Old Blog 39

Notebook – July 11, 2000

Martha Stewart, I Love You

July 8, 2000

Dear Martha,

You don't know me, but I feel as if I know you. It's like you've been a
member of my family for the past 10 years. I love you and I love your
TV show. I think my favorite episode was the one where you built that
bomb shelter out of tampons, blocks of cheddar cheese, and discarded
ice cream containers. You made something that was necessary (in case we
get bombed, etc) downright beautiful. And functional!

Martha Stewart, will you marry me? I'm a good thing! I am a good
provider. Not that you need "providing for." I read in USA Today that
you became a billionaire when your company went public. But I can help
you protect that money. I will give you the most security, affection,
and companionship that money can buy. Don't get me wrong. This isn't a
money thing. Sure, Oprah has her own magazine too, but at least you
have the good sense not to put yourself on the cover of every issue!
(But don't get me wrong, if you did, I would still buy them…buy them
and buy them and collect them all!).

I know, I know, I know…a proposal by letter is
so…impersonal. But how can I possibly ask you to marry me face to
face? I mean, after all…you're MARTHA STEWART! I would freeze and
stutter. I come across much better in a written letter, where I am free
of the usual social things like conversation. I suppose I could have
put it on that nice stationary I saw you make one morning (ink that
smells like blueberry scones – a nice touch!), but I'm not that good
with my hands.

I saw you on "Letterman" the other night. Were you flirting
with him? I think you were! He doesn't even take you seriously. All he
does is make jokes whenever you are trying to create some fancy
Halloween decorations or give tips on the best wine to serve with Big
Macs. He has a girlfriend, you know, and he'd just use you and throw
you away like last week's Chinet paper plates (oh, by the way, nice use
of the Chinet for that manger you made on your last Xmas special). I
don't have time for this Martha. Please stop the head games!

I know you need time to think this over. You have to talk about
it with your family, and perhaps even your stockholders and the
gentleman who keeps sending me those letters that contain words like
"cease and desist" and "lawsuit."

I await your answer! If I can't have you, then…then I don't
know what I'm going to do with myself! I will cry myself to sleep! Cry
and cry and cry and move far away where no one can find me! Sure, my
friends and family can say things to me like "you should find someone
your own age," and "she's on television, she wouldn't date you," and
"no, sir, for the last time, we do not sell Martha Stewart blow up
dolls," but I don't care. Please, Martha, please! I NEED YOUR

P.S. What is the best wine to serve with pasta?




July 10, 2000

Dear Sir,

Ms. Stewart forwarded your letter (dated 8 July) to us. Please
note that we will be handling all of Ms. Stewart's business from now
on. Please address all future correspondence to the office below.

We must ask you again to cease and desist your harrassment of
Ms. Stewart. This is the third letter we have sent, and it seems you
are ignoring them. If you do not stop trying to contact Ms. Stewart by
mail, e-mail, phone, or in person, we see no other way to handle the
situation than to contact the proper authorities.

Please stop all correspondence with Ms. Stewart. Again, if you do not,
we will have no other alternative than to seek immediate legal action.
We are very serious about this. We have the resources to make sure you
never do this to anyone again.

P.S. We would suggest a Cabernet Sauvignon or a nice Merlot.


Andrew Kensington, Esq.
Kensington, Booth, and DeShayne
2426 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10015

Notebook – July 4, 2000

Pop. Pop. Pop pop pop pop pop…pop pop.

Ah, The Fourth of July. Or, more accuarately, it's the Third of July,
and the fireworks can be heard in the distance. I haven't been to a
display of fireworks in ages. Probably because…well…they just don't
interest me anymore. It's the same thing with parades, really. They
lose their appeal after you reach a certain age early in your teens.
And then, and I'm only guessing here, the appeal comes back somewhat
after you watch them through the eyes of your children.

If I climb behind the television and the lamp, push up the screen
window, and balance myself on the window ledge and stick my head out, I
could see a few of the fireworks. But I won't.

By the way, I'm thinking about cheating on someone, and I'm not sure if I should go through with it.

Oh, knock it off! I'm talking about going to a different hair stylist.
"Hair stylist." At what point in my life did I switch from going to a
barber to a hair stylist? My current hair stylist is a woman, and I've
been seeing her for almost 15 years. 15 years. That's longer than any
other relationship I've had with a woman who wasn't in my immediate
family. She knows certain parts of my body (again, get your mind out of
the gutter – I'm talking about the top of my head) better than I do. I
don't have to tell her how I want my hair because she knows me that
well. Oh, and my hair has gotten to the point where I don't have a
"style," I have a "cut."

I mean, think about it: I've been seeing this woman every
single month and a half for 15 years! But now it has grown…I don't
know…stale? Stuck in a rut? It has nothing to do with her competence
or her cutting method or her suggestions about my hair. They are all
fine. It's just that I "feel" I need to go to someone else, to make a
change. Sometimes we make little changes in our lives. Changes we can
handle, small changes that build and build until we can make bigger
changes. Changing a hair stylist is a change we can handle with ease.
Or can we?

I just feel that I need the same type of change that made me go
to this woman in the first place. It was 1985. I was 20. I felt like I
needed to get something that didn't scream "teenager who still sees the
barber shop guy down the street." I wanted to get away from 20 years of
and enter the world of mousse and gels and slicked back hair and
electronic dance music coming from the radio. Oh, and the girls running
their hands through my hair was a BIG factor too.

Yet I think I've gotten to the age where I'm not even sure how
I would go about finding a new person to cut my hair. How do you judge
these things? At 20, it was a matter of going to someone nearby, and
getting a stroke of luck that she did a fantastic job (her big
suggestion: shave it closer on the sides, above the ear – it changed my
life that year). Do I really want to chance getting someone else who
might screw things up? Why ruin a good thing? Can I just try someone
else new this one time without her finding out about it? A momentary

Good God, it's come to this: I'm talking about my hair. Wow.
And believe me, if you saw how much hair I had to work with now, you'd
say "you're worried about THAT?"

I really should get back to that short story that's been giving
me trouble. I have the characters all set, and the plot is a good one,
but now I've reached a certain point where it's going NOWHERE.
Wimbledon is on the TV…Wimbledon, short story…Wimbledon, short
story…Wimbledon, short story…

Wimbledon wins! Have a happy 4th. Don't let my opinion of fireworks and parades influence you in any way.

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