Dear J.J. Abrams,

Seriously, dude, you have some major daddy-daughter issues.

Lately, while watching the Alias episodes I missed out on while working in college, all I keep thinking is that you've somehow managed to cover just about every single weird relationship snag between fathers and daughters you possibly could in this show. And it's not just Alias. I remember back when I watched Heroes the straaa-aaaa-aaange things you wrote for HRG to do in his dysfunctional protection of his daughter the cheerleader. Not only do you cover hatred, but you also manage to throw in a strong dose of protective idolatry, too.

Do you have a daughter? Did she turn out okay? And no, I've never watched Lost, but I suspect you've managed to write in some chosen-girl prophecy to that one, too, complete with a trigger-happy daddy ready to do anything to protect his baby.

Ooh, ooh, new drinking game: a shot for every person who gets shot on this show. Never mind. I like my liver too much.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Bare-Chested Man Wearing Your Shirt On Your Head Who Hit On Me at the Bus Stop on State Street Tonight,

Thanks for the sound advice regarding what to do with guys who aren't, like, totally into me (, man). Thanks for the sight of the compelling tats across your ribs. Thanks for suggesting we celebrate the night (even though I -- rats! -- had to go home and finish some work). Sorry about your girlfriend whose name you overlooked in the canine descriptives you lobbied in her direction. How could anyone not go for a perfect 10 like you, a regular machine gun of profanity?

Above all, thanks for giving me a good story, and for entertaining all the others at our bus stop. Well worth the price of admission.

Hugs & kisses (or rather ... not),
B