Letters From Your Basement Brother

September 30th, 2008

2008-09-29T11:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Justin,

I learned a new dance from your cat Norm yesterday. I call it “Cat Scat Scootie Boogie.” The dance involves scooting your butt against the floor (preferably carpeted, uber-preferably my carpet) to try to get the dangling poop off. Not only is it fun, it leaves a nice streak so you can see just where your dancing/scooting took you. Kind of like this. Only in poop. Everybody Dance!!

Love,
Travis

September 18th, 2008

2008-09-18T19:03:00.000-07:00

Am I Your Cat?
An Essay By Travis (your brother)

As your brother who lives in the basement, I have gotten to know your cats very well. Their names are Storm and Norm. Storm is kind of fat and Norm licks himself and runs around a lot. They come into the basement where I live sometimes because they both have litter boxes down here. They don’t like me around when they use them. I think I am like your cats because we have many similarities.
One similarity is that we all eat a lot during the day. Sometimes Storm and Norm meow very loudly because they are hungry, even though they just ate. Sometimes my stomach growls loudly and tells me to put cookies or other baked stuffs in it. Your cats are very happy when they eat. Eating makes me smile. Maybe I learned how to have a catppetite from Storm and Norm.
Another similarity is that we like to lay around. Sometimes Storm lays down in the middle of the room and she is like an island in the ocean or a boulder on Mars. Norm likes to lay on objects like he is a big old cat blanket. Sometimes he hides things by laying on them. I like to lay on things too. Mostly beds and couches and blankets and stuff. Sometimes I lay on things and then I can’t find them because I’m laying on them and then I feel them and I say to myself, “I’m laying on it, that’s where it is.” Maybe when I’m laying around I turn into a cat, except I don’t know it because I can’t see myself laying around.
One difference between your cats and me is that I like to listen to rock and roll music very loudly. When I listen to rock and roll music very loudly Norm starts licking himself and then he runs upstairs. Storm just squints her eyes at me and waddles away. I don’t think they like records very much. Maybe being a cat means you just want to listen to quiet music that makes you hungry and feel like lying around a lot. Kind of like pop country music.
I guess in conclusion I have many similarities to your cats but I also have differences. I think that if cats could learn to love rock and roll, I could learn to be a cat. But until that day your cats will have to put up with loud music and I will have to stay away from them when they use their litter boxes. Maybe we could set up loud rock and roll music right by their litter boxes and then we could “scare the crap out of them.” But we are a family and I don’t want to scare them. SINK TIME!!

September 11th, 2008

2008-09-11T17:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Justin,

Today I read this: "Moses slaughtered it and took some of its blood and put it on the lobe of Aaron's right ear, and on the thumb of his right hand and on the big toe of his right foot." Then I shaved and found that I have a little yellow bruise underneath my left eye. I listened to some Joe Ely and learned that coffee first originated as a spiritual drink and was often substituted for alcohol during religious ceremonies. Except for the Mormons. Joseph Smith wrote in the Word of Wisdom that "hot drinks are not for the belly." What are they for then Joe?

Love,
Travis

September 3rd, 2008

2008-09-03T15:52:00.001-07:00

Dear Justin,

Today I applied for a job. I also ate Mike n’ Ikes and biked a bunch. Do you think I should get padded biker shorts, or is that just not okay? I’m having a hard time discerning between what’s practical and fashion faux pas down here in the basement. We have our own rules. See, I’m even referring to myself as “we.”

…I need a job.

Love,
Travis

September 2nd, 2008

2008-09-02T17:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Justin,

Do you like dancing? It seems to me that as children of our father, awkward dancing is as much a part of our genetic makeup as Domino’s Pizza, doughnuts, and MacGyver. Do you remember our dad dancing around the house to Lionel Ritchie’s Dancing on the Ceiling? The reason I’m bringing all of this up is to rationalize my own basement bedroom dance sessions. You’ve probably been hearing a lot of Bruce Springsteen Live: ’75 - ’85 recently. It’s the perfect air-guitar album. Don’t worry, I’m still filling out applications, but a guy needs a break every once in awhile. And what better way to break than to dance up a storm. Okay, it might sound a little weird to you. I mean, I am dancing by myself to records in my bedroom, and I’m 26. But it’s in our blood! There’s something about it that makes my day just a little bit brighter (although it might just be the occasional flickering of the lights down here). So if you hear the records playing and my door is shut, please remember to knock. Otherwise you might accidentally catch me in the midst of a guitar-solo strut, and if you have the same memories of our father dancing that I do, you know how awkward that might be. Don’t worry, I promise to stay far, far away from jazz hands!

Love,
Travis

September 1st, 2008

2008-09-01T19:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Justin,

Here’s the scoop on life in the basement on Labor Day 08. My day began with your wife hitting me with the side door. Don’t worry, it wasn’t an act of wanton aggression (I haven’t been living with you that long), it was my own fault. I had just taken a shower and was walking through the kitchen towards the basement when I heard her start to open the door. I was shirtless. My awkwardness sensors registered a high potential, and I experienced what I’m sure you’ve experienced at least once in your life: SHIRTLESS PANIC! So to avoid an awkward, close-quarters, half-naked encounter, I threw myself in front of the door in order to escape into the basement. Which is when I got nailed. I sacrificed my tender, just-washed, rosy pink belly to save face. Luckily my belly is a seasoned veteran of violence (we’ve had El Mezcal how many times since I’ve been back in Wisconsin??!), and it absorbed the blow like your cats absorb food. In retrospect the pain was worth it, the whole situation has inspired me to do more sit-ups. Maybe by next year I will be comfortable having a basement-parade of my new PATRIOTIC ABS OF LABOR 2009!!

Love,
Travis