today, in the midst of The Week From Hell (ie. the storm before the three week recuperative calm), the Favorite Writer responded to my plea for last-minute emergency article assistance with the following: "you know i'd walk the world over for any blade of grass you wanted." this is the same Favorite Writer who last week, when approached to write another last-minute emergency full-page article based on approximately three sentences worth of material, coined a new universal writers motto: "have pen, will bullshit." these are but a few examples of why he is the Favorite Writer.
the Favorite Writer and i should be the bestest of friends. we write the wittiest of emails and vent about the stupidest of stupidities and mercilessly mock melodramas of our own making. but alas, the Favorite Writer and i are socially retarded. behind the pen, on the paper we exhude charisma, confidence, charm. in our three face-to-face meetings, that was all lost amidst the stammering, hand-wringing and painful pauses. maybe that's the sad side of self-aware awkwardness. the knowing the great conversations that could be had if only the words didn't have to be internally repeated twenty-seven times before making their way out of your head.
then again, if someone i'd met three times leaned over a glass of punch at a networking function and said "you know i'd walk the world over for any blade of grass you wanted," i'd pull some ghastly face and avoid him like the plague. but reading what the Favorite Writer said made me feel like a much-beloved grand and witty editrix. yes, we do only really have the one writer, but he's the Favorite. and he would walk the world over for any blade of grass i wanted. and that's rather sweet.