I was thinking about you this morning, about how you're powerful, about how sad you must be. The secret to your power is that you're bald on purpose. Your shades cost $450, a thing I cannot imagine. I like the color of real things. Whenever I wear shades I have this fitful habit of lifting them up every couple of minutes to make sure the world hasn't been permanently dimmed. But not you. You wear them everywhere. You push them up on your shiny head when you talk to people. You always get the free first class upgrade. Your frequent flyer miles overflow the digital buffer designed to store them. The baristas know your face and your drink, but, even though they smile at you and call you by name, they don't like you. None of us do. You're impressive, and you can be intimidating, but no one likes you. Do you know that? Do you care? Does it make you sad to be a closer and a frequent flyer?
When I stopped thinking about him, I found myself overcome with the idea that, somewhere in the world, the bones of Amelia Earhart are moldering in secret. They're out there somewhere, one of the few true mysteries.
Whenever I hear John Denver sing I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane, it makes me think someone might actually be in charge, a real smart ass.
Do you get a lot of advertising circulars for frequent flyer programs? I do. Does this strike you as funny? Frequent flyers.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
