Everything Is Horrible and Wonderful

help me get a suit that fits?” His Tinder profile said, “I make money. I’ll buy you a couch.” We asked him why and he said, “Girls love couches.” He would always order the most unabashedly unhealthy, grossest thing at lunch. The most legendary being a burger he once ordered at Parks that had fried egg, bacon, avocado, onion rings (these are ON the burger FYI), BBQ sauce, and Monterey Jack cheese. He would take 4 things of mozzarella string cheese, line ’em up, and melt it in the microwave. And then he’d eat this with a fork for a snack. I would always try to order healthy. Once I suggested a vegetarian place. After the email went out, I got a text from him: “Guys this vegan place is an atrocity. Please reconsider.” He once left the writers’ office for lunch to eat at his house and texted my brother Aniz that he was “making Chili’s leftovers at home.” It really made me laugh that he chose the word making to describe heating up disgusting leftovers. He loved Chili’s but could never get anyone to join him. He would often go on solo missions. He once went to Chili’s by himself in Encino, and Joe Mande asked him why Encino and not the closer one, in Inglewood. He said, “The good one’s in Encino, you gotta go out to Encino.”

Weirdly, besides Parks, a lot of the stuff we worked on together never made it out into the world.

Another harsh part of this tragedy is that was all about to change. Around the time Parks was ending, I started developing a new project with my friend Alan Yang, another writer on Parks. Immediately, we knew we wanted Harris to help us write it. We were lucky to get him on board, and for the past 5 months or so, he’s been an integral part of this new project. He worked tirelessly and was a leader on our staff, and we were all thrilled to be doing this thing that was actually going forward.

We knew Harris had issues with addiction, but things were pointing in the right direction. He was getting treatment and focused on his career and the opportunities ahead. It all seemed to point in the right direction. We were all about to move to New York together in March to have great fun and make great work. He was excited. I was excited. It all seemed perfect. He just found an apartment on Monday.

Then, I got the most horrific phone call yesterday. I couldn’t comprehend it.

This week I spent a lot of time with Harris. On Monday he drove me to a dinner we were having. His iPod was on shuffle and every fucking song was a different Phish bootleg. I kept forcing him to skip until it was Phish maybe covering another more tolerable band’s song. Then we hit a band called Pralines and Dick. I told him this was particularly bad. He let me know it was his high school jam band and warned me about the upcoming 5-minute funk breakdown. I couldn’t help but enjoy it.

I was so excited for what was ahead for Harris. I knew he was going to really explode after this new project. The little bit of Wittels comedy out there was just the tip of the tip of the iceberg. He had so much more to give, and I was so excited for him. He seemed to be turning things around. He asked me for help finding a nutritionist. He said he knew nothing about nutrition. I informed him that I could confirm Chili’s is pretty bad for you. He even reluctantly ordered the “vegan bowl” for lunch the day before he passed when we were all writing together.

My last memory of him was from that day.

We were punching up a script. In punch up, you’re just trying to beat jokes that maybe aren’t landing. Everyone contributes and tries to beat the joke, and you leave the best one in. But for us, what would happen is, basically, all the writers would pitch something, then Harris would chime in with something so bizarre and hilarious it would either make it in or make us laugh, and we’d agree it was the most hilarious but probably too crazy. That last day, I remember I hit a line and we needed a better joke. I was exhausted. I turned to Harris and just wanted him to fix it so we could move on. I yelled, “Harris! I need you, get off your phone. Make this joke better, fix it please.” And, of course, he did.

Bye, Harris. I miss you, and I’m glad I got to enjoy your genuinely amazing and original presence. I wish I got to you know even more. I hope people reading this realize what an incredibly unique man you were, and what brutal a loss it is for those who knew you and also for those who never had the pleasure. This has been so hard to write because I just keep wanting to add more and more stories and more jokes and more everything, but I’d never be able to finish it. You are far too special to sum up in any kind of piece like this. You were one of the best, and we all will miss you.

Love,

Aziz

01 Day One

He’s dead.

He died.

Your brother died.

He is dead.

I can’t recall the exact phrase. She definitely used some tense of to die and not some other euphemism for permanently gone from your life from this point forward. She didn’t say, “Your brother passed away.” Passing away is too natural, too as it should be. Passing away is what my grandmother did in her sleep at ninety-two after living a complete life. It was sad. And expected.

This isn’t that.

This is brutal and tragic and worthy of Irish keening.

You can’t be dead.

You emailed Mom earlier that night. You described the place you would sublet in New York.