You see, it started with a box sent to me by my dad's best friend Weezie. I receive packages from her sporadically, filled with little things that belonged to Dadoo--photos, newspaper clippings, books, etc. One of the more interesting packages contained a section of this genealogy book that my Aunt Irene compiled a while back. As a sidenote, before I get to the letters, I discovered while thumbing through this genealogy book that a good portion of my family is from NORTHERN Ireland. I mean, they came to America quite a while before the Anglo-Irish Treaty, but still. It's like my love for Norn Iron was in my blood. And here I thought all our blood had in it was alcoholism.
But back to the letters.
|"I ain't even mad."|
In one of my favorite digs, Grandpa all but calls his sister a drunken hussy: "Have you sobered up yet -- you seem to be making the rounds, from the Biltmore Bar to the Old Brew house... Such frivolity in a med student -- tsk, tsk! Of course, as Ogden Nash says -- 'Home is Heaven and orgies are vile -- but you need an orgy, once in a while.'" And in a bit of snark that sounds like something I might say to my own sister, he writes, "How are the exams coming? You must have been awfully worried to consider, even momentarily, studying."
|"Go kill yourself." |
- H.L. Mencken, the original troll
I want to write letters like this. And receive letters like this. I mean, the other day I actually used the phrase "fo sho" in an email to a professor. And to another professor, I wrote an email with the subject line, "Ostrich love. Guh." WTF, mate? Surely I can do better than this. I'm a Vaughan, dammit! A proud yet self-effacing Vaughan with the excessively extensive vocabulary and penchant for harassment trademark of our clan. So who wants a pen pal?