Dear James,

I have to tell you: I’m falling in love. Not with any character you’ve played, or book you’ve written, or class you’ve taught. With you. You’re more than a sex symbol—you’re a sex symbol plagued by society’s proclivity to characterize you as a sex symbol. I’ll take it one step further and just say “You’re sex.” I’m trembling because I might be right. Your smile may flash for the cameras, but behind that is a beautiful brain, an emotionless yet constantly comforting Twitter feed and an email address that, according the New York Magazine, signs all emails with “Peace.” (I do that too, James! I did it before I found out that you did! Can’t you see?)

James, I read Palo Alto even though all of my friends said it sucked. They just don’t understand your revolutionary use of common sentence structures. You’re really on to something with that depiction of drunk driving, regardless of anything anyone says. At a party once, I heard someone say you were probably just taking copious amounts of Adderall and I told him, in an elegantly violent defense, that you just have a really high metabolism for productivity. Who says you can’t do three graduate programs at once, James? You don’t. To be a culturally enlightened figure isn’t easy. Let those Ivy League haters at Yale hate—this Midwestern student newspaper endorses you fully. I mean, damn, I’d take the class you teach on yourself.

I guess that the only thing left to say is this: James, I’d bang you even when you’re dressed like a lady. I’d bang you if you really were missing an arm. I really think I could understand you, Janco. I’m about to graduate and I think it’s time to move on to a full-time study of you. Give me a call me if you’re ever in St. Louis and I’ll never be absent.

Love (or should I say, Peace!)
Leah Lewiszynski
Washington University in St. Louis 2012
Candidate for B.A. in English