An open letter to the person(s) who stole my bike

Now that a few weeks have passed and my blinding rage has subsided, I am ready to address the person(s) who stole my silver-and-black Trek 7000 21-speed bike.

I will admit that it was foolish to leave the bike unattended on the porch. As the police officer at District-14 said, "It would be nice to think you could leave your belongings on your property unsecured, but that's not the world we live in."

As I have mulled this over again and again in my head, I keep coming back to the same question: Why did you steal the bike, but leave my helmet, which was hanging on the handlebars? Wouldn't it have been easier to take it as well? What made you take it off the bike and leave it so carefully on our outdoor furniture?

You went through all the trouble to sneak onto the porch in the middle of the day and make off with the bike -- don't you believe in basic bike safety? What if you were to get into an accident? You could have serious head trauma.

I can forgive you for stealing the bike, but not for being so cavalier with your health.

Please, person(s) who stole my bike, wear a helmet. It may be the best decision you ever make.

Signed,
NaturalBlog

Open letter to the guy from whom I've been stealing wireless access

Dear guy from whom I've been stealing wireless access,

These letters are always so hard to write.

We'v had some really great times together over these last two months. It was a whirlwind, really. There were the movies we illegally streamed, the music we legally downloaded, the celebrity gossip we devoured together. (Oh that Britney!) I'll treasure these memories forever.

Hand in hand we strolled the wilds of the Internet. I thought about you first thing in the morning, all day at work, and last thing before I went to bed.

It was so much fun at first that it was easy to overlook all your nagging faults. Let's face it, you're cheap. And you don't bother to password protect yourself -- what does that say about your character?

Sometimes you were slow, sometimes you weren't there at all. And it was always when I needed you most that you were nowhere to be found. You timed me out of more gmail chat sessions than I care to remember.

That's why I've decided that I'm leaving you. You have 404'd me for the last time.

There's no use protesting. I've made up my mind and there's no going back. You can try and find me if you want, but my new IP address is password protected, so good luck.

By the time you read these lines, I'll be gone. But we'll always have http://www.askaninja.com.

Yours,
NaturalBlog

Nine-minute snooze -- why?

An open letter to the guy who decided my alarm would snooze for nine minutes:

Alright, buddy. It's about time we had a talk. I admit that if I had an ounce of discipline, I wouldn't need your little invention. But the NaturalBlog wake-up call comes early, so I need you.

But why nine minutes? Why not three -- at least then I might get so sick of you that I'd get up. But nine -- that's just enough to fall back asleep, realize a tantalyzing dream, then get awoken once more.

If only I'd never learned of your magical powers, perhaps then I would have the upper hand. But I suppose we'll never know what might've been.

An open letter to the guy who goes through my recycling

Dear Garbage Diver,

You've been rooting through my trash for a couple years now, and I'm kind of worried that you might have developed the wrong impression about me. I'm not that much of a lush. Really, I'm not.

In my defense, I will say that there are two people in the household. Yes, the beer bottles are almost exclusively mine (You'll note that we'll be shifting back to Heineken and Amstel now that warmer weather is on the way), but I have help with the wine.

And don't you think that the recent wine trends shows growth in my pallet? No more Boones or Two-Buck Chuck, only the good stuff. And champagne, too, from time to time.

Now that that's out of the way, I do have a couple of questions.

I wonder -- should I recycle those bottles myself? How much money do you make off of them? Can't be much; your car is even crappier than mine. Plus I'd hate to rob you of your joy.

Taking out the recycling is one of my least favorite chores. How is it that you like it so much?

How did you get into this business? Do you take bank statements, too, or do you leave the identity theiving to others?

Do you have a territory? Is that why you gave me a filthy look that time I rescued the Sunday sports section?

Maybe you could post the answers in the comments section, or on your own blog.

Sincerely,
NaturalBlog

P.S. I'm sorry I rarely rinse out the beer bottles. That must be pretty gross.

P.P.S. Those shitty raspberry beers belong to the upstairs neighbors. Ditto anything in a can.

An Open Letter to Red Sox Principal Owner John W. Henry

Dear Mr. Henry,

It's been a rough couple of weeks, I know. First your mea culpa in front of a horde of media jackals for letting Theo go -- how did it go, "Maybe I'm not cut out to be the principal owner of the Boston Red Sox." Then news your investment business is apparently more of an albatross than the final three years of the team's deal with Manny, who, by the way, wants a trade. Again.

That's why I write. I have a solution to your woes, or at least your baseball ones. I am offering to become the next general manager of the Boston Red Sox for the low, low, one-time bargain basement price of $100,000. I am willing to take a one-year deal with a mutual option for a second year, valued at $150,000. Yes that's a major percentage increase, but it's still about $5,000 less than you paid Schilling per inning last year. (It's true. I looked it up.)

I'm sure you've been inundated with similar offers, so I want to tell you about the one-of-a-kind set of skills I bring to the job.

• Shared goals. In five seasons of fantasy baseball managing, I've finished second more than half the time. I noticed the Sox finish second to the Yankees every season, so I deduce that I share the organization's core values.
• Experience in blockbuster deals. I traded Carlos Beltran straight up for A-Rod in my fantasy baseball league this year. That worked out.
• Productivity. Speaking of fantasy baseball, if I run an actual major league team, I probably won't play fantasy baseball next year, meaning an extra 10-15 hours of productivity each week.
• Media savvy. I have worked as both a journalist and a spokesman, so I know how to handle the media. Plus I live in Brighton, so I'm sure I'd get a free pass from the Boston press because I'm a local guy.
• Baseball know-how. I once had an RBI in little league at the Y. Just one RBI in the whole season, to be totally honest with you. It came on a bases loaded hit by pitch. I don't think I got a hit that year, but I did walk alot and I stole second a bunch of times.

So to recap: $100,000. I manage the team, deal with Lucchino's BS, agree not to play fantasy baseball, guarantee at least a second place finish.

The salary is non-negotiable by the way. And I want to bring back the bullpen car. And say bienvenidos otra vez to your new closer (pictured, left).