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Authors: Julie Schumacher
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of gold bars; here in Willard, on the other hand, the penurious and despondent—with Browles as exemplar—are shuffling back and forth on a stage set from the end of the world.
Janet: Did you know that Madelyne TV died? I just had a letter returned to me from her office, stamped DECEASED . I saw her ten or twelve years ago at a conference in Denver and she looked just the same: that crop of wild hair, the fingers happily cluttered with thick silver rings. I remember her twirling those rings around her fingers at the Seminar table while we waited for HRH’s pronouncements, our collective anxiety manifesting itself in the revolutions of those silver bands. It’s impossible to think of someone as sparkling as Madelyne ailing and dying; at least she made a valuable life outside academia: working with PTSD sufferers must have been a relief, a step in the direction of clearheaded sanity. Poor sweet lovely TV.
Perhaps your ex-wifely radar has discerned my fatigue. Sometimes when the year grinds to its end and the new term begins I feel I’m living the life of a fruit fly—the endless ephemeral cycle, each new semester a “fresh start” that leads to the same moribund conclusions. I suppose MTV’s death has hit me hard—and with Troy reappearing (I wish I knew how to help him) and Eleanor wielding the guillotine at Bentham … Well, the timing stings.
In regard to funding for Browles—there’s more at stake in this case than support for one student. If he can finish this accursed book and sell it, I can use his success to argue for the continuance—or reinstatement—of our graduate program. Unfortunately, Browles doesn’t look the part of the posterchild: he can be maddeningly inert, and I just found out that, entirely disregarding my advice, he allowed his registration to lapse. Still, should funding arrive in the guise of a law professor requiring a graduate assistant, I’m sure Carole will manage the reregistration. (After a setback involving an artichoke salad, she’s agreed to speak to me again on a limited basis—but only at work between the hours of one-thirty and four.) In case you’re worried that, as my protégé, Browles might be writing a novel about Payne or about recognizable people on campus—I assure you, he has better material. Find him a job and he’ll work his butt off, and I’ll maintain a grateful but dignified distance so that no one in Pitlinger will associate your orotund ex-husband with the new RA.
With the usual regrets and reminiscences,
J
P.S.: Our annual lunch on February 3 at Cava, yes? I’m finished with class at 12:30 …
January 25, 2010
Gropp’s Liquor Lounge and Winemart “35 Years of High Spirits”
Dan Stimmson, Proprietor
609 Faygre Avenue
Saint Paul, MN 55101
Dear Mr. Stimmson,
This letter recommends to you my student, Steve Geng, who has applied to Gropp’s Liquor Lounge and Winemart in the pursuit of a part-time position. Mr. Geng is a senior here at the university, an English/Spanish double major who finagled his way into an independent study (typically I manage to dodge such requests)—namely, the creation of a mini-anthology of short hallucinatory narratives, each of which begins with a young male speaker (coincidentally named Steve Geng) who has ingested a controlled substance. I believe narrative #1 relies on Adderall, numero dos on mushrooms, and #3 on gin.
Comely and articulate, Mr. Geng is prone to dreamy non sequiturs that have endeared him to his peers. I predict that young women will flock to your store in the hopes of hearing him decipher the labels on Chilean and Argentinean wine.
Salud!
Jay Fitger, Professor, Payne University
January 29, 2010
Ken Doyle, Hautman and Doyle Literary Agency
141 West 27th Street
New York, NY 10001
Dear Ken,
You must have heard by now the sad news about MTV: a heart attack, instantaneous—she was fifty-six. Janet and I will raise a glass in her memory at our “divorce anniversary” lunch next week; I
Janet: Did you know that Madelyne TV died? I just had a letter returned to me from her office, stamped DECEASED . I saw her ten or twelve years ago at a conference in Denver and she looked just the same: that crop of wild hair, the fingers happily cluttered with thick silver rings. I remember her twirling those rings around her fingers at the Seminar table while we waited for HRH’s pronouncements, our collective anxiety manifesting itself in the revolutions of those silver bands. It’s impossible to think of someone as sparkling as Madelyne ailing and dying; at least she made a valuable life outside academia: working with PTSD sufferers must have been a relief, a step in the direction of clearheaded sanity. Poor sweet lovely TV.
Perhaps your ex-wifely radar has discerned my fatigue. Sometimes when the year grinds to its end and the new term begins I feel I’m living the life of a fruit fly—the endless ephemeral cycle, each new semester a “fresh start” that leads to the same moribund conclusions. I suppose MTV’s death has hit me hard—and with Troy reappearing (I wish I knew how to help him) and Eleanor wielding the guillotine at Bentham … Well, the timing stings.
In regard to funding for Browles—there’s more at stake in this case than support for one student. If he can finish this accursed book and sell it, I can use his success to argue for the continuance—or reinstatement—of our graduate program. Unfortunately, Browles doesn’t look the part of the posterchild: he can be maddeningly inert, and I just found out that, entirely disregarding my advice, he allowed his registration to lapse. Still, should funding arrive in the guise of a law professor requiring a graduate assistant, I’m sure Carole will manage the reregistration. (After a setback involving an artichoke salad, she’s agreed to speak to me again on a limited basis—but only at work between the hours of one-thirty and four.) In case you’re worried that, as my protégé, Browles might be writing a novel about Payne or about recognizable people on campus—I assure you, he has better material. Find him a job and he’ll work his butt off, and I’ll maintain a grateful but dignified distance so that no one in Pitlinger will associate your orotund ex-husband with the new RA.
With the usual regrets and reminiscences,
J
P.S.: Our annual lunch on February 3 at Cava, yes? I’m finished with class at 12:30 …
January 25, 2010
Gropp’s Liquor Lounge and Winemart “35 Years of High Spirits”
Dan Stimmson, Proprietor
609 Faygre Avenue
Saint Paul, MN 55101
Dear Mr. Stimmson,
This letter recommends to you my student, Steve Geng, who has applied to Gropp’s Liquor Lounge and Winemart in the pursuit of a part-time position. Mr. Geng is a senior here at the university, an English/Spanish double major who finagled his way into an independent study (typically I manage to dodge such requests)—namely, the creation of a mini-anthology of short hallucinatory narratives, each of which begins with a young male speaker (coincidentally named Steve Geng) who has ingested a controlled substance. I believe narrative #1 relies on Adderall, numero dos on mushrooms, and #3 on gin.
Comely and articulate, Mr. Geng is prone to dreamy non sequiturs that have endeared him to his peers. I predict that young women will flock to your store in the hopes of hearing him decipher the labels on Chilean and Argentinean wine.
Salud!
Jay Fitger, Professor, Payne University
January 29, 2010
Ken Doyle, Hautman and Doyle Literary Agency
141 West 27th Street
New York, NY 10001
Dear Ken,
You must have heard by now the sad news about MTV: a heart attack, instantaneous—she was fifty-six. Janet and I will raise a glass in her memory at our “divorce anniversary” lunch next week; I
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