Songstress Justin Bond wrote a letter to his 16-year-old self, who was apparently named "Chip"! It goes: "Kiss Andrew Pennington a lot more. It seems like he's a lot younger than you now but he's really not and he's going to die soon of a rotten disease called AIDS."
My 16-year-old self would have jumped in the river if he'd realized that his 41-year-old self would have stopped listening to punk rock and started wearing sports coats to work.
Oh, Kiki, you lush. Now tell us about the Jews.
Sixteen year-old me would probably get to the second paragraph of a letter I wrote, mutter, "Fuck you. A faggot. Me? Like, never," and then flip his asymmetrical hair in front of his face.
Sixteen year old me would be amazed that I'm alive. Marginally working. And that my family still doesn't get along. I would, however, expect to have a cat and no boyfriend. Some things never change.
But can I just add that whatever, I'm so glad Justin is still with us. and that he may be for many years to come.
Sixteen-year-old me viewed virtually everything as painfully embarassing and proof of his own inadequacies, so I'm assuming that a pep talk letter from 35-year-old me would be no exception.
16-year-old me was a putz who should have gotten the memo.
Sixteen year old me would suggest I smoke as much pot as he does. And he'd be right.
oh wasn't that adorable? and the don't stress about quitting smoking note. haha. now i feel like a total shmuck.