tuckova

ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things

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Interests: Alfons Mucha, Archibald Leach, big words, Bob Hicok, Brian Eno, Cat Power, Charles Bukowski, Charlotte Masaryk, cheese, clarity, dark chocolate, David Byrne, David Foster Wallace, Dorothy Parker, Douglas Adams, Edna St. Vincent Millay, E.E. Cummings, Frank O’Hara, Fred Rogers, garlic, Gaudi, Gertrude Stein, ginger, Gustav Klimt, Iva Pekarkova, Jane Austen, Jaromir Nohavica, Jeanette Winterson, Josef Skvorecky, Joseph Campbell, Joss Whedon, Just a Minute, Kate Bush, Kurt Vonnegut, laughing until it hurts, Laurie Anderson, Leonard Cohen, little kids singing, Lloyd Alexander, mandarin oranges, making lists, Margaret Atwood, Miss Manners, New Yorker, Paul Simon, performance, P.G. Wodehouse, poetry, Rebecca Solnit, Rob Brezsny, Robert Anton Wilson, Robert Creeley, salt, Salvador Dali, secrets, silence, Star Trek, Stephen Dunn, Talking Heads, Terry Gilliam, things that stain, This American Life, Tom Waits, T.S. Eliot, vegetable juice, veiled cultural references, vinegar, water, wine, W.H. Auden

oh dear me.

Dear Cat,

Listen, I'm sorry I don't like you at all. But I feed you with food I make with my own sweet hands, and I brush you and buy you periodic toys and change your litter box. The reason I am not letting you out on the balcony in this sweet sunny weather is because last time you JUMPED. So it is for your own good. I suggest you try the INDOOR sunbeams. And please stop complaining or I might actually let you out there again, you toothless self-defenestrating idiot.

Dear Dog Owners in My Building,

I don't like my cat. I HATE your dogs. Please shut them up. Please please please. Or would you like to show them the balcony, maybe?

Dear Phone Company,

Why are we still talking when we broke up over 6 months ago? I have been nice up until now but I swear I will get violent soon. I'm an American. Have you heard about "going postal"? Imagine what I might do to your more modern form of communication.

Dear Travel Company Start-Up,

No, copying text is not the same as writing copy. I hope the Lonely Planet sues you into oblivion. Sorry for refusing to be complicit but it turns out I do have some inflexible morals, and signing off as an editor on something that was stolen remains one of them.

Dear Angels at My Table Last Night,

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. Don't forget to tip your waiter.

 

Dear Drunk Man at the Neighboring Table,

No. And ew. 

 

Dear Body,

I love you and I'm sorry for not taking care of you. I really am. 

Dear Brain,

I miss you. I'm sorry we don't hang out as much as we used to. I'm sorry for taking it so personally that you haven't been around as much. I guess we've drifted apart; maybe even these sorts of relationships have a shelf life, and the best thing to do is just hold the chin up (easier now, now without ballast) and move on. I'll always remember our good times back when we were closer, and I promise to always be grateful when you stop by, however briefly. Ungrateful, traitorous… oh, I'm just kidding. You know I love you.

 

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