An open letter to “Speidi”

16 06 2009

Dear “Speidi” (aka Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag)

I’m not sure when you’ll read this letter.  Maybe in a day, maybe in a month, maybe in a year.  I do know for certain, however, that you will read it.  How am I certain, you may be asking yourselves?  Well, I may be wrong, but I’m fairly certain you have one of those applications, possibly Digg, wherein when your name is mentioned in any way, shape or form, the application informs you of such happenings.  Maybe there’s a little bell that goes off.  Maybe a choir of angels descends from the sky to let you know that yes, once again, you’re being talked about.

All I know is that hopefully this will be my one and only letter to you.  I figure I should get it out now, while you’re still gracing the American public with your positive attitudes and selfless behavior…never mind.

You see, Speidi, I just don’t care.  I don’t care about either of you.  Not at all.  I don’t care that you got married.  I don’t care about what you wear, what you eat.  I don’t care what new form of media you’re attempting to break into.  I honestly just don’t care.

As far as I can tell, a lot of people also don’t care.  You see, a lot of people are right now going through a rough patch in their lives.  A lot of them are losing these things called “jobs” where they “work” so they can “earn” money so they continue “keeping their home” or “going to college”.  I know that the words in quotations may be foreign to you, but I assure you they are not Spanish, French, nor Esperanto.  So you can eliminate those dictionaries from your search while you try to figure out what they mean.

Oh, and a “dictionary” is a big book where you can look up words.

Now, where was I?  Ah, right, not caring.

If you’ve read this far, Speidi, I’m sure you’re tearing your well-groomed hair out in tufts, ripping your designer shirts while crying to the heavens (that means you’re looking up) “Why, oh why does this person not care about us?!  How dare he!”  Bottom line is I just don’t find you interesting.  At all.  You contribute nothing to my life.  No joy, no harm, no rage, nothing.  To me, you’re just a pair of spoiled children who have yet to learn that after a certain age, you have to begin taking responsibility for your actions.

I did make fun of you in this letter.  And odds are I will continue making fun of you at any given chance.  I will not, however, be searching for these chances with any effort.  Rather, I will let them fall into my lap without working for them.  This philosophy is something I’m sure you both can understand, having used it throughout your entire lives.

Other than that, your names will never be spoken by me.  I will never imitate your styles.  I will never envy the life you have.

I don’t have a lot of money.  I haven’t appeared on a TV show.  And I don’t have people following me around, taking various photos of me in mundane activities.

But what I do have are friends who are happy to be in my company.  I have the goal to better myself each day in some way.  And I also have the dream that maybe, just maybe something I do in my life is going to have a resoundingly positive impact on society.

So, by all means, keep doing what you do, whatever it is that you do.  Enjoy it while you do it.  Just don’t expect me or anyone else I know to pay attention to it.