If you’ve found yourself taking part of your morning or afternoon or yesterday, depending on your time zone, visiting this here newsletter, then 1) thank you, and 2) I’m sorry. You’ve subjected yourself to the endless litany of thoughts (and notions, of course) that I find populating my brain. Which I sincerely appreciate! But I also, definitively, owe you an apology.
Allow me to explain-slash-introduce myself: My name is Will Bjarnar, a 23-year-old writer from Upstate New York who spent his youth a suffering Buffalo Bills fan and movie lover. I went to Marist College to study sports communication and journalism, “graduated” in 2020 — gestures in the general direction of the global and ongoing pandemic with a resounding middle finger — and entered a world of occasional joblessness. I eventually figured out the job thing (after a few lovely months working part-time in the dining room of a nursing home) and continued to have a ton of thoughts about sports, culture, and tons of other stuff I’m sure will show up eventually in this newsletter.
Again, I’m sorry.
But then again, isn’t that just the dictionary definition of “writer”? Someone with too many feelings and a place to put them? Well, I haven’t consulted trusty ol’ Merriam-Webster in a while, but I’m confident. And consider this my place. Should you stop by on a weekly basis, you’ll likely hear about anything and everything from the latest NBA gossip, the abundance of friendly dogs in my Hoboken neighborhood (and my only-kind-of-kidding plot to kidnap them all, a la Cruella de Vil), whatever TV show made me cry last, and maybe, just maybe, why I think my true calling may very well be the art of barista-ing. The possibilities are endless. Who knows?
No, literally. Does anyone know if you’re supposed to do this a certain way because I’m at a loss, and if no one intervenes soon, I’m just gonna start typing and there’s a chance I never stop.
Good luck, world.
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