7.29.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am listening to Whitney Houston's new song, "I Look to You" right now. And I am now beginning my second listen of the song. I can't decide how I feel about it. It's a slow one. And she sounds kind of different. I mean, we know she's been through a lot--Bobby's no longer around, Bobbi Kristina is a mess, and she also sort of dated Ray J. She's seen it.

Normally we're used to hearing Whit belt it the eff out. This song is restrained, almost calm. I can see her doing this at an awards shoe and bringing the house to tears. R. Kelly wrote it, which accounts for most of the melodrama. Wouldn't it have been more interesting if she had taken on her own sort of "Trapped in the Closet"? The first 12 chapters from Kells were not enough, and who better a storyteller than Whitney Houston, herself? I'm just saying.

Ok, I am now forming a much more solid opinion about this one. It doesn't even really sound like Whitney Houston, at all. There are elements of her phrasing and flavor, but Whitney circa any time in the 1990s this is not. I'm giving it a third listen just to be sure.

I swear, we love comebacks. And she is ripe for one. I think many of us can admit that we loved "Being Bobby Brown" not for Bob, but for Whitney's cameos. It was insane to watch her train wreck every week. But I am dying for her to come back with a huge bang. "Just Whitney" did not do it for me. At all. As this "I Look to You" keeps playing, I am kind of getting into it, I think. I think I like her new voice. It's almost like how Aretha's voice got all husky and dirty as she's aged, the talent is still there but the instrument is different. We know Whit can do it, but maybe it's a little nice to hear her do it a little differently this time around. I won't even lie, I will buy her album the day it comes out. I know she could use the money, and I want her to be on top.

Let's wish her luck.

Jon

7.20.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am not my hair. That is a song by India Arie, that chick who wanted to be Tracey Chapman but lost her flava when she shaved off her dreds. For a long time, I thought I was my hair--that my self-confidence was negatively correlated with the length of my hair. The shorter it was, the better I felt. Whenever it got long, I swear I always did begin to feel bad about myself and the world. So in what could only be described as a fit, I would buzz off all of my hair in the middle of the night to wake up the next day with a lighter load and an eighth of an inch of hair.

The past year has seen me growing out my hair a bit. Many people like it, I'd say. I like it, and I still feel good. Of course, there are those haters like my mom, sister, and friend Megan who say they prefer me with shorter hair. I wonder if all their negative comments in the past might have caused me to feel bad, all the "But you look so much better when your hair is shorter" or "I just like it better, you look older, more mature when you hair is shorter". These are the things I'd hear when I would come home from college on breaks. But as a sort of rebellion, I've been growing out my hair this past year and it feels good. I no longer cut my hair myself, which I had been doing for the previous year and a half, or so. I get it professionally tamed, which I think adds to its manageability and general awesomeness. That is until it is humid or if it is rainy.

The new hair length has let me play with different kinds of products because I finally have hair to put product in. I don't know yet if I've figured out the right amount because some days I look super greasy and other days I am a hot frizzy mess. But today, I thought I might have achieved the right balance of hair product. By the time I got to work I thought I might have used too much. But the rain was doing things to my head.

After the first hour or so, my hair had officially become a poof. This is one of the main reasons I didn't grow out my hair in the past. When my hair gets long, it tends to gain size and volume, leaving this huge mess of bristly and coarse poofiness. But I had been combatting that recently by having it cut by a professional. But I think I am in need of a haircut. My hair curled up and frizzed out today. It looks like it's standing about four or five inches off the top of my head, which reminds me a little of Gene Wilder (who I almost just called Gene Hackman) in "Willy Wonka".

It's probably not even that bad. I really just wanted to see what you thought and what you used to tame your hair. I wonder what your hair looks like when you wake up in the morning. Ok, I really don't wonder that. Anyway, here's to taming the poof. Pun intended.

Jon

7.15.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I was thinking. Today is my birthday and you haven't really done much for me lately. I don't ask for much, just to hear from you every now and then. Maybe a call here or there, to make sure you're alive or at least continuing to receive checks from SNL and/or Tina Fey. But I've decided to ask you to help make me an internet celebrity or just a plain celebrity.

I was on Facebook just now and it suggested I become a fan of B. Scott. I had no idea who this B. Scott person was, so I clicked to go to his page. He is a blogger who has used his interviews with some B and C list celebs to get a job with Access Hollywood. I do not want to be a celebrity blogger, and I don't want to work on Access Hollywood, I will leave that to Mark McGrath. However, I was wondering if you could help me secure a book deal.

After I just said that, I don't know if it's the right thing right now. I find it hard enough sometimes to find time to write to you on a semi-regular basis. I am trying to write an essay about this one night of craziness during grad school, and am finding that unless I just happen to be inspired when in front of the computer, I don't write. Colette, my writing partner, and I have decided that we would start to bring pieces that we worked on during the week to our meetings, rather than use our meetings as a time to write. I had so much trouble getting inspired last week and getting anything written. Until the last minute. Then, in a fury, I wrote like 800 words of awesomeness. But it made me feel a little like I did when I was in grad school--that general feeling of anxiety that I wasn't doing any work and that I had work I needed to get done. But there wasn't any work here, and I like writing this kind of thing. But for a minute I was thinking, "Oh my god, please don't make me write about jails and witches! I promise I will get it all done. I swear!"

Although, if I had something to aspire to, like a collection of essays then I would get so much out of doing the work and having a finished product. This is why you need to get me a book deal--so basically, I can do something awesome. As I read this out loud, I realize this is a little selfish. Which is why if you get me the book deal, I promise to be your best friend. Forever. We would make such an awesome team. We could make lots of weird and awkward faces at each other. I would let you call me "lovah". You could tell me all about what it was like to play Elizabeth Taylor that one time. We could get brunch on the weekends, our dogs could play together. Oh man, which reminds me.

Lyle, the beagle, has been diagnosed as having epilepsy. This was insanely scary, as Ben and I watched his first major seizure in the kitchen. Jesus. But the dog is a survivor. I just found out that Hugo Weaving and Lindsey Buckingham are also epileptics. Lyle is in good company, I think. I wonder if this means we can get a handicapped hangtag for our car. I once saw a Porshe with a handicapped hangtag. I can't judge--handican, my friend!

Well, I guess I should get going. I wish you could come to the party tonight, but you're probably busy. That's cool.

Jon

7.6.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

So this past weekend was the 4th of July. I always get the 4th and New Year's confused. But I don't think I've ever watched fireworks on New Year's eve. I guess it's all the other shiny and exploding things the two share that has them being the same holiday, but in winter and summer versions, for me. We went and visited some friends who just married and who live in the town where Ben went to school. It was great to see them and great to see the town and campus.

I don't know if we realized how attached we are to our college campuses until we go away for a while. Then, like the road you take to your house, you get that feeling of familiarity and comfort when you get close. The signs look familiar. You remember that time when you almost got a ticket for going the wrong way on a one-way street. You remember how awesome you thought it was to mix beer and wine together when you were eating chips and sour cream. There's just something about coming back to a place you hardcore knew that is nice.

I love knowing people's favorite things about their favorite places. When we moved to The Hill, I was always pointing out my favorite burrito place, the place that has the best drink specials, the place that we must avoid unless we want to smell like tortilla chips and grease for three days. Being up there with Ben was great because I finally got to put real life things together with all the stories. Like this one place he lived in that included the Door to Nowhere. Like, it's an upstairs door that has no balcony or even little porch or anything to step out on above the main house door. You open the door and if you step out, you will step on some air and promptly hit the ground. We don't know why this door ever existed, but it does. And to see it for real after hearing about it is kind of like seeing a bigfoot. You sort of believe when people tell you it exists, but once you see it you are a believer for life.

It was a really great weekend. Of course, I got crazy sunburned. I feel like I don't have fair skin and can handle the sun. But when if you've been indoors for six months, like I have, you sit out for even a second too long and you get burned. Whatever. I love burned knees. And it was worth it!

We should talk soon.

Jon