Well here we are, Chris. Three years after the fact that you ate a really good meal and took a really long nap. You’ve missed a lot of things. The Rapture for one, most recently. You would’ve laughed your ass off at that one. I can’t even begin to imagine the stories you would’ve written, the blog posts, the facebook updates, freakin’ forget it. You would’ve had us all in crazy stitches.
There’s another presidential election coming up and good god we all know you loved those. I was so pissed that you weren’t around when Obama won the last time since I know you dug his chili and again would’ve wrote some of the best stuff.
Last year, on this day I signed the paperwork that took me 400 miles away from ANYONE I’d ever met. No joke. You would’ve been like “Whoa that’s not my Stephanie Bell, she isn’t impulsive like that,” Or you would’ve been like “You go girl, let’s go get some hummus about this!” But I did this in part because of you. You never seemed afraid of anything. Well until all this happened. Now I seriously doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.
(That is such a you joke to make. Something is deadly (ha) serious, let’s make a wildly inappropriate joke and then go to the Toy Store with my little sister about it, seriously my darling because life is too short and there are way too many cats to be rescued and kissing contests to be had.)
I still can’t listen to your albums. Because if your voice sounds different than I remember, well shit dude, I’m doin’ it wrong. You were always such a great musician and I remember you trying to teach me against hope to play guitar. Actually when I moved last year I opened my guitar case and wouldn’t you know, Joey Lawrance’s head fell out. The cardboard one that you stole for my muse or whatever your motivation was. I laughed alone in this new place, out loud at that. Trolling me from beyond. Dick. I loved it.
You were a dick sometimes. It’s okay that I say that, you’d be the first to say it. And then act offended that someone didn’t like you, but that’s okay. Like when you thought it’d be a great idea to print the Senior Edition of the newspaper full of insults (I knew WHY you did it, I just didn’t know why you had the balls to) and unedited senior letters. I still have the letters. I also still had to re-do the entire thing and go to the Dean in a frilly dress and beg for a Senior Edition for MY class the next year. See? Dick. But I still helped you steal the originals out of the office and make those copies. Remember we hid them in Dracula’s coffin in Demello and it was the coolest thing? I think Jon Rupple helped us. Doesn’t matter, you ran off like 8 million copies and we stapled them and got them out even though I was so pissed because I had so much work to do.
But I also remember you singing to me. Showing me music. Food. Being there every single time I needed anything, even if you made fun of me for it. I remember all the times I ran into you downtown before I moved to SLO and how we would end up at each other’s house. I remember you dying my hair, taking me to see like 8 shows in one week even though we’d been broken up forever. I remember that stupid velvet dress you picked out at some long gone store in the mall for me. Mandarin collar, floor length button up purple dress. I wish I had pictures but they’d be of me wearing that shit over cut off jean shorts, fishnets and Doc Martens.
I remember when you got that baseball to the face that made me think you were going to die so I asked someone to tell you I liked you. I remember the dime you gave me. I remember the sweet pickles bus most of all. Or swing dancing with you in mosh pits. Or that I have pictures of most of this. Or that your band had one of my first (no seriously) first friends in it. I remember making zines with you.
It all runs together because every single thing you ever did was memory making. Long before you died. Long before you decided to leave us. Decided. That seems to be a stupid word, but it seems a hell of a lot nicer than what you did.
By the way, I’m also pissed that I don’t get to hear what you think about Lady Gaga. I’m sure you’d have something to say. That’s the thing, you were always a better writer than me and that’s cool, I realized it and found my own thing to do, but damn if I don’t miss reading your cocky asshole blogs/newspaper stories and whatever.
Every time I go home… every time, I go by where Mars used to be and I visit that one bit of the concrete where everyone and their mothers wrote in the sidewalk and I stand there and think of you. Everyone thinks I’m crazy but where else do I have to go?
I miss you, you were a beam of light, a crazy Dennis the Menace typed boy, who taught me to spell several words, appreciate several bands and some food that at that time my upbringing wouldn’t have (hello HUMMUS!) who taught me what it was like to really fall in love for the first time and then how to lose that but stay friends. I, to this day, because of you, try to stay friends with all of the people I ever meet.
When you died, I made this CD and I’m going to post the track listings for people who miss you as much as I do. I can think of two handfuls by names and facebook accounts off hand. I played this entire freakin thing on my punk show the weekend you died. I also know I forgot Tower of Power and Bela Fleck. Sue me, I was grieving.
1-Simmer Down – Bob Marley & the Wailers
2-Don’t Call Me White – NoFX
3-Punk Rock Girl – Dead Milkmen
4-St Mary – Rancid
5-Feed the Tree – Belly
6-Seven – Sunny Day Real Estate
7-Disconnected – Face to Face
8-Heaven is Falling – Bad Religion
9-Brown Eyed Girl – Lagwagon
10-Totally – Screeching Weasel
11-Night of the Livid Queers – the Queers
12-99 Red Balloons – 7 Seconds
13-One of My Lies – Green Day
14-Toss My Cookies – F.Y.P
15- Bro Hymn – Pennywise
I love you and miss you Christopher. I really do.
By the way I knew about this song before you, I just let you pretend to be the first to show it to me. It’s okay.
God when this album came out we used to just drive around SCREAMING it.