Letter To Sean’s BitsPosted April 21st, 2015 by Sean Williams
Okay, everyone come here for a second. Come on around, get yourself comfortable. This shouldn’t take too long.
I’m calling this meeting because we’re roughly half-way there. We’re turning 45 in a few weeks and it’s probably counting on too much good-luck and science to think we’ll all make it to 90, so let’s just… y’know… Let’s have a State of the Union, as it were.
Now, this isn’t about *blame*. Nobody’s blaming anyone, okay? I’ve treated some of you badly, some of *you* have treated *me* badly, but this shouldn’t be about blame. We’re all here, in our own way, to be “Sean” so there’s no point in singling out anyone for the job they should (or shouldn’t) have been doing.
In fact, let me start with Hair.
Hair, you’ve been great. You’ve been incredibly fun, you’ve been up for whatever I’ve asked and you’ve stayed around LONG after you’ve technically needed to. I owe you a lot, and I think in the full balance of our relationship I’ve treated you pretty fairly. I put you through hell in the 80s, sure, but at least I’ve saved you from industrial surfactants as often as I could.
In fact, let me say this now – Y’all are released. You’ve done what you were supposed to, so if you’d like to retire, you’ll get no argument from me. I mean… PLEASE, stay if you’d like, I promise we’ll keep having fun. But if you’re tired and you wanna go, that’s fine.
Knees, however… Look, it’s been complicated. I know you’ll think I pushed you, that I hurt you and didn’t take care of you and maybe you’re right, maybe that’s fair. But I was doing what I thought was best. How the hell would I know that running that much is terrible for you? But here’s the thing… You’re not done. I’m gonna need you. Pretty much constantly. So buck up. We’re gonna be mad at each other from now on, I’m pretty sure, but we’re also not going anywhere so… try to make some peace with it. Also, on my end, I promise to keep up with the PT to try to manage the pain.
Face… We’ve figured it out, haven’t we? Oh my god, do you remember – it’s gotta be 30 or 35 years ago – staring at each other in the mirror and crying, just sobbing, because you looked like an unset pudding covered in teeth, hair and oozing sores? But look at you now! Most of the scar tissue is hidden by a beard and the voices of the musical theater bitches who said, “you get much better looking once you get to know you” are all behind us. Bear with me because this will sound dramatic and poetic, but I’d almost say we’ve found the beauty in your ugliness, haven’t we? Plus, you’re *literally* the face of the organization, so I really should support you to the best of my ability.
Eyes, though. Jesus, you guys are really falling down on the job. If we’re half way there, you guys are petering out *early*. Look, I don’t want to say this in front of everyone, but you guys have basically sucked since the late 70s. And now you’ve decided that not only can I not look at trees, I also shouldn’t be able to read? Jesus. I know, you’re gonna say you’re getting old and I get that but shit… you couldn’t have held on *any longer*?
Throat – I know I haven’t treated you very well – but you have been kind of a drama queen, haven’t you? Yes, the reflux is not your fault, and obviously the heavy drinking and smoking and all the rest didn’t help… but I can’t help but notice that *a lot* of my friends did the same things? And their throats are okay. I will take the blame up to a point, I added way more pressure than I should have, but come on – be honest. You couldn’t have handled even an easy life. And it sucks because had you been stronger, we coulda made a lot more money, you and me.
Back, obviously, thank God, right? For someone I’ve never actually seen, you have been the most consistent thing in my life. Hours standing in a recording studio, years spent catering, chair lifting “actors who move” and now, lifting and carrying children who are actively trying to break you, you’ve been absolutely AWESOME. The very, very few times that you’ve let me know you were hurt, you got better *immediately*. Oh my god, I’m so lucky to have you. Almost everyone I know is having problems with theirs, and you’ve been just great.
Hands, you guys have also been awesome. Anything you haven’t done, it’s because Brain didn’t really try that hard. Anything you’ve done well is because you guys were always totally willing, and a lot of that shit was hard! Jesus, you guys played violin! Seriously, nice job, y’all.
And Teeth, you guys have been pretty good. Genetically, I deserve way worse, but you guys have taken care of everything I’ve ever pushed your way. I wish you weren’t all lined up like a very old picket fence, and there was that business with the wisdom teeth back in the day, but overall you’ve been pretty good. Tongue – you too. And I don’t blame you guys for the eating, you just dealt with whatever was shoveled your way. Oh and Hands? I also don’t blame the hands for doing the food shoveling.
No. That’s not your fault. I think we all know who’s fault it is.
Stomach. You’ve been… awful. You’ve driven way too much of the decision making around here, you’ve pushed for self-destructive behavior, you’ve made it harder on everyone here to do their job – seriously, Knees are totally pissed off at you all the time – and in return you haven’t even worked efficiently.
I’ll get to Dick in a second, Stomach, so don’t tell me that *he’s* been driving all the decisions more than you have. You’re WAY worse.
God, it’s just been terrible. Demanding fat-rich spicy food in huge quantities, creating a constant sense of being empty even when full, desperately craving anything mass-produced and individually wrapped and then… giving us reflux? What the hell?
We’ve got years and years to go, but you might as well know that I feel trapped in the prison you’ve created for me. Not a minute goes by that I don’t feel your crushing mediocrity, your humiliating abject failure, being broadcast to the world. Walking around all day, I have to follow behind this banner declaring “No Self Control” and “Bad Genetics”, sitting down I feel my belt buckle and shirt strain against the weight of a thousand terrible decisions and then as soon as I lie down at night, I have to suffer the waves of acidic indignity.
You’re the worst.
Now Dick, you’ve actually been surprisingly cool. Probably second only to Brain in terms of providing entertainment, both with friends and by myself. And while I know that other people’s Dicks have led them into terrible situations, you’ve actually been pretty awesome. Yes, the first marriage can be blamed almost *entirely* on you (with some Brain malfunctions added in) but I actually learned most of my important life lessons from that marriage and in the end, it was probably a good thing.
Also, I appreciate how game you were back in the 80s and 90s, and a whole host of our friends were appreciative as well. A lot of people weren’t sure what to do with their given genitals, and you were always really good at being available but not pressuring. And it’s *incredibly nice* that in the last ten or so years, you’ve totally chilled out and let Brain make most of the decisions without much interference.
Also… I mean, you gave me my life. Without the kids, I’d be absolutely fucking nothing. Nothing. You gave them to me and for that I will always be grateful.
Lastly… Brain. You are just the most mercurial little bastard, aren’t you? The years I’ve spent asking for focus and getting none, only to get intense overload in the wee hours of the morning. The way you hear a sentence and create a whole meaning for it out of context. The way you find and embrace criticism and disregard compliments. The way you refuse to listen to the things you need to hear because you’re too busy dwelling on minutiae that has no effect on your life.
THE WAY YOU LET STOMACH MAKE ALL THE DECISIONS.
You can be an asshole, let’s just put the cards on the table. But you’re also wonderful. Without you, I wouldn’t have Jordana. I wouldn’t have my friends, I wouldn’t have Gideon Productions. And the way you experience music and theater and art – the way you shut down your most critical faculties and just let the work crest over you… I think there have been times when that was what saved me from literal self-destruction.
Now, it took us some years, but I think we’ve got the chemistry worked out. I appreciate that you’re still feisty as hell, still able to pull out a good 1600 word rant, but that you no longer seriously consider a hard right turn off a bridge. It’s been a tough road, but it feels like you’ve got at least some of it worked out.
Okay. Guys, I’m sorry, I can’t get to everyone. Let’s just say everyone I haven’t talked to… you guys are functioning at… y’know… let’s say a B-minus. But please don’t let your performance slip just so you can be addressed directly at the “Turning Fifty In A Few Weeks” evaluation in five years.
We’re half way there, if we’re lucky. So let’s keep working together and see if we can’t do a little bit more with the second half. I’m pretty sure we can all do better. I know I can.