I can’t wait to introduce you to Rabbi Josh the next time you’re in town. He’s a lot of fun. He has a wonderful sense of humor (he was the leader of an “improv” comedy troupe as an undergraduate at Syracuse) and he has a real passion for music and art. He’s also very athletic. Back in New York, he was in a soccer league for rabbis and priests, and his team had a name that was just hysterical. I’m forgetting the name now, but it has something to do with gold stars. And I can tell he really appreciates me too—sometimes if I have a break between patients, I stop by the temple and we walk into Coolidge Corner to Panera Bread for lunch. He’s married, but he never mentions his wife or seems like he is in any particular rush to get home at the end of the day, so there may be some trouble there.
Anyway, I need some help from my “guru” (that’s you!). Next week is Rabbi Josh’s birthday, and I would love to get him something special. As I said, he’s a real music buff, and he has said in the past that he likes “alternative rock,” so I would love to get him a CD. I went in to Newbury Comics on Needham Street yesterday and asked what kind of alternative rock they recommended, but they said it was a very big category and I got overwhelmed. Any recommendations? The other day he was playing music in his office by that band you like about the vampire weeks, so maybe something in that vein. Let me know if you have any ideas.
Before I sign off, I should tell you about a little plan Rabbi Josh and I are cooking up. I recently told him I never had a bat mitzvah, and he said at his old congregation, several of the adults had them later in life. Their whole families fly in from all over the country and they have a big party. Wouldn’t that be fun? You and Jane could come home and stay for the week. My condo is a little too small for a party, but maybe we could rent out the back room at La Casa De Pedro in Watertown (the place with the great plantains you love). Can you imagine your mother “becoming a woman”?
Let me know about the CD!
Love,
Mom
Your Grandma Rose Is Sick of Her Friend’s Sexual Bragging
Julie, Your mom came for dinner last night. She said she had a nice visit with you in California. But she showed me a picture of you. You’re a bag of bones. I hope you aren’t getting up to any funny business with your food like you used to. If you get too thin at your age it adds years to your face, and a man always prefers to lie on a soft mattress.
Your mom has been coming for dinner a lot. She says she doesn’t want me to get lonely, but she’s not fooling anyone about who’s lonely. At least when she comes I don’t have to eat with Maureen. Maureen tells the same story every night: she walked in on Walter changing in the bathroom after yoga and they horsed around in there. Big deal. She’ll take her teeth out for anyone.
Your Dad, Who Lacks Boundaries, Wants to Talk about Your Body
Dear Julie,
I saw Dr. Leung for a cleaning this morning, and she mentioned you had broken up with your boyfriend, Raj. She mentioned a betrayal on his part and said you are having a very hard time with the loss.
You should check out the piece in today’s New York Times about freezing your eggs, if you haven’t already. There is nothing wrong with a nontraditional family.
I hope this makes you feel better.
Dad
Your Hot Cousin Paul Doesn’t Want Things to Be Awkward at His Wedding
Hey Julie,
Thanks for your e-mail updating your RSVP to our wedding. Molly and I were sorry to hear about you and your boyfriend, but thanks for letting us know sooner rather than later so we had time to adjust the seating chart. Just so you know, we tried to seat you with one of your parents, but it’s a little complicated because they both requested to sit on opposite ends of the banquet hall from one another. And my mom asked me to make sure there are an even number of people at all the tables in the middle of the room. Anyway, the options were limited.
The good news is that there’s one empty seat at table 18 with all of Molly’s sorority sisters from Indiana and their husbands who work in finance in the Midwest.
Also, I’m not sure if you were planning on giving a toast at the wedding—your speeches are always the highlight of family events—but in case you are thinking about it, I wanted to mention that Molly’s family is pretty conservative. If you don’t mind, please don’t mention any of the stuff that happened in that outdoor shower on the Cape when we were kids, the time in college that my friends and I had interviews in the city and went to a party in your dorm and I fell asleep in your bed with you, or that random Tinder thing that happened a couple years ago that meant nothing to either of us because we aren’t even attracted to each other at all and never have been because we’re related and that wouldn’t be right. I just don’t know how the Petersons would take it, and I want everything to go smoothly as Molly and I start our life together.
Thanks for understanding. And again, we were sorry to hear about you and your boyfriend.
Paul
Your Sister, Who Didn’t Pay Her Taxes Last Year, Was Wondering If She Can Crash with You
hi babe i cant believe im seein u in one week! i totally forgot about pauls wedding til like five minutes ago and aunt andrea sent me this email like ummmm so are u coming to my sons wedding lol. i was like, oh weird i put my rsvp in the mail I wonder what happened to it! then she didn’t say anything, she was just quiet like she is whenever she is mentally judging … aka ALWAYS …
and now brandon (bf) is pissed at me cause we were supposed to go camping this weekend and he borrowed his brothers Rav4. oh well brandon can suck it cause I GET TO SEE MY SISTAAAAAAA sorry i just had two mochas. ugh paul said he put me at a table with dad for the dinner part so I guess I can look forward to seeing lots of pix of his baby/our new brother (??????). WTF is a 60 year old man gonna do with a fuckin toddler? They’ll both be chillin in diapers lol.
also sorry to have to ask but is it cool if i sleep in your hotel room? i figured theres space cause raj isn’t coming anymore (btw i unfollowed him on social media but i can refollow him if you want me to keep u updated on how much he sucks). anyway i tried to get a room on hotwire but like everything is sold out at this point and im not really trying to spend half my paycheck on a room at some country club.
btw why is paul getting married at a fuckin golf course? im sure it was her idea—i looked her up on FB and all her pix are like her playing tennis in an all white tennis outfit (????). i better not show her any pix of brandon cause she probably hates mexicans and hes half mex haha. omg hes so fuckin hot you have to meet him.
but yah lemme know about the room. also brandon has a friend in Virginia who said he can meet me at the airport with edibles so you will be glad you said yesssssss ☺
jane
Ps—did i tell you I got fuckin pulled over on my way to work for playing my music too loud?!!!!! the cop goes, this is a residential street not a nightclub. bahahaha
Your Dad’s Six-Year-Old Son from His Second Marriage Discusses His Superior Childhood
Dear half sister,
I just wanted to shoot you a friendly reminder that Tuesday is Dad’s birthday. I know I’ve only been alive for his past six and you’ve been around for twenty-three more than that, but I’ve noticed a pattern where you call a week late, claiming you just found a text that you thought you sent on his birthday trapped in your outbox. I hope it’s not too brazen of me, given my relative youth, to call bullshit on that. (I’d like to also take this opportunity to express my gratitude for the fact, given Dad’s advanced age when I was conceived, that I have any mental acuity at all!) Anyway, just figured I’d help you get out ahead of it this year.
So, what’s new? How goes the job search? How was your weekend? I’ve had a relaxing one, just lounging on the couch with some cartoons. I’m guessing that’s how you spent much of your childhood too, though from what I understand, yours was a brown corduroy sleeper with cigarette burns on the arms that Dad found at a yard sale in East Palo Alto when he and your mother were living paycheck to paycheck. This one�
��s an original Baughman. Dad’s really gotten into midcentury modern design now that he has disposable income.
I know what you’re thinking: his newfound aesthetic appreciation must have made Dad even more uptight, right? Luckily, it’s the opposite. Last year, during a bout of stomach flu, I threw up on one of the cushions. I was terrified he’d be furious—having heard tales of his explosive temper during your youth—but he just laughed it off. Dad says he’s much more able to put things in perspective now. The yoga helps, as do retirement and the fact that he’s finally found true love with my mom. No offense to your mother, obviously. She seems like a lovely woman, if Facebook is any indication. And it sounds like Dad was pretty different back then too. (Lithium’s a hell of a drug.)
Which is not to say he’s never in a bad mood anymore; the man’s only human. Last week he was downright miffed when I coated my noodles with what he regarded as a wasteful amount of truffle oil. Men and their artisanal extracts! Still, you can’t help but be charmed by how much Dad’s come to appreciate the finer things in life now that he’s in the twilight of his. I’m certainly enjoying the spoils. I’d say my twos were significantly less terrible thanks to his housemade teething toast slathered with slow-cooked rabbit-hock puree and basil jelly. Is it true that when you were growing up and he was at the hospital until all hours doing his residency, he prepared your meals with something called a “microwave”? I can’t say I’ve ever seen one up close. Dad got rid of ours before I was born, in light of recent studies about how they cause cancer. I’m sure he would have done the same for you if anyone back then had known what we know now. Have you heard about those advanced full-body scans you can get? I know they’re expensive, and I don’t know what your health care situation is, but we can certainly help you out if need be. How terrifying is cancer? Thank God by the time I’m your age, there’ll probably be a cure.
Okay, I should probably wrap this up. Dad’s calling me to join him for a walk in the woods. We’re going to collect autumn leaves, then write prose poems. He’s going through this whole Auden phase now that he finally has time for pleasure reading. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when you call him on Tuesday (nudge, nudge). I hope you won’t take me reaching out like this the wrong way. I’m sure that when I’m a grownup, I’ll be just as busy and will forget to call home too. Of course, by then, Dad will probably be blind or deaf and won’t register it enough to hold it against me. In any case, we’re all really looking forward to seeing you at Passover.
Affectionately,
your half brother
Stuart Feller, age six
Your Mom Is Grateful That You Made Her Look Cool
Hi sweetheart,
Rabbi Josh really liked the “Television on the Radio” CD you recommended!
Thanks again for your help.
Love,
Mom
Your Dad’s Friend Who Makes You a Little Uncomfortable Has Been Keeping Up with Your Life on Facebook
Julie—
Hey there, stranger.
I just got home to Nantucket after spending a weekend with your dad and his family. I was up in Cambridge receiving an award from the New England Journal of Medicine (they recently published my research on some hidden side effects of Accutane that I was the first to detect—you may have seen it retweeted last week by Dr. Oz). He and Mei-Ling seem well, as does Stuart. They promised to visit me in Hawaii on their way to see Mei-Ling’s parents in Shanghai next summer.
I’m sure your dad mentioned this to you, but I just bought a condo on the Big Island.
I know you’re probably sitting there scratching your head—after all, I’m such an East Coast guy, between my addiction to the symphony (know any good support groups for that?), all the lectures I attend just for fun, and my subscription to The Atlantic. But lately I’ve seen so many people I care about migrate west, including my daughter, Alicia, whose wife just got a job at Microsoft in Seattle. But I’m assuming you knew that already—I see you girls are Facebook friends. Love the new profile picture, by the way—has anyone ever told you that you bear a resemblance to Anna Karina (Godard’s muse)?
Anyway, I know I made you this offer several years ago with my Nantucket digs, but if you ever find yourself planning a trip to Hawaii—perhaps for a reporting assignment?—why not save your travel stipend and stay with me? The guest bedroom has a California king bed and its own bathroom with floors made from polished rock imported from American Samoa (an island that also holds a special place in my heart—I spent a year there during med school, studying the impact of sun damage on the indigenous peoples). Also, the building itself is very safe. My unit overlooks a plein air market where the natives sell some beautiful shell jewelry that would look great with the dress you’re wearing in your profile picture. Last but not least, The Spa at Kona Beach Hotel is just down the road. I’d be happy to hook you up with my favorite masseuse there, Nalani, who practices both Shiatsu and Swedish techniques. She always teases me for insisting that she talk me through everything she’s doing so I can learn how to give as well as receive. That’s just the kind of guy I am.
Needless to say, I’d be willing to bet money that if you came out to the island, you’d leave with a first draft of your novel. I’m biased, but it’s been said that nothing stirs the artist’s heart like a Pacific sunset—and the farther out you are in the Pacific, the more inspiring. Especially with a homemade daiquiri in your hand—Alicia and Maggie just bought me a margarita machine as a housewarming gift, and I’ve learned to do things with a pineapple that might just inspire you to switch from fiction writing to poetry.
Maybe sometime soon, you’ll give me a chance to put those skills to the test.
Fondly,
Larry Shepherd
PS—Have you ever been swimming with sharks? Not in the Hollywood sense—I’m sure you do that on a daily basis—but literally? If you decide you’d like to come visit Hawaii and can give me a couple of weeks’ notice, I can arrange a private underwater tour—for both of us, if you’d like a companion, or if you’d like to go alone with the guide, we could meet up afterward on the pier and watch the sunsets I mentioned.
PPS—I was just about to hit “Send” when I noticed you had posted your latest piece, “Celebs You Didn’t Know Were in Mensa.” I really had no idea about David Beckham.
Your Father, Who Is Probably on the Spectrum, Has a New Hobby
Julie,
Mei-Ling and I have been getting into writing haiku lately. I wanted to share the latest with you.
Autumn of my life
At last, a son beside me
Hours skipping stones
I guess you’re not the only writer in the family,
Dad
Your Late Grandfather, a Decorated Naval Officer, Is Wondering What Happened to Manhood
Heya Dumbo,
Remember I used to call you that ’cause you had the biggest goddamned ears? You used to cry like a little baby, but I know deep down you thought your Grandpa Dan was funny. My dad and grandpa always let me have it, and look at me; I turned out fine. Your mother used to nag me to respect your feelings. I told her, lady, we’re talking about someone who is two feet tall and shits her pants. I was in fucking Normandy. Respect is something you earn. Why does everyone have to be so goddamned sensitive? Ah, shit. Doesn’t matter now—now that I’m dead and you grew into your big Dumbo ears.
Want to know how I know you grew into your ears? I watch you. Not like I’m some angel up in heaven; all that angel stuff’s just a dumb myth for Jesus-freak retards anyway. Shit, people don’t say “retard” anymore where you are, do they? No one has any fucking fun anymore. Anyway, once you die you get your own TV set. Each channel plays a person over there who’s still alive. So I watch your channel sometimes. I always tune in on your birthday, just to see what you’re getting up to. What have I learned? I’ll say this—my little Dumbo can drink. But don’t worry, I’m not a goddamned pervert—I change the station right before you let some asshole t
hat doesn’t deserve to lick the heel of your boot take you home to bed. Seems like that happens most years. I did like that Indian kid ’til he went off with that dumb ginger with the big tits. Don’t worry—he’s cheating on her now too.
Here’s the problem with men today: they’re not. That’s the problem. You better hope there’s not another world war, ’cause if there’s a goddamned draft and those pussies ship off we can kiss our great nation goodbye. Only time I see a real man over there now is when I tune into a channel in goddamned Arabia and watch those fundamental boys blowing up pizza joints. At least they have conviction. Your little friends with their goddamned computer diaries about where to find the best soup dumplings on the East Side may as well put rollers in their hair like my great aunt Violet, who always smelled like dill pickles. I run into her over here sometimes. She still smells like goddamned pickles.
The worst was that stupid kid you were seeing back in New York—the one who was studying to be an expert on goddamned coffee. Yeah, he was a real piece of shit. What the fuck is a “vegan,” anyway? Never mind a steak—what kind of man with two nuts won’t even eat a goddamned egg? No granddaughter of mine is gonna marry a man she can share pants with, even if I have to rise from the dead to stop it myself. No wonder he couldn’t fuck, either.
You know that time Grandma and I came to watch you when you were little and your folks went to the beach for the weekend? First off, they should’ve sprung for a room with a better view; maybe then they wouldn’t have split. See? I told you your grandpa was funny. Anyway, I still remember we walked in on you in that tent in the backyard. You were playing with that boy from the neighborhood, showing each other your parts. Caught with your pants down. Let me tell you, that kid was a real man. Go look him up.
Nuclear Family Page 6
