A little help from my friends
Dear friends,
Where are you? Why don't I know? Why do I feel obligated to write this post at 10:20 at night and add a Joe Cocker video as a plea, not to get "activity" on our blog, but to actually hear from you so that I have some sort of knowledge of what you are doing and who you are becoming?
Truth is, this is the place where I hope to get a little help from my friends. This is our "social network" that we don't have to share with 321 meaningless acquaintances that give you a "like this" thumbs up when you publicly post something inane about how you hate watery oatmeal.
Sort of tired of coming to this blog with my 10 best friends in the world and crossing my fingers that there will be a new comment.
So I ask, where are you? Where is Brown, where is Chambers, where is Butz, where is Mazur, where is Weiss, where is Lubahn, where o where is Portillo?
I'd really like to know what is happening in the world of my friends. We see each other 6 days a year (maybe) and, for me, this is the tool I use to keep up with everyone. I feel like if we let it die, we'll slowly become strangers and see each other at Miller's bachelor party in seven years and talk about how we used to be friends, or spend most of the time trying to wade through the disappointing awkwardness of the reality that we actually don't have a clue about who each other has become.
We have careers, kids, mortgages, debts and vices, but if they consume all of our time, then I feel like we're choosing them instead of choosing friends. If that is the choice, so be it, but I'm willing to fight it. Willing to take 386 seconds of my precious time and post something stupid about how eating rice and beans for breakfast has grown on me or why I think talking about weather is the worst conversation in the world unless there is a hurricane, mudslide or 10+ inches of snow.
I'm sure this is already too long, so I'll stop now and hope that Mazur posts something insane that makes me laugh and wish I was hanging out with people I cared out, not some jackass named Rodrigo Llantas who thinks whorehouses are cool.