To: List attached
From: The Last Holdout
Re: Accomodations and Miscellany
I will try to be less cryptic and inscrutable than the Master Organizer Emeritus was in his recent missive. It is true that I am experiencing a severe state of penury. I even had to steal this typing paper from work. But things are not all that bad.
I still have enough money to keep the tires filled on the Yugo.
Who would have thought that I, too, would have fallen into this ancient snare? Why it seems like only yesterday that we were watching James at 16 on two TV's. . .Why it seems like . . .
a dream. . .zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. . .
(Insert favorite video effect indicating dream/fantasy sequence)
Camera comes to focus on a plain, slightly ramshackle, grey house in unidentified college town. On the front porch are two decrepit vinyl-covered (blue) sofas, one occupied by a stuffed brown turd. It smells bad, which is why it is on the porch. There is also a spanking new Weber kettle grill. It
looks strangely out of place in these humble surroundings.
Tube steaks are grilling quietly.
A sandy-brown haired young man, with mustache to match, is seated on the wooden porch railing. He is drinking beer out of a long-neck bottle. This does not appear to be the first beer he has consumed today. It is noon on a Saturday in early May.
The man with the beer bottle tips it high into the air for a final swallow, casts a furtive glance to left and right, then flips the amber vessel end-over-end into the street, where it shatters noisily. The shards of glass are quickly crushed by a passing SYSCO garbage truck, as well as a variety of passenger vehicles, carrying obnoxious drunk alums to the campus.
No police have appeared on the scene (yet), and the young man appears relaxed. A much larger man exits the house through the front door (a door which appears to have been vomited upon, perhaps by a lad named Marty, some many months before). The larger man, who is fair haired and bespectacled, takes a sip of his own beer and speaks:
Dan: "Watcha doin' little buddy? (Note: This is not a scene from Gilligan's Island.)
Scott: "Watchin' the cars run over the bottles. I like the way it sounds."
Dan: "Lunch ready?"
scots: "No, we need to steal some more charcoal."
Dan: "I'11 go check out Useless' backyard."
With that, the large man exits the porch to the front yard, walks down the driveway between houses, and disappears behind an old green station wagon. The sandy-haired man exits the porch and enters the house, maybe looking for another beer.
Moments later, two other young men enter the porch from the house. Both are taller than average, and of medium build. One has tightly curled dark hair, is wearing overalls but no shirt, and has a football which he continually tosses into the air and catches (most of the time). The other has blondish hair, is wearing thick glasses and a bathrobe. Neither has shaved today. Both have a somewhat glazed pre-dawn expression. The one with glasses notices the hot dogs on the grill.
Hugh: "What do you think will happen. . . ?"
Don: "Letko would kill us."
The man with the glasses picks up one of the hot dogs off the grill bare-handed. He bites off one end, and places it back on the grill, speaking as he chews:
Hugh: "Cold as ice. I need a beer."
Don: "Let's go make some macaroni and tuna."
The two men re-enter the house. As they leave, a short young man with mutton chop sideburns passes through the doorway and onto the porch. He has on blue jeans, but no shirt. He squints into the sunlight and belches loudly. He appears slightly confused and stares at the hot dogs on the grill. As he gapes, the tall blond man reappears from behind the house. As he rounds the corner at the front of the house, he notices the bare-chested man, who slowly utters a single syllable:
Raymond: "Meat"
Dan: "Get away from there, you little shit!"
Raymond: "Meat"
Dan: "That's my lunch, get your own."
Raymond: "Meat"
The exchange continues, with the big man successfully shooing away the smaller man. Both re-enter the house, in a sort of slow chase.
The door slams shut momentarily, but is jarred open seconds later. A lanky, tallish young man with a bit of an overbite stumbles over the threshold and steps onto the porch, narrowly avoiding a complete pratfall. He is carrying a can of lighter fluid. He carefully examines the hot dogs, moves them to one side of the grill, and pours an excessive amount of lighter fluid onto the grill. The smoldering coals vaporize a significant portion of the fluid, and as the young man clumsily strikes a match, the spark ignites the vapor, creating a yard-wide fireball. The young man springs away from the explosion, falling backwards onto the vinyl sofa.
Eado: "Gawddamn, oh gawddamn!"
The commotion attracts yet another of the house's denizens. He has dark, medium length, straight hair (with dandruff), is somewhat short but solidly put together, with prominent, protruding buttocks. He, too, is wearing glasses and carries a beer.
Rako: "Are you okay? It sounds like Nagasaki out here."
Eado: "Gawddamn. I wish I wonder where I was."
Rako: "Well, the fires going good. But I wouldn't want to eat one of these (he holds up a charred dog).
The large-posteriored man examines the burnt weenie intently. The other struggles to an upright position, rubbing an elbow. Each turns to the door and re-enters the house.
Rako: "Let's throw in some macaroni."
Eado: "Gawddamn."
Music starts to drift from the open windows, accompanied by a few loud "Whoooo, whoooo noises. Marshall Tucker is on loud.
Two more men emerge from the house. One looks like Andy Gibb might have if he haled from East Alton (and were still alive). He is wearing cowboy boots and a nicely pressed shirt and jeans. He is the most wholesome resident of the house so far. He is followed by a man wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He has not shaved in several days, and his dark beard is unbecoming. His hair is part straight, part curly, and completely unkempt. It has only just started to fall out. He looks very tired, but appears to have been up for hours. He is in the throes of a wicked hangover, but is nursing a beer as well. He is smoking a cigarette he has filched from someone else. He sits on the sofa. The other man stands by the wooden railing.
Enmo: "What did we do last night?"
Tim: "We drank."
Enmo: "Oh, yeah."
Tim: ''Don't worry, she didn't even know your name."
Enmo: "Shit, here he comes again."
A white pickup truck with "Orkin on the door pulls up alongside the house. The porch is suddenly vacant. The metallic rasp of a bolt being thrown is the only sound. An odd looking little man in a uniform exits the truck and ascends the stairs to the porch. He rings the bell, tries the locked door, rings the bell again.
There is no answer.
(insert video effect indicating re-emergence from dream sequence).
. . .uh huh, yes . . mmmmmmmmm Hershel. . . What the ?! Oh, hi. Well, like I was saying, what a concept, I'm getting married. Who would have ever thought?
All those weddings ago, and that one ceremonial present passed from hand to hand, to its final recipient. Who would have thought that we would all be back together for one more wedding? Well, hopefully you'll all come, but you need to start making your arrangements for accomodations now. Otherwise, you might have to sleep on the turd.
Enclosed you will find a variety of photocopied hotel information, covering a significant price range. Kudos to Rako for the effort. These range from cheap to steep and from big hotels to small inns. Some are cows and some are ducks. Oops, sorry. I still slip into that on occasion.
Some geographical orientation is in order. Rak has drubbed ''Hartford'' into your heads. That will get you close. Bradley International Airport is north of Hartford. The wedding (which is on Sunday afternoon) will take place in Moodus, CT. Moodus is about halfway between Hartford and the ocean (Atlantic, Raymond) on the Connecticut River. Check a map.
You might stay around Moodus, but you would probably be in a bed and breakfast. No big facilities real close. You might prefer to stay in Old Saybrook. My family is staying there at a place called the Old Saybrook Inn. It used to be a Hojo's, to give you some idea of the facilities, is relatively inexpensive and nicely situated. If you identify yourself as a member of the Enright or Anderson party, you will get a 10% discount, if rooms are still available.
If you stay in or near Old Seabrook, you might want to check out flights into New Haven, which is a little closer than Hartford. It has fewer flights overall. If you do fly into Hartford, you could also stay around the airport or downtown. That would not be inconvenient, but would not be as nice as the shore or a bed and breakfast.
Of course, you're all on your own, but I am sure that some one will become the Master Organizer. Lately, I hear that the next Cruise Director is Eado. I do not know if the torch has been passed. Sounds dangerous with Eado involved.
MAKE YOUR RESERVATIONS NOW OR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!!! I'm too old to back out of this and I've already invested too much in it. Rooms can be hard to come by in New England in the fall, with all the leaf seekers about.
I've also enclosed a current list of addresses and phone numbers (if known), so we can talk to each other again. I'm not really sure that would be beneficial to society.
Amundo action etc.
Enmo