Hoping that not nearly as many people fall in love with you this time around. Things get complicated when you’re gone and it’s harder for me to convince everyone that I’m the bigger deal. In any case, I realize that you have quite the fan base here so can you tell NO BODY that you’re coming cause I hate sharing but I hate being second best even more (except I already told everyone cause I got too excited). I forget that you’re not coming here forever but the anticipation sure feels like it, like it does every time and I’ll go into my thirty days of mourning when you leave, like I do every time.
We always make a fuss about not actually sharing blood (although we do share a very erratic B-ness) but imagine how creepy this would be if we actually did. I mean, this is still pretty creepy but it could always be creepier. Also, if we were of the same womb, we’d have to give up either your mom’s cooking or my mom’s clothes and that is a negotiation I am not willing to participate in.
But really, get fat or something.
#fuckyeahacho #comeatme #worth
Emerson College is changing the name of its journalism school to the Ron Burgundy School of Communication (for one day only). It’s kind of a big deal.
(Photo by Frank Masi, Paramount via AP)
It’s ironic because this name completely derives itself from one of our last private jokes together. We had just had dinner together after those dreadful late-night classes and were walking over to my place to read the New York Times cause that was precisely the type of things we did then. The once upon a time super top secret list that I only knew about— your mannerisms and jokes, confidences and insecurities, your different expressions and their meanings— has become radically abridged since the days of your sweet and frequent post-party visits and weird inklings toward Chinese documentaries. I hate that I have to share you with the rest of the world. Yet I tenaciously hold onto the few that still remain solely to me and maybe they will mean something someday. I have twice tried to refill your accompaniment and have twice failed to do so precisely because of that shameful weakness that you and I share in one version or another. In the midst of everyone finally beginning to realize how completely extraordinary you are, I almost forgot how indispensably important you were and are to me.
We’ve been called conceited, stubborn, narrow-minded, foul, hypocritical, arrogant, elitist. Supposedly we assume everyone who is not us has lived lesser lives………..and they are absolutely correct.
We assume we have the sweetest memories, the unluckiest tragedies, and the wittiest catchphrases and if anyone ever gave us the time of day to tell our whole life history, they would agree. But they usually leave around the part where you guys leave me alone under the WORST CIRCUMSTANCES EVER to get French dip sandwiches…………and then we found your entry point and we were all cool.
You guys swear by your underground hip hop and indie electronica but when we’re together it’s always We gon’ run this town and We can’t stop cause We are young………..and like one T-Swift song cause you guys are too preoccupied with your Google Fiber conversation and I’m really slick like that.
We laugh with our enemies and chuckle when work sucks cause this life is only temporary and one day we’ll call the same 100 square feet home. But mostly cause Alex makes fat girls cry and Chris can get in the 405 lane with his eyes closed……..and like sometimes, I’m really bad at texting…
Anyways, if you guys were on the right coast today, it would’ve been the perfect Friday but you’re not so I’m crossing bridges and boundaries in hopes of getting a small taste of home, having the time of my life with the Morgan Freeman and Archer-sounding voices in my head.
14th Street sleeps alone tonight.
Happy Halloween! We hope it’s spooktacular.
In the wake of this awful cold weather, accidentally sending you my resume (which was terrifying, cause you’re going to cure cancer and I’m not) was the best decision ever made in the history of awful cold weather. September was such a treat, October was a dream, and November is going to be better. Here’s to another month of biased memories and making up stories that never happened!