To: She who was on 4th & Columbia this morning that I saw.
Hi. I saw you for about 6 seconds. Here's what happened:
I fell in love. We started dating. We got serious and moved in together - a big, open brick-walled loft like the hipsters we are. On Saturday mornings we'd sit in big, overstuffed chairs and rink Diet Cokes while we read novels or newspapers. We got married and after some time we gave up the concrete, hurried pace and youthful smells of city life for something like a cliche in the suburbs. I was a miserable man because you made me mow the lawn at least once a week even though you know I have terrible allergies to grass. The wall was just beginning to crumble on our relationship, though. When we decided to buy a new car, I wanted a smaller one that we could insure for less, one that breathed function and did not stand out at all, but you wanted a big, expensive behemoth to match the house (and you. It's not your ass - you are as beautiful as ever, you've just grown this enormous, expensive personality that I think comes from hormones they put in country club water supplies). Then you started saying you wanted kids and I snuck off during a 'business trip' and got a vasectomy. You left me for someone who was still fertile.
In conclusion, it's probably for the best that you didn't look up from your blueberry bagel this morning. I still love you, though. I always will.
To: She who was wearing a red 'Hawaii' shirt.
Hi. You are too thin. Have a snack.
Sam Lipsyte's The Subject Steve is my current book. In a single day, I'm 1/2 way through it. I like it so far.
I've found my apartment. This, as you can imagine, is a monkey off of one's back. And, for someone who has lived with mommy and daddy all their life, it is a change, too.
A futurist writes about the future. Here, I will be a futurist.
Robots will become sentient beings and, because they were smart enough to remove their romantic impulses and robotic sexual organs, they will take over the universe. Jokes about oil/grease, rust and cogs are really funny in the future.
A historian writes about the past. Here, I will be a historian in the future, so I am essentially still being a futurist. Do not be confused.
What the futurist said above was all true. Especially the part about the castrated robots. Brilliance incarnated.
