“My tea’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I got out of bed at all/The morning rain clouds up my window and I can’t see at all/And even if I could, it’ll all be gray/But your picture on my wall, it reminds me that it’s not so bad, it’s not so bad.”

Dear Justin, I’m writing – again – because you still haven’t picked up the phone, and neither have J.C., Lance, Chris or Joey Fatone. But I don’t care about them, because you’re the real talent; the first time I heard your voice I nearly lost my balance.

I just had to write when I saw you on Disney. I thought you were the coolest, kickin’ it with Mickey.

But then my mom told me, “You’ve got to get out, son. Justin’s in ‘N Sync now, those are just reruns.”

So I ran down to Wal-Mart and bought your first album. I couldn’t believe the experience I was havin’. When I heard “Tearing Up My Heart,” I had this warm feeling, so I got all your posters to hang on my ceiling.

But it wasn’t enough, and I wanted to know more, so I grabbed five copies of Tiger Beat at the store. When you were wearing mouse ears, so was J.C., and then you guys met again later in Nashville, Tennessee.

It must have been fate, because you’re in the best band ever. How do you write lyrics that are so clever?

Your story was so inspirational that I started my own band; it’s too bad the only members were me and the puppet on my hand.

I just couldn’t wait for your next album to arrive, but luckily “Home for Christmas” kept me alive.

The next two years of my life were a living hell, and I worried and fretted over how many copies you’d sell.

So I requested your videos nonstop on MTV, and now you’re number one on “TRL” – because of me.

Carson must have gotten tired of hearing my voice on the phone, because he got a restraining order so I wouldn’t call him at home.

The first time I heard “Bye Bye Bye,” I knew you’d prove them wrong; it was more than just a stupid pop song. And all the haters were finally able to see ‘N Sync was so much better than the Backstreet Boys and NKOTB.

“No Strings Attached” was amazing, but “Celebrity” was better; it’s too bad you don’t have time to respond to this letter. I suppose you’re too popular to talk to me, but I still think you need to ditch Britney.

I’ll help you get rid of her and the other guys too, because I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.

You could go solo, or we could form a duo, kind of like Hall and Oates except we’d be cool.

When you shaved your head, I shaved mine too. I just wish I could be more like you. And now you’re coming to Ames, and no one can stop me from trying to get you to go out for coffee.

Nothing can come between me and this show. I’ll be the 21-year-old blond kid in the front row. Forget about all those 13-year-olds dreaming, because I’ll be the tallest, loudest one screaming.

We should get together; it’ll be so much fun. Just promise me one thing: don’t leave when you’re done. I’ll take you for a ride and sing “It’s Gonna Be Me” in my car, and maybe even kidnap my first pop star.

You know I’m just kidding; I’d never do that. I’ve seen the way your bodyguards attack. And the cops would hunt me down if you were gone. So Justin Timberlake, please write to me, I’m begging you, Jon.

Jon Dahlager is a junior in journalism and sociology from Cottage Grove, Minn. He is arts and entertainment editor of the Daily and is sick and tired of hearing people talk about this pop life and when it’s going to fade out.