Alvis Writes A Letter

Dear Mom and Dad:
Hope you are well and things are going well in Hootin Holler. It is nice to hear about all of the going ons there, but it makes me homesick. Perhaps I can come home before the holidays.

I wrote you that I am taking a computer class. It is very interesting, but confusing. I am taking a class called Word class. I guess they call it that because we type a lot with words. If that is the case, why don't they call it Words class. The teacher said that Word is a word processing program. That statement confused me, because I cannot imagine words being processed. They are what they are, and do not need to go through a grinder, polisher, mixer or anything like that. Part of the class also involves what is called keyboarding. The teacher said it used to be called typing class, but did not explain why the name was changed.

In addition to learning to type, part of the class involves working with a thing they call a mouse. Why they call it a mouse is beyond me. It is oval shape and has no feet or ears. It has a little ball underneath, and you push it around and click two keys on top to give the computer directions. When the mouse is moved, it moves an arrow on the computer screen, which is like a television screen, but is not. The arrow is called a cursor. Again, I do not know why the cursor is called a cursor rather than an arrow. Maybe it's because people curse when it doesn't go where they want it to. The TV screen is called a CRT. I do not know the reason for that name either. Boy, they sure have a lot of strange names for things.

Will keep you up to date as I learn more about computers. Tell everyone I said, Hey!
Love,
Alvis

Mama Writes

Dear Alvis:
Things are much the same here in Hootin Holler. It seems every day we feel a bit older. It seems the only things we are able to do more now that we are older is go to the bathroom and attend funerals. Your father says that if he ever had any wild oats, they have turned to shredded wheat. He always did have a dry sense of humor.

Last week we went on a tour of Rybold's chicken farm. It is certainly a big operation, producing both chickens and eggs. Your father asked George Rybold which he thought came first, the chicken or the egg. George said he didn't know. George evidently is not the brains behind the operation. Your father says chickens are the only thing he knows of that you eat after they are dead and before they are born.

Harley Corn is still going to see his psychiatrist, although I wonder if it is doing him any good. No one can convince him that he is not doomed to have bad luck. We have tried and tried, but Harley says his luck is so bad that if he started a cemetary business, people would stop dying.

Lazlo Thomas and his fiance, Soupie, came over last night to visit. They both wanted to show us their new tatoos. Each tatoo said the wearer (I guess you could call the person with the tatoo, the wearer) loved the other person. For the life of me, I cannot understand this fascination with tatoos on the part of younger people today. I wonder if they ever saw what tatoos look like on older people. That's not a pretty thought. In a few years we will have a lot of tatooed older people running around.

Well, must go now because I have to help your father. He stuck his fingers into a pair of chinese handcuffs to see if they worked. They did. Write when you have time.

Love,
Mama