Wednesday, January 10, 2007
(1:38 PM) | Claire:
An Open Letter to Ben Wolfson
Though we live together, our communication has become sporadic at best- and only occurs through comments on this weblog. The intensity of the relationship has dwindled and you now feel foreign to me. This is my last attempt to reach you and to cut through the layers of philosophical discourse with which you insulate yourself. Since you no longer hear me speak, I must blog a bridge over the widening chasm between us. With this letter, I honor what our relationship was and still can be.We met at club Berlin in Chicago, at the Wednesday night Pansexual Pleasuredome. I spotted you across the dance floor, damp, shirtless and gyrating, with a lightstick clenched between your teeth. I longed to feel the stop/start motion of my fingers tracing a path through your knotty Jew-fro. I approached you and said, "Do I know you from somewhere?" in Latin. That night, we became lovers.
For four years we were inseparable- until you decided that it would be a good idea to pursue a PhD in philosophy at the furthest possible university from your Chicago home. I watched you become increasingly distant with every credit hour completed. Instead of working on your tan or your abs, you labored over term papers and discussed ideas with fellow students. You began to wear spectacles, though you never mentioned any vision problems to me. You no longer participated in our evening ritual of devouring Us and People magazines while munching on Baked Lays and Fat-Free Oreos. You became deeply involved with a group of cerebral bloggers and I began to see you only when you flopped down on the futon, exhausted from mental exercise.
When you planned a trip to Germany, I knew you were slipping through my fingers. You never needed to travel before and you prided yourself on your Midwestern sensibility. Suddenly, speaking English wasn't good enough anymore.
I've never felt further from you. Why, my bespectacled muse? Where is my kinky-maned, hard-bodied club buddy? I plead with you to return to your roots and come back to Berlin, whether it be on Madonna night or Women's Obsession. In academia, you're an impostor, at best. Your intellectual facade will soon become transparent and your fellow students will see the superficial party boy aching to resurface. It's only a matter of time- and I can wait for you.
