October 21st, 2024 - My Camp

Dear TNY,

It’s the middle of October and you offered up “My Camp”.

And it’s trash, as my departed friend Ben used to say.  It’s over ten thousand words, guys.  That’s fucking terrible.  And I’ll quote the author here:

It really doesn’t matter if you’re wondering why I’m choosing to write about myself in such a shameful, out-of-touch way, or why you should give a fox’s fart about any of it—why you should care at all about some privileged middle-aged white guy’s travails trying to purchase a summer home in the country.

And I didn’t care.  And I don’t now.  The first section where the guy is buying the real estate, which was boring and overwrought as fuck, was more enjoyable than when he shifted to…drumroll please…The War In Gaza.  That’s right, folks.  This is a story about a writer who looks at real estate, taking forever to buy, and is Jewish and maybe has to write about the war in Gaza.  I say maybe because once it got to that part of the story I started skimming.  It was fucking TERRIBLE.  I did read the last paragraph though.  His shitty cabin that he bought in the Pine Barrens was his sign of protest.  Fuck my face, guys.  This is garbage.

Well, that’s all I have to say about that.

In other news, things are fine.  I drink too much but I’m not as sad anymore.  I started seeing other data.  And believing it.  I suppose it’s all over now.  The yearning.  The striving.  The hope.  It’s just a fucking Monday again.  The magic up and vanished like a fart in the wind.  That’s how these things go sometimes.  To date, though, this is the largest fumble I’ve ever seen.  Still can’t believe it.  Like winning the lottery and then burning your ticket for warmth.  It’s probably why my brain imploded; the math doesn’t fucking compute.

But that’s neither here nor there.  They do this sometimes.  I do this.  Everyone does this.

Um, my kids are healthy and happy.  I had some exceptional esquites last night. And I’m awesome.  Not always.  But mostly.  And considerate.  Which is why I’m going to finish this letter and get back to design work on a jewelry box that I’m making for my buddy’s wife because they are beautiful people and they deserve beauty in their life. 

Sayonara, bitches.

Nick