Take Me To Your Leader

On the set of The Monkees

Download the full Draper here newsletter
in printable, live-link, pdf format, here.

Hi, it’s me, the Lone Bomber. Thought I’d better check in before the rumors circulate.

My not having appeared in person in the recent newsletters has caused some bombers to speculate on my whereabouts. A creative and sympathetic bunch, their list of possible locations include the state pen, county asylum, city sanitarium, downtown homeless shelter, the local lost and found department, Potter’s Field, the pound, the dump and old Charlie’s Down-the-Hatch Saloon.

Seriously! What would I do at the dump? A recycling center, maybe, but the dump? No way!

Alas, as a writer of sorts, I’m quickly becoming obsolete. No more adjectives, flowery phrases, metaphors or streams of thought these days; a single letter or two, a phonic hint, the barest wordless outline embellished with a deeply emotional smiley-face and thumbs-up says it all. Communication has gone the way of the Studebaker, pegged pants, jobs, lean bodies, morals, responsibility and respect... c ya ltr... :)

Though it was noted four weeks ago in the ‘Alligator’ issue that I was straying for a month and Laree was certain to supply reruns to maintain rhythm and pace, many in today’s glance-and-text mode missed the message.

Yeah, well... whatever. I’m back.

Since we have some 720 newsletters in our archives (jam-packed with secrets, exotic information and spine-tingling inspiration), my extended workforce and I have agreed with popular demand to revisit those golden historical messages. Like old dumbbells, they need to be lifted again and again if their worth is to appreciated.

Their relevance need no accentuation, but I shall preface each dusty recollection with a brief word, like a pulse, to provide life and breath.

How quickly a month on the stray goes by. Straying can be exhausting. You’re surrounded by life, aimless and target-free, expending much too much time tripping over, noting, inspecting and memorizing worthless trivia and minutia.

“I’ll have two hunky, 25-pound buckets of trivia, chatter and nonsense, please, thank you.” If the futile detritus came in handy portions, had mass and weight, at least you could lift the stuff and build muscle, health and character while entertaining or distracting yourself.

Stray not, lest you lose your south star, shape and strength, speed and satisfaction, serratus and sacroiliac and supersets.

Onward to those grand ole days gone by.



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