Go For Guillermo

There's nothing that I could really write that would do Guillermo justice. The fact is that he is an amazing man. He always managed to make me feel loved and taken care of. He made me laugh all the time. Just knowing that he was around comforted me.

I am stuck in Minneapolis, exhausted, with salt-soaked eyes, and have nothing inside of me to write with. So bear with me, Memo, because this is going to be one messy love letter. It all sounds so stupid, written in some blog on the internet. There's no poetry to it. But it's still how I feel, so that's something...

Remember when we filmed a video down in theater 7? You had a million other things to do, but instead made sure we had the right power cords, clip lights, and angle. You watched me setup the camera and asked me about filmmaking while you were eating all of our summer sausage and cheese, which was our only prop.

There was the time that we were discussing King Kong in the lobby...and you were saying that "it looks long, but I like the idea of a big monkey." It made perfect sense to me.

I remember discussing your concerns with your children and their safety while you were working. You said that your schedule stressed you out, but that you were going to make it work. Then you went on and on about your great kids, to the point where you were beaming. You made us all smile with you, even the people who had been at Guest Services for hours and wanted to kill themselves.

Every time I would come into the lobby, even if you were in the middle of business, you would excuse yourself, come over to me, give me a kiss and hug, and then walk back. You always managed to make me feel like I had a place in this world, somehow. If you weren't busy you would come back over and I would always ask, "Are they taking care of you at this place, Memo?" and you would wave your hand and say, "Oh, you know how they are sweetie. But it's always getting better."

When you would glide past the concession stand, you would always say something like, "Nice work, kids! Keep it up. Let's make ArcLight some more money! Mush, mush!" and then you would laugh all the way down the hallway.

You loved elbow milkings.

Remember when we drank beers on the ARC patio together that one summer night? I sighed happily and leaned back in my chair. "Good conversation, good friends," I said, and you added, "and free parking, my lovely."

I love you. I miss you already. And I won't forget you.