Friday, September 16, 2011

Dear Albrecht VI

 
Albrecht Soothspitz (b. 1347)

Three cheers and a canon-blast! Albrecht is back with another exciting batch of wisdom-encrusted confections that are destined to delight and fortify the lost minds of this lost world. Albrecht has spent the past few months earning a PhD in Economics from Wharton Business school. I kid you not. He's that smart. Enjoy, O seekers of wisdom.

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Dear Albrecht:

When you lived in the Middle Ages, how the heck did you entertain yourself? My cable has been out for two days because of the recent storms and I am about to impale myself on a steak-knife. If I didn't have my iPhone, I would be dead by now. I mean, what did you do -- look at trees and stuff? It must have sucked.

Signed,
DE-CABLED

Dear De-cabled:

Now that you mention it, I did do a lot of staring at trees. You'd be surprised what you see after awhile, you needy cur.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albecht:

I recently discovered that my wife had a brief career as a star in, shall we say, "less-than-reputable" movies, when she was in her early twenties. My friends and I attended a bachelor party and, much to my surprise, in the film we were watching, well, there was my wife and the pizza guy and my wife had no money with which to pay for the pizza and . . . well . . . you know.

Should I bring this up, or just let it go?

Signed,
SHOCKED

Dear Shocked:

I think you might be overlooking something rather important here: There is immorality afoot. I know you didn't elaborate, but if she didn't have the money with which to pay, then the chap ought to have refused to hand over the pizza. If he gave it to her, regardless, then he is dishonest. She had an obligation to provide some form of payment. If she took the pizza without contributing something of worth to the pizza fellow, then she is to blame, too . . . it's all quite shady, if you ask me.

Honestly, I wonder if you haven't married a woman who is less than honorable.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

My wife is fat. Really fat. "Rotund" doesn't cover it. To be honest, she's like a globe with legs. (Oddly, her legs are incredibly skinny.) I just can't take it anymore. I can't get her to lose weight. She eats all day and watches TV. How can I motivate her?

Signed,
I FEEL LIKE THE ONE IN THE NUMBER TEN

Dear One:

Back in the days when we were allowed to beat our wives with a stick not thicker than our thumb (the old "rule of thumb"), this would have been a simple response. Sadly, wives today seem to be sort of touchy about that sort of thing, so we need to take a more psychological approach.

Get a goodly supply of lumber and make the doorways to the kitchen smaller so that she cannot pass through. If you are a good woodworker, you may be able to do this un-noticeably, so that she simply feels that her dimensions have exceeded those of the doorway opening as a result of her own gluttony. The lesson, there, ought to become self-evident.

If all of this seems excessive and deceitful to you, simply tell her you will always love her, even if she chooses to remain girthsome, and get on with your life together. My dear-departed wife, Brunhilde, was delightfully plump and we were quite happy.


Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I truly feel manners are lost in our day and age. Kids are obnoxious and no one knows the meaning of "formality" anymore. For instance, when I went to the symphony last week, I was looking at those around me. There were people there in jeans and casual shirts. Imagine! Women had on pants and not dresses. In the row in front of me, a fellow was leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed in front of him. Even in the opera boxes, I saw people -- mostly young people -- in T-shirts, leaning over with their chins on their hands just gawking at the musicians. No decorum whatsoever. No sense of propriety. It used to be a night at the symphony meant being on one's best behaviour and in one's finest clothes -- sitting up straight, for heaven's sake. I'm sure you will share my disappointment in people these days.

Signed,
OLD FASHIONED FELLOW

Dear Old-Fashioned,

I don't know. It seems to me these people you would choose to label as boorish were all doing something you weren't: listening to the music. The show's on the stage, Emily Post. Why don't you just set up a chair behind the percussionists, next time, and face what you are really interested in: other people's business?

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

My husband really overreacts to stuff, especially when we are watching television or movies and I tell him that I think an actor is "hot" or if I look at a hot guy in a bar as he walks by. He gets all bent out of shape. I don't see why he is so jealous. Do you think he has a confidence problem? Maybe he is uncomfortable with his manhood. He has issues, I think.

I don't understand why he acts like this. Please help.

Signed,
PUZZLED

Dear Puzzled,

Yes, you do see why he is so jealous. Yes, I do think he has a confidence problem. I also think it is your fault and I think you understand, completely, "why he acts like this." And I think you like it.

Have him write to me and I'll give him some advice you won't like.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht:

I'm a senior in high school now and so is my girlfriend, but she still won't sleep with me. I think it is ridiculous. we have been together for three years, now. I mean, I love her to death, but I'm thinking of breaking up with her. I mean, she is the best girlfriend in the world -- funny, smart, loves sports, never complains when I go out with my friends -- but how long do I need to wait? I'm the only one of my friends who hasn't "done it" yet. It's getting ridiculous.

Signed,
BEYOND READY

Dear Beyond,

I think it oddly prophetic that people in twenty-first century America talk so much about loving each other "to death" and that so few do love anyone until death. Or does that mean that you love your significant others so much that it is killing them? Either way, few of you make it until death do you part, so something is wrong.

Now, why don't you do yourself a favor and take this opportunity to realize that you and your friends live in a room full of rock-candies, among which you have found a diamond. While your friends glut themselves with the sweetmeats, you possess the only thing that is likely to last after the celebrations and the melting summers. 

If you want to toss your jewel away, don't blame me. Or her. Don't be a mindless satyr.

Albrecht.
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Dear Albrecht,

Boxers or briefs?

Signed,
CURIOUS

Dear Curious,

I wear robes. Never saw the need either way. Freedom!

Albrecht.

4 comments:

  1. Hazaah and hooray to social commentary and the definitive answer to the boxers vs. briefs question!

    Albrecht is the man.

    --Papi

    ReplyDelete
  2. I am amazed Albrecht knew what pizza was!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh, it's all pizza and Nintendo Wii with him. One taste of each and he was hooked. Now, if I could only get him to operate a computer so that I don't keep having to transcribe his replies from vellum and quill manuscripts . . .

    ReplyDelete