Stephen,

Some days I just hate you.

I’ve been catching up on the podcast you and David Chen have put together.  I wrote you before to tell you how moved I was after hearing your story about your mother.  It got me thinking about my parents.  They’re still alive, thankfully, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about the day I won’t have them anymore.  I’m in my mid-30s.  They live in Texas so I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like.  Lately I’ve felt like I have a punch card that represents the finite number of times I get to spend time with them.

Every time I see them, I get a punch - and one day, a day I fear will come soon, I’ll be out of punches. 

But I digress. After recuperating from “The Alchemist” episode, I thought I was done with the tears.  I figured that there may be some bittersweet stories to follow but that I’d be fine and wouldn’t be quite so moved.

And then came the Pooch and Bob stories.  And then I heard the Auschwitz story. 

Stephen, I also live in Los Angeles.  I don’t think I need to tell you how hellish the 405 and 101 can be come rush hour.  I commute from Burbank to the South Bay on a daily basis, most of that time spent listening to the Tobolowsky Files.   And even though traffic doesn’t move very well I need to see to drive.  It’s hard to drive when there are tears streaming from my eyes.  So if I should crash into a Escalade or Chevy truck filled with gardening equipment, you will bear that burden and that blame.  I have a high car insurance deductible.  Don’t make me pay it.

I suppose I should thank you for the resuscitating the art of story; for bringing back the fireside chat.  So thank you, Stephen and thank you, David Chen, for the podcast.