Dear Congressman Cravaack,

As you can probably tell from the more serious emails I’ve sent you, we disagree on a lot of stuff politically. Even so, I’m pretty sure that these kinds of demanding letters from constituents get old, so I wanted to send you a less serious note.

As my wife and I didn’t support you in the 2010 campaign, it may come as surprise that your name is mentioned quite often in our household, and in a very positive sense. You see, we have a dachshund named Bullwinkle, and he’s got a lot of toys. His favorite, far and away, is a chipmunk that was known as “Squirrel” until the 2010 Midterm Elections. This name was problematic for so many reasons, not only was it scientifically inaccurate, but it was also pretty uninspired.

Chip Cravaack, meet Chip Cravaack.

A few days after the 2010 election was over, my wife and I were playing with the dog, when he came up to us and dropped the chipmunk toy at our feet. My wife immediately yelled out “It’s Chip Cravaack!” The name stuck, and now anytime we say, “Go get Chip Cravaack” he runs around frantically looking for your plush doppelganger—on the couch, under the bed, etc. Inevitably, he finds his favorite chipmunk and a ten hour long stretch of fetch begins.

But please don’t think that our name choice is an insult; it’s not. “Chip” is actually his favorite toy, and the only one he hasn’t utterly destroyed. (Congressman, I think this means he would vote for you.) Usually when he gets a new toy, there is fluff everywhere in about eight seconds, and then our living room floor is covered in all these little clouds, as if we were trying to use the polyester as a really primitive weather forecasting tool, like augury or reading tea leaves.

Jim Oberstar

And not only is your namesake not destroyed, but your name brings about a great deal of joy to an adorable dachshund. Nonetheless, just to show that I’m impartial, I’ve renamed another dog toy “Jim Oberstar.” It was previously known as “the faceless dog.”

Clearly, you’re getting the better deal here, but after the lackluster campaign Oberstar ran, this seems fair. I mean, he sort of assumed he’d just win another term and didn’t see to take the race seriously until you started rising in the polls. By then, it was a bit late—and even his ads were pretty haphazard. The one attack ad I remember was about Singapore(?!) and really didn’t make any sense.

Anyway, enough about dog toys. So I noticed that in your official portrait, you look really, really surprised. Were you really nervous before the big photo—I would have been—and did the official portrait photographer make you laugh by suddenly producing a pair of stuffed animals resembling Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner and pushing their plush faces together so it looked like they were kissing? If so, yuck.

The Official House of Representatives Portrait of Chip Cravaack

While I know you get an official portrait, do house members get an official painting, like governors and presidents do? If so, do you get to decide the artistic style of the artist assigned to create it? I mean, what if they are cubist and you end up having a tetrahedron for a head? Abstract expressionist house portraits might be problematic too, as you could end up being a bunch of paint swirls on a canvas, or a half dozen overlapping rectangles in muted colors.

If I were a Congressman and were having my official portrait done, I’d have a comic book artist draw me—that way I could look all heroic and daring and they could depict me fighting against my nemeses—the Chicago White Sox, giraffes, and onions. In your case, maybe you could go with an Adam Smith reference and call yourself The Invisible Hand; you could have a big cape emblazoned with dollar signs. (You could also call yourself the Free Marketeer.) Your nemesis could be a large pile of anthropomorphized money simply referred to as “Red Ink.”

Anyway, let me know what you think, and our political differences aside, thanks for serving in the House.

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

You can see more here: www.brettsletters.com

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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

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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. This is a writing project. You can see the rest here: www.brettsletters.com

P.P.S. Can you play shortstop?

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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