Dear David Duchovny,
I caught your interview on NPR last night. The host discussed your new book, “Holy Cow”, and I was like, wait, David Duchovny wrote a book? About Cows? Holy Cow! (Bet you haven’t heard that one.) Listeners were invited to call in. I would have been one of those callers, David Duchovny, except it would have been difficult for me to breathe while spitting out, eventually, “I love you David Duchovny!!!!”. And that would have been awkward. For you, me and everybody listening. Why put us all through that? Besides, I was driving. Speeding possibly. Allegedly.
Attempting to talk to David Duchovny while breathing while hurtling down I-95 in a 2009 Camry is not in my wheelhouse. It’s probably for the best, considering the whole I Love You David Duchovny issue.
Still, I was sorry to miss out on the, “How do you know David” conversation. The great thing about the internet is you don’t have to miss out on anything. Sure, you may never read this, but writing what I was thinking while hurtling down the highway, listening to other people stumble through their “I love you David Duchovny” calls, makes me feel part of the whole.
So how do I know David Duchovny? Um, through Wikipedia? (We almost have the same birthday!) From NPR? Okay, I’ll admit, I don’t really know David Duchovny, but anyone who writes a book about cows gets poster space on my imaginary wall. Okay, not everyone. That wouldn’t be practical. Cows have been around a long time and there are probably a lot of proud cow book authors out there and although my imaginary walls are infinite, I don’t want to have to sift through five thousand cow author posters to find the one I like looking at the best. So I’m limiting the offer to just you. And Temple Grandin.
I saw you on Twin Peaks. I did! I loved that show. You were great. I hope they bring you back as a reverse transexual. Now there’s a long story. I developed my obsessed fan issue, however, during Californication. And when I say obsessed, I mean in a middle-aged Facebook fan girl crush sort of way, not the breaking and entering, sneaking up behind you as you brush your teeth and shouting “Mothafuckaaaaa” kind of way, which would be totally inappropriate. I know that’s just pretend.
What surprised me, David Duchovny, is how much you and I have in common! You went to Princeton and Yale, became a famous actor, play the guitar, write songs, and wrote a book about animals that infiltrate the human drama. ME TOO! Well not the the Princeton Yale part, and not the famous actor part, and not the book part, but I went to school, was in the drama club AND the band, wrote a song published in Nashville, sorta, and write stories about animals experiencing human drama. By the way, in case you haven’t worked it out yet, I’m not really a Chicken. I just play one on WordPress. Check it out:
Plus I was abducted by aliens once. Just kidding. That never happened. My youngest child is totally normal, ask anyone. Also, I just remembered, you were a SNL Host and I went to Band Camp. See what I mean about us?
So given all that you and I have in common, David Duchovny, I’d like to invite you to my tiny desk. You could play some of your new stuff, maybe sign your book for me. Actually, you can’t sign your book because it’s on my Kindle. I didn’t plan that out very well. I know those performances are supposed to take place at some desk in NPR studios or wherever, but I promise you my desk is much tinier than Bob Boilen’s plus, I totally get you, right? Even our names are similar. “CHicken, DuCHovny. Symmetry, Baby. Baby Mothafuckaa. Please come do a tiny desk concert in Rhode Island.
P.S. I love you David Duchovny. Just kidding. Not that I don’t, who wouldn’t, but I’m married so I have to put in the ‘just kidding’ part. It’s sort of a disclaimer. I’m sure there’s a legal term for it. Like, yeah, she invited David Duchovny to visit her tiny desk but she wasn’t soliciting him, Your Honor, she’s married, for God’s sake. It says so right there in the Post Script. Because people get the wrong idea and start rumors, write open letters…. You know how that goes.