Back when I was a young lad, maybe 50+ years ago, I was a huge Kurt Vonnegut fan. I had read the majority of his novels at the time. You know, Cat’s Cradle, Breakfast of Champions, Sirens of Titan, Player Piano, yada yada yada. I’d often discuss the novels with Sarah Grabowski, one of my classmates that sat in the back row of study hall next to me. People that were allowed to sit in the back row of study hall were generally not trouble makers or flaming assholes, and such were we. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to her, as I have never seen her at any school reunions, but I digress.
So one dark and rainy afternoon, I decide to write a letter to Kurt. I call him Kurt because I felt we were on a first name basis at this point. I wanted to catch his attention, so my bedeviled mind said that I should write the whole note in block letters using a purple crayon. The letter started out as a “Dear Kurt” letter. I don’t remember the content of the letter, but I seem to recall a considerably lengthy and rambling discourse on my part.
For those unfamiliar with Vonneguts style, his prose often engaged in a rambling discourse style, part stand-up comedy, part humanist lecture. By abandoning linear progression in favor of playful digressions, asides, and dark satire, he masterfully engaged his audience while blowing their minds. And for anyone that has known me lo these many years, they would certainly agree that my mind is mostly blown.
Thus, my letter was a lame attempt at imitation of the master, hoping to catch his eye and congratulate me on my masterful ability to make a point. This even though I’m pretty sure I had no point, since I cannot for the life of me remember what I wrote. I did fully expect to receive a reply and even included a stamp to be used on the return letter. I mailed the letter to the publisher and waited patiently for weeks, imagining his incredulity and amazement upon receiving such an elegant piece of literature. But to my great disappointment, nothing ever came.
Just the other day, I ready this story about an interaction between Kurt and his wife discussing why he is going out to buy an envelope. After reading it, I must conclude that it clearly explains why I never got a reply. Kurt ran out of envelopes, and instead spent his remaining days wondering the streets in his bathrobe, petting dogs, dancing with animals, and asking people inane questions. At least he was happy.
Oh, she says well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is, is we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals.
I end this missive with my all time favorite Vonnegut quote
And so it goes
