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• Photo by MisterMundo.

Dear Broad Ripple,

Please put more "No left turn" signs on northbound College Avenue at Broad Ripple Avenue. People don't read the two that are there. Maybe make them 6 feet tall, glowing red, and if someone bogs down traffic trying to make a left there, the whole sign bursts into flames for effect.

- Disgruntled Driver

• Photo by NUVO Editors
• The no-return-address, SpongeBob SquarePants-affixed envelope.

Hi NUVO,

Idea for suggestion box:

- do a hard hitting article on these parking meters everyone hates especially Saturday evenings

- research other cities and these bad experiences with the company

- tell how difficult it is to fight parking fines and how often the meters do not operate correctly.

- how the mayor and evil council pushed the proposal along and even when conflicts of interest occurred

- hold a contest on how to get rid of these parking meters

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• The anonymous letter

- interview councillor Zach Adamson

- hold a rally (like real estate tax protest)

- evaluate economic disadvantages of parking contract to city

and such matters

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• Photo by MisterMundo.

This rant is for all of the drivers who can't drive and who seem to think that traffic signals are suggestions.

Since I have better insurance than you do, I'm going to let you hit me the next time you decide to turn across my path or run a red light.

It'll be your fault, I'll get a newer car, and my insurance company's lawyers will eat you alive.

This also goes for the cops who can't drive and seerm to think that traffic laws are for everyone else.

Remember what happened to David Bisard.

- Submitted by "tired of playing dodge'm with other drivers"

My ticked-off-ness this week: ladies. Please don't complain about your current boyfriend (who used to be your ex-boyfriend whom you dumped before because he used to beat you) when you dumped a perfectly nice guy two weeks ago.

- Complaining about complaining

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• Photo by MisterMundo.

Dear Citizens of Indianapolis,

Slow your roll. Savor the flavor. Just breathe. All ways to say the same thing: You need to slow down to enjoy life. And after the hullabaloo of the Super Bowl, everyone in Indy can use a reminder of that fact.

The next time you're at a restaurant, look at your food closely as you grab a bite. Smell it before it hits your tongue. Then feel the texture. Put your fork down between bites. Truly taste what you're eating

Turn the TV off. Put your cell phone away. Take a short walk outside and pay attention to every step.

Start reading a paperback book and enjoy turning the pages and how it sounds.

Life's too short to rush, rush, rush toward its end. You'll find pleasure in a slower pace.

- Slowpoke

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• Photo by MisterMundo.

To all those who live in northern suburbs who say you are afraid of traveling south of 82nd Street:

You are living a lie.

You claim that your apprehension is because of "feeling unsafe," yet you have misinterpreted that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you do happen to drive through Indianapolis. What you really feel uncomfortable about is witnessing poverty. Seeing it first-hand may challenge you to feel the need to do something about it, or at least feel some level of guilt if you continue to do nothing.

Meanwhile, you can attend cocktail fundraisers and silent auctions and donate old household items to Goodwill. Continue to mail your guilt money in from the suburbs because it may find some good use for people in need. The bottom line is that we know you want to feed poor black babies - you just don't want to be around them. The old saying, "Out of sight, out of mind," rings true.

The fact is that crime happens everywhere in a metropolitan area, whether you live downtown or in Carmel. Just stop lying to yourself and each other about the anxiety you feel when you drive south of 86th Street. It is not really about safety; it is that little thing called a "conscience" nagging at you.

- Mr. KeepingThingsReal

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• Photo by Mistermundo.

Dear Parents,

Next time, I'll smash your kid's video game on the table and laugh as he cries.

I love spending time at my favorite restaurant - but you ruined my last visit by letting your kid play his videogame full blast for the duration of your - and my - meal. The game's sound effects of shattering glass, explosions and God knows what else were so loud, I could hardly hear my dining partner talk.

But you probably didn't notice, as you were each engrossed in your own phones' screens. Maybe next time you can all enjoy a true family dinner - while respecting other families around you - by talking to each other instead of exclusively communicating with your own glowing devices.

And like real human beings, you can show some common courtesy and be respectful of the fact that a restaurant is not your personal dining room where your kid can do whatever he wants. If you want your kid to have the freedom to be obnoxious, stay home next time.

Love,
The Ventilator

The Ventilator can't speak, so we'll speak for it: "What's up?"

• Photos by mistermundo.

The Ventilator wants to be your personal therapist: It wants to hear about who pissed you off on the way to work this morning. It wants to know about that thing you're infatuated with but shouldn't be. It wants to be privy to the dirty deed you done did. It wants to see a picture of the stuff that's bugging you in your 'hood. And it won't charge you a thing - and it definitely won't offer its take on your ego and id (though its readers might).

What do you need to do to get what's on your mind off your chest? Email vent@nuvo.net (Update: You can use this form, too), and The Ventilator might choose your tale, magically remove identifying information about you and the innocent, and spit your story of what you love, hate, or love to hate out onto the pages of this here website.

Try it. It'll feel good. You do like feeling good, right?