Dear Jeff

Dear Jeff,

I would personally like to, on the behalf of all the Indicators, extend our deepest apologies for so obviously rigging the game of Password at the pizzeria last night. We should be ashamed of ourselves to even think that we could cheat someone who so clearly "knows how it is." Because God knows we had everything to gain from the fact that you bought one beer while playing our deviously slanted Password game.

Now that we have apologized, I must say: We got you bitch! You're a little slow on the uptake huh Jeff? We obviously set you up. Last month we held a meeting. We met in a musty warehouse down at the docks in a cigar smoke filled room with one light bulb illuminating the damp and moldy card table that we huddled around as we discussed how to make a fool out you.

I must tell you, when I first laid eyes on the picture in our dossier on you, I defended you. I said, "NO! I don't know this guy Jeff, but I have a good read on him and I think he is a nice guy. By the way there is no way he would even fall for this because he has 'been around.'" Then I said, "And when he exposes us for corrupting the virtuous name of the game Password, don't try and offer him a consolation prize of two free Indicators tickets because he 'does music' and then don't you dare inform him that it's improv comedy and not music because he has 'been doing comedy for years.'" Then I took a second look at your picture and realized you are a total tool and I agreed to be the one directly responsible for the undertaking of our masterful heist that would win us absolutely nothing.

My only wish is that you would have stuck around for just a few more minutes. Right after you left the girl that beat you, changed the one $25 Bearno's Bucks gift certificate into 25, $1 Bearno's Bucks gift certificates. We put them in a pile on the floor and then we all got naked and rolled around in them while simultaneously groaning, "Oh yeah, Jeff's money...Jeff's money." You totally missed it. Well, there's always next month. See you then.

Sincerely,
Matt Gifford
The Indicators

Having Oldness

I turned 29 a couple of weeks ago. Never before have I been made so aware of my age as I have recently. It's the little things that have presented the tell tale signs. My sudden deep interest in grocery store savings. The little yellow Kroger tags are like my own personal sherpa of mercantilism. I am obsessed with my utility bill and Angela Lansbury is starting to become much more appealing.

Maybe it's not that I'm getting old, but maybe it's just that I'm a cheap bastard with a penchant for sassy octogenarians. That would explain all those pubescent "private times" that happened to coincide with Golden Girls reruns.

I know I'm getting old. I know this because I was eating lunch the other day and I ordered a beer. When I was asked for my i.d. I made the statement that is nothing short of obligatory for any 30 or 40 something total douche that hasn't been carded in a couple of years. I did the whole, "Well thank you" thing. God I am such an asshole! The worst part is the fact that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I had no choice in the matter. It came out as natural as an immediate "no" when asked at the age of 21 whether or not you will ever say "well thank you" to a server who just carded you.

I am here to tell you youngins. It will eventually happen to you. You too will become a total douche and there is nothing you can do about it. Merry Fuggin' Christmas, now help me out to my car with my bags won't you?

-Matt