Dated this day, May the . . . probably about . . .
*stares at stars, counts on fingers*
carry the two . . . about May the 13th, right?


Dear . . . you,



. . . er . . .

remember me

*question mark*


*nervous cough*

. . . um . . .

*smile*


I have a good excuse for why I haven't written you.


You knew I got transferred, right?

Well, it turns out that I really got transferred!


My Good Excuse

My new job sucks.


Here's what I did at work this morning.

I dressed up like a late medieval knight,
got on a late medieval horse

and rode down a late medieval canyon
in the late medieval Alps,
through the late medieval snow
with the other forty-four people
from our business unit

Here's a Typical Afternoon

I mean, OK this afternoon ---

We're all descending

single file


and we've all got hike-brain

--- we're spaced, hypnotized ---

we stopped singing a loooong time ago

we're hearing nothing but mule grunts

the tinkle of chain mail

and the rattle of mortar shell cases


When the whisper comes back up the line

"village"

"village"

"village"

and everyone nervously looks up at the walls of the canyon

for hick town ambushwhackers

who love to rob wandering knights


And Then . . .

. . . we come around the corner
into a village

and the assembled villagers freeze

because

they are in the "middle" of "something"

There Is:

a) a bonfire

b) the men all standing on one side,
the women all standing on the other

c) four rabbits
tied to four stakes
wearing tiny wedding gowns

d) a ceremonial altar

e) a naked old man
in a mountain goat headdress
with a shiny hatchet in his hand

f) an incredibly incredibly incredibly
incredibly incredibly incredibly incredibly
awkward silence.

Then they shot an arrow at me.


Hi there

"Ta-da."

. . . so anyway, um . . .

Hi there.

I'll bet you didn't think you'd be hearing from me again.

But here I am.

*smile*

In a mildewy wool tent

In the dark

On this forbidden secret laptop computer
my buddy Skip got through his "connections"

(we are in deep shit if anyone catches us)
*LOL*


In what will some day be called the Italian Alps

In the year 1368

*pause*



I got transferred Overseas and Overtime

And we're not supposed to have e-mail.

that's my excuse

*smiles*

It's good to see you again.

Now, for the Important Stuff

For the last 24 hours
all I've been thinking about is

"What am I going to tell her when I get
my 15 minutes on the laptop?

(we all have to share this computer
and everyone's dying to write home)

And I've been thinking about
your reaction
when this shows up
in your e-mail inbox . . .

REACTION A: Bert who?

REACTION B: Oh crap! That little fling I had is back to haunt me?

REACTION C: Yipes, a stalker!

or . . . perhaps . . .

REACTION Z: How nice to hear from Bert . . .


So I have to ask
. . . ahem . . .

Do you Still Like Me?

I . . . um . . . really enjoyed our few days (and nights) together

*blushes*

*looks at the ground*


and I've been thinking about you

NOTE: Thinking about you in a balanced, normal,
not-weird, non-stalkerish, rather-sweet kind of way

*clears throat*

My Hope

and I've rather been hoping

*musters courage*

that you are un-otherwise-romantically-involved


and might want to . . . um . . . see me
when I get back to the 21st century in June
from my idiotic tour of duty in the past


Full Disclosure

Just so you know . . .
I haven't met anyone special back here.

Especially given that she'd be 600+ years old
when I get back to 2002


. . . anyway . .

Whew! There! I said all the hard stuff!



Here's What the Poster On the Wall
of the Coffee Room
at My Old Position Said

"Transfer to the Renaissance for a Year.
Enjoy History First-Hand"


Here's What I Say

Bull-shit.

Renaissance, Schmenaissance!

A.D. 1368 is the Dark Fucking Ages!

(at least up here in the mountains)

Honestly.
It's the Late Medieval Era at best!

Here's What We Do
When Late Medieval Hicks
Shoot Arrows at Us

Regine says "Pull"
and Julio throws something up in the air
like a water jug
and Sharpshooter Sue
(former skeet champion)
goes Kaboom with one of the automatic rifles
we brought with us from the future
and the water jug disintegrates


It worked great this morning

Impressed the villagers

and they let us stay here
south of town


Here's What Our Captain, Regine
Wants People to Call us

The Witch's Company

Here's What People Back Here
Actually Call Us

The Blue Company

The Blind Company

Northern Lances

Dijon Lances

The Company of Eight
(eight? where do they get this shit?)


This is a big problem
because I'm The Marketing Guy

and I'm responsible for the Brand Identity
of our stupid little fighting force

It means more work for me

We're Terrible

As we were tiptoeing out of the village square
so they could continue
whatever [the hell] they were doing

Skip gets a hungry look on his face
and says to me:
"Say folks . . . are you gonna be eatin'
those rabbits? 'Cause, if not . . ."

We're terrible.

Now It's Dark

. . . and our tents are up

and our fires are lit

and Cookie made us boiled millet balls
again
bleccch!

AND I HAVE A MILLION THINGS TO TELL YOU

-- like how I'm going to get to meet the poet Petrarch
(my hero)
-- and about the Quixote Boys, and Goth Kids, and Civil War Nerds
who make up the ridiculous daily costume drama of our company
-- and about my Roman antiquities collection I can't bring back

(not that I'm trying to entice you
to REPLY to me, or anything)

but I have to give up the laptop now

Write Back Only if You Want To


tell me how you're doing, what's been going on

*hoping against hope*

no pressure

*fingers crossed*

under his breath "please, please, please, please, please"


Having a Blast in the Past,
I am
The Man They Call
Berto Alto