Today, half of the office is out with the flu.
H. writes:
Dear Booksellers,
I am not coming in today, choosing instead to sit
around in my pajamas impersonating a snow cone in sunlight.
I am unwell.
It is possible, likely even, that I will get phone
calls from bankers or lawyers or candlestick makers.
Would you kindly give these folks my home #***-****.
This does not apply to Conrad.
Take your antioxidants.
H.
Conrad is H's #1 Fine Lit Groupie. We all have them(H. has the most), and they are
quite an
odd lot. Different from your garden variety Rock'n Roll Groupie -- those directionless young women with a strange penchant for excitement and emotional abuse -- Lit Groupies are often mature men and women who inhabit the upper echelons of society and
nerd-dom. They are also undoubtably lonely. This year I received a Christmas card
from my very first lit groupie -- a woman who, despite her laughably junior high-esque
penmanship (fat bubbly letters), can afford to drop a couple grand on Tim O'Brien. She always
pays with a check so that she can include with it a somewhat lengthy personal
letter. In return I send her the book and a neatly typed receipt.