OK Gruner:
Am now
real poorly myself. Came down with a nasty
urinary tract infection 2 days ago. I live in fear of these. Would rather have a
gangrenous limb. Sorry to hear that you are doing so poorly. Sounds much worse than I imagined. Glad to hear Tolentino is renting you movies. (I presume he is also mixing up those
noxious sounding concoctions you’ve been drinking?) You should read
Custom of the Country by
Edith Wharton. Very good. Excellent
protagonist in the form of a fully dimensional
social climbing hick. I highly recommend it.
I have spoken to Goldman about the possibility of a
Vegas vacation. He
claims to
hate Vegas. I say he is writing himself out of a
whole heap of fun. You and I could
own that town in 2 days. (At the very least we would find a
plethora of
wackos of which we could make fun.) I for one think it is a capital idea and I support it wholeheartedly.
Bladder medicine has kicked in. Not in as much pain. Spent 6 hours in tub yesterday. Only place I could stand. Wanted to be dead.
Over and out.
Love
Wilson
Hey Gruner
In my last correspondence I identified the social climbing hick in the Wharton novel as being the protagonist. That was a synapse misfire. She is actually the antagonist. Have been working on Goldman along the lines of trip to Vegas. May be close to a breakthrough. Arguments thus far consist of explaining to him that although he has been to Vegas several times, he has never been to Vegas with Gruner and Wilson. I have also explained that if he waits around for the profound to occur to entertain him, ie: aliens landing in side lawn, he will spend his life severely bored and discontented. He must open himself up and become involved in the seemingly absurd and benign since they seem to be what life is mostly all about. Will update you as to his progress. Did I mention that I believe I have developed an ulcer and that work is no longer killing me slowly, but seems to have picked up the pace?
Over and out
Love Wilson
I can no longer use punctuation correctly. I am becoming soft.
Hey Wilson
Sorry to hear about urinary infection. I am better. Better enough to go shoe shopping anyway. Jesus God! Shoes these days! Went to Fluevogs for the first time since my darkwave days. I was not impressed by its offerings to say the least. I could accept shoes that are poorly made, OR that are totally impractical for locomotion, OR that are exorbitantly priced. But I can’t accept shoes that are all these things at once and ugly on top of it all. OK, they have these Smurf shoe/Dutch clog-like things with five-inch platforms that flare out amazingly at the base. (These things are HUGE. I swear each shoe must weigh six pounds.) The leather uppers are all sloppy and frayed and I can SEE lines of GLUE around the perimeter. On top of this the shopgirl (who is clumping ungracefully around the shop in them) remarks to me that “You really have to relearn walking in them!” because the sole is sloped such that you rock forward violently with each step. Price tag is something like $160. Too much to pay for a mere conversation piece I tell you.
I will now in the interest of amusing you recount my saga of bad hair daybad hair. As you know I have not had a hairstyle in a long time. I have terrible luck with hairdressers and this is the reason my hair was so long and lacking in style. Anyway, I decided to lop it all off. I saw a cool-looking ad for a salon, checked it out, thought it looked cool (excellent artsy decor, hipsters working etc.) and went in for what I was sure was going to be my first good haircut ever. Well, I got the one hairdresser whose style I was not at all sure about (black lined lips a la gang girl/Jerry Springer guest), but I showed her photos of what I wanted (visualize super-short Mia Farrow look, flat to the skull kind of cut) and she seemed to get the idea though she was nervous about cutting such long hair so short right away. I encouraged her to give me the cut I wanted and we jumped right in. I knew things weren’t going well when half an hour later we were nowhere near the shortness I desired and she was doing little feathery Liza Minelli things around my cheeks and ears. I told her it wasn’t short enough, she seemed irked but continued cutting, then started blowdrying—although I had specifically told her I wanted it so short there would be no styling per se involved and that I never used a blowdryer. She blowdryed and blowdryed, frying my hair and scalp into a stiff and parched helmet-head of hairsprayed fluff worthy of forty-year-old office lady in Christmas Sweater! When I saw it I yelled, “Oh my God!” She said, “What?” I yelled, “It’s so BIG!” and tried to beat it down with my bare hands. There was a bad moment where I thought we were both going to cry. She said, “You’re just not used to it being so short.” I said “It’s not short enough, look at the photo!” We got out the photos again and she resumed cutting. Once again she tried to style me, I resisted, saying I wanted it flat to my skull. She said “I don’t like it flat.” I said “Well I do!” We reached some kind of compromise just so I could get the hell out, barely holding back the tears of rage until I was alone in my car! It took a $10 barbershop cut to remedy the terror she had inflicted. I doubt I will ever recover from the sight of my own beloved face surrounded with such hideous poofed-out substitute-teacher hair! It was a vision of myself at fifty, minus any vestige of taste. I have since put a hex on that so-called stylist. May God smite me if I ever go to a hairdresser again.
Happy New Year
Gruner
OK Gruner:
Thanks for the last E-mail. It was very amusing. Read your hair hell narrative to several people. My mother laughed so hard she almost peed her pants. Goldman dreamed of you having your hair cut. I am unhappy. The chimps are getting me down. Have been planning my escape. Am not at all enthused about any of the jobs out there.
I am now proposing that in addition to or in lieu of Vegas we take a one to two week vacation in the Southwest. (Arizona, New Mexico etc.) Heat and sun. It’s all good. I have never done the Southwest. I will come prepared with boots and generic t-shirts and denim-like attire. What do you think?
Will come see you soon. Am paying too much in rent. Feel impoverished and alone. Cannot quit my job as Lord of the Monkey People. Need help. Have developed several interesting nervous conditions. Am losing my looks. Please write soon.
over and out
Happy New Year
Wilson
ps “Tell them the dolls are from Jesus.”