Wow! My good friend Emel-Elizabeth, aka The Girl From Estonia, sent me a letter . . . all the way from Estonia! I’ll bet I’m the only person I know who has ever gotten a letter from Estonia, or who knows an Estonian at all.

I have a sense that this is true, because after I got Austrian citizenship, I posted something on INSTAGRAM about the United States being on life support, or whatever, and how I would evacuate to Europe before the bombs started dropping, to wit:

. . . and my friend Joe replied thusly:

So there’s my proof.


Here is the envelope and part of the letter Emel-Elizabeth sent me. She drew little cats on the back of the envelope in silver ink and everything. And look at that stamp! Our stamps look fuckin lame compared to this’n:

In my letter to her, I had asked Emel-Elizabeth to send me a few Estonian phrases, and this is what she wrote, bless her heart. Estonian is insane. The closest language to it is Finnish. But Emel-Elizabeth said Finnish sounds disgusting to her ears. I wonder if that’s a universal Estonian sentiment. And do Finns feel the same way about the Estonian language? I guess I could ask . . .

Well: Emel-Elizabeth is one of the best people I’ve ever met. I ought to stop distilling her entire being into her nationality, though you know what: as far as nicknames go, The Girl From Estonia is pretty good. It sounds mysterious in a way. And also: there are only 1.3 million Estonians in the entire world, so why not make a big deal of it. I remember her being impressed that I knew that. Why did I know the population of Estonia? I guess I’m just good for things like that, and not much else.

I am returning to Europe this summer and will find a way to see her again. Estonia is protected by NATO, but it’s right on Russia’s doorstep, so I reckon I’d better not visit her home country just yet. She told me we could meet in some city other than Berlin, so maybe we’ll do that. How do you say TO BE CONTINUED in Estonian? Is that what ABORDI PÄRDIK means . . . ?

Happy birthday to my best friend and little brother Dante, who turned 14 years old today. Dante and I have lived in six states and on two continents. We experience the same moods and phases and have the same habits. As I have said many times over the years: Dante and I are one entity experiencing two subjective realities simultaneously. It is uncanny how aligned we are . . . it’s gotta be ESP, or some such thing. I remember one time someone asked me if Dante was a weird cat because I raised him, or if Dante is just naturally weird. Well I’m here to tell you that it’s probably both. OK?


Everyone who knows me knows who Dante is. And even people I’ve never met before know of him. Dante has more friends than any cat I’ve ever known. Here are a bunch of pictures of Dante and his many friends:

Dante is asleep now in his cat tree in the living room. I will kiss him on the head and then crawl into bed and go to sleep too. Happy birthday little angel~

my newest meaningless endeavor is to memorize john falstaff’s speech on wine fron HENRY IV:

Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh; but that’s no marvel, he drinks no wine. There’s never none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then when they marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes, which, delivered o’er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme: it illumineth the face, which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

you know what, i’ll bet i can do it. i know like 70% of it already from watching orson welles recite it a million times. if you’ve never seen this, it’s incredible:

and if you’ve never seen orson’s CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT . . . well baby, what are you waiting for??

john falstaff is by far my favorite shakespeare character. i reckon identify with him. he was a bum . . . a beautiful bum~