Hey Harry,

Where are you? I haven't heard from you lately.  I have a new nightly routine you must know about.:

I sit on the couch with the cat and stare at the canary-yellow projection of “pollo” that comes onto my living room wall from the 24-hour bodega next door. I pretend it’s a personal Barbara Kruger installation telling me to have organic free range chicken fingers for dinner. And then I make some, and I dip them in bbq sauce and they are delicious.

Hey Matilda,

Sorry, I just got back from the Poconos. The Poconos strike me as very jewish, but the experience was goyish. Far too many Utz and Kraft products were being bandied about with no embarrassment. There was a hot tub, however, and some vague intrigue therein –––>

Hey Harry,

That woman looks long like spaghetti. I can't imagine there was a spark.

Hey Matilda,

You dont need to attack the good things in my life just to make yourself feel better. 

Hey Harry,

You're right, I'm so sorry. It's just a girl like that, whom I imagine has a boarding school past and high expectations and a size 25 waist? She doesnt want you long-term. 

Hey Matilda,

Good lord, what is going on with you?!

Hey Harry,

It's my sudden oldness causing me to be horrible, Harry. I need to figure out my life. 35 is a deadline, because the distance between 35 and 50 is essentially two years.

(And by the time you’re 40, your career needs to be established. I remember 55 year olds who would wander into the photography center when I worked there. Starting their life as artists at that age— not good. They smelled of lavender and the Larchmont.)

I should have just told them it was too late, but instead I took their money and pointed them to the color lab. Which is now of course obsolete itself.

Hey Matilda,

We’re not old. It’s all just beginning to crystallize. I look at my students, who are so clueless, and thank God I'm no longer nineteen. Today I had to explain to most of my English Lit I section who Virginia Woolf was. Help me out, High School English teachers! The kids they’re sending me are so half-formed.

Hey Harry,

Give them a break. It takes a long time for humans to understand things.  I mean, I remember when I thought Mondale Ferraro was one person. And I just wanted mom to stop talking about him.