Dear Dan,

I hope the Atlanta weather is treating you nicely, in fact it is probably cooler than it is here in Michigan. We’ve been graced (read: punished) with 90 degree days here in central Michigan, and frankly I don’t know what to do with myself. I am not prepared for this kind of weather. The leaves are changing, but I’m sweating buckets and this disturbs me. As a fellow life long Michigander I’m sure you can relate: THIS IS NOT NORMAL. But whatever WILB, WILB right?

Anyway, now that we’ve gotten the awkward weather small talk out of the way, school is just as you would expect. Long days followed by equally long nights because I didn’t get as much done as I had hoped, and then comes the weekend. That fickle fickle weekend with all of its festivities–and still you don’t get everything done that you wanted to get done. Regardless of that, though, I am doing wonderful (even though there has been some sarcasm preceding this I am being sincere…no really I am).

The process of finding time to write is still just that, a process. But we are making it work.    Tomorrow is JMC Madhouse which will be exciting, even though I am a little bit nervous. Regardless, I am going to go and I am going to share and it is going to be amazing damnit!

This is the part where we get a little sentimental. I miss your cooking, and just generally your presence in the kitchen. The moving to and fro knowing exactly what your doing next, as if cooking was a chess game and the opponent was the unknowing recipient that will get their queen taken in two turns after having eaten your food and will need a drink and a nap afterward to recover from such an ass kicking (did that chess analogy make sense? Share the piece if you think it didn’t).

I’m sure the folks in Atlanta are loving the food that you grace them with and with all the humor they get to witness without paying a dime (those bastards). Keep doing your think my friend and keep moving forward. The world doesn’t stop for any of us and we shouldn’t stop for the world.

Keep it groovy,

Titchell Mimmerman

P.S. ….and it was good