. . . and there you are, new nick names by Jean Vincent Renault to you my long lost friend from Grad School—Blazer Jim. How many years has it been? I hear you’re married now. I always liked those professorial blazers you used to wear when we were back in Grad school. We should have gone drinking together instead of just being Campus buddies. You’re lucky I like you, though. Otherwise . . . I can give negative monikers too. There was one guy I gave one to at his funeral, and it stuck. But then he pissed me off when he was alive. Not enough to keep me from his funeral, but just enough that tagging him was imperative right there in the chapel he was being waked in. In which he was being waked? Yes, never end a sentence with a preposition. I think I went to his funeral to tag him. I imagine that there must be some people who might think that that is fucked up reason to go to a funeral. But I paid my respects too. I said some words over the coffin, a few to Mother Mary and Jesus and a couple of the Blessed Saints I remembered. There are many I cannot recollect anymore. Bless me father for I have sinned . . . seems comical in this America without Truth, without transcendence, without any universals, without absolutes or absolution. No? I hugged his mother. I remember her kindness from when her son and I were boys together. I almost remember the day he became an asshole.
[He has just finished a turkey salad sandwich he made with whole berry cranberry sauce; home made. The above is an excerpt from a social media message to a former college buddy he discovered recently. He makes cranberry sauce every Thanksgiving. He uses it in the turkey salad he makes the next day for lunch, mixing it with the mayonnaise and fresh chopped pecans or almonds, some celery too.]