Mail-bag: letters from myself
Dear Bruno,
Oh, don\’t you hate Mondays? What about Tuesdays that feel like Mondays?
Minnesota has been wrapped up in clouds like a sunflower seed in a cotton ball for the last week. Everything is gray. Even my skin is gray.
The world seems soaked and mushy. Impermeable things have begun to absorb water; the driveway looks like it would squish and squirt if you stepped on it. Water has begun leaking into the trunk of my car. In the absence of sun or heat, it sits there, unevaporated, developing a rotten smell that creeps into the rest of the car. I would open the windows to air it out, but it\’s raining.
At least I don\’t have to worry about forest fires.
The citizens of Norway, on the other hand, will. That\’s because their newly enacted national smoking ban covers only indoor public spaces. That, arguably, will push the smokers outdoors, where their haphazardly disposed cigarette butts pose a grave fire danger.
But I joke. Good for Norway. Like all people who live in cold climates, the Norwegians are used to being out in the cold. If you can fish in sub-zero weather, you certainly can smoke in it. It won\’t be long before someone invents mittens specially designed to allow you to hold a cigarette (maybe with a lighter built into the palm).
Cold climates invite adaptation and resilience. When it\’s too cold to go outside, the only thing you can do is … go outside. Because if you don\’t, you\’ve lost, and winter will dominate you for ever. People here in Minnesota know that; we ski, skate, snowshoe, and even swim despite fridgid temperatures. The Saint Paul Winter Carnival is our way of celebrating this. We\’ve got nothing on these guys, though (my favorite is the ice-wall climbing competition, which in the U.S. would be called the Race to Get Ourselves Sued).
Yours,
Bruno
And now, a note to Karl Malone:
Dear Karl,
You are the Mail. You are the Man. But you are also the Punk. In the future, please withold your admittedly large forearms from the chest and stomach of Mr. Kevin Garnett.
Also, great lameness has resulted from your quitting the Utah Jazz to play for the already well-endowed Lakers at a substantial pay cut. Why not just get all the best players in the league together on the same team and win every game? Because that would be lame, just as you are lame.
You have dispensed of the Timberwolves, and perhaps deservedly so. But should you go on to win your first-ever NBA Championship, I hope you remember that you could only do it by joining a team that was already destined for victory. Your Championship ring will still be made of gold, but it will shine ever so much more faintly.
Also, I am awarding you a technical foul. Because this is my letter, and I can.
I will now shoot a free-throw.
Swish. It was good.
With bitter regards,
Bruno Bornsztein