I'm moving back to Los Angeles. I am a terrible pack rat and have been holding on to waaaay too much stuff that I have collected over the years. Going through boxes, I found a stack of magazines from 1993, for Pete's sake! Rest assured, I have been ruthless and thrown boxes of papers and letters and magazines and useless crap away. While digging through all these old papers, I came across an envelope addressed to me, but without a sender address. It was post-marked PHOENIX, AZ, 13 OCT 1997. Of course I opened it up, and I got quite a little flashback shock.
I had forgotten that I received this letter anonymously almost 10 years ago. The letter was typed, I guess to disguise the sender's handwriting.
It is reprinted here exactly, and the names have NOT been changed to protect the guilty.
DEAR STEVE
YOUR ALCOHOLIC GIRLFRIEND CONTINUES TO HAVE A LOVE AFFAIR WITH TIM. THE PROBLEM IS THAT TIM IS MARRIED AND IS TRYING TO HAVE A CHILD WITH HIS WIFE. SHE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT THE AFFAIR YET. SHE STILL THINKS THEY ARE SCUBA DIVING BUDDIES AND THAT HOLLY IS JUST "ONE OF THE GUYS."
HOLLY AND TIM AND COMPANY GO TO A SWINGER'S SEX CLUB TO HAVE SEX TOGETHER IN THE VOYEUR ROOM SO THAT EVERYONE CAN WATCH PEOPLE, MOSTLY TIM, HAVE SEX WITH HOLLY. THERE IS A VIEWING WINDOW ON THE SECOND FLOOR, AND A SHEER CURTAIN ON THE FIRST FLOOR. YOU CAN CATCH THEM THERE ON SATURDAY NIGHTS. THE DIVE IS CALLED 9035 N 8TH ST. PHOENIX. TELEPHONE 602-944-2000.
HOLLY AND TIM SPEND THE NIGHT ON TIM'S BOAT WHEN THEY GO SCUBA DIVING AND HAVE SEX TOGETHER, AND SOMETIMES WITH OTHER PEOPLE. (BARTLET LAKE).
SOON THEY WILL TRAVEL TO MEXICO FOR MORE OF THE SAME.
JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW BEFORE THINGS GET TOO SERIOUS. SHE HAS KNOWN TIM EVER SINCE SHE MOVED TO ARIZONA. BEST OF LUCK STEVE.
The letter was unsigned. To this day, I still don't know who sent it. Now, imagine receiving this letter while in the Navy, stationed in Spain, across the Atlantic Ocean and unable to ask your girlfriend about any of this. Yeah. It pretty much drove me bananas. I never went to the address, so I have no idea if there was (or is) a swinger's club there. If anybody knows, you can e-mail me and let me know. (And yes, the sender left out the name of the establishment.)
Holly and I were off-and-on for several years before and after that. We met in 1994, and the attraction was instant and mutual. We were both pretty much fucked up emotionally, but we thought we had found some sort of refuge in each other.
In 2003, after years apart, we took a road trip to see our mutual friend from the Navy (whose name I WILL spare for anonymity's sake), and once we saw each other again, we knew that we should be together.
Or rather, I "knew." She was engaged to be married to someone else at the time. We agreed that if I would move back to Arizona, she would leave him and we would be together. True to my word, I moved away from Los Angeles and back to Arizona so that we could be together.
Imagine that, leaving your life's goal for a girl? Shouldn't the "girl of your dreams" actually SUPPORT your dream? Yeah, I didn't make the connection then, either.
By now, you probably know where this story is going. Of course, she didn't break off the engagement. They're married now (I assume) and living in New Jersey from what I hear. Six years ago she cheated on me with multiple partners (at least one of them married), and then I was surprised when things didn't work out for us. I am such a fucking schmuck.
I wish I could cut out the part of my heart that refuses to let go. She is my heart's greatest misery wrapped in the most beautiful thing in the world.
And that's the Gospel... according to St. Bastard.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
All Shall Be Well...
FEED by M.T. Anderson
First, in the deserts and veldts arose oral culture, the culture of the spoken word. Then in the cities with their temples and bazaars came the pictographs, and later, symbols that produced sounds as if by magic, and what followed was written culture. Then, in the universities and under the steeples of young nations, print culture. These -- oral culture, written culture, the culture of print -- these have always been considered the great epochs of man.
But we have entered a new age. We are a new people. It is now the age of oneiric culture, the culture of dreams.
And we are the nation of dreams. We are seers. We are wizards. We speak in visions. Our letters are like flocks of doves, released from under our hats. We have only to stretch out our hand and desire, and what we wish for settles like a kerchief in our palm. We are a race of sorcerers, enchanters. We are Atlantis. We are the wizard-isle of Mu.
What we wish for, is ours.
It is the age of oneiric culture. And we, America, we are the nation of dreams.
First, in the deserts and veldts arose oral culture, the culture of the spoken word. Then in the cities with their temples and bazaars came the pictographs, and later, symbols that produced sounds as if by magic, and what followed was written culture. Then, in the universities and under the steeples of young nations, print culture. These -- oral culture, written culture, the culture of print -- these have always been considered the great epochs of man.
But we have entered a new age. We are a new people. It is now the age of oneiric culture, the culture of dreams.
And we are the nation of dreams. We are seers. We are wizards. We speak in visions. Our letters are like flocks of doves, released from under our hats. We have only to stretch out our hand and desire, and what we wish for settles like a kerchief in our palm. We are a race of sorcerers, enchanters. We are Atlantis. We are the wizard-isle of Mu.
What we wish for, is ours.
It is the age of oneiric culture. And we, America, we are the nation of dreams.
The Perfect Job.
So, I have a new job. I had talked about it for a while, but now it's Officially Official.
I am now employed in California with EA Games. Electronic Arts (for those of you who don't know) makes such fine video games as "Fight Night," "Madden NFL," and "The Sims." They make sports games and shoot-'em-up games and racing games and sim games and all sorts of stuff.
And they pay me to play them.
I'll repeat this part of the show for the cheap seats: EA pays me to play video games.
Yes, seriously. So, for all you A.D.D. kids whose parents told you that "You can't make a living playing video games!" -- well, yeah, actually you can.
Also -- and this is my favorite part -- there's no dress code. I can wear whatever t-shirt is handy, throw on a hat and even wear my kilt if I like, and no one says shit. I'm growing my hair out long and a beard again, just 'cause I can.
Oh, and my shift starts at 6:30. At night.
This leaves my days free for auditions, memorizing scripts, writing Oscar-winning screenplays, being on TV, filming movies, being stalked by the paparazzi, having sex with hot young starlets, and basically going about being the huge celebrity I am destined to be.
And then I get a paycheck for it.
Yep. Just living the fuckin' dream... I know.
And that's the Gospel... according to St. Bastard.
I am now employed in California with EA Games. Electronic Arts (for those of you who don't know) makes such fine video games as "Fight Night," "Madden NFL," and "The Sims." They make sports games and shoot-'em-up games and racing games and sim games and all sorts of stuff.
And they pay me to play them.
I'll repeat this part of the show for the cheap seats: EA pays me to play video games.
Yes, seriously. So, for all you A.D.D. kids whose parents told you that "You can't make a living playing video games!" -- well, yeah, actually you can.
Also -- and this is my favorite part -- there's no dress code. I can wear whatever t-shirt is handy, throw on a hat and even wear my kilt if I like, and no one says shit. I'm growing my hair out long and a beard again, just 'cause I can.
Oh, and my shift starts at 6:30. At night.
This leaves my days free for auditions, memorizing scripts, writing Oscar-winning screenplays, being on TV, filming movies, being stalked by the paparazzi, having sex with hot young starlets, and basically going about being the huge celebrity I am destined to be.
And then I get a paycheck for it.
Yep. Just living the fuckin' dream... I know.
And that's the Gospel... according to St. Bastard.
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