I was a 6 years old Milwaukeean when I watched Ghostbusters for the first time. I sat there, sans glasses avec afro puffs, and fell in love with Egon Spengler. I imagined a life with Egon; our dinners of mac-n-cheese, our copious play times involving sunset roller skating and intimate snow man making littered with dry wit and Twinkies.
He was the perfect Midwestern man, realistic, impervious by Los Angeles grandeur and funny. Really. Really. Funny. We would have the perfect brown/Jewish Midwestern kids. They would go to Marquette for film school. We would eat pastrami on Michigan Ave. during Christmas, wear ugly sweaters with Reindeer on them and drink warm brandy.
Fortunately, his wife had that job. Unfortunately, I stand mourning the one man who set the bar against all men I would date and eventually marry. Thank you, Harry for being a comedic legend and an all around perfect Midwestern man.
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