Sit Right Down and Write Me a Letter

My dear Le.Rheims…

Oh those good folks over at Plinky.com…  They just get clever-er and clever-er.  Tonight’s topic is perfect.  In fact, it’s just what I was going to write about anyway.  So there, Plinky.com, so there.  The truth is, I’ve been recovering from general exhaustion — pray for me to find some major energy, by the way — and I just need a breather.  On the “good news” front I got another perfect score on my latest paper in my Educational Leadership class!  Yay!  I’m inching so much closer to that MS.  Don’t forget to pray with me in thanksgiving for that as well.  Now then, the topic:

“When was the last time you wrote someone a handwritten letter?”

Funny you should ask…  It’s been a while.  But I just so happen to have the copy of that letter sitting in front of me right now.  You may ask “why?”  You may very well be scratching your scalp right at this moment and saying “Exactly why do you have a copy of a letter you wrote to someone else, Harvey?  Did you never mail it?  Did the recipient reject it?  WHY!?!?!”  Or maybe you’re not asking that.  Just read on.  This is a letter I wrote to my younger sister, who these days calls herself “Bridget@Le.Rheims“.  I call her the Coke-y Coquette.

 

September 10, 2004

Dear Le.Rheims,

          Why?  Why have you not given up your cocaine habit?  You know as well as I do that the International Theater Orchestra Musicians Union, New York Local 520 would not like one bit to discover that their sixteenth best oboeist is still riding the Blow Train.  For heaven’s sake, Le.R., I was there last Wednesday matinee when your antics kicked in and you hijacked your fellow pit musicians.  Do you think the producers, let alone the poor actors, appreciated that you raced them through Bali Ha’i at 712 beats per minute?  Holy hell, Le.Rheims, I’m surprised the woman playing Bloody Mary could keep up with you.  The percussionist was on to you.  He just laid into the tympani. He could only squeeze off about four bangs before the song was over.  And as if that wasn’t enough, you had to take it to the next level.  No, in fact, you skipped several levels here.  What a most unfortunate sight it was to see you mount the stage, strip to your undies, and light your hair on fire.  Need I go on?  I know I don’t need to but I will.  Because when the fire marshall showed up you threatened to “cut that yellow-coated whore” if he didn’t back up.  Finally, as you seemed ready to calm down, you pulled up a chair and proceeded to give children’s catechesis for the next four hours without a breath.  I think the audience only stayed because they thought it was part of the show.  Apparently none of them have ever seen South Pacific.

          I want you to break this nasty habit NOW!  For the good of your family, for the good of the theater, for the good of the tourists —  enough is enough!

          In other news, Mom decided to have me move some furniture around last week.  The living room is now in the family room and the family room is in the living room.  Apparently she couldn’t tell the difference either.  Also, the cat was diagnosed with schizophrenia.  At least we now know why he was going on about the “evil Methodist plot to take his kibble away”.

          Take good care of yourself, sweetie-pie!  You’re the best little sister a guy could have!

Love,

Harvey
XOXOY

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2 responses to “Sit Right Down and Write Me a Letter

  1. Listen, I told you already that I was just high on life, despite what you (and everyone in the theater that day) may think.

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