A Love Letter to Ryan Farr

Dear Ryan Farr,

I love you. And, wait, don't get all creeped out because someone once told me that you are married and I am so OK with that because my love isn't sexy-time love, it's unconditional forever love, like the kind you have for your baby blanket or brontosauruses. Although you are super cute, like here:

But, again, it's not like I want to jump your bones. Well, seeing as it's you I'm writing to, maybe I do want to jump your deliciously butchered pig bones. But, to be clear, even though I think you are mega handsome and your smile lights up a room, I do not want to have sex with you. And I mean that as a compliment. Moving on.

I love you because you've made butchers cool again. When I describe you to people who don't know you, I call you an 'indie rock butcher.' You're so bad ass. You are the kind of butcher that little kids who want to be butchers can look up to and be cool. Some might even use the term 'role model.' While I love the old school Italian butchers who give me free samples in the best deli ever in Queens, NY, they lack that X-factor. They just aren't very rock-n-roll. But, you, Ryan Farr, you are rock-n-roll. Even when you are playing Lord of the Flies.

I still want to hang out with you, you bloodless pig cutter. I trust you, somehow. Even though I've had nightmares that look exactly like this:

Until recently, I was a vegetarian. I know, I know - I'm embarrassed about it as well. It's like a secret tattoo of shame that I carry on my heart. Although I prefer it to my two actual tattoos of shame. But that's a different story of tramp stamps and bad decisions, and this story is about you. Not only are your meats tasty, but you have a killer blog, which obviously is something I would be a fan of. What? Why is that obvious? I don't know. Stop judging, Ryan Farr, and just be complimented. I love that I can turn to you if I ever need to remove the face of anything.

I love how much you love SF. I love how you are active in community events. I love that you teach classes on making the most of dead animals. I love that sometimes I see you and get all giggly 'cause you are kinda famous, but you still walk around all normal-like in your pork shirts. Oh, and I love that you picked me as the winner of that contest and that you let me get a poster as a prize instead of a tee shirt because that was so bitchy of me to even ask.

There are many more reasons that I love you, but I'm writing this at Ritual Coffee, and I've been here for awhile and I can feel the barrista judging me and it feels bad because I'm having a fat day, so I'm going to end it here.

Thanks for everything, Ryan Farr. You are one-in-a-million.

Love,

Melanie Kameko Duve

PS I got these great pics of you from notes from the zeitgeist, Eat Foo and KQED.