You have to stop texting me right now, J.L., or we'll never meet up tonight! In a few hours we will be spilling ourselves on the city sidewalks and messing up the floors with all sorts of watered down, overpriced birthday shots!!! I'm typing out the first draft of your birthday card on my laptop then plan to write it out on a wacky birthday card. You probably won't even read this version or I may decide to just write “You're old now, kiddo!! Happy B-Day.”
I forgot my laptop charger at my apartment, 45 minutes away from where I am. I'm at a god-awful coffee shop, one which employs an arrogant hipster barista who has inexplicably messed up my Americano. How did the freedom-hater mess up an Americano, you ask? No time to explain. We are against the clock, blue eyes. According to this icon at the bottom of my desktop I have 1 hour and 9 minutes before this machine shuts down!
March 4th, 2008
Dear Jenny Lewis,
“I don't know” is the phrase I've heard you pensively utter and delicately mutter the most in our two years of acquaintance. When spending a lot of time with someone, one’s indifference or indecision will usually lead to the other’s annoyance and ultimate exodus. However, I don't plan on leaving; it’s too brilliant being around you, bud. What's unique about you is that you do know exactly what you want. Unlike your contemporaries, you are continually focused on what you want and who you want to be. It would be somewhat accurate to define your perennial demeanor as chill, laid-back, relaxed, or “chil-laxed” but those terms insinuate that you are a detached and unconcerned person as far as life goes.
But you not knowing isn't a sign of apathy, it's a badge of digression to the temporary. You don't know, but you do care. Some examples to bluster my contrived and convoluted thoughts are as follows: be it responses on where you would like to dine (“I don't know, something not greasy, I didn't make it to the elliptical today,” or, “I don't know, I'm losing weight and my butt, so something greasy.”), or declarations about celebrities and why you love them (“I don't know, I really like her [Rachel Bilson], she's just so cute.”), or the evening’s entertainment (“I don't know, let's watch something sad -- Wanna watch The Notebook again?”). I'm positive that you are always unsure about right now, J Lewis.
49 minutes left!
Well what do we positively know? You and the TV viewing audience of Jon and Kate Plus Eight know that raising kids is tough, unless they are adorable half-white/half-Asian, “Rugrat-esque” sextuplets, and then it's impossible.
Every astute-eyed twenty-something female is aware that you look stunning in a pair of skinny jeans, coordinated with grandiose jewelry and a loose, solid color tank top.
I know indie-rock deity Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes, makes you happy when you’re sad, sad that you’re not happy, and happy that you’re not sad anymore. Amen!
We know that everyone misunderstands you, which is the cause of your crying on command.
All sudoku puzzles know you’re coming for them and that you plan to solve their problems.
The contents of your over-sized purses are hip to the fact that you are probably going to lose them at some point.
Caribou Coffee baristas understand that when they see your hoop nose ring, it's time to make a pain in the ass mocha concoction.
Turk and pretty much the rest of us know that J. D. and Elliot should be together and this whole “will they end up together?” question will have you waiting with bated breath for the May 16th season finale.
Your four walls and your record player know that Rilo Kiley makes you dance carelessly and effortlessly all by your lonesome. My text message inbox fully expects that at least once a month, you are going to break down and need to talk to me at 4 A.M.
Your Motorola RAZR V3 is sharp and knows the skinny of your mission objectives, once you've had five vodka-cranberry beverages in a span of two hours...drunk texting time!
Every Flaming Hot Cheeto will defend its home (the bag) against you by utilizing its only defense mechanism of, turning your fingers and lips orange to no avail. They know the entire colony will be lost.
All pajama-outfits that I've lent you when you've spent the night are keen to that fact that in all likelihood, they will be borrowed and never returned. (I want my basketball shorts back! The one's with the Chicago Cubs logo on the bottom of the left leg. Do you know how hard it is to find a pair of basketball shorts with a baseball teams logo on them? Why do you still have them? They are the least flattering article of clothing that a girl could wear).
Sorry, I got lost in the details, back to the point.
26 minutes till shut down!!
Every two months or so, after we engage in an argument, you'll bring up the idea of you wanting to end up with me romantically. It is a debilitating trump card when you so choose to use it. Almost always, I withdraw my contentions -- though it's been some time since we've dated each other, my emotions towards you have yet to expire. Some may call this left-of-center relationship we maintain “pathetic,” “unhealthy,” “masochistic,” “back-up planning at it's worst,” or simple cowardice, but I think “genuine” is more appropriate.
I've felt all those adjectives about us at different points, but isn't that the point? Isn't this what a mature friendship or relationship is supposed to be? Continually challenging complacency so that one can be happy and better off in the future? Building towards something we can't enjoy now but will ultimately house us later? Are we just priming ourselves with enough hurt to shelter our frames so that we have something chip away at till we’re old and gray? I don't know. I'm realistic, and understanding. Although I could care less of the details of you and your current beaus, it's comforting to know that your hands are being held. I mean that. It's hard to be sincere in your ex-girlfriend’s birthday card when the text deviates from a “you” to an “us”, but I selfishly feel it's necessary to show you are cared for. I don't plan on painstakingly sticking around until the wrong person leaves you at the right time for me. I'll continue to take out girls too cultured and too pretty for me, because it passes the time. However, no successful creator of anything got where they were because they spent most their time hooking up with or misleading potential lovers. Until you find something that is your life, you'll toil in your work and incidental friendships. That's not life.
You aren't my life now, but per chance you will be, if the time’s right for both of us. Perhaps until then, I'll indulge in a brunette schoolteacher or two who feign interest in art. And as far as personal growth goes – at the elementary level, she's just a time passer. Speaking of which...
15 minutes to go.
This is the age of 'right now'. Our world is one of express buses, search engines, and clicking on MP3s by name to hear the song right away. As you stand here on your 21st birthday, you’re clearly old-fashioned. Your love for walks isn't shared by the rest – you can still take them, just be sure to get out of everyone’s way when they have to catch the southbound #50 Damen.
Who needs to see the beauty of the downtown Harold Washington library in person, when you can just ask Yahoo to see some pics? Be sure to hide those archaic vinyl records that put you at ease, because they’ve got iPods now to match your every mood. In this period you’re either “Live, Breaking News,” or dead, buried in the commas. To them you're yesterday’s newspaper, J.L.
Sadly, virtually nobody reads today’s paper, unless a blogger tells them to. I love trying to read you, though. Sure, at times you are as irritating as the potential paper cuts I may sustain, but I'm going to keep reading. Don't let their need for 'right now' rush you anywhere, young lady – enjoy your stroll down your concealed path. If you live by their deadlines, life's just a timeline. Let yourself get lost in the details, and you'll find the real point. Point being, you got the right idea about life, kid – your own.
8 minutes!
I sincerely mean this when I say, “I don't know anyone more deserving of being happy than you.” It's been such a pleasure getting to know the different types of Jenny Lewis over the last 25 months. I've heard all your gripes and complaints, your questions, I’ve heard your loving words, and I'm so excited to see you grow. I'm grateful that you've inspired me to punch walls with frustration. I answer your phone calls with grand anticipation. And you’ve taught me to quit being so hard on someone who just wants to be loved. I owe you so much.
Alas, I'm afraid I can't repay, because all I can offer are words that you've outgrown. I'm aware that a birthday card can only be so genuine, that's why I ask you to read this again six weeks from now, when no one is going out of their way to let you know how stunning you are. I've never been able to overcome myself, but watching you do so, makes me want to try (great, this card went from being about you, to us, and then predictably to me... selfish doesn't describe this act enough).
I don't know Jenny Lewis, I guess in awe of you.
Fondly,
Donny
Author’s note (again):
I saved the letter to my desktop and turned off the computer, 140 seconds before it was set to self-shut down...
I met up with Jenny Lewis for some pre-drinking at her apartment, where I handed her a birthday card that only read: “You're old now kiddo, Happy B-Day”
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