LETTERS
Open Letters to Individuals Who Have Somehow Had an Impact on My LifeLOS ANGELES, CA 21 November 2007 |
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An open letter to Julie, the girl who dumped me right after the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded:
Dear Julie,
We dated briefly in the fifth grade, and on January 28, 1986, you broke up with me. We were sitting in the Presentation Area, adjacent the library, and we had just finished watching the Space Shuttle Challenger explode. It ascended from the launchpad at Cape Canaveral, and seventy-three seconds later, the whole thing went up in a massive fireball, killing everyone aboard. The room was silent, and our teachers started crying. And then your friend Marianne walked over to me and handed me a note that said, “Hey … You’re dumped.”
I’m not the type to hold a grudge or anything, but I always felt like that was really insensitive timing.
Cordially,
Brad Listi
Los Angeles, CA
An open letter to Jeffrey Dahmer:
Dear Jeffrey,
You worked at the Ambrosia Chocolate factory in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, during the early 1980s. I read about it somewhere not too long after you were bludgeoned to death in prison. My second-grade class went on a field trip to the Ambrosia factory in 1982. I often wonder if you were there at the time of my visit. I wonder if we saw each other in the hallway or something. And naturally, I wonder if you looked at me and decided that you wanted to eat me and keep my skull as a souvenir.
Sincerely,
Brad Listi
Los Angeles, CA
An open letter to John Walker Lindh:
Dear John,
You were born in 1981. Whenever I hear of adults who were born in the 1980s, it makes me feel old. You’re twenty-six now. And you’re in prison. I can’t think of anything worse than being twenty-six and in prison. I hope you’re not going insane.
I just reread your personal history online, and I have to admit, I find it pretty stunning. It’s hard to believe you started off in Marin County and wound up fighting with the Taliban in Afghanistan. It’s a massive statistical unlikelihood---which I suppose is part of the reason why you did it. For a teenager raised in Mill Valley, moving to Afghanistan to fight with the Taliban has got to be the ultimate in youthful rebellion.
You must have been really pissed off at your parents.
At the time of your arrest, you were twenty years old.
When I was twenty, I was taking bong hits in a Boulder basement, listening to Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz.
People, generally speaking, are pretty stupid at the age of twenty. I know I certainly was. And I imagine that you were, too.
To be honest, I think you might have set some kind of record for misguided youthful indiscretion. If there were some sort of measuring device that could calculate this kind of thing, I’m almost certain that you’d rank right up near the top.
A lot of my friends lost their shit in college, but nobody grew a beard and moved to Afghanistan.
Kindest regards,
Brad Listi
Los Angeles, CA
P.S. Forty is the new twenty.
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What I want to know is, is that first picture a string with crystals growing on it? And if so, does it represent the way your feelings for Julie were crystalized by her cold treatment of you, much as Stendal describes in On Love?
P.S. Forty is the new twenty?? Score!
Dawn: Somewhere in the depths of my heart, there is a very tender spot that remains frozen solid, retroactive to 1986. And isn’t it kind of odd that everyone I wrote to has a name that begins with the letter “J”? What’s up with that? Anyway…
ummm. that would be a picture of the Challenger space shuttle blowing up.
You ever wonder why John Lindh always looks so perfectly grunge model in his pictures? Look at that pose and the whiteness of his hair and teeth…It’s like they are moving the digitized human from the Axe body spray ad to the Diesel jean ad.
Dear Brad,
I hope the Challenger explosion-shaped, frozen crystals in your icy heart finally melt with the love of the good woman you married.
(Julie was the name of the prettiest, prissiest girl in my first grade class. She wore flouncy dresses and even had long, perfect nails. I named my pet chicken after her. It was a fowl homage.)
“…listening to Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz.”
Duuuuude. Done that. It was really freaky, right?
I ask because I really don’t remember.
Hugs not drugs,
Tawni
Dear Father Fingers,
As the pastor of my Catholic grade school, I have to tell you what a scumbag you are. Did you know we nicknamed you Father Fingers? You smelled like wine, or maybe it was “Jesus juice” as you breathed your hot air into my face on my First Confession.
I saw you on the local news a few years ago…so the rumors all those decades ago are actually true.
Fry in hell where you belong, or that new parish they moved you to. Oh wait, almost forgot, you were extradicted from the Catholic Church.
Look on the bright side, FF, now you can marry that altar boy you had such a crush on.
Peace out—see you soon on Perverted Justice, you sick bastard,
MK
http://www.myspace.com/readmichellekane
Charles Simic
Salutations!
My name is Gustavo. I’ve been reading your works lately and quite enjoying them. Sometime last year I picked up Walking the Black Cat, and gave it to a friend for Christmas. It hurt. After that I ordered Aunt Lettuce… for my girlfriend, and will be giving it to her for Valentine’s Day with the dedicatory: “This is a symbolic representation of me fucking you up your ass.” I have a few ideas on ass-fucking I would like to share with you. The other day, in a conversation with a friend of mine, I was dropping a lot of ass-fucking comments; he asked me, what was my thing with ass-fucking?—that we should have a talk about it. He was doing it in a homosexual-joke type thing, but I answered ass-fucking is the only time you can rape a girl and get away with it! Look at this: most girls aren’t open to it, and deny enjoying it, and won’t let you. You have to force the cock up their ass: you have raped, and your girlfriend isn’t going to press charges! Isn’t it great?
I also happen to be writing a paper on your poetry, it’s titled “Charles Simic and Time” which I was inspired to start after reading “The Ballad of the Wheel” and “White”. I feel in “…Wheel” you make time out as torture; in “White” you are afraid of it. I was interested if maybe you could indulge me with some insight. Other than that I want you to know that your poetry is on my tops list.
Thank you…
PS: I actually mailed this to him. I also have one i sent to Louis Farakhar, but not here.
Dear America,
Do you remember that spy plane that went down in China right before 9/11? I remember the huge amounts of fear that it would be World War the Third if the Chinese govt. didn’t agree to give the plane back. Whatever happened with that? Should I still fear China? Or is it Al Qaeda that I need to cower in my basement because of?
I am a little confused still, years later, and need guidance. Tell me who to fear.
Yep.
John
Dear America,
Do you remember that spy plane that went down in China right before 9/11? I remember the huge amounts of fear that it would be World War the Third if the Chinese govt. didn’t agree to give the plane back. Whatever happened with that? Should I still fear China? Or is it Al Qaeda that I need to cower in my basement because of?
I am a little confused still, years later, and need guidance. Tell me who to fear.
Yep.
John
Dear Nivea,
Recently I ran out of my usual skin cleanser, Burt’s Bees Wild Lettuce Toner. Unable to find another bottle of my usual product, I decided to try your Nivea Visage Moisturizing Toner.
I knew there was something different about your toner immediately and found it’s skin-soothing properties to be quite satisfactory. It did indeed comfort my skin, as the bottle promises, and this in turn comforted my soul.
I couldn’t really put my finger on what made your toner so extraordinary until this morning when I was reading the bottle and I noticed the writing at the bottom. This writing finally explained why your product is special.
There, in your large, easy-to-read print, you have answered the question that has been plaguing me since I first tried your toner. Lo and behold! The secret is that your Nivea Moisturizing Toner is “SKIN INSPIRED.” That’s it! I should have guessed! You are a clever bunch, working hard in your Nivea laboratories, aren’t you?
In addition to explaining to me why your product is superior, this revelation has also made me question the integrity of the lesser, NON-SKIN INSPIRED skin products on the market. Perhaps if Burt’s Bees Wild Lettuce Toner was SKIN INSPIRED like your own, I might have been able to find a bottle of it somewhere?! Ha! And what is inspiring them to make their skin products, I now have to wonder? It certainly isn’t SKIN or they would have put that on the bottle like your company, right?
In fact, my new favorite company Nivea, you have inspired me to make a change in my own lifestyle, a change for the better. I only hope that I can live up to your fine example of inspiration and make you proud.
From now on, when I cook dinner for my family, it will be FOOD INSPIRED. When I get dressed, it will be CLOTHING INSPIRED because I know that is what you would do. When I take a shower, I’m going to try a new approach, and thanks to you, my showers will now be CLEAN INSPIRED. I cannot decide if my laundry will be CLEAN INSPIRED, or instead CLOTHING INSPIRED, but I’m sure the answer will come to me soon. Maybe you could recommend another of your fine products to help me with that dilemma?
In closing, I just want to say thank you, Nivea, for the SKIN INSPIRED skin products and the lessons I will take from them and use to better my life in so many ways. You might say that I am now NIVEA INSPIRED!
Sincerely,
Tawni Nivea
P.S. I hope you don’t mind that I have changed my last name to Nivea in your honor. I decided the least I can do is change my name, since your company has changed my life!
Dear Patrick Swayze,
In June of 1989, I was in London when you attended the premiere of License to Kill, the latest James Bond flick. After everyone had left and the crowd of onlookers died down, I stayed behind with a comparatively small group of people convinced that there were more stars to see. Sure enough, you eventually came out the side door. Before I could understand what was happening, I was swept up in the mob until I landed pressed to your chest, staring up at your stubbly chin, with only a policeman’s arm between us.
All these years later, I cannot help but wonder if you remember that. If you do, I would like to apologize. I would also like to apologize for whispering that I loved you. Not sure if you heard that over the screaming London mob.
Passionately yours,
the girl with whom you inadvertently dirty danced
listi-
oh, this is hilarious. i was laughing before i started reading.
“insensitive timing.”
ha! you wuss! I LOVE IT!
do you really think dahmer may have seen you? good, god, listi. now, that would have been dee-licious…
you’re a god, listi.
this is EVIDENCE.
r
An Open Letter to the Nurse’s son from walk-in clinic who got let out of school early today:
While you’re Mom was taking my Blood pressure, she told me you were really into cars.
When I was waiting in the lobby and asked you if you liked Toyota Corollas, you looked up for a moment and came back with a firm “NO”. At that moment, I’d have to say I thought you were a tad superficial for an 8 year old.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Dear Bobaleena,
Are you still alive? I hope so. You were the best cat I’ve ever had and a helluva lot better than this little miniature panther-demon I have now that likes to randomly attack me when I’m sleeping and frequently watch me go to the toilet.
Maybe my negligence in leaving you in Columbus with an irresponsible woman is the reason I now have such a bastard black male cat. He’s the opposite of you in every way: pitch black, unaffectionate, aggressive, whiny and unpleasant to my visitors.
I still blame my ex-girlfriend for insisting she “take care” of you while I was living in San Diego and tried to figure out a way to move you there. It was a bad idea that I gave in to. She basically left you with the other college kids who lived in the house she moved out of. I don’t blame you for running away, I would’ve done the same thing.
Wherever you are, I hope you are happy.
If you remember me at all, please forgive me.
Kip
Dear (Ex-)Brother,
Thank-you (not!) for torturing me when I was young…folding me up in the wall hide-a-bed, tying me to the coffee table and chasing me around with the large up-right running vacuum with the single light on the front, that looked to me like a large eye, and gave me reoccuring nightmares until I was 30 years old….Thank-you (not!) for holding my one arm behind me …while hitting me in the face with my other arm…I think this was a crib memory!…Thank-you (not!) for calling me weirdo, black sheep and stupid through-out my young adulthood….at least I knew where I stood in the family early-on…..thank-you (not!) for not telling me our mom had died.. for a week!…I really didn’t want to go to the funeral anyway(not!) and that you and the doctor agreed to give Dad morphine to move him along to the next level when he had just gone into the hospital for dehydration and told his caretaker not to worry, he was fine and would be back in a few days….another funeral I didn’t want to go to (not!)….thank-you (not!) for not telling me that our dad was dead for three days so you could clear all the money out of his bank accounts so I could not get my half of the assets…and there-by finally proving to me, without a doubt, that Chevron Oil executives are truly greedy money loving bastards that will do anything to keep a poor single mom and their kid from having a decent roof over their heads….and finally..Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for sending me an e-mail that said you never want to see or speak to me ever again…I will treasure it forever and ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Love and forgiveness (for me!),Your Sister KIMPY
P.S. Would you PLEASE stop telling our cousins that I ripped YOU off for thousands of dollars from dads’ estate (so,soooo not true, are you the real Son of Satan or what?)so I won’t be totally isolated from the rest of our family…that was the final kicker..I kinda need a support system now since your nephew and I are about to lose our home! P.P.S. Have a nice day (not!) and I love you!
Dear KIMPY,
Come be part of my family, instead.
Sincerely,
Kaytie
Nice post, Brad.
And I bet your skull would make a DAMN FINE souvenir.
Happy Tofurkey Day,
R.
Dear Brad,
I met you on a plane from New Hampshire to Maryland. You wowed me with your impressive knowledge of Harry Potter trivia and your perfectly broken in Red Sox hat. It kind of helped that we watched the baggage guys load your guitar, stamped with travel stickers and bumper stickers, onto the plane and I realized you had long, graceful fingers.
You were a military man on your way out when I met you. I hope you’ve done well and stayed safe and made it to wherever you were heading.
I should have given you my phone number while we waited for our bags and your guitar to arrive. I should have told you to call me sometime.
I keep an eye out for you when I fly up north. Maybe I’ll see you at Christmas, with your well traveled guitar and curly black hair that made me think things that brought a rosy blush to my pale cheeks.
Best wishes,
Meghan
For a second there, I thought you were writing to me. I was wracking my brain, trying to figure out if I ever had a Red Sox hat.
Yeah…I kind of realized after the fact that I should have addressed it to ‘The Cute NH Guy I Sat Next to Who Was Named Brad.’ Sorry for the confusion.
Dear Brad. Hallo!