That's it. I'm done

I've had it with the 365 project. It was fun for a time, I was stoked about it when it started, but now it's gotten to be more of a burden for me than anything. Sooooo, I'm done. I will not reach 365 people and I'm okay with that. Sorry if you were looking forward to my tribute to you. But there it is. God, that feels so much better.

365 # 153: Emily A.

You were one hell of a pun spinner, so much so that you could hold your own in any pun battle, a routine you engaged in on several occasions during rehearsals for the plays we were in together. Only a fool would dare approach with inferior punning skills. Beneath your sweet goofy exterior was the soul of a vicious competitor. Pun at your own risk.

I remember at the end of one show we were in, I was supposed to pick up your lifeless body, throw you over my shoulder, deliver a non-sensical monologue to the audience, roar, smack you on the ass, then march proudly off stage. The crowd responded so well that I got excited and I think I smacked you a bit harder than necessary. Sorry about that.

365 # 152: Les Sr.

We called you Looney Toons and your son Tiny Toons because you were both kind of nuts. You both had beards and long scraggly hair, yours gray and wiry and probably home to small birds, his red and poofy. Your brand of crazy was harmless enough that you could be trusted to teach young boys how to shoot guns. Not that the requirements for such a post are all that stringent.

Among your many quirks, I remember this one the clearest: you and I were scheduled to stand on the dinner serving line the same night every week. And every week, you made a point of always serving the broccoli just so that you could bark at the top of your weezy old lungs, "Treeeees! Getcher treeeeees here!" It never got old to you. If you have a flying fuck what anybody else thought of you, it never became apparent. Your fuck-all attitude is something I aspire to.

365 # 151: Mark G.

I'll say this much for you, Mark. Your whole sleazebag-in-training routine made working in a mailroom much more entertaining than it would have been otherwise. You were so over the top with it, what with the political corruption you planned to participate in, the myriad ideas you had for screwing future clients, the various ways you claimed to have degraded any number of women and planned to keep on doing, it was easy to see the whole thing as some kind of performance art. Perhaps it was my way of coping with the fact that you existed. Every now and then, I would remember that the shit coming out of your mouth was not at all bullshit and become truly worried for the future of the planet. And you were smart enough to know that it's not the guy out front who calls the shots, it's the faceless ones hanging back in the shadows. And that's where you planned to be. You had the will, the resources, and seemed to lack only a diploma. Where ever you are, I'm sure you're rich, and I'm sure you're scheming.

365 # 150: Courtney W.

The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like Dana Delaney. I just looked at her on imdb and realized that the resemblance isn't as strong as I thought. At the time, I thought it was a good thing, complimentary even, but when I happened to mention it out loud, you seemed disappointed. Who did you want to look like?

The summer after I met you at UT, I was working at camp, and you sent me a letter. It arrived one day in a pink envelope, written on pink stationary in loopy girly handwriting. I don't even remember what it said, only that it made my day. Getting a letter in a pink envelope is much more exciting than any email could ever be.

365 # 149: William T.

You told me that your mom worked at Tenneco. I found this utterly confusing since your mom was this proper little British woman who would not have looked out of place taking tea with the queen. I simply couldn't picture her wearing overalls with her name embroidered on the front, pumping gas and wiping windows. Later I figured out that you meant she worked in a tall building downtown, not some gas station on the corner. You were the first kid I knew who used words like "maaaan" and "dude." I told you that only cool people were supposed to use words like that, and you declared "I am! I am cool!" So awesome to have been so sure of your own coolness by first grade.

365 # 148: Eric

I was there when you bought your first lottery ticket ever, which won you $40. That accursed ticket was the hook in your cheek, enough of a win to make you feel like you'd really won something, enough to make you think that your luck might hold out to bring in some more. You spent the rest of that weekend driving around buying lottery tickets, and winning nothing. The rest of the summer was basically the same, a hefty portion of every paycheck dumped into the Texas lottery, never winning anything as much as that first 40. I'm sure the makers of lottery tickets wish they could make that happen by design, a nice win to start just to get the suckers hooked. I bet you're still playing that shit.

365 # 147: Simple Mark

You were such a sweet kid, but in many ways, so very...I can't say dumb, I just can't bring myself to say it. So let's go with the descriptor I used in the title: simple. Maybe that's even worse, even more condescending of me, but fuck it.

One night, I was driving us somewhere in my truck. We were in the city, but not in a well lit part. The only light to see by came from the moon above and my truck's headlights. We came across an animal laying in the road, a possum. Ugly bastard. We sat and looked at it for a second, and it at us. It looked like it might be hurt, but we couldn't be sure. He moved like he was, but then again maybe not. I steered around him and we went on our way. A minute later, you started freaking out.

We have to go back!

You couldn't stand the thought that some creature was walking God's green earth in pain and suffering, and that there was something we could do about it. You wanted us to do what you thought was the right thing. You wanted us to go back there and put that poor animal out of its misery. How exactly you planned to do this was not made clear. You begged and pleaded and prodded and poked and you wouldn't let it go. From absolutely ANYONE ELSE, these pleas would have fallen on deaf ears, but from you, sweet innocent simple Mark, who just wanted to help a suffering animal, my resolved withered. I wheeled the truck around and drove back. But it must've been my lucky night because that ugly fucker was gone.

So, uh, had it been there, what was the plan? Or was I supposed to think up that part?

365 # 146: No Doubt

My son actually reminded me of you tonight. He's developed this annoying habit of shoving his plates away when he's done eating, or worse, when he doesn't want to eat what is being presented. So I told him that if he ever did that at a restaurant, he'd better be careful not to upset some crazy waitress. Not that you were crazy, but for some reason, whenever you waited on us at The Bake House, I always felt a bit intimidated. "Be nice to this one," I thought. "She'll cut you." Intimidating as you were, you were by far the cleanest least strung-out-looking employee in that place. Between the old woman with her hair dangling in the water glasses, the speed freak with the rotted teeth, and the one who liked to carry clean silverware with the table-wiping rag, you looked downright pristine. Um, what were you doing there?

365 # 145: Chris T.

I think it was the first time I had ever felt embarrassed, not for myself, but for someone else. It was first grade, and you were the worst student in the class. You never raised your hand, and never had the right answer when called on, no matter how simple the question. I remember one day in particular, you just kind of gave up. The teacher called on you several times in a row, and you finally just stopped answering completely. Not a peep. You just stared down at your desk. I felt so awful for you, I wanted to somehow will the answer into your head. You ended up getting held back for the year. I hope success somewhere else.

365 # 144: Emily

One night, you, Chad, and I were sitting around at my place. We were bored. Antsy. Full of creative energy just begging to be put to use. So we got an idea. I think it was yours, actually. We grabbed a camera and ran all over Hyde Park, taking goofy pictures of each other in various settings all over the neighborhood. This was back before digital cameras were very common, so the night was captured on actual film, which meant we didn't get to see how the pictures turned out until I got around to getting it developed. It also meant that we took a bit of care in the setup of each shot. I think Chad and I both got a crush on you that night.

365 # 143: Fudge

You always reminded me of James Spader's character in "Pretty in Pink." I know that's not a very favorable character to be compared to, but imagine if somehow, he had been sort of a nice guy and didn't think he was better than other people just because they weren't rich. Imagine if, when Andrew McCarthy had brought the lovely Molly Ringwald to the party, James had greeted her and been nice to her. Perhaps brought her a drink and chit-chatted with her throughout the evening, and then said hello to her the next Monday at school. Imagine if he had welcomed most everybody that way. That would be more like you. But still a rich party boy with that rich party boy expression frozen upon your face.

Every year at camp, you always grabbed the tent in the farthest back corner and set up the camp party area known as Fudgeland, as indicated by the sign that you set up at the entrance. This was the default gathering area many nights throughout the summer. You seemed to love being at the center of it all, all these people gathered at your place. Later back in the "real world", I went to a New Year's Eve party at your place, and you gave off the exact same vibe. I imagine the best way to drive you insane would be to put you in isolation for an extended period.

365 # 142: Alison K.

We were childhood friends by virtue of the fact that our moms had been lifelong friends, and still were. Still are, in fact. We grew up into very different people, so most of my memories of us are old and a bit fuzzy, but they're mostly pretty nice. I remember we almost always went over to your house instead of mine because it had a pool, so going to see y'all meant swimming. I remember once I tossed a swim mask across the pool to you and it smacked you in the face, and you screamed like a little blonde banshee. I remember being the only boy at this big sleepover you had at your house and feeling remarkably out of place, but getting a little mini-crush on one of your friends. I remember your dad spanking both you and I once when he caught us doing something bad -- playing with the waterhose I think? Seems a bit severe. I remember being dumbfounded by all the hair band posters that you and your sister had on your bedroom walls. That's about it, and in fact I'm surprised I remember that much. Everything else is just imagery, cloudy pictures barely accessible to my conscious mind. It's cool that we were friends, but I wonder what we'd have to talk about these days.

365 # 141: Tim T.

I don't know that we ever actually met in Stephen G.'s class, but nevertheless, that's where I first came into contact with you. I remember thinking you looked like you'd walked out of the 50's. I remember thinking that the professor was inordinately hard on one of your scenes. It seemed personal.

I later saw you play the part of Trotsky on stage, and the image just stuck. You are Trotsky. You are pale and smell slightly of vodka. You are a ranting Russian with an axe in his head.

Along with a few other friends, we went on to found Loaded Gun Theory together. Those were pre-child years full of script readings, late night rehearsals, and scrambles for performance space. For a brief period there, it seemed as if you and me would be the ones producing all the finished scripts. I valued everyone's opinions on my work, but I valued yours uniquely for some reason. Perhaps because I could see the results, the proof that you'd spent the same hours I had in front of the keyboard. If I ever write anything again, I imagine you'll be one of the first to see it.

You told me a while back that you were making a conscious effort to be less of an asshole. I had mixed emotions about this. It's true, you can be kind of an asshole sometimes. But I say this not with venom or anger, but with a smirk and a laugh, even a bit of admiration if that makes any sense. You and I have actually laughed about this very fact ourselves. It is a good thing. It's you. Again, the ranting Russian, but who isn't actually Russian.

These days, our kids play together and we're something like adults. Shall we go ahead and take bets on whose kid wrecks a car first?

365 # 140: Amber V.

I can't explain it. Maybe I was in a bad mood that day. Or you were a little too cutesy. Or maybe I felt that the grand pursuit of the theatre was too important to be left to your pink-bowed bunny rabbit girly girl dreamy dreams. Whatever it was, when you got up in front of our acting class to introduce yourself and you told us all that you were there because you had wanted to be an actress ever since you were a little girl, I just decided then and there that I didn't like you. Which isn't your problem, of course. I guess this little episode says more about me than it does about you. Like a lot of these posts.

365 # 139: Clinton

It was as if you had a mild case of the old Tourette's. You'd reach the end of a completely normal series of sentences, then shudder a bit, and then blurt out "big fuckin' orgy!" It never seemed to get old.

365 # 138: Stephen G.

You sly dog. You master of the shiteating grin, you. I'm sure you had all manner of wisdom and knowledge to impart, but it seemed like you were saving it for your more important students, not us bumbling undergrads, 96% of which you figured probably wouldn't do anything with their degrees anyway, so why bother? I think the only thing I walked away from your directing class with was the idea that the director was just there to....be. Like some mysterious force for good that could offer occasional guidance and perhaps approval or disapproval. Sort of the way you ran your class.

365 # 137: Janine

You were my girlfriend for like half a week at church camp and it was awesome.

365 # 136: Mr. S. the Landscape Architect

No scout reaches the rank of Eagle without planning and carrying out a service project. And no would-be Eagle Scout completes their service project without an assload of help. When I finally determined that my project would be to provide some landscaping and greenery to the dirt patches inside and outside of the newly built elementary school, my mom got in touch with you through a friend of hers. Your business was landscaping, and from what I saw of your portfolio, business was blooming. You worked with me to devise a plan for turning those big patches of dirt out front of the school into something that teachers and students could enjoy walking by every morning on their way in, and those open air courtyards inside into little bursts of living beauty. You helped me pick out plants that would thrive, and to arrange them in ways that would look nice together. It was one of the most satisfying projects I have ever accomplished, and it would not have turned out nearly as well without you. By the time I was done, I knew that I didn't want to go into your line of work, but I had learned that putting a plant in the ground could be more than just adding a bit of green - it could be art.

Now if only I could get off my lazy ass and start applying that lesson around my own home.

365 # 135: Mike C.

You described yourself to me once as "just a sad person in general." You said it with a no-big-deal shrug. And it was true. You seemed fine with being not so fine. Yet somehow, you were never a drag to hang out with. It was always great to have Mike around. One night, you got shitfaced and watched a porno flick at full volume, loud enough so that everybody on our hall could hear. There is no clever conclusion to that story, no ribbon to tie it up with. That's kind of it. I hope you've cheered up a bit....but not too much.