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Crap, hang on, I have to get the coffee going. The boss’ll hide me raw if I don’t.
– okay, it’s brewing.
So, staying on track with my plan to ape everything you do, I’m listening to Django Reinhardt today. And while I was brewing the coffee, I just remembered that funny band name I told you about yesterday— or maybe in a dream I had yesterday —the band is called Bo Django. Get it? They played at London Grill a few weeks back and were pretty great. Like I actually remember seeing them. At one point I demanded an umbrella in all my drinks (see attached photo). Martini, beer, insulin, you name it.
Along the way downloading all that Django, I got a few books on drawing comics, so maybe I’ll send some clippings from my initial attempts at that along with my next letter. I’ll draw them on the chinaman bus to New York City tonight. That’s right! I’m going to your home town! But don’t expect to see me, since you didn’t visit me when you were in my town (see attached photo). I think writing these letters has distilled our relationship down to its bare necessities, so we’ll probably never meet again.
I was reading about the satellite we’re sending to Pluto - oh, sorry, 134340 is its name now that it’s been bitch slapped by science. It’s going over 50,000 mph right now, which is pretty sweet (14.2 miles per second). Mankind really has staked a claim here. When I get off this artist kick, I’m going to MIT to get a real degree, then I’m gonna go work for NASA. Outer space really is the best possible thing to invest in, IMO. Maybe I’ll give you this rant later. The gist of it is that astronomy is super pure science, like, virgin science. And sending satellites out into space is the cutest, sweetest thing anybody’s ever done. Which you’d know NOTHING about, jerk.