by Dave Eggers
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Four days ago here on the moon I fell and hit my head on the corner of a table. I got up almost immediately—low gravity has its advantages—but I had a dizzy spell, then a fainting spell, then a swoon. It turns out that the culprit was not the fall at all but rather a moderately severe case of something called Longtime Moon Resident Dissociative Disorder, or Lam-rod. Symptoms include slight dizziness. I’m going to go lie down for a moment.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Another symptom of Lam-rod is that you tend to start letters over again even though you have started them already.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Last night I went to see a friend of mine named Krystof Janikowski. He’s here on the moon, too. Has been since ninety-two. He came here with his son Krystof Janikowski, Jr. Krystof Janikowski likes to call him “the Hebe dwarf” because I guess the mother is Jewish. Krystof Janikowski also likes to pretend that he hates his ex-wife although I happen to know that they had a perfectly amicable separation and that he still treasures her opinion on most matters. Krystof Janikowski wanted to discuss a book he has written. It’s called Blocaine and Shabu, and it’s a blaxploitation thriller set on the earth in which one guy does another guy a solid. Krystof Janikowski is a god-damned idiot, and I told him so, right in front of that Hebe dwarf. He took a swing at me, and landed a punch on my shoulder, but it barely hurt. Low gravity has its advantages.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Another effect of Lam-rod is that you start to question yourself. This letter seems no more interesting to me than a Fabian milk report. And maybe Blocaine and Shabu isn’t that bad after all.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Or is it terrible? This Lam-rod is immensely frustrating. I am a famous artist. My work has been exhibited in the Art Museum of the Moon, the Modern Moon Art Museum, and the Lunar Art Institute. So why can’t I render a confident and irrevocable judgment on the quality of Blocaine and Shabu? I am going to the doctor right now.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
The doctor, who was short and who would have been considered fat back when I was on earth but is now simply round—low gravity has its advantages—gave me a green pill. Doctors here on the moon are like that. They think that pills solve everything. When I was walking back from the doctor’s office, I saw Krystof Janikowski. He turned to avoid me, but I went up to him and clapped him on the back. “You know,” I said, “my opinion about the book is simply my opinion. If I had listened to every jerk who expressed skepticism during the three hours it took me to become a famous painter, I might have never done so.” Krystof Janikowski laughed. “I know,” he said. “But I appreciate your honesty. And I think I figured out the problem: I think the title should be reversed. Shabu and Blocaine is much better.” I shrugged. It didn’t seem to matter. So maybe the doctor and his green pill were the answer after all.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Now it is tomorrow, and I am in such despair that I must call the doctor again.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
The doctor told me that despair is a side effect of the green pill. “First you feel real good,” he said, “and then you feel real bad.” I asked him why he didn’t warn me about that before. “Because I am better friends with Krystof Janikowski,” he said. “The Hebe dwarf is my godson.” He laughed merrily. “You’ll want to tear off your face all afternoon,” he said, “but it should be gone by tomorrow.”
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Now it is tomorrow again and I am in even greater despair. I called the doctor. “Crap,” he said, and he rushed right over. He gave me a red pill and then began to take my pulse, to listen to my breathing, to palpate me about the neck and jaw. Then he stopped. “Whose paintings are these?” he said. I told him they were mine. “They are beautiful,” he said. “Absolutely beautiful.” I told him that I was famous. “I don’t really follow the art world,” he said. “But I know what I like. I especially like that one.” I followed his finger and found that he was pointing toward a small canvas near the bookshelf. It was a foot square, hung at diamond angle. It was painted from memory. It was a portrait of you. At once, my despair lifted. Unfortunately, it was replaced by a crippling pain that radiated from my Adam’s apple and quickly reached my head and my stomach. I fell to the ground, screaming. “Aha,” the doctor said. “I think I know what the matter is.” He produced a blue pill and threw it into the air. While it fell, he explained to me what he thought was happening; low gravity has its advantages. “The red pill,” he said, “tends to dredge up emotional pain and then, when the source of that pain is identified, convert all psychological burden into acute physical pain.” I asked him what the blue pill did. “Painkiller,” he said, and left.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
Another effect of Lam-rod is that you tend to digress before you get to the point. Luckily, the red pill curbs that digressive effect somewhat. So this is the point: I miss you. I miss you terribly. I miss you horribly. I miss you painfully. I know that I am expressing myself clumsily. I am a painter, not a writer. I regret almost every second that has passed since I went to sleep on the earth and woke up on the moon. I was blithely unaware of how wretched and empty my life would feel without you. Remember? I cursed and kicked a stone. These are the behaviors of a child who has misplaced a toy, not a man who has been separated from a woman. Once, about a year ago, I was walking outside, and I saw Krystof Janikowski with Krystof Janikowski, Jr. This was when Blocaine and Shabu was just a glint in his eye; he talked about it, but he had not written a word. Krystof Janikowski was on his back on a blanket on the ground. He had his hands behind his head. He was sunbathing and listening to the radio. Krystof Janikowski, Jr., was running around, playing, making noise. Boys will be boys. But then that little Krystof Janikowski, Jr., came and lay down on the blanket. He tucked himself into the crook of his arm, and then he shifted so that he was perpendicular to his father. That little Hebe dwarf looked like he was in heaven. I started to cry. At the time, I had no idea why.
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Dear Lucille Bogan,
This blue pill is making a fool of me. It does nothing. The pain is still in my throat and head and belly. I long for the days before the red pill, for the days when I was afflicted only with Lam-rod. And the despair has returned with even greater ferocity. Evidently the green pill works in cycles. This morning I dashed off a small painting, in dour black-and-gray, of a lone figure scuttling across a rainy alleyway. When I finished, I had a sudden urge to climb to the roof of my house and jump off. I didn’t, though, because I would probably just float to the ground like a feather. Low gravity has its disadvantages.
LISTS
POSSIBLE FOLLOW-UP SONGS FOR ONE-HIT WONDERS
John Moe
“How Are We Going to Get These Dogs Back In?”
“Bust an Additional Move”
“Seriously, Eileen, Come On”
“(Won’t You Give Me a Ride Home from) Funkytown?”
“Remember When You Lit Up My Life? That Was Great”
“I Will Now Pass the Dutchie Back to You and Thank You for Passing It to Me Originally Because I Really Enjoyed the Dutchie”
“The Morning That the Lights Came Back On in Georgia”
“Everybody Was Kung Fu Making Up”
“Whoomp! There It Continues to Be”
“867–5309, Extension 2”
“We Never Took It and Persist in Our Refusal to Take It”
THIRTY GOOD NAMES FOR A DANCE TROUPE, INCLUDING FIVE THAT ARE ALREADY TAKEN BY ACTUAL TROUPES, AND TWO THAT ARE TAKEN BY CHEESES
Daniel Archer, Peter McGrath, and Jenny Traig
1. Dance on Tap
2. Classic Elegance*
3. Puttin’ on the Glitz
4. Kinetic Rain
5. Classically Brilliant
6. The Daniel Archer Clog Explosion
7. Jazz in Our Pants
8. Off Our Meds
9. A Touch of Class *
10. Jazz Infection
11. Dance Blitzkrieg
12. I Stepped in Jazz
13. The Softshoe Experience
14. Jazzturbation
15. Dance Precisions *
16. Style in Motion
17. Prance Decisions
18. Jazzy Garlic Jazz **
19. Clog Jam
20. The Hot Shot Two-Steppers
21. Planet Dance Rising Stars *
22. Beansteamin’
23. Jazz Packers
24. Young Organ Grinders
25. Help Me, I Think I’m ... Dancing
26. Highland Odyssey
27. Jazz ’Em!
28. Step to the Real
29. Rondele **
30. Just Plain Dancin’ *
WAYS THIS ONE PROJECT MANAGER REPLIES TO MY REPLIES TO HER E-MAILED QUESTIONS ABOUT DOCUMENTATION
Peter Ward Brown
A million thanks, Peter.
Excellent and many thanks.
Thanks a million.
Sounds great ... many thanks.
Many many thanks.
Thanks, Peter.
Thanks!
Many thanks.
Thanks much.
Ok. Thank you.
FIRST LINES TO BOOKS I WON’T WRITE
Jim Behrle
Michael Kindness slept.
In the end, as it was in the beginning and is now, I was a sad sack with time and a harmonica.
Being the last man on earth ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Captain Picard and Commander Riker emerged from the Holodeck looking rather sour.
It is inevitable that the experience of knocking Noxzema facial cleansing cream to the bathroom floor reminds one of springtime, and hyacinths.
Nomar Garciaparra was born on July 23, 1973, in Whittier, California.
I keep asking myself, “Self, when am I going to get my wiffle ball back?”
“Would you like a bag with that?” the clerk asked clerkishly.
It was not the best of times—not by a long shot, Slappy.
In retrospect, going back in time that time just to watch the Velvet Underground play at Max’s Kansas City was a terrible, terrible idea.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,” he thought.
On second thought, no.
Erin!
THINGS NYC CAB DRIVERS YELLED AT ME WHILE I CROSSED THE STREET
Jeff Hurlock
—Move it, you hump.
—You dumb man.
—Tell me this! Tell me this!
—Sunnuva-bam. Sons of bitches.
—I am trying to do this!
—Where are you going with this?
—Yankee, go home.
—You in my trouble yet, Mister?
—My lane.
—I’ll take you to Queens.
LESSONS LEARNED FROM MY STUDY OF LITERATURE
Sean Carman
You think you know someone, then they go and do something you’d never expect.
Alcoholism has a sadly romantic quality that conventional attitudes overlook. Society = afraid to say this!
The thing about adultery is it’s the highest expression of pure human freedom.
The true criminal mind = no remorse ever = not a bad way to live, really, when you think about it, especially compared to the way society lives.
No matter how hard you try, you can never get your mind around the concept of infinity. Same for time travel!
We hold deeply irreconcilable attitudes about our parents.
Children have the capacity to both frighten and delight.
Nothing is more precious than the love of a Scottish playwright, cowboy poet, or shy cartoonist.
No amount of tear-stained recriminations can change the fact that a loving mother-daughter relationship is the world’s greatest gift.
As a rule, life’s greatest opportunities come most often to down-and-out insurance salesman, highway drifters, and car mechanics.
ALL OF CHEWBACCA’S DIALOGUE IN THE COMIC BOOK VERSION OF THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK
Brian McMullen
Raarghhh!
Waaark!
Vaaarrk!
Growwk!
Awwrk?
Aowwww!
Narowrrr?!
Vowarrrk!
Rawrrk!
Nowrrrragh!
Nrawwwwk!
Waaaaarrk!
Yawrrrk!
Raarghh!
Varowrk!
CAPITALIZED WORDS AND PHRASES APPEARING IN THE OFFICIAL SEA-MONKEY HANDBOOK
Amy L. Stender
AGAINST
ALIVE!
ANY TIME!
ANYTHING
ASTOUND
BACK TO LIFE
BACTERIA
BEHIND
BOY
BUT IT WORKS!
CANNOT LIVE
CAUTION
CAUTION
CHAIN OF LIFE
CHANCE
DO NOT FEED
DO NOT INTERFERE
DO NOT STIR!
DON’T
FAST
FRENZY
FRIEND!
FULLY MAN-MADE PETS
GIRL
HAPPEN
HATCH ALIVE
HUMAN BEINGS!
INSTANTLY
LIVE ACTORS AND ACTRESSES!
MAGICAL MOMENT
MALES
MANY TIMES LARGER THAN LIFE
MIRACLE
MORE
MORE
NEVER
NEW
NEW WORLD OF FUN
NOT
OBEY YOUR COMMANDS
ONE DAY
OTHER
OVERFEEDING
PEOPLE!
PET LOBSTER
REAL GAMES
RETURN TO LIFE
RISE!
SEA MEDIC
SEA-MONKEY BASEBALL
STAGGERS THE IMAGINATION!
STANDARD
STOP ALL FEEDING
SUPER
SUPER-ACTIVITY!
SUSPENDED ANIMATION!
THE CONTINUOUS PRODUCTION OF ADVANTAGEOUS COMBINATIONS OF “GENES”
TIME-TRAVELERS
TODAY!
TRICK
TWO HUNDRED FEET TALL
UPSTREAM
VERTEBRATES
WE HAVE FOUND THE SECRET OF TRAINING SEA-MONKEYS TO PLAY REAL GAMES WITH
BAD NAMES FOR BOATS
Jim Ruland
Shark Chum
Aquarium Furniture
Mullet King
Old Styrofoamsides
U.S.S. Colander
Torpedo Buddy
Narwussy
My Misunderstood Mussel
Crushed in the Tentacles of a Giant Squid
Sea Pinto
El Kaputo
Rime of the Ancient Tax Preparer
ACTUAL USER COMMENTS IN THE “FAT CATS” PHOTO GALLERY AT CUTECATS.COM
Blake Wirht
That’s the fattest cat I’ve ever ever seen.
I have seen fatter.
That’s not a fat cat!
How did he get this fat?????
It’s either a moldy watermelon or a fluffy cow. I can’t tell!
He’s so cute! I bet he makes a snuggly cuddly squishy pillow!
Bob, did you rate these a 1?
Two paws up!
Seriously, I haven’t any idea how hair got in your toothbrush!
Can I move to the bathtub now?
Hair didn’t get in my toothbrush!! And that babe is very cute!
What is your deal? I did not throw the toilet paper down the drain!
AH! The light hurts!
Tu eres un elefante grand
e y un gato bonito! Pretty fat kitty!!!!!!
Sexy!
INEFFECTIVE WAYS TO SUBDUE A JAGUAR
Elizabeth Butler
Hit him with a sock full of pennies.
Bite him to make him think you’re a jaguar.
Punch-punch-overhead kick combo.
Tell him that your mommy’s not home.
Read from a biography of a former United States president in a soothing voice.
The four legs of a chair, all moving simultaneously.
Pat him on the back until he burps.
Death roll.
Quickly make a fake female jaguar and place it in front of a large, flat stone on which you’ve painted a doorway.
MUSIC INDUSTRY TRENDS NOT YET OVEREXPOSED
John Moe
Trance tuba
Self-deprecating hip-hop
All-dog bluegrass
Mild salsa
Teamsta rap
Immature adult contemporary
Back hair metal
Gangsta polka
Amino acid jazz
Despairaoke
Barbershop quartet–core
Psychedelic chamber groups
Hard on the outside but with a squishy nougat center–core
Graduate school rap
Halfway-house music
Reasonable speed metal
Jazz-crap fusion
Blank tapes
INTERNATIONAL EQUIVALENTS, CAKE HOLE
Aaron Stoker-Ring
Spain: flan hole
Germany: strudel hole
France: madeleine hole
Italy: cannoli hole
Austria: torte hole
Greece: baklava hole
Poland: babka hole
Russia: blini hole
Haiti: cane hole
India: ras malai hole
Malaysia: chendol hole
China: eight-treasure-pudding hole
England: trifle pit
ANIMALS I ENJOY IMAGINING
Felix Muhl
Human baby with wings and/or talons: these would be adorable and deadly.
No-toed sloth: like the three-toed sloth, but, you know.
Falcon with a shiny shell: a dark emerald green, and hard like armor. These would be so cool and also deadly.
Glowworms: I know these exist but I have never seen one. And can you believe it? Apparently they actually glow.
