Box Full of Letters (the new letters thread)

[FreddyKnuckles]

Dear tall man,

A little over a decade ago, maybe around 1996, you donated one of your old suit jackets to Salvation Army.  A nice warm brown blazer -- warm in both the temperature and color sense.  Perfect for brisk autumn weather.  Why you gave it up, I dunno.  The thing was in perfect condition.  Chocolate brown, simple brushed brazen buttons, no visible holes or tears.  Maybe you got too fat for it or something, or maybe you decided that brown didn't look so good on you.

Sometime after you donated the jacket, I wandered into the Salvation Army thrift store on Elm Street, and I bought it.  It was on sale for only fifty cents, and I thought, "Fifty-cent suit coat?  Yeah, why not get a suit coat?  Ha ha, sure.  Fifty cents, what the hell."  It fit pretty well -- a little long, especially in the sleeves, but a good width all over my torso, which had only recently gotten narrower due to a year of depression.  The jacket cost the price of one round of the X-Men video game at the local arcade.  Which was fine, since watching friends play the game was actually just as entertaining as playing it myself, especially since Mike's a tard at that and never remembers that using his mutant power depletes his life and then he dies and he's like "What happened?"  And we're like, "You used your mutant power too much, Mike."  And he's like, "But I was surrounded by guys."  And Artie's like, "I was surrounded by guys, too, but I'm still alive."  And Mike's like, "Yeah, but you've got Wolverine, it's easier with Wolverine."  And Artie's like, "You want Wolverine?" and Mike's like, "No, I like Colossus."  And Artie throws his hands into the air and says, "WELL?"

So I bought the jacket, and a few days later, I wore it to school.  I happened to run into Maddie Medeiros at some point near the end of the day, and she remarked, "Greg, you were made for blazers."  Her eyes twinkled in that lovely way they did, and I said thanks, and of course I wore that jacket kind of a lot after that.  'Cause hell and damn, Maddie's wicked cute.

In the last eleven or so years, I've kept the jacket, and it's held up remarkably well.  Owning one led to buying a few more for variety's sake, all at the same Salvation-Army-level prices, and suit jackets led to ties and full suits, eventually forming a pretty sizable chunk of my wardrobe.  I found they were remarkably cheap when bought second-hand, which means I didn't even really need to be overly concerned with caring for them, which means that in general, they enter and exit my wardrobe as easily as t-shirts or socks.  But that brown jacket's been surprisingly resistant to wear.  Salvation Army moved off Elm Street as Manchester's economy picked up and Elm turned into a bunch of fancy boutiques and restaurants, and the arcade moved all the way out to Candia, and Maddie got married to some dude she met in college.  But I've still got the jacket.

So although most of the jacket's held up, there are little problems here and there -- the too-long sleeves are all worn down at the cuffs, and one of the pockets is ripped, and some of the lining's gotten a bit torn.  Yesterday, I brought it to the tailor, and they said they could fix all the problems for about fifty bucks.  That's a hundred times more than I paid for the jacket.  I agreed to pay, I gave 'em the jacket, and they said it'll be ready for me by Friday.  Sweet.

Someday, tall man, the jacket will wear through entirely, on the elbows or someplace else without a seam, someplace that can't be inconspicuously patched.  Maybe it'll get some big bleach stain, maybe it'll catch fire.  On that day, the jacket will be too old to keep wearing, and I'll be sad about it, but impermanence is sorta the nature of the game, so what can you do.  For now, though, the jacket is still wearable, making it the longest-worn article of clothing I own.

Tall man, there are very few physical objects I own that I can point to and say, "That thing right there?  That is a memory."  The shifting of my personality has happened slowly over the years, without a lot of great euphemisms or conscious self-reinventions, and it's rare that any of the myriad tiny shifts between adolescence and my adult life have been marked by tangible items.  But that jacket?  That was a piece of my growth from boyhood to manhood.  That is a memory.

Thanks, tall man, for donating that jacket to the thrift store.

Best,
Greg

PS - Tailors: don't fuck up.

Is Maddie related to Jeff? He has that last name.

[Greg Nog]

Is Maddie related to Jeff?

who dat ninja

[elpollodiablo]

Dear NYC,
Been a pretty good month! Let's keep on keepin on.
-epd

[FreddyKnuckles]

Maddie Medeiros

Is Maddie related to Jeff? He has that last name.

Jeff is a guy I know.  yo.

[dieblucasdie]

Racist

[heather]

dear king county metro,

I should be at my transfer spot by now. eat dicks. and not just any dicks, but huge ones, dicks that are so large and bulbous you can gain no pleasure from eating them. if you were a person I'd slap you.

sincerely,

heather.

[theartlessmonster]

dear greg,

can we see the jacket? 

from here,
m

[FreddyKnuckles]

no I'm serious, I know a guy with that last name wit ny family.

[kyle]

Dear girls of Richmond,

Why can't you be single and like me like the some girls in other cities I've visited seem to? What's the deal? Those girls thought I was fun and cute, and liked being around me. Some even stated their appreciation of my company with kisses, cuddles, and now letters. If they can like me, I'm sure you could learn to as well.

Mildly Frustrated,
kyle

-

Dear girls I've kissed in other cities,

Please move to Richmond.

With Mild Love,
kyle

[Andrew_TSKS]

Dear Kyle,

First of all, I know the feeling. But like, second of all, you gotta know that it's different when yer traveling. It's easier to just be like "I think you're cute, let's make out, OK now in the morning you will leave and I will never see you again," than to try and deal with some cute little crush that turns into something real with actual consequences in your daily life once you wake up the next morning. People don't wanna bother with that latter thing, they'd rather do the former thing. I guess because the latter thing is scary and makes you vulnerable? I don't know. I think about it a lot and I have no answers. But I'm particularly thinking about it now because I saw this movie the other night called "Hannah Takes The Stairs" that's about exactly that. I'll probably write about it on here eventually but right now I'm still kind of unable to process my feelings about it.

But yeah, I know the feeling.

Love, Andrew

[kyle]

Dear personal problems,

Please stop preventing me from feeling comfortable about getting a "girlfriend". I just want some cuddles, ye know?

Love,
Kyle

[Greg Nog]

Jeff is a guy I know.  yo.

I don't know if they're related, but I imagine Medeiros is a pretty common Portugese name.  Also, re: ny family: this was in high school, so it'd have to be NH family.

can we see the jacket? 

I'll post a picture once I get it back.

[nonotyet]

Dear The Hair Salon That I Went To Last Night That Kept Playing Death Cab For Cutie On Satellite Radio Or Whatever:

I felt really weird when you kept playing Death Cab For Cutie on satellite radio or whatever. I recognize that you are a hair salon on the East side filled with people exactly like me who grew up and went to college with this music and now live on the East side and cannot afford $65 haircuts but want to feel pretty anyway. Probably playing it was a sneaky trick to get people like me to get all nostalgic and tip you more. It is a good thing that I really, really love this haircut, because when you played Death Cab For Cutie on satellite radio or whatever I decided to bring my (all four) (Jesus and all that is holy) Death Cab CDs to work this morning and listen to them sequentially to try and decide whether I really still love them, like I did when I was 20, or if I was just clinically depressed.

Guess what?

I was just clinically depressed.

I really love this haircut more than any other haircut I have ever gotten, though.

sincerely,

etcetera.   

[Killdozersnakeboy]

Dear Junkie friend
You're a junkie. Please stop being a junkie.

Chur.

[jebreject]

Dear Scott,

Sorry you have to deal with that. That shit is awful. Best wishes to you and your friend.

jeb

[diesel_powered]

Dear Just For Men,

Henry Rollins, Thurston Moore, John Stewart. See where I'm going with this?
I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT TO GO GRAY WITH STYLE AND GRACE.

Fuck you for trying to play on men's feelings of inadequacy,

M

[alexandra]

dear body,

don't get sick.

thanks
a

[milesofsparks]

dear everyone to whom I owe emails, phone calls, or letters:

I promise I will get back to you this weekend.  no, really.

MoS

[milesofsparks]

dear dirty dishes, dirty laundry, and generally disheveled house:

this weekend!  I promise!

MoS

[jebreject]

Dear Universe,

Pllleeeeeaaaaassssseeeee.

Love,

jeb

[citrus]

dear temperature,

wtf is this, winter or something? damn.


kelly

[donblood]

Dear Federal Express:

Hurry up hurry up hurry up hurry up hurry up.  HURRY UP.  Hurry up.

-dB

[Anne the Man]

dear everyone to whom I owe emails, phone calls, or letters:

I promise I will get back to you this weekend.  no, really.

MoS and Manne

[diesel_powered]

Dear LPTJ,

We should resurrect this thread.

Love,
d_p

-----------------



Dear Student,

I wonder if you know that I can hear everything you mutter under your breath whenever I open my mouth in class, even when you're sitting in the back. It makes me wonder if you're stupid or just a complete asshole.

I kind of hate you a little,

d_p

[Aglaya]

Dear Juan,
Please go home.  You just showed up here hours ago and sat in our living room.  I don't have anything against you, but I don't know you that well, and you're not exactly at the top of my list of people I want to spend the evening with.  Now that I have backup, I do not plan on returning to the living room until you have left.  Stop showing up at our house unannounced and just sitting there.

Love, Crissee


Dear Joel,
Stop dropping Juan off at our house and leaving.

Crissee