Truly top-drawer

March 30th, 2007

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Ben, my little chippy:

Oh you should have been there! Your bearded face atop a collar and garish tie, spinning those little turns of phrase as you stumble through a game of croquet in the azalea garden behind the art museum. “It seeked out my monkey heat!” Oh Ben… you’ll outlive us all.

But it was a cracking good time. Truly top-drawer. My hot toddies were SCRUMTRILESCENT. Wild Turkey, boiling water, honey, lime juice, and some ground nutmeg. When that ran out, we just drank whatever bourbon was left from the bottle. Spring is upon us. This is what will happen every Thursday from now on. I’ve included photos of the historic event(photo 1, photo 2,photo 3) and a complimentary membership card (enclosed card), even though you’ll never leave that wretched island to do the finer things in life.

You know what’s weird? That duet of Unforgettable that Natalie Cole did with her long dead father, Nat King Cole. I mean, it’s equal parts creepy and touching. You know, go technology and stuff, it’s proved terrific at bringing the dead back to life in order to sell vacuum cleaners and soft drinks. I guess since it’s her father it’s legit, not like if Madonna did it (I really wouldn’t put it past her. Who green-lighted her cover of American Pie anyways?). Still though… I just can’t put my finger on it. There’s a very specific emotion connected to it. Like it feels very very personal, and like you’re almost intruding on this trans-afterlife father-daughter moment? Which I think is probably the most powerful art. Have you ever read Breakfast of Champions? It’s brutally honest. There’s one part that I always forget about that hits me hard when I go back and read it. Kurt Vonnegut has an aside near the end of the book and says:

“This is a very bad book you’re writing,” I said to myself.
“I know,” I said.
“You’re afraid you’ll kill yourself the way your mother did,” I said.
“I know,” I said.

Can you imagine writing something like that, something so personal that was just published so that the whole world could read it?

I can’t.

Yours,
Charlie

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