I've had a thing for Conan O'Brien for years. It goes way back. I guess I'm into tall, pale, self-deprecating-yet-endearingly-genius-comedy-writers-turned-unwitting-show hosts. He's always been tops on my DVR's priority list and I'm feeling kind of traumatized in the way I'd imagine having to say goodbye to my summer camp boyfriend that I swore to love forever. I want to make a Conie pillow to make out with until I can see him again (I never did meet a boy at any summer camp or vow to love forever, nor did I ever make out with a pillow).
I've watched him from those early days in 1993, through those first few "lost years" (a.k.a. the first 3) that it took him and his staff to really find their collective groove. I loved that he was the comedic underdog and a local kid that had spent half of his life in and around Boston. And, yup, he’s quirky, he’s goofy, and he’s awesome. The past week has proven Conan to be a pearl among the network swine. And he will be the proverbial phoenix to rise from the ashes of getting royally fucked by the company he called home for 20 years. The way he walked away from this "job of a lifetime" is testament to the fact that this kid is not just some high-paid corporate suit. He is the real deal.
I'm with you, Coco. I'll wait for you.
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