Hi! You're Going to Die in a Nuclear Attack!
My dad doesn't come out to visit much, claims he doesn't like the city. I think he's grown used to the homogenous nature of South Dakota, and that all the diversity and noise and unfamiliarity of New York freak him the hell out. He hates being out of control, and he can't be in control in New York -- the first time he visited me here I don't think we had an actual conversation, since he was too busy asking, "Now, which way are we going? Are we going west? Dammit! North? How can we be going north! I'm all turned around! I can't figure this place out!" and me saying, "Don't worry about it, I'm not going to leave you alone ANYWHERE."
He's not a big fan of me living here, even though I've never been mugged, raped, burgled or pushed in front of a moving subway. OK, sure, so a bunch of terrorists blew up my office building. But besides THAT....His highest dream for me, I guess, is to move back to South Dakota and marry some kind of cowpoke. When I ask him what the hell I would do to keep my brain from dying in South Dakota, he says, "Well, you could run a Kinko's. That's printing. It's kind of like writing!" Um, yeah.
Occasionally he sends me email, which is kind of a new thing to him. Judging by his last missive, I don't think he really has the "tone" thing down yet:
"I love you very much and am finally getting used to NYC and feel safer now to be there. I do wish that you wern't there
because I feel it is a very big target and I think that a personal nuclear bomb is going to happen there. These people know what they are doing. It will happen at wall street and cripple our economy, which is thier objective. Just a thought. Call Sunday PM."
You know, it's nice that Dad cares about me, but it's not so nice to hear that he believes a few months down the road some terrorist is going to nuke me and melt my skin off.
Yeah, I will call Sunday PM, and I'll let you know that since you live in South Dakota, I think you're probably going to die soon in a hunting accident, mistaken for a 20-point buck and left to bleed out in the middle of a soybean field.
He's not a big fan of me living here, even though I've never been mugged, raped, burgled or pushed in front of a moving subway. OK, sure, so a bunch of terrorists blew up my office building. But besides THAT....His highest dream for me, I guess, is to move back to South Dakota and marry some kind of cowpoke. When I ask him what the hell I would do to keep my brain from dying in South Dakota, he says, "Well, you could run a Kinko's. That's printing. It's kind of like writing!" Um, yeah.
Occasionally he sends me email, which is kind of a new thing to him. Judging by his last missive, I don't think he really has the "tone" thing down yet:
"I love you very much and am finally getting used to NYC and feel safer now to be there. I do wish that you wern't there
because I feel it is a very big target and I think that a personal nuclear bomb is going to happen there. These people know what they are doing. It will happen at wall street and cripple our economy, which is thier objective. Just a thought. Call Sunday PM."
You know, it's nice that Dad cares about me, but it's not so nice to hear that he believes a few months down the road some terrorist is going to nuke me and melt my skin off.
Yeah, I will call Sunday PM, and I'll let you know that since you live in South Dakota, I think you're probably going to die soon in a hunting accident, mistaken for a 20-point buck and left to bleed out in the middle of a soybean field.
posted by Had To Move at 11:29 AM
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