|My "friend" Jeff, in Spain. Total flake.|
I'm concerned about my friend, Jeff, because he's on a big trip in Spain, and he sent me a link to his blog, Double Daffy, and he asked me to read it. I didn't want to read it, though, because I am worried sick about him. What if he gets hurt in Europe?! Lots of people get hurt in Europe, and Asia. Here is the email response I wrote to him (I used lots of italics to create emphasis and hammer my point into his head):
There's no one on the highway in Spain.
Why's Kevin there? I have no idea what's going on. I can't keep track of that guy. He's all over the place.
By the way, Jeff: reality check. Get a real job. I mean, when I see some of these paintings in these museums, I think, What's the point of art? It doesn't do anything. You know? At least contribute something to the world. I don't know why more school districts don't just cut funding for art class and other electives. It's such a waste of time and money. Kids can learn art on their own time.
Also, we should not talk to our kids about sex, because it will give them ideas! Just go to church, watch the game, invest wisely, scrimp and save, have kids, and make their rooms the right colors (blue for the boy, pink for the girl) so they both choose to be straight. It's that simple, as you drive your Beamer. Afford the Beamer, drive the Beamer, total the Beamer on Storrow Drive. It's that simple. Get it through your thick skull.
Get it together, Jeff. I'm sick of seeing you not in America. Just get an internship. That's how it starts. Get an internship at a management consulting firm, like Bain and Company, work hard, and who knows? Maybe one day you can look at your savings account and think, Man, I have a lot of money in my savings account; I'm gonna plan a trip to the Hamptons. Have you even once considered what's going on in the Hamptons? A lot. A lot is going on there, but you continue to traipse around in Spain, of all places, with your little beard and your little friend Kevin, while you film things with your camera and literally tilt at windmills. In the end, Jeff, we both know you're tilting at yourself. Hm? Possibly? Perhaps you tilt at the demons that reside in your soul. Stop it. Stop tilting.
You're trying to live a pipe dream (or is it a PIPE NIGHTMARE?!!!) and it's really starting to make you look foolish. I mean, you're running around in Spain and Grenada--where we once had a war, you know, in the '80s, with howitzers and parachutes and rebel forces and all that stuff, just like Black Hawk Down, or Full Metal Jacket, or The Red Badge of Courage, by Stephen Crane--you're running around in these strange countries with your pants around your ankles, marking your territory, like some sort of dog--yeah, dog, you son of a bitch--and you expect me to be excited that you're creating so-called "art" with your "camera" and your "brain" and your "body," which is covered in blood, internally, by the way (but, of course you refuse to go to a doctor and get it checked out, because you don't have health insurance)? You expect me to be happy about that and read your "Double Daffy" blog? I decline, sir. I decline to read your travel blog. Instead, I'll do something constructive and go to the travel agent and book a trip for me and the wife to the Poconos, because Mount Airy Lodge is definitely still open. I'll be drinking a glass of Riesling, sitting in the hot tub, and driving my Beamer, thinking to myself, I hope Jeff's happy making his "art," and wasting his time on his films, because I'm damn happy driving my Beamer through this red light and into a pedestrian. That's what I'll be thinking, pal.
After sending him this email, I received an automated response:
I'll be on location in Spain until August 1st for this super fun job I'm doing.
I'm going to check emails as much as possible.
I don't understand why I can't get through to him. The kid's a loose cannon.