May 1992
Doom came at approximately 7:14 in the p.m. when I got back from belt sanding class and hit the message button on my answering machine. After the usual 2 or 3 messages from my landlord, there was one from Philip Dyer. This is what he said, and I quote, "Is this damn thing on? Christ, I've never heard so many beeps in my life! Well, if this machine's working and you can hear me... beep!" I had the message time set on 30 seconds. When he called back he continued, "Dammit, Spim! Have you got this stupid machine set on 30 seconds again?! Just give me a call when you get in. The number is 0553-23-122... beep!"
After talking to 7 angry Japanese people, I finally got to 1228 -- Phil's number. I reached "Captain Midnight" (as I now call him) while he was in the middle of another "Harper Valley PTA" rerun, the one where the PTA tries to run Barbara Eden out of town.
"Sorry about the message, Spim," he said. "But I've got some bad news for you. Remember that "Pear Leaves" questionnaire I sent out? Well, here are some of the comments about your article: "... not fit to line my bird cage," "... mindless dribble," "I wouldn't read it to my houseplants if it were the last article on earth!"
Well, you little mugginses, I'll spare you the rest, 'cause that's the kind of guy I am. While I'm at it, I'll spare you me as well! I was the anchor that kept the spaceship Yamanashi from drifting away -- but I guess you'll find that out once I cut the chain. Grope your own way through the dark, because this blue beacon of light has just gone out! You'll be sorry when I'm gone, and so will I -- sorry that I won't hear all of your bitching and complaining about how difficult life is without a spiritual guide. Some call the place I'm going "Valhalla". Other's call it the "Happy Humping (sp?) Grounds". I just call it my own private Idaho. And now as the dull light begins to flicker and fade and the shadows dance on this mess I've made, I leave you with this -- bye bye.