I'm sorry it's taken me almost 30 years to find you again and say hello. Even Google has its limitations when your name is Greg Moore. The other day I tried once more, something I do every couple of years, and there you were. That same face looking back at me. I have to say, you haven't changed a bit. And I hope you're still having fun and raising hell now that you're on the other side.
I've been wanting to tell you how much I've thought of you over the past 30 years. Those nine great months with Gavin, Jim and Dave in the duplex on West Ortega Street in Santa Barbara. We were seniors, and we weren't going to be denied. Man, we had some fun. Crashing the unitarian dances, blasting your albums (I think I wore out you're The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle — those were the days when you could wear out a record), and drinking beer when we should have been studying. But we did pretty well in the end, didn't we? I remember your putting up the Dean's List on the wall of our duplex with our names circled, dancing around and lording it over our roomates. I also remember subsisting on our version of mexican food, cheap pot pies, and ramen and how you used to kick all of our butts in tennis.
Really sorry I missed your service. I'd have been there for sure had I'd known. Would have been nice to say hello to Gavin and Sharon (who I met only once but still remember) again. And I would have wanted you to know, so I'll tell you now, that no matter how long it's been since we last spoke, and no matter how much you may have changed since, and (this is a tough one) even if you became a Republican, and even now that you're in the next stage of your existence, you're still my friend and always will be, and I look forward to catching up with you at the appropriate time.