Early this week, someone sent me a Facebook message suggesting that I add City Attorney Tom Carr as my friend. Sure, Tom and I have squabbled like the Lockhorns. But, I figured, if someone is trying to play Cupid, then shoot that arrow through Tom's and my rusty hearts. But several days have passed, and now when I go to his Facebook page, I discover that (a) Tom and I are ideal buds because we already have 22 friends in common—we're part of the same tribe, man—and (b) the friend status has reverted from “pending” to “Add Tom as a Friend.” In other heart-crushing words, Tom Carr rejected my friend request. He snatched that olive branch out of my limp wrists, beat me like pot smoker in his courtroom, and smashed that peace pipe in front of the entire internet. I am crestfallen.
It’s not like he’d have to talk to me or anything, just, you know, just be my internet friend. But he's still tepid. Maybe it’s because I ran an initiative campaign that Tom Carr detested, said his data on pot prosecutions were wrong, suggested the mayor should slash his budget, or repeatedly noted that he was a shill for the Bush Administration. But it wasn’t me who pointed out he's got an ill temper. That was the Weekly. And it wasn’t me who pointed out that he's a big douchebag. That was Savage.
That’s all behind us now, Tom. Won't you be my friend?