Andrew J. Lederer

Hey Mr. Lederer,

I'm getting a tortured Dylan Thomas vibe about you lately. Well, OK, that's not the only vibe, but as I've only read this magnificent Blog since mid Nov. of '07 the "tortured" thing was something I had to approach being that you've seemed that way throughout, albeit with scattered glimpses of poignant bliss be they abstract or fleeting.
(The "pseudo Sunday" outing with Elise(still a bit tortured because it wasn't REALLY a proper Sunday outing with a Lady whiles other couples were out and about)turned in to a wild impressionist painting as you sipped the wine and tried to MAKE it a Sunday, rued the thought that it WASN'T a Sunday, whiles torturing yourself about your day before condition of Edgar Poesque squalor that negated an actual Sunday outing happening(And now admitting that it couldn't have happened anyway because the 1/2 priced Salmon plate for two coupon wasn't offered till Monday.)but still yet treasuring those moments, and yes, negating them out of a resigned defeat to a rejection gremlin that's taken the Bridge and ordered the good ship U.S.S Lederer scuttled to avoid being jilted by the lovely and intelligent Elise Harris.

This here Blog thing of yours is as cool as Elise Harris' YouTube meandering Vlog thingy. The both of you are smarter than anyone I know, and leave most readers/viewers in a cloud of dust when it comes to restlessness and the parenthetic nuances you both banter as you both expose unashamedly to the Internet your respective toils and plight and fears.

Elise probably never will post a synopsis of what of what she exactly wrote back during last November's "Nano Novel" thing along with a perhaps 1500 word excerpt, and for that crime I privately curse her as a manipulative Welsh Wench even though I don't mean it.
Nope, she don't owe it to her fans that cheered her on, and if asked to do so she'd invariably say her effort was rubbish and nothing more than an exercise in discipline, and not finished, so why bother. No danger of an end game from her Fans happening like her possible employ at the Peckham Library did, turning in to another rejection. Nope, she rejected it.

Try to avoid going down an in like road like that, Mr. L. No matter what your insecurities, try NOT to across the board reject yourself; for in the final analysis you're all you have, and it might be only YOU that's there to throw you a life preserver someday.
And this coming Nov. she'll probably point out to her viewers that those 50,000 and some odd words have remained untouched or reviewed in a tucked away folder and/or PC memory card, and none of us will beg to see some of it; for we know better.

But you sir got me thinking that you're a Harvard Ph.D professor that was canned or something like that. Couldn't take the crap from The Man, didn't back down, and somehow ended up at a cafe table on a pseudo Sunday outing with a cute UK lassie during an interlude of your quest to find an audience in London.
It's melancholy yet noble somehow, and I keep thinking some book/film will come out of the whole thing yet, complete with oily skin chafing woes, her mother's mention of your ample tummy, and Elise's valiant run for a proper Bobbie to stop a fight on the bus.
To myself it's Vonnegut like stuff, really! And I hope stuff works out.
But if a solid and steady union with Elise doesn't come about don't let it kill you. For indeed she is a unique jewel worth suffering the pangs of wanted courtship/unrequited love over if there ever was one. And no matter what happens you will know it is a REAL love in your heart, and not one to be diminished and sullied with spite should there end up no physical love scenes. Don't torture yourself good man. Enjoy those fleeting Sundays on a Monday while you can, and realize that it takes two to tango.

-Sonney Dey
http://www.myspace.com/sonneydey