Friends,

 

At the end of my working week I will have spent 108 hours here, and while my cheque will be greatly enhanced my strength seems to be depleting rather rapidly, and as such I have begun to take regular steps to recharge myself, and thus I am writing y'all now.

 

I just got done messing around on the yahoo personals site looking for divorced Jewish women over fifty in the NYC area and let me tell you there are a boatload of them.  The way they describe themselves is fun, saying they live life to the fullest and are high energy and so on.  Taking up the picture space, the entire thing, all she has managed to show is that she lives the buffet to the fullest, and pauses to mention that her mother lives in Boca Raton, as this is somehow supposed to sweeten the pot.  They also say they love to laugh, and whilst Jews are amongst the greatest comics, I think she would spend all of her time behind stage at the catering table.  I think I'll stick to the gentile crowd.

 

This week we have been getting the tooling ready to begin work on a new government project so this naturally means the pay scale is ridiculous.  After I give my tithe to Holy Mother Church, I have a few options about what to do with what I have left.  I suppose I could seek to move out on my own, but I hate to do laundry and vacuuming, not to mention everything is free here.  The call to independent living is one that I hear very faintly.  I have decided that alleviating my debt structure would be the most prudent financial decision and also the most noble thing to do, but I opt instead to increase my worldly goods.  Today, from amazon, arrived my complete collector's edition of Dame Edna performances.  A true delight and marvelous performance that I am convinced everyone should see regularly.

 

Also in the works are furthering my book collecting and adding to my wine collection.  The reason that books and wine are so appealing, at least for me, is that I somehow imagine that I will not only have those things, but also the time to enjoy, especially with others.  I think I make purchases with the delusion in place that I am indeed buying time.  My big splurge I ordered today is three cases (18 bottles) of 2001 d' yquem.  Supposedly the best ever, the maturity date for the wine is 2060 and they estimate it will be able to be cellared for at least 100 years.  How could I possibly resist such gluttonous temptations.  There are a few other treats in this area as well.  In books, I have acquired the New cambridge history of medieval europe.  Also a triumph, as it shoul be being as how they have been refining it since 1918.

 

I guess that is really all the news I have, not to mention I think the CNC mill is nearly done with my part.  It takes seventy five minutes, during which time I am not really expected to do anything else.  Many of the other guys are off deer hunting, including my dad, but I suspect they are really just drinking beer and playing cards.  Mom has left for a week long shopping expedition to the Chicago land area, making aa three day stop at IKEA.  The swede's have given us many good things.  Dynamite, saabs, stave churches, the stockholm grand hotel and so on.  They have also produced a good deal of crap along the way, and Ikea is something I would rank in this category toward top along with Lutefisk dinners.  To quote, "Lutefisk; its goot for yew."

 

Spending time with grandpa over the last few weeks I have taken note that whenever he watches sports or listens to them on the radio, no matter what it is, he always has the same thing to say, "the way they coach that team is a damn disgrace."

 

With that I leave you to return to the blue collar world.

 

Yours,

 

Mitch

Salutations,

 

Over the course of the last two days I am proud, in a disgusting sort of way, to admit to and brag about the fact that I have eaten thirty (30) mcdonald's hamburgers.  There is a great deal of information that should accompany this claim, but I have not the space to write about it here, nor, I assume, could you produce enough patience to listen to all of that extra less than witty banter that flows forth ceaselessly from between my lips.

 

Speaking of lips

 

Every night on my way to work I pass a church, actually it is a "faith center" the congregation of which seems to be of the impression that the messages they post on their sign along the road will draw visitors.  "I need you to touch my lips."  This is a dangerous sign to post on the road that serves as the connexion from Holland to Saugatuck, it seems to me, largely due to the high number of women drivers...who wear mens watches.

 

This morning on my way home from work I stopped to pick up grandpa Martinie to go out for breakfast.  He ordered Russ' #3 special, coffee and to top it off a piece of coconut cream pie.  It is my understanding that this is the recommended diet for a person with diabetes.  I was very tired and wanted to to bed right away, but he had work for me to do, which he chose not to disclose the details of until it was too late for me to back out.  I had to get in the water and paint the pilings next to his dock.  I came out of the water about two hours later, and while not really being cold, my nipples would easily have been just as effective as diamonds for the purposes of cutting glass.  He also thought it would be really damn funny to take the ladder off of the dock and out of the water so I had to swim to the neighbours to get out.  We also had to chop wood for goodness only knows what reason seeing as all of the fireplaces in his house have been converted to gas about five years ago.  This general trend is, in my eyes, a catastrophe and furthers the postmodern and secular tendency to cheapen life in the pursuit of convenience.  I mourn.

 

After the never ending parade of chickenshit that accompanies actually going into the house to talk to grandma, it was time to go to lunch.  I will provide a brief and rather accurate transcript of how the conversation progressed from that point.  Keep in mind that it is now 11:30 and we ate breakfast three hours ago. H will be equal to Harold, who is my grandpa and M will equal Mitch, from whom you are receiving this note.

 

M: is there anything else you need done before I go.

 

H: it's about time for lunch isn't it?

 

M: we ate breakfast three hours ago and its not even noon.

 

H: I am just thinking about you.  I thought that maybe you would want something to eat before you went to take a nap.

 

Grandma (whom I thought had left to buy sheet music in grand haven, an activity which usually consumes the better portion of the day for her) chimes in from the living room, "Neither of you need anything to eat.  Mitchee's stomach is so big and it is getting bigger all the time."

 

My unvoiced reaction being, "Bitch."

 

Grandpa and I got into the car and talked about where we were going to go to eat.

 

H: Where do you want to go?

 

M:  I don't really care, I'll let you decide this time.

 

H:  How about Russ'?

 

M: We just ate there this morning.

 

H: no we didn't.

 

M:  yes we did

 

H: We haven't had lunch there recently

 

M: That is where we ate lunch yesterday

 

H:  Good.  That way we know what we are goint to get.

 

Touche grandpa.  We have just reached a conversational impasse, but seeing as he always pays the bill, I have no grounds for argument.

We each finish lunch with a piece of lemon meringue pie.  All is right with the world. 

 

I dropped him off at his house and drove back to mine to go to bed.

 

Twenty minutes ago the television upstairs came on.  I went upstairs to find him watching a rerun of the lawrence welk show smoking a cigar in the house. 

 

M: what are you doing here?  For that matter how did you get here?

 

H: I drove. 

 

M: you're not supposed to

 

H:  Where did you say you kept the bombay (gin).

 

I am now awake writing this after sleeping just over three hours.  He is slowly killing me.  He just asked if I wanted to go out for dinner

 

 

 

 

Whenever I hear of a disaster, beit manmade or natural, I always harbour the desire that it gets much worse.  The riots in france are then penultimate example of just such a situation.  I hope they burn the city of paris to the ground, save for the churches, where no french people actually go to anyway. 

 

Last night I had dinner with my most theologically astute and politically savvy friend and we talked about this.  Many of the folks I count as friends are talented in many different areas and in a number of ways, only a few of which I can't mention here.  Coffee is on my mind at the moment.  I have never actually had any and I cannot stand the smell, but my sister and her soon to be husband like it and I want to buy them a coffee grinder as a gift.  After looking at a few different models I realise just how little I know about this foreign and often hostile world of bitter beans picked by the loving hands of Juan Valdez who, "only gives us the good beans." 

 

I broadcast my plea for advice on coffee grinders.  I am prepared to spend the money to buy a high quality grinder whatever the cost may be, but I need to know which is better, a grinder with a blade as the grinding mechanism or a burr as the grinding mechanism.  I eagerly await you thoughtful reply.

 

Mitch