I am finally getting to start on some rough drafts for my letters to Whitney… although, the only paper I had in my room at the time was my pad of budgeting paper. I might do a few more drafts. It’s important she get these letters, of course, but our history in high school was that we spent all our time trying to make our notes so “creative” and absurd-looking that the information eventually became completely irrelevant (and outdated). Sometimes it was irrelevant to begin with- We just wanted to experiment. And not pay attention to Algebra. This was all fairly ironic, given our conversations in person were incredibly in-depth and, retrospectively, decently philosophical. (Ironic in the sense that I’d say its usually the other way around).

When I start on these kinds of things, I always brew over what “experimental” even means to me/us these days…

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So I get a message over ichat from Whitney, a friend from six years ago (junior year of high school) that I was unfortunately not able to keep in much contact with after she moved and started pursuing more… authoritative activities. So she’ll be overseas and has embarked on an idea that I quite fancy- No email, no internet, no phone; communication the old-school, middle school way: Pen Pals. I believe she selected fourteen in total, and horrah! I am one. Of course, I immediately run to the art store and purchase a heaping helping of the same calligraphy supplies I neglected to bring with me to California. Any excuse to get back into it- and this was indeed Perfect…

In class, the one thing we talked about most (besides Mrs. Frear’s hilarious airplane stories) was the lost art of lettering. I remember being in the George Eastman House in Rochester, NY and looking in the glass cases with the handwritten, yellowed letters in them from ages ago. Even his suicide letter was beautiful…

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