From the Archives . . .

Been going through some of my old text files and found a few things I thought I'd share with you faithful blog readers. All six of you. These are things I've written at some point in the last few years that for some reason I find commentable.

First is a letter of apology I wrote for a magazine I used to edit in college. Years later, they asked me to write something for the anniversary issue and this was it.

Apologies

When Pat Stango contacted me via his special Plague Trans-Spatial Text Device and asked me to write a piece for The Plague's anniversary issue, several things went through my head. Who the hell is Pat Stango? This isn't someone I had sex with, was it? I hope he/she's hot.

I poured through my remaining issues of said illustrious illustrated and soon realized he was that one guy who was kind of funny. So then I started thinking of all the zany, fun things I could write for him. Perhaps a piece where I curse a lot! That was always a good stand-by. And it's not like I started liking the Fatties, Uglies, or Oldies. I could write about them for decades, they suck so much.

But I decided that those days were over. I'm a responsible adult now, who drinks with moderation when he drinks at all; who's had a steady girlfriend for months without a desire to break away; who educates young children in Bushwick. Yes, the time for being mean is over. It is time to make amends. So, sorry Pat. I'm not going to write anything funny. I'm going to use this public forum to make my apologies to those I've offended over the years.

To all the aforementioned Fats, Uglies, Olds, and so on, I'm sorry that I dislike you so much and so loudly. You rarely do anything more to me than take up too much space, smell bad, or cause depression, but that never stopped me from abusing you. Sorry.

To Rick Litvin, representing NYU's Film School in general, I'm sorry I was such a dick. I was so caught up in being unpretentious that I became some sort of Anti-Pretentious. When Anti-Pretentious and Pretentious met, a thousand parallel worlds suffered their demise. Therefore I am also sorry to the Earth 2 Joe Rice, the Earth A Randolph Scott, the Earth 616 Captain Britain, and the infinite varieties of Sam Waltons.

I specifically apologize to my freshman film colloquium class. I should not have removed my shirt during our last class for no real reason. I apologize to anyone else who has ever seen me at all naked. My deformities are my own and should not be foisted upon the general public.

To Garret Levin, I must apologize. I don't know why I didn't like you when we first met, but I doubt any reason I had was significant enough to warrant screaming "HEY GARRET! EAT SHIT!" from across the dining hall whilst pantomiming the action I commanded you.

I apologize to Ronnie. I shouldn't have repeatedly fucked your girlfriend, and I should at least probably remember your last name. It was something Jewish. So I guess I'm sorry for the Anti-Semitism rampant in my German ancestors as well.

To the Plague itself, I apologize. After I graduated, I made a series of ill-fated visits to my former magazine, always while intoxicated. I'm sorry for urinating in front of you, for coming on to you, and for too-obviously getting my groove on with a one-night stand at your prom. My bad.

I apologize to anyone and everyone that knew me that I let that affair with Ronnie's girlfriend turn me into such a drunken mess. I'm sorry to the Reservoir's bathroom, whose soap dispenser I broke in anger far too many times; and to its tables and walls which suffered from many knife attacks from yours truly. If I ever threatened anyone with a knife, I'm also sorry about that. Unless you were fat.

Tia, I'm sorry I didn't have sex with you even though you wanted me to. Perhaps you might learn that a first date isn't the time to tell someone you're a drug-abusing nymphomaniac. I'm also sorry you had to settle for my creepy friend. I'm even sorrier you told girls I dated later on that I was an insane person who thought that God spoke directly to him. It's much more indirect, I thought I explained that.

I apologize to the NYU populace in general for leaving the Plague in the hands of people whose comedic ability is limited to that of making "cab drivers are foreigners" jokes. I apologize again to the Plague for just insulting you in that last apology.

To my former roommate Anna, I apologize. I apologize for being drunk and messy all the time. I apologize for getting in shouting matches because we were both so miserable. I apologize for burning that GI Joe figure outside our apartment. I still say that the bloody snot in the shower wasn't mine, though.

To my senior thesis screenplay, I apologize for letting real-life problems invade you and make you unbelievably crappy. For anyone that read it, I apologize, especially for the amount of crying the main characters did and also how it really sucked bad.

Who am I forgetting? Oh, yeah. I apologize to Alpha Phi Omega. I kept adding a "Y" to all your posters when your office was across from the Plague's. I'm sorry that your comeback of adding a "D" to our name was really lame. I also rubbed my bare ass on your doorknob. I realize you'd never done anything to me other than be boring, and my actions were uncalled for.

I apologize to my English teachers for ending that last sentence with a preposition.

To the Gotham Writer's Workshop I owe many apologies. At some point, I decided that you were my arch-foes. So I began toppling your little yellow brochure stands whenever I saw them, especially when inebriated. I know that my true beef is with your evil Gotham Writer's Workshop Commander, not the mindless drones on the streets. The Commander shall pay, though, don't you worry. He'll pay DEARLY.

I'd like to tell the Womyn's Center I'm sorry for the counter-productivity some of our staff and some of your members got involved in. In the end, I think we mostly believed the same things, but we were assholes and you were poltical. I'd like to reiterate that WE didn't like Brian and Seth either.

I apologize to the enemy agent code-named "Dragon Assassin" for not kicking your ass in Saigon when I had the chance. I apologize to the families of the men and women he killed before I did finally put him out of commission.

I also apologize for blatantly making things up sometimes to make my life sound like an action movie.

In closing, I suppose I should apologize to the reader for writing such an unfunny bit for the Plague. But after reading the past few issues, it seems that it's no longer a humor magazine anyway.

I wish you all the best.

Joe Rice