April 18, 2002
Dear Abraham,
Sunday is good to talk — maybe I’ll try you first. My thesis is finally taking off — I just hope its not headed for any office buildings in NYC. unless it’s Mr. T’s office. Not that i want him dead, but if I’m going to die anyway, it’d be cool to get a burial plot next to his. Do you think Mr. T has an office? My thesis is lots of work though. I’ve traded in my health and sanity for productivity. all i eat is ground coffee. I don’t even brew it anymore. I haven’t had a beer in weeks, unless you count the urine I’m collecting in two liter bottles which I’m hoping will eventually turn into Natural Lite. I don’t go outside. My tanless skin is now a perfect pearl white. The only daylight I see is sunrise, and i quickly close the blinds. I think I might be a vampire. Kind of hoping, actually. I’m beyond delusional. It’ll all be done, or not done, by next week though. I turn in the final copy on Friday, and my thesis defense is May 13th.
This summer Orin and I are definitely hopping up to Canada somewhere — we’ve already given Canada lots of money for student work visas. You and Mel have an open invitation to visit anytime, as long as you like. If you stay too long, though, we might make you dress up like a lovely hairy lady and march down to the Shell station, if they have them there.
Speaking of lovely ladies, there might be a new one in my life, although she’s not as hairy as you. She’s in my photo class. We hung out the other day. I thought I’d spoiled everything, by telling stories that never found a finish line. but later that night she sent me an email…:
ok. so you can’t tell a ‘good’ story, but regardless, you’re a riot. so, you put me to sleep and i can’t really stand to listen to you ramble on. hah. you thought there was going to be a but, but no. yo, thanks for the photographer links. but really, no more camera talk. you’re fab. and since you’re old, it’s fitting that you tell stories that have no point.
it’s really too bad we just met this year, since you’re leaving and i’m staying and i have so much more knowledge left to soak up from you. you’re really just screwing things up. thanks a lot. no really, you’re great. and so cute. you really make me smile (even when your stories are boring me to tears). thank you. and you shouldn’t call people fat. it makes them feel bad.
moose,
b.
She’s definitely not fat. She’s cute, witty, funny, sarcastic, sardonic, overly critical… and she’s the first new person in a long time that i would really like in my life somewhere.
So ponder that, maybe. I’ll throw a few more afternoon activities your way: make a nice liver and sardine sandwich. Airbrush a pretty picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Give your brother a flower. Watch a Friends marathon. Start lifting weights. Join the Romanian army. Drink a cup of decaffinated espresso. Listen to counting crows. Eat a deep fried twizzler dipped in peanut butter. Slice off some fingers and re-attach them around your nipple. Wear a horizontally striped pink and grey shirt. Apply for a job as an automotive oil lubricator. Find Shamus and give him a nice friendly foot massage. Use a can of roach repellant to get a whip-it high. Swim across the english channel as a protest to the next Harry Potter book. Ask your neighbors if they like blind melon. drop out of art school to pursue your dream of becoming a politician. Start a ferret farm. Take ice cream out of your diet. eed some squirrels. Purchase some Enron stock from Ebay. Buy clothes only from famous Italian. Change your name to Luigi.
and give me a call
yer buddy
john
