Listen, I have something to admit. The phone calls to New Crime around '98? Yeah. That was me. I was going to ask about internships, but I got choked up and hung up. It only happened once.
I probably should have just faxed a resume.
That probably would have been better than, oh, say, going to Venice Beach 2 summers later to hang out at the bball courts, all White Girl Can't Jump, crossing my fingers that you'd leave yr office to go buy a smoothie at the pre-BritSpearFed "JJ Chill" shop.
At least I didn't throw bags of screwdrivers into your yard.