Dear Mama Jones: An Open Letter Addressed to Jones Residential College
Dear Elizabeth R. and Wayne V. Jones Fine and Performing Arts Residential College,
In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that you’re leaving soon. I know you’re taking the next four years to “find yourself”, “try new things”, and “install showerheads that work”, but it’s been hard for me ok? It all just seems kind of sudden and I can’t help feeling like it was something I did.
I suck at these things, and I know the timing is bad, but it’s time I finally came out and told you that I love you. I love everything about you. I love how you get so excited about popcorn that the fire alarm goes off every time anybody makes some, so we all have to wait outside at 1 AM until the fire department comes. I love that yoga ball covered in rubber bands that just shows up in my room sometimes. I love the way the practice room carpet supported my own and many others’ backs so tenderly as we partook in the most regretful hookups of our lives. But now I understand that it was really you I loved the whole time. I want to worship every brick, every $5 lighting fixture, every inch of the Great Room floor. I want you to whisper the echoes of musical theatre workshops, tap shows, and Panini Player performances into my lustful ears as you caress me in the intoxicating haze of the green room. I want you to be mine forever.
You were the first building I ever entered on campus. I don’t know if I ever told you that. Every time I do I get so hot and flustered I nearly pass out, though that might be related to the broken heating in the foyer. I know the North Campus buildings make fun of you for the way you look and how you “don’t have a REAL major”, but it’s because they’re just jealous that you got into that a cappella group and they didn’t. You mean so much to me. I tried to paint a portrait of you in the art studio but I tripped on an overturned easel and had to go to the E.R. so I did it in MS paint. You should maybe clean that place up.
I’m sorry if I’m coming off too strong. As our final days together draw nearer, my irrepressible adoration for you is becoming too hard to bear. I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, to stay for at least a few more years. Because everything I do here, I do it for you. Let me make you proud.
But don’t just reconsider for me. Think about what you bring to this campus! You might not be the prettiest, or most structurally sound, or most flame resistant building on campus, but every year, droves of clueless theatre and Bienen freshmen have applied to live in you. The Great Room has hosted over 15 performances this year alone. Not to mention, you’re single-handedly responsible for the highest concentration of active Grindr profiles in the Chicago area outside of Boystown. What’s gonna happen after you’re gone? Where will they go? PLEX? Honey, please.
O love! O muse of my soul! Would that you could take my hand in thine and we could watch the sun rise over the lake together except you don’t have hands and can’t move. I will miss you more than anything on this Earth. All I ask is that, when you come back, you have the same foundation of trust and high-performance Portland cement concrete as you have now.