Paean for my peepz

Pre­vi­ously on our pro­gram, I dis­cussed a close friend, lost five years ago. When I was writ­ing that post, I had my friends in gen­eral on my mind. Liv­ing where I do, I haven’t got a social life out­side of work. OK, yes, I pop into the city once, per­haps twice a month and see a cou­ple peo­ple, but that’s it. When I was in Rochester, I went out with friends a few times a month at most. So why am I now giv­ing a damn? One might say it is because it is one thing to have an option to see friends and choose not to do so, but it is another thing not to have much of a choice as to whether or not one sees friends. That per­son would be right, but that’s not the meat of it. I think I have per­formed my trade­mark uncon­scious stress­ing over changes in my fam­ily struc­ture and per­formed my trade­mark obliv­i­ous­ness towards how I feel on a day-to-day basis. Dammit: I have really loved con­vers­ing with, spend­ing time with, and just feel­ing the warmth from my friends over the past 18 months.

I don’t think Chris knew just how much I loved spend­ing time with him. No, I won’t beat myself up over the missed chances to tell him so. So I think I’ll now make Novem­ber 4th the Bizza Memo­r­ial Trib­ute to My Friends. A guy as hon­est and kind as he, it makes sense.

I am afraid that I will step on a few toes with the fol­low­ing action: I’m going to tell a bunch of peo­ple how they’ve been won­der­ful in my life lately. I sus­pect some peo­ple will feel offended if they’re excluded. Well, er, I am sorry — if we’re still friends, then I obvi­ously like you. If you know me, you know I have lit­tle tol­er­ances for wankers. I wouldn’t keep you around if you didn’t mean some­thing to me. It’s just that…well…some peo­ple I really have to give them applause. It’s noth­ing per­sonal to you. Con­sider this an Oscar speech where you shouldn’t be offended by falling under the “and every­one else who means a lot to me” head­ing. I hope you understand…I assume you do, you’re smart enough for me to be friends with. ;) On that note, and in the order in which you all come to mind, let the pub­lic dis­plays of affec­tion com­mence. I love you all:

Peter Car­bonaro, J. Chris­t­ian Guer­rero, and Shawn Rah­man: of course it is fit­ting to thank the League as one, even though you are all seri­ous fuck­ing indi­vid­u­als. No fool­ing here that I look up to all of you as the cool older broth­ers I never had, and I always feel blessed to be in your pres­ence. You raise my game. May the classy-assed hijinks con­tinue through­out the years. Thanks to you all for hav­ing kids as well, because you give me hope for the future.

Noah Stu­pak: miss me now, don’t you, you fool? Ya shoulda never moved out. Oh, er…

Melissa Far­nand: …I’m glad Noah moved in with you. Always won­der­ful to drop by for din­ner and a movie, even though Lola hated me. I think.

Bran­don Snavely: a week in PA was really per­fect for us, eh? We both we say­ing good­bye (which was tougher than I fig­ured), and hang­ing with your par­ents is always decent. I feel I sorted a lot out talk­ing to you under the mete­orites that night.

Jes­sica Rider: nobody ever tried harder to get me out in pub­lic and meet new peo­ple. It was an utterly thank­less task you took upon your­self, but it has done me good and I just never knew how to be grate­ful (or grace­fully decline). I am very glad you cor­nered me before Edline’s class three years ago, and I am more glad you weren’t offended by my sour face.

Daniel Pon­tillo: thanks for help­ing keep me sane through my last year of RIT when I just wanted to split and get my fuck­ing life in gear. It was brief, but we’ll always have Boris and Antichrist (nobody else wants ‘em, probably).

Dave Loehlin and Genevieve Waller: thanks for being one of the odd­est bits of domes­tic­ity I had in Rochester. Duden, Bog­gle, and kale was always a good time.

Judy Margo: I am very glad your mother raised you to be a sen­si­tive per­son, and your tol­er­ance and desire to under­stand are unpar­al­leled. Thanks for lis­ten­ing to my wack­i­est ideas in their most unfin­ished states and help­ing me to see what I was thinking.

Niall Munnelly: I am glad you are here, happy, and forth­right. You’re a fuck­ing good egg, and I can’t see how someone’s life would not be improved with you on their side. Thanks for help­ing me out here out here.

Cristina Stoll: why the hell are you so easy to talk to? Seri­ously, I was drag­ging out crap I rarely tell any­one about in your pres­ence, and very quickly. Oh, Deutsches Voodoo auß New Orleans…? Macht’s kein prob­lem. I hope some­day to repay you, at least for the crash space.

Keren Flesh­ler: as if it wasn’t enough that we met after I left NYC, did you have to rub it in by mov­ing two blocks over from my old place? Fid­dle­sticks. Thanks for being so tol­er­ant and gen­er­ous. You were the per­fect per­son to go see a-ha with.

Kristin Brum­bach: thanks for open­ing the door, and also for giv­ing me time with a kid that was awk­ward in how decent it was. I’m happy you’re one of my repro­duc­ing friends.

(last but far­thest from least)

Yoli: no list of grat­i­tude and love for the good peo­ple in my life is com­plete with­out you. No list of good peo­ple in my life is com­plete with­out you. No life of mine is com­plete with­out you. I’ve tried time and time again to put into words all you’ve done and do for me, and, even if I talk for hours, I never come close to all that could be said. Many things between us are, per­haps, bet­ter left unsaid…words just don’t cut it.

no alco­hol was involved in the writ­ing of this post

Vergangenheitsbewältigung

Ver­gan­gen­heits­be­wäl­ti­gung might be my favorite Ger­man word. Lots of jokes about the Ger­man lan­guage hav­ing a (nor­mally long) word for every­thing, and, well, it’s true more often than not. “Ver­gan­gen­heits­be­wäl­ti­gung” means “a strug­gle to come to terms with the past.” I’m think­ing about it today because it’s the five year anniver­sary of the death of the only Dok­tor I have ever known.

You can click through my archives and find other Novem­ber 4th posts about Chris. Each year I say some­thing. I feel decent about what I’ve writ­ten in the past — in fact, one of them I think is one of the best things I’ve ever writ­ten. This year, though…well, I’m not going to call this a waste of a post, but I felt like I had to find an angle for writ­ing this. “An angle,” what the fuck? You just write and your feel­ings come out. This is seri­ous shit, you don’t need some mag­i­cal gate­way, you’ve got it all in you, if you start you’ll finish.

Well, er, not always. Some­times you don’t even start. Some­times you sit all day, think­ing about his loss, my loss, our loss, and you real­ize you don’t feel it like you used to. You just…accepted it. You came to terms with it. Some­time over the past year, a dead Chris became part of my Weltan­schau­ung (Ger­man vocab time again; “world view”). I think I feel guilty and/or ashamed about this. Why should I? I left a lit­tle piece of my life behind that day, but there’s no rea­son to leave a bread­crumb trail of more lit­tle bits of my life back to it, espe­cially as I like to believe and often claim that I have a very enlight­ened (per­haps a/k/a callous(ed)) view of death. So why do I feel like a dead Chris is now a Chris I know, and a live Chris isn’t, and both of these feel wrong?

I’ve had tragedy over the past year. I have mourned a few times and nearly mourned a few more. Have I sup­planted tragedies? Is this pos­si­ble? Do we do it con­sciously? I doubt it. I think we…live. These are the actions of a liv­ing soul. These are things peo­ple do in their day-to-day lives. We start anew reg­u­larly (momen­tar­ily, anon) and prob­a­bly don’t notice it because we still have reminders of the past. My life has, well, greatly started anew and maybe the unan­chored nature of my life since May has put me in a state where the past does not hold as it once did? (Maybe, my ass: the past is another planet to me now.)

And that’s what got me today about not hav­ing Chris any­more. Self­ishly self­ishly, I want to talk to him. I want to tell him about how I’ve finally got­ten my shit together and am pretty damn happy. I want his advice on some things. I could greatly use his sym­pa­thy, under­stand­ing, and kind­ness at times. I think he would enjoy vis­it­ing me in Chicago. (I know I would sure as hell enjoy it.) He’s miss­ing oppor­tu­ni­ties to share in his friends’ suc­cesses, and we’ve got no idea what his suc­cesses would be.

I am com­ing to terms with the past. I accept what has hap­pened. I see it as it is. I am liv­ing my life as best as I can. Chris…shit, if it could be said of any­one, it must be said emphat­i­cally of him:

It’s what he would have wanted.

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