The only card for me is The Jack of Spades, The Jack of Spades
I love getting messages, as they validate my existence. I particularly love old-fashioned messages. Even emails count in that category these days; as communication becomes ever more instant, getting a long email from a friend is a quaint treat, like a ride on a steam train or contracting a dose of smallpox.
By the same token, to receive something through the post now amounts to a quasi-mythical thrill, as exciting as riding a magic carpet with Aladdin or being burnt at the stake for being a witch.
So imagine my glee when, instead of pizza menus (and don’t get me wrong: I find these exciting too), my mailbox received an envelope stuffed with these lovely tokens:
What could it possibly mean? And who is this mysterious SHG. I’m being coy – I have an inkling that these cards will serve as invites to a party. Generally I’m terrified of parties, but the person who I think is behind this invite is known to put on brilliant parties. I’ll put my fears to one side and drink myself to sociability.
But will I have to dress as a card? If so, I’m going as Lemmy from Motorhead.
~ by jamboshoeshine on October 5, 2009.