“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived.” – Thoreau
Ah, T.J. Monkey’s, my old friend, you still remember. You haven’t changed – a little gray around the temples perhaps, a little frayed at the edges, but still the same old comedy site. Come, let us sit upon the ground a while and tell sad tales of the deaths of kings.
It’s been many months since we parted ways. I remember, you were a bit overwhelmed by my ten-part epic. I understand, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. But I had it in me, don’t you see? And like a literary kidney stone, it had to come out. But then? Well, then we parted ways for a time, didn’t we?
Was it anger? Oh no, old friend, certainly not. True, you had become more brash than I was used to. Religious rap duels, complex voting mechanisms, banner ads, merchandise – no longer were you the church door to my Martin Luther, bearing my tacked up pronouncements silently and without extraneous adornment. But I don’t hold it against you. I left not because of these changes but in spite of them. You were growing up, and I, I was in a rut. And so I went off in search of myself.
Have I changed? Perhaps. Don’t we all with time? You still recognize me, don’t you, T.J.? I knew you would. Whether you wanted to or not, however, I had my doubts. When we parted, I’d said we’d still be friends. But does anyone ever really mean that? We e-mailed, once or twice – just to be polite. But it was idle chatter. You stayed silent when I told you I’d started writing for T.J. Simian’s – but I should have known it was a pale imitation, a rebound. You stood by quietly when I wrote a pilot for the WB about a writer grown disenchanted with his comedy Web site. You knew I was writing about you, but you said nothing – even when they cast a Wayans to play you (and not even one of the good ones). Even when I recorded a new version of “You’re So Vain” with Carly Simon, you smiled politely for the tabloids and declined to comment.
And now here we are. Together once more. The phone rang just the other day as I slept fitfully in a cheap hotel room, yet another comedy Web site in a string of nameless sites snoring loudly beside me. As I shook the haze from my eyes and breathed in the stale smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke, I observed my slumbering companion. Puns, sex jokes, Carrot Top adulation – how low had I sunk? I turned my attention to the insistent phone and croaked a barely audible greeting. Imagine my surprise upon being asked by the reporter at the other end of the phone how it felt to have my Thought on PBS retired in the Hall of Wonders and to find my holiday Thoughts in the Top Ten. I can barely recall my jumbled replies.
Hanging up the phone, I slumped back on my pillow. Oh, T.J. Monkey’s, you haven’t forgotten. My shallow comfort from the night before stirred and flashed a link at me seductively. I shook my head – “Get your things together and leave. I’m going home.” On the train back, I watched the farmland pass by and my thoughts drifted to happier times – Thoughts on Thanksgiving, cheese, and Sandy Duncan.
Well. So here we are. Changed – older, wiser, more experienced, we hope. I’m home now – you know where to find me. We’ll talk again? Good – there are still stories to tell.