Voters

Dear Adam,

I'm prepared to be incensed. When the elite liberal media report the results on election day, it will most likely skew my decision to vote. Why should I bother going to vote for a candidate if I already know the one I don't want to win won or the one I do want to win won't? Why do they have to report the results before I get my chance to vote?

Can you please stop them?

Voting in the Panhandle.

Dear Pan-voter,

Please don't vote if you're stupid enough to give credence to polling results before you go. If you're watching the news to decide if your vote still matters, if your little piece of democracy for which countless men and women have bled and died is worth less to you than the opinions of Brit Hume, or if you are planning on bringing your Blackberry with you to see if the percentages change when you punch your ballot . . . if you are basing your vote at all on the numbers and color coding reported the day of the election, please don't bother.

Vote a straight ticket. Vote your heart. Vote your conscience. Vote your gut. Vote on instinct. Vote on principle. Vote on name recognition. Vote on dumb random luck. But please don't base your vote on what everyone else is doing. If everyone else jumped off a bridge to nowhere, would you do it . . . hey, dude! You didn't even let me finish the sentence . . . (splash). 

Okay, never mind. One less undecided to worry about. Hey, look . . . the percentages did go down! Huh. Who knew?

Approving messages daily,

Adam

Women

Dear Adam,

Is there anything we can do better?

Thanks in advance for your help,

Women, Everywhere

Dear Omnipresent Females,

You've GOT to be kidding me. I won't even ask if this is a trick question. I won't marvel at the fact that you all seemed to come to such a simple consensus. I won't suggest that you did so on that not-too-rare occasion when all the women in the world made a trip to the ladies' room together. I won't fall victim to one of the classic blunders (nor will I get involved in a land war in Asia or go in with a Cicilian when death is on the line). I won't make the mistake of lumping all women together in a single criticism. I won't take the bait and expose myself to ridicule from half the world. I won't make the lethal assumption that a request for constructive criticism is anything but an opportunity to say how much I love everything about you.

Not this time. No thanks. Not now. Not ever. I hope that helps,

Adam

P.S. Wait. I just thought of something. Here's one thing: I've said before that I don't think people should talk on their cell phones while driving. You and your male counterparts aren't listening to me, and I've come to grips with that. What I don't understand, however, is what happens when the drive comes to an end before the call does . . . women are unwilling to get out of the car until ending the conversation that began while driving. I've seen it time and time again.

I've seen women who feel comfortable zipping around a triple-trailer semi while talking on their mobile phones. I've seen women texting while merging into 70 mph traffic. I've witnessed the phenomenon of eating and putting on makeup while talking on the phone and dodging falling boulders. But I've never seen a woman get out of the car before ending her call. It just doesn't happen. Y'all can be racing to get to your destination, but you'll go no further than taking off your seatbelt before saying goodbye and depositing the cell into the cavernous recesses of your purse.

I presume the conversation goes something like this: "Okay, I'm here. I should go." And if you're talking to a woman, she says, "Oh, okay. I'll let you go. Bye." Because she understands your predicament. You're caught behind the wheel, and there's nothing you can do. You have to end the call before you die of residual carbon monoxide poisoning. She's a good friend.

So it's safe and kosher to talk while driving, but it's altogether reckless and/or improper to get out of the car before ending your call? I think not. So here's my advice. Go ahead and get out of the car. Tell your friend you're doing it before it happens, just so she can be on the alert in case your worst fears are realized. I don't know what fears those are, but whatever it is has kept you immobilized. Fear not, women of the earth. You don't have to hang up to get out of your cars.

Thanks for asking,

Adam

Complicated

Dear Adam,

I've got a tough decision to make, but it's complicated. I can't go into details. It's kind of a long story. The basic question is: should I go through with it?

On the Fence in Fairbanks

Dear Fencer,

It's not a tough decision. It's an easy decision. You want it to be a tough decision. You want the bad option to be good. But it's not. You're asking for advice in the hopes that someone, anyone will tell you the bad option is the good option. Nobody thinks that. It's an easy decision.

And it's not complicated. People in simple situations say that they're complicated all the time, when the only complicated aspect is the hundreds of layers of bull required to put a positive spin on something so obviously negative. "I didn't get fired . . . it's complicated." "I can't commit to a long relationship . . . it's complicated." "Your car isn't ready yet . . . it's complicated." "We didn't get the loan . . . it's complicated."

And it isn't a long story. People always try to cover up their obviously bad choices by threatening you with the length of the story. Sure, if you try to make it sound good, it gets real long. But if you keep them true, they are always short stories. Here are the short stories from the previous examples: "I got fired for stealing at work." "I don't want to be exclusive because I don't like you all that much." "The valet stole your car." "We have bad credit and no money."

So if you're wondering if you and the imbezzling, disinterested car thief should buy a new house together with a no-money-down subprime mortgage . . . sure, go for it. Send me a postcard from Alaska. Just spare me the complicated long story.

Thanks,

Adam

Dear Me

Hey, you, it's me. You look tired. Anything I can do?

Adam

Dear Adam,

Go to sleep. Don't blog.

Adam

Listerine Users

Dear Adam,

I started rinsing with Listerine about a minute ago. I was about to spit it out, when I took a second look at the directions. It said to "rinse for 30 seconds. DO NOT SWALLOW." So, I'm not swallowing. But that's not really an instruction. It's a warning of what not to do. . . . So what do I do? Hurry! I have "not swallowed" for just about as long as I can and my mouth is really burning.

Gargles in South Dakota

Dear Gargles (or should I call you Burning Mouth?),

A lesser advice columnist would just tell you to spit it out. I'm not sure why the good folks at Listerine didn't give you that instruction. You're quite correct, "Do not swallow," hardly classifies as direction. But now that you find yourself in this predicament, you could turn your germ-killing quandary into a financial windfall. Johnson & Johnson is a big company with a lot of money. Their negligence could be your good fortune.

I'm no lawyer, but I think that in civil litigation, a jury of your peers might find that Johnson & Johnson informing you on the matter of expectoration is a reasonable expectation. The dentist tells you to spit. Why can't a bottle of Listerine? I'm sure the bottle tells you that failure to use the product in accordance with the directions is a violation of federal law. But seeing as though they give you no recommended course of action other than not swallowing, you could be in for some compensation. If you show up to court with the Listerine still in your mouth, that would be grand. But if you attempt to expel it through your nostrils, that could cause damage you can prove. Or if you simply fail in the not swallowing department, I'm sure that would mess you up pretty good physically (though not financially). You might even be able to find a psychologist who would conclude that the mere mention of not swallowing makes it impossible for you to think of anything but swallowing, especially given no written alternative.

But the whole process takes a long time (a lot longer than 30 seconds). Considering all your options, my final advice to you would be the following:

Spit.

American Idol Contestants

I'm not gonna name names. I don't care what song you sing. I don't care what Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame member's song you brutalize. But please don't compare your experience on American Idol to the Civil Rights Movement.

They. Are not. The same. At all.

You being sent to the bottom two is not in the same solar system, the same eon, or the sameliterary genre as being sent to the back of the bus. If you come even remotely close to insinuating such a preposterous notion, you deserve to be sent home.

Ticket Printers

Dear Adam,

Dude, I can't stop perforating. I'm a ticket printer. I print tickets for a living. 50 years I've been printing tickets and perforating the stub. Ticket printers had to perforate it so when the ticket takers take the tickets, the stub tears off nice and clean before it takes up permanent residence in a wallet or a scrapbook or something. You leave the theater to go number one? You still got a nice evenly separated stub to show the one in every thousand ticket takers who actually check stubs on re-entry. Anyway, the point has been rendered moot by scanners. They scan the barcode on the ticket now. There's no such thing as a ticket taker. They're ticket printers now. Now us ticket printers got a reality to face. There's no ticket tearing. The perforating seems superfluous. What should we do?

With thanks,

Ticket Printer on the Perf

Dear Perf,

Listen to me, buddy. Listen to me good. You keep perforating that ticket. You have a story to tell. You have posterity to think about. Think about the children. Last week I took my son to a baseball game, and he held that perforated ticket in his hand. It never got ripped. The ticket scanner did not take a thing from us except the experience of what it used to mean to enter a ballpark. Without that perf, my son will never ask why those little almost-holes are lining up three-quarters of the way down the ducat. With the perf, he may one day ask why there is a line waiting to be ripped. And I will be ready to tell him that we used to live in a world where ticket takers took your ticket. They ripped it, and they ripped it good. We used to live in a world where ticketing agencies didn't charge you $2.00 to print a ticket on your home computer (what the blazes is up with that, anyway?). We used to live in a world where barcodes were something you put on groceries, not the pass that delivers you through the gates of Wrigley or into the hallowed halls of an R.E.M. concert.

Don't you dare stop perforatin', Perf. Tell your story. Don't ever stop!

Whoever Has Authority Over the Oil Companies (if such a person exists)

I have seen no proof of an earthly entity with any power or authority over the oil companies, be they sheiks or Texans. But if you do exist, oh oily one, I've got some advice for you.

Now, I'm not going to tell you to put a cap on the gas prices. I won't tell you to reopen the scores of refineries that were shut down when the oil companies consolidated the process and cut their capacity for production to one tenth of its previous potential (thereby tripling the cost of gas). I won't tell you to force them to emancipate the American government from the virtual slavery in which they are shackled. I won't even tell you to clean up the environment. Collusion, corruption, lobbying/loan sharking, pollution, price gouging . . . keep it all up. Who's gonna stop them? Well, I suppose you could, if you really do exist, you Santa Clause of fossil fuels.

But I know that even if you are capable, you aren't willing. I have come to terms with that. What I can't accept, beyond all the slick scams and brute force, is one minuscule detail, and it is that seemingly trivial point about which I must advise you today. Do whatever you have to do. Talk to whoever you need to talk to. But please act now on this tiny piece of advice:

Drop that stupid 9/10 of a cent per gallon.

I can understand charging $3.89 for a gallon of unleaded. But I don't know where your boys get off setting a price of $3.89 and nine tenths per gallon. Nine tenths? NINE TENTHS?!? This is the spit in the eye, the salt in the wound, the straw bill delivered to the broken-backed camel. Giving us a one-tenth-cent discount to keep it from being an even $3.90, that's just cruel.

So please, talk to them. Reason with them. Make them stop the psychological games, okay? We know we're getting ripped off. Just round up. Don't patronize us with the idiocy of fractional cent savings. I'll happily pay the extra penny per tank to make that little superscript 9 disappear from the price. I don't know how it's even legal to charge less than a cent for any unit of any substance. Crack dealers might be destroying their customers, but I'll bet 100 barrels of petroleum that they have the decency to charge at no smaller than 50-cent increments.

So there. Go ahead and take our money. But spare us our dignity.

Wendy's

No fake letter today. Here it is, plain and simple: Wendy, you should never have introduced wraps to the menu. First of all, my preliminary research (and by research, I mean I tried to remember) shows that in fashion and in food, the wrap has been irrelevant since 2005.

Secondly, contrary to popular belief (and by popular belief, I mean your silly new commercials) wraps are not less messy than sandwiches. They are not more ideal for people on the go. They're just an excuse to eat a burrito when you don't have a taste for Mexican.

Finally, the wrap is a flimsy sissy slap to the face of the menu choice that has made your establishment great: the sandwich.

So here is my advice to you: no more wraps. Bring back the monthly rotation of mouthwatering specialty sandwiches. The chicken cordon bleu. The monterey ranch chicken club. The chicken parmesan . . . dear me, that was the perfect sandwich. For the better part of a year you gave me a reason to come back again and again by offering a limited-time-only sandwich I simply had to have. Wraps? Wraps? There's not even bread on that. Dave would be ashamed of you.

Oh, and you should have given Michael Scott a chance. You two would have been cute.

Tom Hanks

Dear Adam,

I haven't won an Oscar in a long time. I've tried everything. I'm a really good actor, and I've been in a LOT of really good movies. What does a guy have to do to get a third statuette? I'd appreciate whatever advice you could give me. Thanks,

T. Hanks (yeah, I know, my first initial and last name spell "Thanks." Brilliant observation, Advice Guy. Sheesh.)

Tom,

Whoa, dude, back off on the parenthetical sarcasm. I'm here to help. The reason you aren't getting a chance to pull any acceptance speeches out of your tuxedo jacket is simple: you've become predictable. You keep making these mega-popular, critically acclaimed movies. If you want to say hello to Oscar one more time, you've got to take the role no one is expecting (or even wanting) you to make:

Turner and Hooch II. Seriously, Tom, that movie is 15 years overdue.

You're welcome.

Anybody Over the Age of 35 with a Good Idea or Two

Dear Adam,

I want to be President of the United States, but I'm neither a Democrat nor a Republican. How do I get elected?

Partied-out in Pittsburgh

Dear P-O'ed,

If you really have ideas that will work in the White House, people will believe in you when they hear them. The good news is, you can spread the word to the entire world for practically no cost at all. You'll be in the oval office by 2012 (and maybe sooner) if you follow this simple advice (unless somebody else with better ideas and smarter execution beats you).

To start your silicon roots campaign. type up a concise, compelling email that leads with your best idea to solve the nastiest problem. Conclude with the statement that when you become president, you'll fix this nasty problem and more. Ask the person to forward this email to anyone who cares about America. Send the email to everyone you know.

Then videotape a statement that says exactly the same thing. Load it onto YouTube. Send another email with a link to your YouTube video. Wait four weeks. Repeat the process, replacing your best idea with your second best idea.

Once your YouTube views start elevating into the mega-thousands, do all the other things like setting up a Web site, blog, and asking people for money. At that point, you'll know what to do. If your ideas are good enough, you can start now and get elected in November. Just register with all the states that allow it as a write-in candidate, and you could be the next president.

Here's the secret. Tell everybody between the ages of 18 and 25 that the other candidates think they're idiots whose votes don't matter. Tell people who vote for American Idol that the government is scared to death that they'll vote. Tell beer-drinking wrestling fans that the candidates are praying they're too drunk and too lazy to get off their butts and show up at the polls. Tell everyone who is currently not planning on voting (most people) that this is the vote that will count. Tell them whatever you want.

And welcome to the White House.

Rock Bands

Dear Adam,

We rock. At least, we rocked. It used to be so easy. We've seen a million faces, and, you know, we rocked 'em all. But that was the first half of our Behind the Music story. Now, the faces we see don't look rocked, just . . . mildly amused. People still buy our albums out of habit, but nobody talks about them. If we were a tv show, we'd be the last episode of Seinfeld. What gives? How do we rock again?

Rockin' 5 years ago in Seattle

Dear No Longer Rockin',

I'll tell you what happened: you came out with a frivolous "Best of" album. Shame on you. As soon as you start making mixed CDs of your own songs and selling them as new products, you have officially, blatantly, and publicly called it quits as an artist. You've told the rockin' world that not only have you arrived, but you have also collected your trophy and made your acceptance speech. You can't possibly expect us to believe you're still serious about creating new music when you're banking on the hopes people will buy your old music with a new cover and all the personally meaningful songs taken out of the mix. You are the definition of a sellout.

Now, I have friends who say the problem is when you start recording movie soundtrack hits for a living, especially if the movie is animated, and unquestionably if it's a Disney movie. But I point to the Greatest Hits that never should have been. Here's my advice to all you still-rockin' bands. And if you used to rock, adhere to these rules from this point on, and you might rock once more:

1. Never put together a Greatest Hits album unless you have recorded at least 7 studio albums (5 if they were all critically acclaimed but made you no money).

2. It's preferable to delay any "Best of" release until people who are just now becoming interested in your music were not born when you started making it.

3. Only one live album per decade. After the first one, it's like your selling video tapes of your dates. It's just not cool.

4. Don't ever sing about how hard it is to be rich and famous unless your audience is made up entirely of rich and famous people.

5. It's okay if you grow up and your music grows along with you.

6. When you're done making genuine music, stop making music.

7. Don't start being obvious just because people didn't get the point when you were artistically vague.

8. If you're done singing about your own problems, sing about someone else's.

9. Start a new band. Nothing rejuvenates a career like forming a band just because you can. There are other musicians in the world. Give your ego a rest and start making some music.

10. Have fun.

And . . . thanks for asking.

Customer Service Departments

Dear Adam,

I noticed strange characters appearing in speech bubbles above your head. You know, the ones that appear when you hold down the shift key and push numbers: !@#$%. What gives? Is there anything I can do to improve your experience?

CS Agents, Everywhere

Dear CSAEs,

I'm sorry you misinterpreted my actions. Muttering under my breath is my way of saying, "Thank you," for acting like you were doing me a favor just by coming out to the actual customer service desk. It's my way of saying, "Nicely put," because I'm just so impressed with the witty repartee you've got going with your friend on the phone. Muffled curses are how I express my appreciation for trying to sell me every service your company offers while I'm trying to cancel the one lousy service I actually agreed to pay for in the first place. All of that is awesome. Normal letters don't capture my admiration for your knowledge of neither your company's products nor the English language. Only *&$^# can adequately state how valued I feel by the phone connection that is intelligible only when the world's cheesiest on-hold music is playing. I can't tell you how much I hate being treated like a human being; you never let me down.

So, my advice to you? Since you asked (not), just keep doing what you're doing . . . and enjoy Circle 5.

The Company That Makes Suave Hair Products

You should change tha name of Suave products, for they are not.

Polar Ice Caps

Dear Adam, I'm freezing, and I'm huge. But every time I burn off a few tons, people freak out. Al Gore thinks I'm ana, but I'm just trying to feel good about myself. I don't understand where other people get off telling me how big I should be. They say it's not easy being green. Pshaw. Try being arctic blue for a day and see how you like it. What should I do to get people off my case?

--Bipolar at the Ends of the Earth

Dear Bi,

My advice is simple: melt already. If you want to trim down, I say go for it. The truth is, I think the globe on the whole could stand to be a little bit warmer, and up to this point you've been bringing down the curve. So if you want to melt, melt.

The rest of the world will have to deal with their own issues, that's no concern of yours. You deserve to be warm just as much as the rest of us. You've spent long enough isolated in frigid waters. It's time people on the equator find out what it's like to be submerged. You just need to think about you right now.

We'll be fine. Don't read what they say about you in the papers, it will only give you a complex. The important thing is that you believe in your decisions. Have confidence. Stay strong. Melt away already. The world will just have to get used to a new you.

Oompa Loompas

Dear Adam, I work at a candy factory at Wonka's Midwest Branch. Actually, I live there. My boss is nice . . . a bit quirky. But I'm an illegal alien. I miss my family. I can't vote. I feel slightly guilty that I haven't paid a dime of income tax for the past 40 years. And I'd like to take a break from experimenting with radiation and pulling fat kids out of high-powered suction tubes. I want to test the waters of employment elsewhere, but I'm afraid if I ask my boss for vacation time, he'll ship me back to Oompa Loompa Land. What should I do?

--OverWonked in Omaha.

Dear Wonked,

I feel your pain. From what I know of your predicament, your boss is a shrewd businessman who puts a premium on trust and loyalty. If you violate that trust, you lose, you get nothing, good day, sir. If you want to try something new, be honest and forthcoming to your boss. Stay positive. Tell him about your goals outside the candy factory, and he may give you the opportunity to follow your dream. But that's the smaller issue here.

On a grander scale, you need to think about your fellow Oompa Loompas. You have a lot more influence over the situation than you think. Your boss created a loophole in the traditional international outsourcing trend by bringing you and your fellow expatriate OLs out of your home country. Instead of exploiting the weak economy of Oompa Loompa Land, he brought you across U. S. borders. He certainly showed you compassion, but he also exhibited blatant contempt for immigration and employment laws. Bottom line: your boss is a nice guy, but he's breaking the law.

My advice? Rally together as OLs. Formally demand the opportunity to apply for work visas and eventually citizenship. Avoid the temptation to unionize. Just stay organized and civilized, and you should be fine. Your boss might be more of a dreamer than a detail person, so appoint your most anal Oompa Loompa as a spokesman. He can help your boss address his employment problems without compromising his core business goals--this will only serve to build trust and create a win-win for everyone.

I know, you didn't really ask. You aren't really real. Still, though, think about it.

Texters

I know you didn't ask, but . . . the texting has got to stop. I h8 it. U should 2.

Pushing out those repeated threads of truncated text is turning your hands into acidic balls of lactic waste. By the time researchers do any meaningful studies on the longterm effects of texting, your thumbs will be permanently petrified into a Picasso-esque portrait of pain.

And we non-texters are getting sick of seeing the tops of texting heads as they stare into the digital abyss. Seriously people, Ferris had it right. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in awhile, you might miss it.

Texting melts the polar ice caps. It depletes your soul. It causes fallen arches. It fixed the 1919 World Series. It used to be a member of the Communist Party. It stole Claire's baby. Every time a text alert rings, a demon gets its tail.

For all these reasons and more, do your thumbs and the rest of the world a favor by following this threefold unwanted advice: 1) Throw your phone away; 2) Talk, don't text; 3) Try to use a complete sentence every once in awhile.

Dude Talking On His Cell Phone in the Car

Dude. Get off your cell phone. You're going to kill someone. I guarantee your call is not that important.

What are you doing, talking about work? If your job were really that important, you'd be there already or you wouldn't have left. But you did leave. You don't live there. You have a life. Live it.

Maybe you're on the phone with your family. Or your friend. Or a telemarketer. None of those people want you to die. Then again, they probably have better things to do than talk to you. Get off the phone.

And think of what you're missing. You're missing the guy in the car next to you picking his nose. You're missing the lady in the truck behind you singing, "A Moment Like This," at the top of her lungs. You're missing the lake on your left, the park on your right, and skyline up ahead. Heck, you barely missed me when you almost ran me over. Hang up. Or flip down. Whatever. Just stop talking.

And I don't care if you have a headset. It's not your hands I'm concerned about, it's that brain of yours that is somewhere else. Please, drive, pay attention, and don't kill me. That's my advice. You'll never ask, because you have to take this call . . . but I'm texting you right now. GOTP.

Hillary Clinton

Okay, Mrs. Clinton, you ran a fine campaign. You showed everybody that America is ready for a female president. The only question is, are you ready to be a female?

For the first half of this campaign, you rode the soiled coattails of the Clinton name. For the second half of the campaign, you have ridden Obama into the ground. But the entirety of your campaign, with the exception of one tiny moment, has had nothing to do with you.

America is ready for a female presidential candidate who acts like a woman instead of like a male presidential candidate. And it's not because they don't believe a woman can be every bit as authoritative as a male presidential candidate, it's because they don't even like male presidential candidates. Voters like candidates who appear to be real people (see your husband). But for 99.99% of your campaign, you've chosen to carry yourself like a male presidential candidate.

The only time you acted like a woman, and the only reason Obama hasn't completely iced the nomination, was during that one interview when you actually showed a genuine emotion. You talked about eating pizza. You spoke at a normal volume. You did not, contrary to media reports, tear up. You just seemed real. For you to win the presidential election, you need to seem human a lot more frequently than once every 15 years.

Actually, there was one other time when you seemed human, and that was when you said that no matter which Democrat won the nomination, the nation would be in good hands. Well . . . I could not care less if you or Obama gets the nomination. If you don't quit now, neither of you has a shot at the White House.

So act like a real person and quit. It worked for Al Gore. He won an Oscar, a Grammy, and a Nobel Prize. That could be you in five years. If Al Gore can make people think he's human, there's hope for anyone (or anything). That's my advice . . . even though you didn't ask.