A Letter to Ike Ufomadu

Dear Ike,

I’ve been an esteemed audience member for the better part of my adult life, and never in all my years of attending live performances have I received the care, respect, and honor you showed me at Amusements.

I knew I was in good hands well before I took my seat in the theater. As I waited in the lobby for the show to begin, I read the introduction you wrote for Amusements and a wave of relief washed over me — finally, an entertainer with my best interests at heart. There are countless competitors fighting for my attention, time, and money, and I felt confident that I made the right decision that night by choosing to attend your show.

After finding my seat in the theater, I eagerly awaited the house lights to dim. “How exactly will he amuse me tonight?” I wondered. It dawned on me that everyone else in the audience must be wondering the same thing. They read the same introduction I read. They’ve been promised the same night of entertainment as I have. I gasped when I comprehended the weight of the task in front of you — to amuse not just me but everyone in the audience. That’s a promise only the boldest entertainers are willing to make.

The amusements began when the house lights dimmed and you entered in a trenchcoat, hat and scarf, pretending to be an audience member searching for his seat. When you took off your outerwear to reveal a pristine tuxedo underneath, I wanted to cry. Here before me was a real entertainer, a true professional who dresses for the occasion, who treats his job with the gravity and respect that it demands. I knew in my heart that you were going to fulfill your promise to entertain and amuse us, hell or high water, god be damned. And you proved me right.

Now, as much as I would love to recount every bit from Amusements that amused me, I recognize that you would find that quite tedious. Based on the memorization skills you displayed, you know exactly what you said and did, and surely you recall all the laughter it elicited. So, what I would like to focus my attention on for the remainder of this letter is to sing your praises. (I am not a trained vocalist, so I apologize for any imprecisions.)

You are a rare performer with a talent so potent and impossible to deny that I am willing to wager my life on the following: you have never left an audience member disappointed. I am not being hyperbolic when I say that. I cannot fathom someone watching you perform and not being thoroughly entertained. It is an absolute delight to watch you. You are such a skilled vocalist, wordsmith, and actor, and you weave those skills so masterfully into your comedy. And while you are very measured, calculated, and methodical, you also leave yourself plenty of room to be spontaneous and improvisational. It’s a wonderful combination that you balance so well. It means your performances are always unique, always allowed to evolve and change as they unfold. Few comedians can pull that off, and no one does it quite like you. It is very inspiring to watch.

I’d like to conclude this letter with a passage from one of my favorite books, but, unfortunately, I cannot find my copy of it. I will get it to you as soon as possible, weather permitting.

Signed,
Ana Fabrega
(I hope I spelled that correctly.)

P.S. On the off-chance that the privacy of this letter is compromised and it finds its way into the hands of an unknown reader, I ask that you please deny any knowledge of its existence. I am forbidden by law to write letters after a jury found me guilty of “exploiting a very limited supply of language.” I am currently appealing the decision. I appreciate your cooperation.