honestly, it doesn't get any easier.

i saw this kid doing this. for a really long time. in front of a bunch of people. who laughed quietly as to not disturb him. he just kept rocking back and forth on top of his skateboard...on top of a chain. it was kind of hypnotic. like a fat kid on top of his skateboard. on top of a chain. i'm guessing "confused kid boner". it's a horrible age to be a boy. new and strange things are happening to your body and you don't know why. you only know it feels better when you mash it up against something firm. you have no idea what to do with it or how to make it go away. it's completely maddening. if only he knew it was just going to lead him straight into more confusion. some days you just kinda give up. which is my theory here.

after a while the kid's dad noticed he kind of had an audience of lot-sauced a-holes, and promptly scooped him up. i must make clear that i didn't actually think about this theory until today. that particular day i just happened to act like i was throwing something in the trash can near this kid and snapped the picture with my phone. hi, i'm a dickhead. anyhoo, that's that. catch you on the flippity floppity.

My Friend Shawn Was A Real Pain In The Ass

so, for those of you who don't know, in november of last year i lost a dear friend to suicide. shawn murphy was cool. a friend to all. a mad genius in the art of hooch. a damn gold mine of cinematic knowledge. and just a funny, cranky old bastard.
he was an asshole. but he was our asshole.

i had just left atlanta for florida for work when i got the news. devastated doesn't begin to describe that feeling. especially when you're so far away from all your friends who knew and loved him, too. to be alone when that kind of news is dropped on you is really a strange feeling. just a sick to your stomach feeling, trying to fight back tears in a bar where no one knows you enough to really give a shit that you're hurting. and knowing that i couldn't be there for my friends who were dealing with the same grief. which leads me to this particular picture.

shawn's memorial service was scheduled for roughly a month after his death. at which point i was home in iowa visiting my folks for a brief stint before i headed back on the road for work.
it was held at the historic plaza theater in atlanta where many of us who were close to shawn had spent many a night watching movies after hours, attending all the spook shows and splatter cinema nights. and the service was being broadcast via streaming video on the internet. that way i could attend from the privacy of my parent's basement. pretty neat.

so, the morning of the memorial arrived. and, up to that point i had not shed a tear over his death. not because i wasn't sad. far from it. i think i was just numb. i've lost well over a dozen people close to me in my life just to suicide. anyhoo, i woke up that sunday morning with the intention of heading straight to the grocery store to pick up a bottle of whiskey to drink while i watched the event. lord knows i wouldn't be the only one. but when i woke up something felt wrong. literally. wouldn't you know it, out of nowhere, yep. i got hemorrhoids. "are you fucking KIDDING ME?!" i yelled out. of course. why wouldn't the day i have to officially say goodbye to someone, who so prided himself with being a pain in the ass, be the day my insides decide to try and make balloon animals out of my blood vessels. FML. as i slipped on my slippers and put on my hoodie to make my whiskey run i began to laugh, thinking about how much shawn would have loved this story. by the time i got to my car the laughter had turned to tears. this was going to be one of the things i missed most about shawn. the cackling laughter at the stories of pure and unadulterated misfortune. i could almost hear it.

so i walked into the hy-vee store in ames, iowa, wiping away tears every 10 seconds or so. greeted by casually concerned stares. i made my way first to the liquor department and got my bottle of jim beam. yes, on a sunday. thank you, iowa. then on to the pharmacy section for my prep H. by that time i wasn't trying to hide the tears anymore. or the laughter. i had to look like a bonafide crazy person. a pajama wearing, laugh/crying, bearded yahoo buying liquor and hemorrhoid cream. the cashier tried saying something cute like, "whoa, rough night?" to which i just replied, "fuck you, kid." and promptly threw a 2o dollar bill at him and promptly walked out with my purchase. change be damned. got back in my car and just sat there and had my first cathartic full-on sob fest for the loss of my friend.

dammit, professor. i miss you, brother. atlanta won't be the same without you. but i know somewhere you were laughin' heartily at my horrible day. i would have been, too.
but you're a dickhead for leaving us the way you did. thanks for reminding me that you were a pain in the ass. jerk.

so, this little blog is for all of my friends and family in atlanta who knew and loved shawn "the professor" murphy. hope this brightens your day a little bit. it's worth the discomfort if it makes any of y'all smile a little about this whole mess.

i love you guys.

destination: not kansas

It was january 2007 and all my friends were a bustle to pull off a rad surprise party for our friend jim stacy. for those of you who don't know him, jim is damn national treasure. a wealth of knowledge on just about any subject you can conjure up. and a gentle giant, standing damn near 6'8" with a giant red beard. and if you're half way worth a shit in the city of atlanta you know and love this man. so the story goes that he's had a recurring dream for years that on his birthday a monkey, wearing a diaper, greets him at the door and holds onto his pinky and leads him over to a throne and sits in his lap. so we had a real life monkey all lined up for this momentous occasion. it was gonna be the best damn birthday he ever had. like the make a wish foundation with a serious twitch. anyhoo, the night before the big day we got some bad news. the monkey's sibling, whom it had never been apart from, had taken ill. thus, our monkey was forced to cancel its appearance. here's where shit gets rad. that night i get a phone call explaining the situation. as they conclude with the explanation there's a pause and i hear, "so, i guess i was wondering if we could dress you up like a monkey and have you greet jim at the door and lead him to his throne by his pinky." i, in turn, congratulated them on asking me the stupidest question i'd ever heard. the next day i showed up to the gallery where the party was goin' down and a friend, who does professional movie make-up, dress me up like a monkey of sorts. he even brought a fez and a shriner's jacket. i wound up looking like a one of the flying monkeys from wizard of oz but with a pituitary disorder. so, 5:00pm rolls around and the door opens and i jump out and run around like a monkey and lead jim to his throne as everyone sings happy birthday. we may not have pulled off the real monkey, but damn was i proud to be able to be a part of that day. it was worth the cold i got from runnin' around in a diaper in the middle of january.

until next time, kiddos.