The following are a set of letters I wrote to Dave Barry. Please don't send them to him as he has already seen them.
John Mertus
9 Horsford Ave
Rumford, RI 02916
Dec 10, 1989
Dave Barry
c/o Miami Herald
1 Herald Plaza
Miami, Florida, 33132
Dear Mr. Barry,
A few weeks ago my wife and I had our second child. To pass the time at the hospital during labor, I purchased your latest book, in hardback no less, Dave Barry's GREATEST HITS. I began to read it to my wife in between contractions. Needless to say, we all found it very funny. It was so funny that I continued to read it out loud during the entire labor. I was cracking up, the nurses were laughing, the obstetrician was laughing and almost dropped the baby. Even the baby was laughing. The only one who wasn't was my wife whose rude screams often interfered with my readings and who even modern medicine could not shut up. You are right when you said that women in labor have NO sense of humor.
But this letter is not to tell you that we found the book very funny or that you were right about women in labor. It seems that your name came up during our divorce proceeding when her lawyer cited my reading of it as an example of my INSENSITIVITY. Once again this letter is not to tell you about those messy proceedings. I'm sure you know all about such being the person you are. However, after my wife was awarded everything including my Roberto Clemente foul ball I caught in 1970 in old Forbes field, my lawyer asked if there was any warning on the book about reading aloud while wife is delivering. I said no, at least if there was, it was not in a prominent place. His reply "This is going to cost Mr. Barry a lot, at least $300,000."
Well, I was all set to get all the compensation I was entitled to under the law when, having a Ph.D. in Applied Mathematics, I computed how much of your $300,000 I would receive. It came to this:
Mr. Barry's legal costs $60.000
Mr. Barry's appeal costs $40,000
My legal costs $100,000
My lawyer's contingency fees $100,000
Total costs $300,000
My compensation $0
It seems to me that we are getting, to put it bluntly, screwed. So I've enclosed a self addressed stamped envelope and if you cheerfully refund the cost of the book, $19.95, I'll forget about the whole thing. You will have saved enough money to put your son through three years of college (one if he goes to Brown Univeristy), and we will both come out ahead.
Hoping to hear from you soon.
Sincerely
John Mertus
John Mertus, #810743
ACI
Cranston, RI
02911
May 22, 1992
Dave Barry
c/o Miami Herald
1 Herald Plaza
Miami, Florida, 33132
Dear Mr. Barry,
A while back I wrote you a letter requesting $19.95 and I thank you for your prompt response and payment. However, when I told my lawyer, Vince "slimy" Funghi, about the deal I struck with you, he began to turn various shades of colors and started mumbling things about "restricting free trade" and "depriving the needy." When he recovered, he threw me out saying that I would hear from him.
A few weeks later I was in court again being sued for the money my ex-lawyer could have earned had I not deprived him of his civil rights and talked to you directly. (Ex-lawyers are almost as bad as ex-wives.) I may have been able to win the case, but I had to argue it myself. For when I went to hire a lawyer, he expressed a great deal of interest until he learned my wife had everything and I couldn't pay. The public defender said "Look, I've represented rapists, mass murderers, child molesters and even other lawyers, but I have a code of ethics and must draw the line at representing someone who did the heinous things you did."
During the trial, Judge Guido "grumpy" Funghi, was very nice to me and advised me on some of the more subtle aspects of the law like how to request a recess when something important comes up; for example, the ice cream truck arriving in the parking lot. (He also advised me on what type of ice cream he likes.)
After hearing all the arguments, he handed down his decision saying that although he understood my ingorance of the law what I did "posed more of a threat to the fiber of America than cocaine, AIDs or My Little Pony dolls combined." Judge Funghi show his leniency in sentencing me to only 10 years out of a possible 25 for violating my lawyer's rights remarking "some of the fault must rest with that Mr. Barry for agreeing to such activities; I hope he comes before me some day."
Judge Funghi also praised Vince Funghi stating: "It make me proud to know there are men in Rhode Island, who knowing that Mr. Mertus cannot pay any damages, would spend their valuable time and effort to rid the streets of such criminals. For such selfless services, I am going to nominate you for the 1992 Rhode Islander of the Year award."
I am writing because Vince "slimy" Funghi agrees to drop the charges if you would please send him a check for $100,000 made payable to Funghi, Funghi, Funghi + Spawn, Complete Legal Services and Trash Removal. That might seem like a lot but let me remind you that you still are coming out almost $200,000 ahead.
Also, notice my change of address, to ACI (Adult Correctional Institution) c/o Joey "dopey" Funghi, Warden. Although in Rhode Island, persons convicted of crimes against the society are not to receive any outside communication, Warden Funghi is very enlightened and often reads the prisoners their mail after the weekly floggings on Fridays.
Hope to hear from you VERY soon.
Sincerely
If you know anything about (1) engineers and (2) guys in general, you know what happened: The purpose of the charcoal-lighting shifted from cooking hamburgers to seeing how fast they could light the charcoal. From the vacuum cleaner, they escalated to using a propane torch, then an acetylene torch. Then Goble started using compressed pure oxygen, which caused the charcoal to burn much faster, because as you recall from chemistry class, fire is essentially the rapid combination of oxygen with a reducing agent (the charcoal). We discovered that a long time ago, somewhere in the valley between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers (or something along those lines). By this point, Goble was getting pretty good times. But in the world of competitive charcoal lighting, "pretty good" does not cut the mustard.
Thus, Goble hit upon the idea of using -- get ready -- liquid oxygen. This is the form of oxygen used in rocket engines; it's 295 degrees below zero and 600 times as dense as regular oxygen. In terms of releasing energy, pouring liquid oxygen on charcoal is the equivalent of throwing a live squirrel into a room containing 50 million Labrador retrievers.
On Gobel's Web page (the address is http://ghg.ecn.purdue.edu/), you can see actual photographs and a video of Goble using a bucket attached to a 10-foot-long wooden handle to dump 3 gallons of liquid oxygen (not sold in stores) onto a grill containing 60 pounds of charcoal and a lit cigarette for ignition. What follows is the most impressive charcoal-lighting I have ever seen, featuring a large fireball that according to Goble, reached 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit. The charcoal was ready for cooking in - this has to be a world record - 3 seconds. There's also a photo of what happened when Goble used the same technique on a flimsy $2.88 discount-store grill. All that's left is a circle of charcoal with a few shreds of metal in it. "Basically, the grill vaporized," said Goble. "We were thinking of returning it to the store for a refund."
Looking at Goble's video and photos, I became, as an American, all choked up with gratitude at the fact that I do not live anywhere near the engineers' picnic site. But also, I was proud of my country for producing guys who can be ready to barbecue in less time than it takes for guys in less-advanced nations, such as France, to spit. Will the 3-second barrier ever be broken? Will engineers come up with a new, more powerful charcoal-lighting technology? It's something for all of us to ponder this summer as we sit outside, chewing our hamburgers, every now and then glancing in the direction of West Lafayette, Indiana, looking for a mushroom cloud.
Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later, he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking. Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward. . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: So that means it was . . . let's see . . . February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . .Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieving bastards six hundred dollars.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it . . .
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have . . . Oh, I feel so . . ." (She breaks down sobbing.)
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.
"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that . . . it's that I . . .I need some time," Elaine says.
(There is a pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally, he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Roger.
"That way about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."
(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)
The next day, Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said, and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"
We're not talking about different wavelengths here. We're talking about different planets, incomepletely different solar systems. Elaine cannot communicate meaningfully with Roger about their relationship any more than she can meaningfully play chess with a duck. Because the sum total of Roger's thinking on this particular topic is as follows:
Huh?
But the point I'm trying to make is that, if you're a woman, and you want to have a successful relationship with a guy, the No. 1 Tip to remember is:
Never assume that the guy understands that you and he have a relationship. The guy will not realize this on his own. You have to plant the idea in his brain by constantly making subtle references to it in your everyday conversation such as:
Never let up, women. Pound away relentlessly at this concept, and eventually it will start to penetrate the guy's brain. Someday he might even start thinking about it on his own. He'll be talking with some other guys about women, and, out of the blue, he'll say. "Elaine and I, we have, ummm. . . We have, ahhh . . . We . . . We have this thing."
And he will sincerely mean it.
Are You a Real Guy?
Take This Scientific Quiz to Determine Your Guyness Quotient
How to Score: Give yourself one point for every time you picked answer "c." A real guy would score at least 10 on this test. In fact, a real guy would score at least 15, because he would get the special five-point bonus for knowing the joke about the guy who has Alzheimer's disease and cancer.
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