— Recycled but Re-Relevant —

Mamma Mia!

Republishing Some Mother’s Day Material for Dear Old Mom

— Fiction —

Happy Birthday from the Future

Sweetie:

Happy birthday from the year 2023!

I have not changed much since 2008. I was the first one on the block to get an iPhone. In 2011, as you’ll find out, I will preorder the GoogleCoffeeMaker. And ten years after paying for a voucher I am still waiting for my Blackwater Water Filter. I could have picked you up a blender or a couple of roses. Instead, I was the first in line at the local post office to send you this unique gift. Once a geek, always a geek!

Anyway, laws on sending messages to the past restrict the number of facts about the future I can reveal to you. So here is one: in 2018, we will buy an AngBurmaDoodle—a genetic hybrid dog-cat-rabbit as a pet. We will name it Harvey and we will be absolutely in love with it!

Love,
George

* * *

Sweetie:

Well my birthday gift did not go over as well as I had hoped. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say that it had something to do with buying a gift that you will receive twenty-five years earlier instead of on your actual birthday. We had a big argument and I’ve been forced to sleep out in the docking bay with Harvey. I thought I’d send you this letter which you will have read long before we get into the argument. Perhaps by using this (as you call it) “newfangled-techno-crap” it will help smooth things over.

I am sorry.

Love,
George

* * *

O.K., you asked me to be more specific about my apology: I am sorry that I ruined your birthday. And, yes, you are right—it would have been more helpful and practical to warn you about World Plagues I and II in my first letter instead of telling you about, as you put it, “that psychotic flea-trap Harvey”. To use a phrase from the time you are reading this: my bad.

Love,
George

P.S. Do you think you could leave the keys out to the HoverVan for me? I’m tired of having to thumb a flight to work every morning.

* * *

Sweetie:

I know I’ve screwed up many times. I’ve repeatedly spent all of our savings on gadgets and fads. I’ve not been the most communicative of husbands. I know that I’ve tested your patience over and over. But it can’t be all bad, can it? We’ve stuck it out all of these years. We’ve had some fun times. Here is a preview for instance: we are going to go to San Diego for the World Tech Expo 2010. And, besides daily migraines that will keep you from checking out the booths with me, we will have a blast.

Love,
George

P.S. I received the divorce papers this morning. Your claim that we never “consummated” our marriage because I was too exhausted from text-messaging is both hurtful and really only partially true.

* * *

Dear Joyce:

I don’t know if by sending this letter I am technically breaking the restraining order. But I want to let you know that I have finally gotten the message. I am beginning to accept the fact that our thirty-five year relationship is coming to an end. I am sending this last letter from the future because I want to actually thank you for helping me learn something about myself. And even though divorce is really such an extreme, I feel I will be a better human being because of this.

Sincerely,
George

P.S. I am wondering if you could at least let me have the 18-foot roll-up beryllium plasma television. Halo 215 comes out next week.

— Fiction —

This Is Where We Keep Vivaldi's Body

Is everybody in? Good. O.K. Ma’am, can you shut the door? Thank you.

Ah, you in the back please come around, he doesn’t bite, ah-ha-ha-ha-hum. Yes, wonderful. Let’s fill the circle in. Wonderful. Wonderful.

All right, so this is Vivaldi’s body. He’s not in too good a shape as you can see, two-hundred-and-fifty-some years will do that. Oh, yes, sir. The vomit-bag dispenser is against the blue wall. Actually, yes. Yes, I agree the designs on vomit bags these days are cutting edge. Brilliant, reminds of me of Kandinsky. Well, my guess is someone from the foundation gussied them up with the pictures of violins and oboes.

Anyway, he’s not in too good a shape. No, ma’am, that snake in his mouth doesn’t bite.

Yes, young man? No, I don’t remember the movie where the snake comes out of a skull’s mouth. I don’t watch movies lately, I just fell in love.

Well, she’s originally from the Southwest. Why, yes, she had been married before. Two—Matt and Beatrice. No, no, she stopped making them years ago. No, she assured me she is through, she’s grown up eons since then. No, I’m afraid not. All the actors were tested regularly. So, I’d like to get back to Vivialdi if you don’t mind. The story of how he got here to Boise is a very interesting one.

No, sir, she is not going to sign your DVD of Kung Pow Pussy. No. Plus, I actually don’t think it’s her best work. There’s this bootleg she did in Russia. State of the art in Russia, I’m telling you—everyone eats together and later as they go over the dailies, a couple dressed in—Christ, I told myself I wouldn’t get into this today.

It was one person’s dream to get Vivialdi into our great city of Boise. He actually came from Spokane. But settled here for good in the 90s. A classically trained cellist, Mitch Hendricks hatched the idea at a benefit concert and symposium to get music back into the curriculum of our public schools.

What was that, Mrs. Robideux? Wait, watch your cane there. O.K., what? No, her measurements are still the same. Absolutely no silicon—these hands don’t lie. Oh, oh—you wanted my measurements. I’m sorry I don’t know how to calculate girth; I’m a humanities person.

Oh, this is your granddaughter. Sixteen and she’s in the choir, you say? In the what? O.K, we’ve had to come up with policies for it, you see, and only those who have passed our rigorous examinations are invited into our bed, and unfortunately experience is commensurate with good standing, so, sixteen? Mmmm, sorry.

Yes, sir—no, you in the white sweater. Donkeys? No. Donkeys are out of the question. Why you ask? In earlier times I might have been pro-donkey, but now with mad cow stuff and—

I know it’s a different animal, but after her prior follies with Deuce Billygoat, as he was called—Jesus, how do I get into this?—Mitch Hendricks went on a fact-finding mission to Italy. When the officials there wouldn’t listen to reason—

Ma’am, can you tell your son to put Vivaldi’s arm back? He was left-handed and that’s the left one, so, you know, there is the special sentimental value involved.

I know he’s dead.

No, that’s just unfair. That video was made for— It was for a cable channel in Mexico City. They assured me it would never— I did it for the same reasons you do things: Money. Did I enjoy it? It was hard not to, being my own sexual organ, ergo I didn’t have a problem putting my mouth on it. Well, she considers it a blessing. Being double-jointed helps, and of course length plays a big part. It’s my own so I don’t have a problem putting my mouth on it. No, I don’t think it’s homoerotic. I know only a few men can do it. Yes, there was property involved. Somewhere in Puerto Vallarta. And—

No, sir, we’ve never done it in here. The legalities.

As the Italian officials decided—

No, Mrs. Weinstein, I don’t have the exact length. I’ll send you an e-mail later with the answer. No, not a pictorial answer.

Vivaldi is a most interesting figure—

— Listicles —

Eggs on the Brunch Menu of the Restaurant I Probably Shouldn't Open

Eggscellent
Two eggs served sunny-side up with an orange slice and a strip of bacon configured in a smiley face, just like the sticker your fourth-grade teacher never put on any of your spelling tests.

Eggstraterrestrial
These green eggs (not to be confused with the ones served with ham by the venerable Dr. Seuss) will land on your table in a flying saucer. Though you will be invited inside, it is imperative that you respectfully decline and use your utensils as weapons if an interplanetary battle ensues.

Teggsas
For this omelet, we take all the stars of the U.S. flag and whisk them into one larger, more self-important star. Then we tuck it into a bed of egg whites and American cheese, deep fry it in a vat of crude oil, and serve it in a ten-gallon hat.

Eggstremists
When you’re least expecting it, these hard-boiled eggs sneak onto your plate wearing hot sauce belts. They are dy-no-mite!

Seggue
This French dish consists of two eggs of a similar nature. The first yolk is broken slightly so that it leads smoothly to the next.

Preggnant
These eggs will be extracted from you or your female brunch companion, blended with sautéed tadpoles then slow-cooked for nine months. Warning: May induce nausea.

Eggsistential
These eggs come with an invitation back to the kitchen where you are free to prepare them however you want.

MeggaBytes
These tiny breakfast morsels may not appear filling but they are packed with protein and will in fact stay fresh forever, especially if you order a back-up serving of the hard-boiled variety and make sure to store them separately.

Eggs-boyfriend
Needless to say, these went bad a long time ago. They’re served rotten on the windows of his beautiful new house, accompanied by a side of silly-string fries.