Do the Bartman

Skewed Rationale: A cohesive study on the limits of the human psyche

I wonder if in an effort to save time when answering typical questions in social settings, actress Minnie Driver purchased a Mini Cooper.

An open letter to Zooey Deschanel

Dear Zooey,

Remember that time I confused you for your sister, wondering why you decided to join the cast of a second-rate television program with that heavy-browed former teen heartthrob? Remember how puzzling I found it that you, an indie queen who had already won the hearts and minds of Urban Outfitters shoppers and their sale section-scavenging mothers, would subject herself to the monotony of a weekly serial that follows, I don't know, medically-trained detectives who solve post-mortem mysteries with sexy results? Remember how I feigned relief upon learning it was actually your slightly less cute, slightly less buxom, slightly less popular sister who co-starred?

Well, lately I've had to feign shock and awe as it is unmistakably you who stars in a weekly comedic program that, based on your wacky antics during the advertisements, I assume involves you giggling, farting, chasing British man-boys who are stuck in that unfortunate eternal left-legger pre-pubescence, and contorting your face to extents that could wake Jenny McCarthy from her halcyon daze.

Your crooning alongside that unremarkable fellow in She&Him reminded us all why America used to be so sexy: Gingham dress-clad women who sang as if they had never even seen a penis before were more likely to get the black housekeeper to do the dishes, so one could go to the wood-panelled rumpus room and in fact show her a penis. The innocence of your alt-country duo brought that nostalgic Americana to the hip fringes of contemporary culture, teaching skinny boys in skinnier pants that it's okay if no one wants to have sex with them.

Remember that scene in "500 Days of Summer" where you say that really cute thing involving fuzzy kittens that is meant to be an analogy about the tragedy of the human condition, but it is misinterpreted by your co-star, you know, that guy that a lot of people recently found non-threateningly attractive, and he makes it kind of dirty? Or how about that other scene where you trip/bite your tongue/drop a priceless family heirloom/chew with your mouth open/sneeze and it makes a honking sound at a funeral/crap your pants? I miss those moments. I felt like I was sharing a new understanding of sexuality with all my fellow young persons, one in which people are perpetually awkward but still have perfectly trimmed bangs and the rarest vintage clothes.

I guess I'm just a little upset that you're on a network television show, to be digested by the masses, rather than my own personal twee prom queen, picking and choosing scripts based on a rating scale that involves "ugly" sweaters, coffee mugs with unicorns on them, harmonicas, flower-themed hair accessories, and a general suspicion of foreigners.

I miss you.

Sincerely Yours,

This Guy.