preservatives or pesticides, it's just that they come naturally to the medium. And organic is a very cool thing to be these days.

In a way, you belittle the power of animation by implying it's not important to the show. It's precisely animation that allows you to express your humor in your unique way. Sure, you could rip on Bush in a live-action show, but would you be able to have a dog do it? You could probably work Cap'n Crunch or free health care into a show without animation, but since both of those things are fictitious, it would probably ruin the effect.

In truth, I think TFG employs the organic traits of the animation medium to great effect. Like when Stewie imagines himself in thirty years as a callous playboy. Or when the Kool-Aid Man breaks through a wall at an inopportune moment. Or the very fact one of the main characters is a dog, and another a baby. That's awesome. Real-life babies who get put on sitcoms end up as anorexic drug addicts. Nobody wants that.

So give your medium the respect it deserves and call TFG what it is. It may not feel great at first to lumped in a category with "Dora the Explorer," and it might be discouraging to lose to "The Simpsons" every year. But then, if you've used the medium better than those others, you should win eventually.

Dear Lay's Baked!,

I find it strange that you have decided to sell your chips in bags of seven. The bag I opened today had seven chips. Seven might be a "perfect" number for some religious people, but it's a woefully inadequate number when it comes to a bag of chips. Come on! What do you take us for? Yes, I'm on a diet - that's why I bought the dumb baked chips - but I thought I'd get more than seven chips.

People on diets are willing to eat some pretty tasteless stuff, which includes your chips. We do this so we can eat a portion the size of the US national debt. When people order one of those trendy salads from Applebee's, they don't expect something that fits on a so-called salad plate. They want leaves, roots, and tiny, exploding tomatoes heaped so high it'd make a mule deer feel bloated. When I buy rice cakes, I want a package the size of a giant sequoia. Seriously, if I had any ability to exercise portion control, I would just eat food that tastes good.

And in case you thought I wouldn't notice, I can see very clearly that those baked chips are not slices of potato. Cold cuts and hot dogs are bad enough; I don't think it's necessary with potato chips. Why did you spend all your time figuring out a way to make pressed chips, instead of a way to bake microscopically-thin potato slices? I'm not sure how you pulverize a potato to the degree required to make those things, but you should consider sharing that technology with the waste disposal industry.

You also need to come up with a different name for the flavor known as "Original." Original? What's that? What if Coca Cola sold club soda and called it "Original" Sprite? Or how about sweetened ice cubes called "Original" Popsicles? Or rock candy called "Original" Jolly Ranchers? Not gonna work. Try "Unflavored," or "Plain," or even better, "Potato." You're not selling bubble gum.

You have ruined potato chips the way "fun size" ruined candy bars. It's just no fun anymore. From now on, I think I'm just going to pass on the chips altogether. And get one, very delicious cookie.

Dear Allergic Co-Worker,

I find it strange that you didn't publicize more heavily your allergy to nuts. Seriously, how would any of us know that you even had one? Yes, I saw your MedicAlert bracelet, but I didn't think it was really my business to pry. So I didn't ask about it. Of course, when you collapsed in the break room, I read the bracelet thoroughly before taking any action. I had no idea what kind of stuff is on those things, so I had to be cautious. Sure, I saw then that you have a nut allergy. It was a little too late at that point, don't you think? You never told us you have Epilepsy, either. I didn't know Epileptic people could get jobs. That's cool.

I hope you don't think I was laughing at you when you couldn't breathe. That isn't what happened at all. Right before we came in, Aaron Barttleson had been doing his impression of this monkey he saw at the zoo last weekend. The monkey got super angry because he was trying to use a stick to get a piece of food from the ledge, but he couldn't. It was sooo funny; you'll have to see it when you get out of the hospital. Anyway, I was laughing at that, and then I saw you on the floor. I didn't know it was you at first since your face was so swollen and you weren't talking. That's why I didn't rush right into giving you mouth-to-mouth. Obviously I would have if I'd known it was you, but it might have been a total stranger. It probably wouldn't have done much good anyway, because, as Jeremy was saying later, your throat was shut up tighter than a submarine. I thought that was pretty funny too. That's probably about what it was like, huh?

Just so you know, this whole thing is not really my fault. It's Aaron's fault. He knocked the can of cocktail nuts out of my hand; that's how it spilled into the drawer of utensils. I have to stick up for him because he did say he was sorry, helped me pick up all the nuts out of the drawer and the utensil caddy, and bought me a new can of nuts. I couldn't eat them after they fell all over those utensils; gross! To my credit, I did make absolutely sure there were no nuts left in the drawer. And they were unsalted, so Jennifer's assertion that I should have washed all those utensils is totally unreasonable. There must be 30 forks in there, and at least that many knives and spoons. They were still clean enough to use. Besides, wouldn't Aaron have to wash them?

I have to say, for the record, that maybe people with allergies should be extra careful using utensils from the community drawer. I know this girl who can't eat wheat gluten, and she has to wash everything before using it, even at her own house. That seems like the safest approach to me. I know what you're dealing with, too, so I know it's not easy. I had these friends in grade school who had Persian cats, and they didn't care if the cats went all over their counter tops and in their cupboards. I mean those cats went everywhere, and so was the fur. So when I was at their house, I had to inspect every dish extremely well before I could use it. I usually found a few cat hairs, which meant I had to wash the dish. What a pain! But, you know, sometimes that level of vigilance is worth it.

I'm sure you know more about this whole thing than I do, so I'll let you figure out the best solution. I'll do my best to make sure to let you know if anything like this ever happens again. Please don't be too mad at Aaron. Hope to see you soon. Take care.

Dear Users of Razors,

I find it strange that more of you haven't discovered the advantages of the double-edged safety razor. They're awesome.

Now, I'm not talking about those disposable plastic toys from the likes of Gillette and Schick, mind you. I'm speaking of the hefty, re-usable, aesthetically-pleasing shaving implements made by Parker, Merkur, and Edwin Jagger, among others. Once you pick up one of these finely-engineered, astutely-designed, meticulously-crafted tools, adorned with steel, chrome, polished bone, or sometimes very nice-looking plastic, you'll know what it means to be a man. Or a woman, in the case of leg shaving.

For a man, there are few things quite so irresistible as those being shiny or metal; the combination is bedazzling. If that and the pride and delight of owning personal care instruments of great and lasting quality are not enough to sway you, then the insanely close shave will certainly help. These razors show that overwhelming force can not substitute for superior capability. You can not hit a target at 300m using ten guns with a range of 100m. 100 nitwits will not design a better spaceship than a lone rocket scientist. A choir of Chris Browns will never sound as good as one Bing Crosby or silence. A multi-blade disposable razor is like an album of Nickleback songs, both comprising dull, indistinguishable parts, while a DESR is like a Beatles song. I think you get the point, or edge rather. The single, ultra-sharp blade on these razors allows for a much closer shave than you'll ever get with a plastic disposable razor, I don't care if you've got a Mach 11. Plastic razors do not go to eleven.

As if all that weren't enough, the DESR could save you a veritable fortune. Exhibit A: Gillette Mach 3 cartridges. These obnoxious things are over a $1 per cartridge, and will likely not give you more than 5 shaves before becoming painfully dull. Note, also, the link shows one of the best prices I've seen for these sorts of razors, and some customers have complained these seem like "seconds" or defective stock.
Now witness exhibit B: bulk packs of DE blades from Derby, the Toyota of blades, and Feather, the Lotus of blades. The Derbys are about 22¢ and the Feathers, 50¢. You get 4-6 shaves from these, depending on how coarse your beard is. The savings will add up pretty fast, using standard math.

With all these irrefutable pros, surely there must be some cons. "If they're so great, why doesn't everybody use them?" you ask in your indignant, you're-not-the-boss-of-me tone. It turns out there is a reason not everyone uses a DESR: shaving apathy. You see, if you just don't care about shaving, you won't really get the DESR. I know plenty of guys who buy the absolute cheapest, single-blade disposable razors available. Then they use each of these razors until the thing pulls more hairs than it cuts, and the edge of the blade looks like sponge. Others do the same with the expensive disposables. Their razor budget is small enough, a DESR probably wouldn't save them much. Others spend a maximum 3:45min shaving. They view as a waste any additional time spent shaving. Still others use electric shavers. I don't know what to say for them.

All of these groups share a common approach to shaving: it's a chore. They only shave because they must, and as such want to spend as little time or money as possible. Shaving with a DESR is definitely cheap, but it also requires patience, skill, and care. The first few times I used a DESR, my face hurt more than I was used to. Okay, it felt like I had just burned all my whiskers off with 5M HCL. But since then, my skin has gotten used to it, and it feels fine. I also had to learn to shave carefully around certain areas, like, uh, moles. My wife was somewhat disturbed by the blood flowing down my neck when I was just starting out. But I had cut my self plenty of times with disposables, and now it's rare to have any nick that requires toilet paper. As for the time requirement, I allow no less than 15 minutes. I've taken as much as 25min, but that was only on one occasion, and I was really spacing out. Since I don't shave every day, this isn't a problem for me.

You might have seen somewhere those old dauber brushes and mugs men used with bars of shaving soap. This is the preferred lather arrangement for DESRs. That's what I've heard, anyway. I've never used a DESR with canned shave foam/gel; only with shaving soap applied with a brush. Therefore I can not comment on the difference in performance or value between foam/gel and soap. I'd venture to guess foam/gel is a little cheaper and a great deal crappier. You'll have to figure that part out for yourself.

I hope you recognize merits of the DESR, or at least the demerits of disposables. Think it over. Admitting there's a problem is the first step. After that, who knows how far you may go? Heck, someday you may even find yourself annihilating whiskers with a full-on straight razor.

Dear Aspiring and Disgruntled American Idol Composers and Artists,

I find it strange that you would even think of participating in American Idol or its spurious songwriting contest. After all, the agreement you have to sign in order to audition is the legal equivalent of handing 19 Entertainment your lifetime power of attorney. And while the contract for submitting an entry to the songwriting contest is apparently no longer published anywhere, both can be summed up like this:
"I, __________, do hereby agree that 19 Entertainment owns me for the rest of my life, on Earth as it is in Heaven."

Some of my favorite highlights include:
- In addition to the rights granted elsewhere in this Release, I understand and agree that if my appearance, name, likeness, voice, singing voice, conversation, sounds and/or biographical data is used in connection with the Program, I may be required... to enter into the following agreements with Producer and/or Producer’s designee(s)...: (a) an agreement for the management of my career in the entertainment industry (including, but not limited to, my acting, singing, songwriting, or other services); and (b) an agreement for the use of my name, voice, conversation, likeness and biography in connection with advertising, endorsements, merchandising, and/or sponsorships. I understand and agree that such agreements shall become fully effective only at the election of Producer and/or Producer’s designee(s), which election shall occur on or before that date which is three (3) months from the date of the initial broadcast of the final episode of the Program for this Season (the “Election Period”).
- I understand that I may reveal, and other parties may reveal, information about me that is of a personal, private,embarrassing or unfavorable nature, which information may be factual and/or fictional. I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Program may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing or of an otherwise unfavorable nature which may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation. I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to (a) include any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in the Program as edited by Producer in its sole discretion, and (b) broadcast and otherwise exploit the Program containing any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in any manner whatsoever in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, or for any other purpose, throughout the universe in perpetuity.
- In the event I perform or display any original material on the Program written or otherwise controlled by me (for example, music, choreography, photography, lyrics, clothing, etc., collectively called the “Material”), I hereby grant to Producer, without charge, the rights necessary to perform and/or display the Material on the Program and the rights required to exploit the Program and the ancillary rights therein, inclusive of the Material, in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, and for any other purpose, throughout the universe in perpetuity.

Notice they don't even limit it to the known universe.

Do you get the gravity of those statements? It means you can't win. There's nothing in there about the Program agreeing to pay you anything. That's because they don't fully intend to.

Now you might be thinking to yourself there's no harm it trying to make it, even if it means signing something so horribly unfavorable to my interests I may never recover. Well consider these scenarios:

- You audition for AI... and totally suck. Fine; a bad day perhaps. But if AI wants to use a clip of your disgraceful screeching as fodder on the laugh-at-the-worst-auditions episode, they don't have to ask or inform you. (I note here that William Hung is not complaining.)
- One of your vocal performances is really stellar, but you don't make it far enough to get any attention directly from the show. Being stellar is good, right? It is, but AI owns your performance. Want to use it as a demo? You'll have to ask them to license it to you.
- You get to the final 10, but you don't want to be in a Ford commercial. Too bad.
- You're sitting there, working out an arrangement of a Bee Gees song with, oh, let's say Barry Gibb, when you sing a little counter-melody that makes "Yesterday" sound like "Old McDonald." You'd sure love to finish that song and get it recorded, I bet. Maybe you can, if AI says you can use their song.
- You submitted a song, it got selected for the final 20, then a publisher calls you to discuss it. What could be cooler? Not having to refer them to 19E, since it's their song.
- You win the songwriting contest, the AI winner records your song..., and you don't get anything for it. Yeah, the contract never actually said you'd get paid for your song; only that 19E owns it.
- You make the top 25, but get eliminated soon after. However, it was just enough exposure for you to make contacts in the industry and you are able to sign a publishing deal for some great songs you wrote years ago, and carefully kept secret while on the Program. Then, out of nowhere, AI sends you a letter saying they've elected to exercise their right to control everything you create, ever. That ain't right! Wait, it's in the contract, along with your signature.
- You submit a song and never give it another thought..., until you hear it on the radio. Oh, you didn't know? Yep, 19E owns exclusive rights to every song submitted, including the rejects.
- 25,000 people pay $10 each to submit songs, yet all of the final 20 songs were submitted by composers who've already published other, successful material. Hey, they never said pros couldn't enter. Thanks for the $10, though.

Okay, maybe these aren't the most likely outcomes from participating in AI. Still, do you really want to risk it? A few, such as the last one, actually did happen. More to the point, consider what you're trying to win. As winner of AI, you won't have any control over your career. 19E will assign a producer, pick the songs, pay you reduced royalties, charge you for royalties paid other writers, and book all your professional engagements. They know most winners will hesitate to sign such a contract, so they've included an exclusivity clause in the participation agreement. That means if you win, you can still turn down their contract, but you can't sign with anyone else until you've satisfied 19E's requirements. Is that really a prize?

Of course, nothing applies if the Program deems you worthless.

Clearly, the exposure from being a finalist, but not the winner, has been a career maker for some. Indeed, for one who wants to be a pop singer (not a writer/artist or in a band), winning AI is a valuable opportunity. However, those aren't the people who complain about the show, you may notice. Aiken, Hicks, Pickler, Underwood, et al. do not bash AI because being a well-fed singer, even one with a less-than-ideal recording contract, is unfathomably better than paying off $43,000 in student loans from the first three years of undergrad, while working at Target and living with two of the most accomplished Halo players in the Americas. Unfortunately, those AI successes represent the only way to succeed using AI. So if that doesn't embody your vision of a great music career, this show is not for you. The lesson is: read and understand everything before you sign it.

Dear Weight-Loss Ad Banner People,

I find it strange that you don't seem to get the implications of a "before-and-after" advertisement. Yes, the enormously overweight person in the first picture could stand to lose some, er, a lot of weight. And, yes, the person in the second picture clearly takes care of herself. Yet, it doesn't have much impact since the two people are not the same person. That's the basic idea of a B&A ad: you can show the successful results of a product, service, or in your case... what are you selling, anyway? Oh, whom am I kidding? I don't care what you're selling; I just want you to stop imagining I'm so stupid as to purposely click on your scam ad. I don't think so! You can't help me lose weight! If I'm not angry enough that all my shirts are starting to wear through on the sides from rubbing on the arms of my chair, then you don't stand a chance. You think I like having to put pillows under the mattress so the indentation isn't so deep I get stuck in it? Of course not! But I can only blame myself and anyone who makes more money than I do. As soon as they are willing to pay for me to have a licensed physician assess my health, I'm sure things will turn around. Until then, though, you need to stick to honest advertising.

Dear Chris Martin,

I find it strange I haven't seen any birds flying from the underground yet. I thought you said they'd go flying from there and when I saw it, I'd understand. I just want to understand. Is that so bad? I've been trying unsuccessfully to ignite my bones and the hardest part is trying to get that message home. That's mostly just because my mom has my number blocked, but I just want her to listen to what I say. She's just angry because I'm starting to make all this movement, and I cut down a tree and brought it back to her. I don't know how it ever got away from her, since trees can't walk, but I do think it made her see where she was going wrong. I think she's forgotten about it, but she hasn't forgiven me. What good is that? Honestly, shouldn't she love all she sees? Anyway, I was just trying to seize every chance I get to climb up in the trees, when I got lost. You see I was swimming in this little, tiny pond, and I thought I was certainly the biggest person in there, well, actually, I was pretending to be a fish, when all of a sudden... nevermind, it's not a very interesting story. Anyway, I decided to come see, and I found this song and I tried to measure it, but it must have been at least a thousand miles long. I probably shouldn't be spreading this all around, so, just between you and me, I'm no friend of death. You know the funniest thing happened to me the other day: gravity actually turned on I. Can you believe that? It didn't even turn on me; it had the gall to turn on I! I hope I didn't just cross a line I shouldn't have. Maybe I shouldn't mess with gravity. Well, if I was wrong, then I'm sorry. My head just aches when I think of all the times I've re-used my own lyrics. Okay, I'm going back to the start: can you help me understand?

Dear Hellman's Mayonnaise,

I find it strange that your product has no protein in it. I looked at the ingredients and there's definitely eggs in there. I'm also sure there's protein in eggs. A lot, actually. So where did the protein go? How can I substitute mayo for eggs in my marathon training diet if mayo doesn't have any protein?

Dear Chris Sligh,

I find it strange that the song you co-wrote, "Here Comes Goodbye," went to the top of the music charts. Of course, if it had gone to the top of the Bland Cliché charts, I'd understand.

I was sitting in the dentist office waiting to have two cavities filled, cavities that developed despite the fact I brush and floss every day, which, I might add, did not improve my gum scores dramatically or even matter-of-factly, so why did I make such an effort... I'm sorry; I'm telling you about your song. So I was sitting there when your song was played on the subscription music service - called Mind-Numbing Background Softies, I think - and while I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all had there been even one other thing on my mind, in truth, I was just staring at a wall; so your song actually made it to my brain.

I kind a wish it hadn't, but it does give me a good opportunity to offer you some help. Now, you're going to say, "Why do I need help? I had no trouble finding a boring, three-piece band with a whining, narrow-ranged lead singer to record my song; and it did go to #1. Besides, you don't have a #1 single, do you?" Well, those are good points all, but consider for a moment who will listen to your music when all the healthcare patients are no longer subject to it? Probably no one. You see, writing a good song is worth it because people want to hear it, in many forms, for years and years.

Let's look at your lyrics. The way you started out isn't really too bad. Maybe that's because you didn't write that part; I don't know. A dude's chica is coming up the driveway and she's acting weird, so he's pretty sure she's going to dump him. Fine so far. But then something happens to the imagery in the song. You could say it goes "from good to gone."

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure "Here comes the pain" absolutely blows some people over, and they know exactly what you mean. For me, though, it's more like looking through the thesaurus for negative emotional sensations. You could have used hurt - or ache, pang, prick, sting, tingle, twinge, discomfort, distress, soreness, agony, anguish, misery, suffering, torment, torture, inflammation, swelling, damage, harm, or injury - and achieved just as little. But most of those aren't one-syllable words, and "Here comes the swelling," just doesn't sound right. So you probably did the best you could.

I'm now going to ask you a few, possibly difficult, but important questions you should probably have asked yourself before showing these lyrics to anyone else.
1. Is there anything novel, creative, poetic, or original in these lyrics?
2. Does the narrator have the emotional maturity of a ninth grader, or is he more at that hard-to-describe level of the summer after ninth grade?
3. Could the narrator have seen this coming?
4. Does the girlfriend only come over at night? Is that why turning the light on is such a big deal?
5. Will the narrator ever recover and go to college, perhaps meet other women?
6. What does the word maudlin mean?

After answering each one, you should have a better understanding of why your song is a bit light on, some might say completely devoid of, meaning or noteworthiness. I dare say everyone who's reached age 15 has felt some sort of "pain." I'm sure we've felt nothing like the hopeless abyss of your narrator, but then, you never get around to telling us anything about him or his feelings; so I guess I wouldn't know.

From now on, when your trying to write lyrics, imagine yourself in your doctor's office. You say, "Doctor, I'm sick." He says, "Okay, what's wrong?"
"I don't know, that's why I came to you."
"But what sort of symptoms are you experiencing? Any pain?"
"Oh, yes, pain like I've never felt before."
"Where?"
"In my body."
"Um... what is it that hurts?"
"Doc, all I can think about is yesterday, when I was so healthy. Now I'm sicker than I can ever tell you. I just never thought this could happen to me."
Make sense? Just read it again, then.

A small point on grammar: in a conditional sentence, you need to use the conditional mood in the verb phrase. Therefore, one wishes she were right here in one's arms, not was. Also, you really shouldn't use an objective case pronoun in a subjective phrase. "Here comes me..." Does that make sense to you? Alas, I nitpick.

Sometimes horrible lyrics are redeemed by a fantastic melody. So I figured I'd better listen to your tune again, since I couldn't remember it in the least. I found the song on a music-streaming website, along with a few other songs by the same title. Those songs were all better than yours, at least I could get through them, but that's not the point. Hmm... point. That's an apt word. It means the part that sticks you. That's what your melody doesn't have. If you bent a point over on itself, you'd have a hook. Your melody doesn't have one of those either.

Alright, so you're probably asking, "Are you picking on me just because my hair is so dreadful?" That's part of it, but it's mostly because I don't want to have to sit through music like yours again. Still, it's probably not worth my time to critique your song. After all, you've positioned yourself as an adult contemporary/Christian artist. Those two genres offer something like 99.44% pure mashed potatoes as the sole dish on the musical menu. I don't think your songs could make those genres any more bland. Anyway, you're not likely to listen to me since your song is doing well on the radio. But, as you say, "Nothing's on the radio."

Dear John Lennon,

I find it strange that your song, "Imagine," doesn't really make any sense, at least lyrically. I mean the music is great and everything; I get that part of it. It's the lyrics that I just can't figure out.
For instance, there's this line that goes, "Imagine all the people living for today." Does that mean you want me to live as if there were no tomorrow? Like quit my job, spend all my money on the most stupendous adventure I can conceive, and plow forward free of all the things that have thus far burdened me down with regard for my own wellbeing and that of others? Sounds fun. Except for the massive pinch I'd be in when the money ran out, the cops caught up to me, or I killed someone. Probably not what you meant. So what then?
And then you say, "Imagine... nothing to kill or die for." I notice you don't say nothing to live for. If there's nothing to die for, is there anything to live for? Since you imply you'd prefer there were no countries, I gather you think soldiers are in the business of killing and dying for their nations. Yeah, it's not really like that. In the Western philosophy of war, a soldier is willing to risk his life for his country; he doesn't just sign up to die. No Western soldier wants to die. You might be thinking of suicide bombers. And on the killing thing, do you really believe there's nothing to kill for? Really? So if, let's just say, there were a crazed fan of a certain rock band who wanted to harm a certain Japanese woman, and in the moment of attack you had a chance to prevent it, but only by killing the assailant, you wouldn't do it? Hmm. You must be dreaming. Oh, of course. If there were nothing to kill for, this psychotic fan wouldn't be trying to kill anyone. Riiight.
Still, if you do a little reading on the philosophy of war as a political tool, you'll find that most civilized nations do not view killing people as any sort of end unto itself. In other words, if an objective can be achieved without killing anyone, that's preferable. Sadly, people doing bad things rarely stop when we say when.
Toward the end, there's a line about imagining "no possessions." Did you tell your wife you don't believe in possessions? She seems to think she owns all your songs. I'm sure if she knew your feelings on the subject, she'd change her ways.
BTW, where are you now, anyway? In the sky? I imagine I'll find out soon enough.