Flashback: Dear Whitman College graduates of 1993 (Part 1)

NOTE: Yet another trip down memory lane to highlight the fact that my writing style has always been as deplorable as the content you're forced to read on a regular basis. I believe the original publication date of this piece is sometime around early 1998. For those of you who ever have to write a "come to our reunion letter" or any direct mail for that matter, please feel free to steal. However, there is a second letter that's actually much better than this one, so you may want to wait for that one.

Dear Whitties of '93:

It's a new year. It's also almost five years since you graduated. Yes, this is a reunion letter. Ah ah ah! Keep reading. (Right now, as you pour over this letter, we know your mind is working feverishly to come up with enough excuses to allow you to skip the reunion. Don't forget, we went to school with you. We know how your mind works.) Well, it's Kirsten's and my job to keep you from skipping the reunion, so we'd like to dispel some of your concerns.

Let's keep it simple for the first letter. (That's right, there will be more.) Your chief and primary concern (by means of average, individual results may vary) is that you have no interesting stories to tell.

Hogwash.

Okay, all right, let's be honest. You probably didn't accomplish what I did in the past five years. I mean, it's not everyone who gets MTV's Real World (Real World, Portland) pulled, mid-taping. Sure, I was little over the edge (even Puck called me "rude" and "loathsome"), but I thought that's what they were looking for. Have I got some stories to tell about the so-called "Real" world, and it's payment practices.

Come to think of it, Kirsten's life may be more interesting than yours, too. I mean, who else could take their love of throwing rocks, sweeping, and walking on ice, and parlay it into a career as the first American to break the Canadian-dominated ranks of professional curling? Olympics, fame, money, back bacon, and cheddar cheese? Hear the tales from the trenches of professional curling as can only be told by the master storyteller, herself.

See what you'd be missing if you skipped the reunion? The point is: you'll never truly know what everyone is doing, unless you show up (and convince them to show up, too).

I know, I know. Some of you really don't want to go. Well, buck up, little campers. There comes a time in all of our lives when we think about not doing something, we're forced to do it, and then we're glad we did. (Like, writing this letter, for instance. It was supposed to be in your mailbox at the beginning of the year.) Sometimes we need some motivation. (e.g., Kirsten paid me five bucks to write the letter.)

So here's the deal: Show up to the reunion. I don't care how boring your life has been in the last five years. Kirsten and I will sit and listen to each and every one of your lives, detail by painful detail. We'll nod and smile at appropriate times. We'll even sprinkle in a few "How interesting"s and "No kidding"s. (Kirsten can almost make you believe she's interested in what you're saying.) Plus, if we deem your story "The Most Heartbreakingly Boring," we'll award you a trip to Ireland or Barnaby's, whichever is closer.

Put the letter down. Contact the alumni office. Let them know you're coming. Please, don't force us to write, again. You have been duly warned.

Take care,

Rick & Kirsten

Technorati tags: Whitman, Whitman College, Reunion, 1993, 1998