Karamazov Productions

Dear siblings,

The Black Eyed Peas tell us--at half-time or otherwise--that "tonight's gonna be a good night." Nothing theological there, but I wept (as Josh knows I can weep) when I reviewed on YouTube the half-time show of the Superbowl with Ben and Em (Joe away at his Czech grandma's apartment--his 'ski break' no longer corresponding with ours).

Why weep?

Because the Packers would deservedly buffet the odds and industrially win for all the underlings of the world; because Will.i.am believed enough of the 'yes we can' to turn the corner beyond the banalities of Fox & Friends proof; because Slash emerged to play one of the last songs I heard with Joe Vold (at a gas station round-about we picked up a hitchhiker en route to Charleston, which cost us a half-a-night after we dropped off Josh, questioning him and his fluegelhorn how they'd spend the night on the U of I quad); because Emma was seeking inspiration in the lady P's act while Ben was seeking his own lyrics which he'd play on his drumset thereafter: 'People of the world--cheer up, cheer up, cheer up!"

But really for the narratives that are timeless and invaluable. I was at 520 when Don expired, and the squeeze of his hand into mine is still ineffable. Your memory, Josh, is exquisite and puts many elements into perspective. If we've been thinking about Karamazov Productions, it's not to contrive a means to make something bigger of fledgling stories and songs, but to connect with Dostoevsky's understanding: God gives us more than plenty, and we can latch on to plenty of that souciance.

I'm coming out of a meeting today where my principal (Kathlyn GRAY, surname barely relaying her personality) is largely ushering the abdication of literature in our English department, so I simultaneously feel like fighting or all-the-more declaring my gradual independence from ISP. Kids aren't reading Shakespeare, so why should we teach it? Gosh, where the *#@!? does one start with that premise? Kids aren't thinking of their dads dying, or... maybe they are... maybe our surveys aren't so accurate or apropos or... maybe we don't know what we're responding to... or principaling... or...

Dumbshit education. Full stop.

That's no way to end a letter to my dear siblings, but you hear my point better than anyone. Let's keep in touch as often as we can. And I promise at least a few weeks this summer, come whatever pragmatics what may,

Dan