Birthdays

Dear Gwen (who is also my mother),

I’m so glad you asked for a letter about birthdays, because as you know birthdays are quite possibly my favorite holidays in the whole world. I love my own birthday in a vain, selfish way, but I also adore other people’s birthdays. Other people’s birthdays are the ideal opportunity to buy the perfect gift, which is a most satisfying endeavor.  One of my great talents is buying the perfect gift (and you have received many of these gifts), and I know that I inherited this skill from you. However, I feel like there are a few simple rules to buying this almost unattainable perfect gift that I would like to share with you and all the others who may be reading this letter. So here they are:

1.       Don’t ask for a list. Lists are for the weak. One of the best parts about a gift is the surprise of it, and you can’t be surprised by something you’ve asked for.

2.       Think about the person you’re buying for. I know this sounds stupid, but do it anyone. The receiver of your gift has at one point mentioned something they desire. It is your job to remember what this is and buy it for them, because they will not buy it for themselves.

3.       Don’t be afraid to get weird.  I thought about calling this rule “Go big or go home,” but that’s not quite the sentiment I’m going for.  Take a risk with your gift. The strangest thing is often the perfect thing to buy.

 On my last birthday, I received a gift which followed all of these rules, and is in strong contention for the Number One Gift of All Time.  My sister gave me a caricature of the two of us kayaking in Florida. I didn’t ask for this drawing, so there’s rule number one.  I don’t get to see my sister that often, so this is an excellent memento of a great vacation and great memories for the two of us, thus following rule number two.  And finally, it is very strange (as in we both have pompadours and look like dudes), as per rule number three. 

So all of you reading this letter, go out and buy someone you like a gift they weren’t expecting. While it’s fun to receive gifts, it may be more fun to give them.

Love,

Gena

Monitor Lizards

Dear Joanna,

Did you know that monitor lizards can count? According to Wikipedia, they can count up to six, as well as work together to steal eggs from other lizard’s nests. I don’t know about you, but I find this terrifying.

I keep imagining I’m on vacation in India or Australia, anywhere the lizard makes its home, sleeping peacefully on crisp white sheets in a hotel by the beach. I jolt awake, not know why until I see the lizard at the bottom of the bed.  It advances slowly, keeping its black, empty eyes trained on mine. Its claws are leaving tiny triangle tears in the sheets. The moonlight turns its brown scales into a suit of pearls.  I try to move: kick it away, jump out of the bed, anything. Nothing works. I’m paralyzed, trapped in a bed with deranged foot-long lizard. 

I can’t look away as it reaches my left hand, slowly takes my thumb into its mouth, and with one savage twist, rips it off. I scream. It doesn’t stop the lizard from counting my fingers as it slowly eats them one by one.

Needless to say, this makes me very glad I live in Chicago, fat away from the natural habitat of the monitor lizard.

Love,

Gena

The Hold Steady's Separation Sunday

Dear Lindsey,

I suppose I should I tell you that I’ve never listened to the Hold Steady before, but I am listening to Separation Sunday as I write this to you.

This album is so American. If I owned a red convertible, I would be driving down the highway through the desert blasting this album, especially “Banging Camp.” You could join me on this road trip, I wouldn’t mind.

That’s just the beginning though. Me and my red convertible would drive to some small town 4^th of July festival, where the bands play outside downtown next to the one bridge across the river. On the 4^th of July everyone looks best is cutoff jeans and white tank tops, so that’s what I’m wearing.  It’s so hot out that no one can think about anything but warm beer, hot dogs, and fireworks.  The air is hot and humid, so thick I can feel the water molecules part for me as I move through the crowd.  

 

After the show, after the fireworks, the oppressive heat finally starts to fade.  I decide to leave this small town, go back to the city. The top’s still down on the convertible, I’m hoping to catch a stray breeze.

I can’t wait for summer.

Love,

Gena

p.s. Congratulations on being the first letter!

Hello Internet,

You may be wondering what a blog about letters is doing here in the virtual world. It's simple, really. I love writing letters, love the sending and receiving of a piece of writing that was created just for me. Most people I know share these feelings. However, in this digital age, it has become increasingly more difficult to actually sit down with pen and paper to express myself to friend. Also, my handwriting is atrocious.

That's where this blog comes in. I want to write letters to people. My friends, my family, my acquaintances, co-workers, the people I see on the street, perfect strangers. I want to write them letters about things that interest them and are important to them.

But I can't know what those things are, unless you, the people on the internet reading this, tell me. So send me an email, and I will write you a (virtual) letter. Let me tell you what I think. It might be an anecdote from my life, something cool I heard on NPR, or something completely made up. It will all be true in some way, though.

I look forward to hearing from you.

With anticipation,

Gena