Pee-wee Herman has a website. There you can sign up for a membership. There is a field for writing an essay or letter to Pee-wee. This was exciting for me. Here is my letter/essay:
Dear Pee-wee,
I used to “scream real loud” every Saturday, and then I started watching Pee-wee’s Playhouse. It was such a relief to know I wasn’t the only 12-year-old lesbian in an ill-fitting gray suit and red bow tie. My younger brother also watched the show. He and I are very close. We have favorites in common. Our favorite bird, separately, is the pigeon. Our favorite movie is Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. Seriously. We feel it has many levels of intelligence and hyper-ironic allusions to American and Fellini-esque film and culture within a self-reflexive matrix that keenly describes the sincere inner lives of children. I’m sure all this comes as a surprise to you, but we happen to be very deep thinkers. Big Top Pee-wee was pretty good, too. But I cringed at your actually kissing a girl, world records aside, and felt a bit betrayed. But this was before I was fully out to myself as a gender-fluid k.d. lang fan. I also wish I could have a room built entirely by and with fruit cakes. Yes, I am 40 years old, and I re-watched your Christmas special on Netflix (actually, I was 39 at the time—Jack Benny’s age).
Where am I going with this essay? How will I “connect the dots—la la la la”? In my twenties I had a dream in my sleep. I have super-vivid dreams. In the dream, you were preparing to make a new movie. I was ecstatic. The circus tent was neon, even larger, and more hospital-like. The clowns were more mature. And I was there on the sound stage of the original Tron—the music of Wendy Carlos reverberating through my veins—practically crying with joy and trepidation. “Pee-wee! You survived the evil media! Right? You haven’t abandoned me after all? Not like Mr. Rogers, about whom I also dream and to whom I wrote a letter in real life and crayon when I was six (before you were born). Mr. Rogers answered my letter. Will you? But you need not. I’m right here!” And now my dream is coming true! And again, I’m screaming every Saturday in anticipation of your new film. I can’t believe you can drive a car now! I aspire to your greatness.
I am a poet. Yes, a real one. And I like to photograph pigeons. I don’t actually race them (unless you mean metaphorically), as listed in the “favorite hobby” section of this Premium Diamond Platinum Club sign-up form. I relate to pigeons. And I relate to you. You have shaped me. You have shaped my brother. We are strangely shaped.
This is practically all true, and I love you.
xoxo,
Ellen RedbirdP.S. Despite my having submitted this form (and almost my soul) to Hermanworld, causing me to blindly agree to many unknown things, please don’t post my email address to your website or share it with outside advertisers. I get way too much senior dating spam.
P.P.S. I totally qualify for having dinner with you. And so does my brother. We make our food talk, too.
Do you think he will respond?
(By the way, Mr. Rogers never abandoned me. But when he passed away, I was very sad.)
