Yesterday I was chatting with The Mighty Dinsmore via e-mail. I have to do this because he lives in L.A. and is a fancy schmancy writer with fancy schmancy friends and a fancy schmancy wife and, as a result, never returns phone calls. I give him shit for this and tell him he's a horrible friend. Anyway, out of nowhere he says:

D: You get my package yet?
Me: Uh. I guess not. What'd you send me?
D: A thing. A thing that will likely cost you a lot of money and perhaps your sanity.
Me: A Thai hooker?
D: No. I sent you Cthulhu! Enjoy!

My curiosity piqued, I returned home whereupon I was greeted by a large box. Neat! Sorting through the gay pornography that he has cleverly used as packing material I am greeted by a note:

Dearest Friendo -

The next time you have concerns about my loyalty as a friend, please review the attached item.

Love,

Jeffrey


The attached item was:





Awesome! He sent me an advance copy of Neal Stephenson's new book that doesn't go on sale until September 9. I resolve to finish Garrison Keillor's Love Me soon and dive right in. Because I am a gracious person I decide to thank my good friend via text:

Me: Jeff - I am beside myself. I will never doubt your unwavering friendship again. I am giddy. Even though this was likely swag.

Jeff writes me back promptly.

D: It's signed, you prick.

I blink and open the cover. Sure enough, along with a special CD of music created for the novel, is an inscription to me.

I love my friends. Now if you'll excuse me, Neal is going to tell me a story over enchiladas.