Sunday, November 28, 2004


Dear Audrey,

Wow. Ahem. So I'm...umm, sorry to bother you. I hope it's cool that I'm writing. I realize that you must get mail like this all the time. I mean, you are a most inspiring face, attached to a most glorious head, sitting on top of a long, porcelain neck. That face could melt precious metals with a mere glance. Those chocolate pupils gaze longingly like brown pearls plucked from the mouths of oysters. Let us celebrate your hair in all its simplicity! Yes. Let us! It is brown and fallen like the leaves of autumn. There is nothing special about your hair, which in turn makes it even more special. The fingers that have run through the silken strands on your head are envious fingers. In fact, fingers everywhere wish to be those fingers, to have found their way through your flaxen follicles. And the skin you possess; like the milky smoothness of the sweetest creams imported from countries that are too difficult to pronounce. How do you say that again, I would ask? And the merchant would laugh. Ha, he would say. It's pronounced 'France.'

Am I being too dramatic here? My apologies, dear Audrey. But you bring out the drama in me. While watching you, I feel a four-act play stir inside of me complete with soliloquies, poetic dialogue, and perhaps a murder or two. Of course, a relative eventually revenges the murder. We know all good plays have a death avenged. If you think about it, I'm right.

But I must restrain myself. It's not healthy to gush as I am. Truthfully, I have admired you since I first saw you. You are that captivating. I am a prisoner of war and you are my ever-watchful guard, holding me in your cell. I cannot escape, no matter how hard I try. I should add that I don't mind this cell, though, because its actually quite comfortable with good taste. Thanks for making this cell so easy to be a prisoner in. Perhaps you should consider decorating alongside acting because I love what you've done with the place. Lovely. Just lovely.

Moroever, I very much appreicate the concept of you. It makes me feel good inside. And so far everything I know about you is consistent with my preconceived image of you. It gives me great hope. Do you hear it? There's a sound outside and it is the sound of hope. It echoes like birds and xylophones and babies laughing and smirking smiles and brewing lattes. It is glorious. Hearken!
Despite the fact that our distance will always remain the way it is now, I thank you nevertheless for being. Yes. Just 'being.'

And that's what this letter is about. It's not a fan letter per se. It's not a boost to your ego (oh, but you need it. Is it possible to believe that someone with your grace and sublimity is still so incredibly modest? Yes it is, I say. Well done, I say).

Audrey, this letter is an appreciation. While we sometimes feel that it's all so uncertain (what is, you ask? well, all of it is), we can look at your face and say 'this person exists. We're ok. Now, let's go get some ice cream.' We are clapping for you. A standing ovation is hard to come by but you earn it with an enviable aplomb. I can only hope to see you more in the future because you have this uncanny ability to inspire with a glance. With that angular and arrow-shaped smirk, you could liight up eighteen cities all in desperate need of light. You are classical music. You are wonderous weather. You are floating air. You defy words...and I am, once again, being dramatic.

Thank you and please, just continue to be.

Best wishes,


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