My friend, Bengi, used to play a game with me in which he’d try to find someone in the world I would rather be than myself.
We were 19 at the time, living off elbow macaroni and unable to afford to turn on the heat in the winter. I was managing a McDonald’s, driving a 1976 Chevy Malibu, and had no real future, so you’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find someone – anyone – who I would prefer to be than me, but no. He never did.
Twenty-five years later, I have found that person.
If I could, I would be Jimmy Fallon. In a heartbeat.
There are a million reasons for me to want to be Jimmy Fallon, but they all kind of look like this:
