By Leah Clancy
Dear James Franco,
Babe. No honey, look at us; let’s talk.
So we know we’ve sort of had a strained relationship lately. Last week, at your performance in a NYU student’s lovely production of Bird Shit, you spoke to one of our staffers and called us “little shits” (shit was on your mind, we suppose, so it’s excusable). But, but, we thought we meant more to you than just some other student-run hyperlocal newsblog?
Here is the thing we need to let you know — we’ve never stopped caring for you. We’re sure you think we’re a bunch of little assholes — the same ones back in ‘09-’10 that would approach you in the NYU Starbucks and beg you for a photo when all you were trying to do was order a venti Red Eye just after you had hopped off your red eye from L.A. 45 minutes earlier after delivering an hour-long lecture on screenwriting, and then stopping over in New Haven to drop off a 60-page paper entitled “The Poetry of Your Own: The Recreation of the Self in One’s Screenplay: I Can Write My Own Roles: I Am Talented.”
We know you think that. But we promise you, we are not those little assholes. Nor are we “little shits.” We just write about it.
Okay, so not all of us have been your biggest fans. But even the nay-sayers can simply not dispute the brilliance of Freaks and Geeks, nor the unfaltering perfection of your jawline.
So hear us out. At NYU Local, you’ve often been the topic of conversation (And hey, maybe the butt of a few jokes). But just like stalkers pick used tissues and chewing gum out of the garbage of their favorite celebrities, we want to see every aspect of your life!
We’re fascinated! Enraptured. Kind of, sort of, maybe just a little bit…in love.
And that whole thing with that one professor who gave you a D — we’re sorry you still have to deal with that! You have so many other things on your plate. One time, this author took a quantum physics class (Big mistake. Huge, huge mistake) and well, she got a C-; and trust her, she told the world about it. But you mention in one interview that you got a D, this guy gets fired on an unrelated matter, and blames it all on you! Well, that’s what we call Birdshit; did he know that you have about 15,000 things going on at any given moment? To paraphrase commenter Shawn Bigsbie on one of our previous articles, that Santana wasn’t so “Smooth.”
We thought we were busy interning, working two part-time jobs (the tuition here, jeesh, am I right?), and taking four classes, all while writing a thesis, nannying, and blogging (presumably about you). So who knows our plight better? You have been a student and a teacher in multiple prestigious schools on both sides of the country. In a sense, you, James Franco, have shown us how to be the ultimate NYU student: overcommit, overcommit, overcommit, cross your fingers and hopefully get ahead.
You don’t multitask, you infinite-task.
And you, sir, are winning.
Okay, so we happened to be hungover last Saturday and Your Highness was On Demand, so we were like, “Why not? Seems kind of funny.” Man, that was pretty fucking weird. But your eyes! Your hair! Your face! Your crinkled smiley-eyes. Your weird faux-medival accent! You are adorable. And that Birdshit-eating grin of yours is absolutely irresistible. Honey, we just can’t stay mad at you.
And Spring Breakers! You’re better at playing Riff-Raff than the Jody Highroller is himself. Nevermind about Oz; there’ll be other things, we’re sure.
And gosh, oh wow, now our English majors are all blushing — you’re working on adaptations of Faulkner, McCarthy, and Steinbeck’s works? Um, phew, well, let us know if you want to hang out in the library at all. This author would totally sign you in if you no longer have library privileges.
James. Jimmy baby — can we call you Jimmy baby? — no? Okay, James, sorry, that was presumptuous —
James, our dearly beloved Mr. Franco, we blog because we care. And we care because we love you.
Yours truly, forever and ever, with all the adoration in the world,
P.S. Leah Clancy would love to grab a drink with you some time soon if you’re available. Just let her know.
