Ain't That a Kick in the Head
As I mentioned last time, we spent the last portion of our road-trip with my parents. After spending a few days tormenting my old hometown, we decided to depart. After returning from Southern Oregon, we reversed roles and hosted my parents, as they had a wedding to attend. A most splendid time was had by all -- truly wonderful people.
After their departure, I had a few days downtime to catch up on some personal projects and take care of some things around the house. As I was dumping images from my camera, I saw a shitty photo of the campus library that I had taken on the first day of the trip. I suddenly remembered that I hadn't heard from Rich, a close college buddy, in a few months. During our last exchange, I was waiting for him to get back to me with his availability. We had been trying to get together for weeks, something we did a few times a year. I didn't hear anything back and, shame on me, I eventually let it slip from my TODO list.
Anyway, like I said, it'd been a few months. I decide to drop him another note, as I'd like to catch up. A bit irritated, I pop open facebook to write him a message, as I know it's his preferred method of communication -- I mean, why use facebook for messaging when we have e-mail? It seems needlessly redundant.
I do a search for his name, hit his profile and glance at his wall. Someone wished him a happy birthday. Shit, I had forgot that as well. I pause to think -- well, I guess I can't feel too bad -- I didn't hear anything from him on my birthday.
I move my cursor towards the 'Send a message' link when my hand goes limp. It takes a few seconds to set in, but based on the messages left on his wall, it became apparent that Rich died. A few months ago. I immediately close my browser and shrink into my chair, utterly defeated.
Mind racing, I try to rationalize things. I try convince myself that it was inevitable and to be expected, but it didn't really help. Rich was disabled. It was pretty apparent that his legs didn't work and he had limited arm mobility. I never once asked about his inflictions, nor did he ever talk about them. He had a motorized wheelchair, however, you'd hardly notice -- he deftly maneuvered his craft and his mischievous eyes commanded attention.
A few hours later, I muster the courage to venture back online to look at his obituary. Apparently Rich passed a mere 10 days after our last chat. I reread our last correspondence to see if I missed something, but nothing was mentioned regarding his health, nor his pending departure. His obituary was short and touching, but rather plain. This made me feel a bit uneasy. Uneasiness gradually turned to sadness -- a few sentences summarizing such a wonderful human is just depressing. I don't think Rich would have approved.
Thusly, I feel obligated to pen my own version, since he was nothing short of a king among men. Please note: there are large swaths of this man's history that I do not know. I have taken liberties in filling them in as I feel they should be.
In August of 1981, a baby boy named Rich was born. Most curiously, he emerged from his mother's womb wearing a tailored suit, a suave haircut and a glowing grin -- a trifecta of style that he would carry with him until the end.
As Rich grew, he excelled at school, but it became apparent that he had a deep mischief brewing within him. His early years were filled with straight As and frequent visits to the principal's office. Attempting to set him on righteous path, he rebelled -- monkey business was much more fun. In addition to academics and chaos, Rich also began studying music, with the ultimate goal of playing the piano like a motherfucker.
Before entering his teens, Rich's health took a turn for the worse. Things looked inescapably bleak, so bad that the Make-a-Wish foundation got involved. Granting Rich's wish for a bottomless-wallet shopping spree at a local mall, he made out like a bandit. In the coming months, with more toys than the child of a European King, Rich miraculously recovered from his ailments. Proving that fatal illnesses ain't shit, Rich had executed one of his trademark last-minute changeups.
Rich entered high school and continued to excel. A tricked-out first-generation Plymouth Voyager minivan with hand-controls gave Rich the gift of transportation and the opportunity to further channel his mischief. Rich, a profound fallen-from-faith atheist, was nearly arrested in front of a local adult movie theater. Bible in hand, completely in character, he emphatically read choice passages, attempting to offer the patrons a way out of their vile lifestyle. Apparently, he offended a regular customer, who attempted to start a fight with a teenager. A teenage holy man. A teenage holy man grasping a bible in one hand and his wheelchair joystick in the other. Transmuting holy words into weapons used to incite anger, for no good reason -- right up Rich's alley.
As he exited his high-school years and entered college, Rich uncovered a whole new world. His mischievous streak turned into something much darker. He discovered a deep admiration for fine alcohol, trashy women, deception and partying. Despite his penchant for all things vice, Rich didn't fuck around -- he attacked knowledge with ferocity, constantly feeding his already-supreme intellect. He studied the written word and started dedicating himself to his craft.
After completing his undergraduate studies, Rich took a year off. Wanting some excitement the following Spring, Rich had began erecting plans for a roadtrip. Before school broke for Summer, he had some letterhead printed for a fictional media research company. He sent form-letters to college dormitories across the west coast. He spun a delicate yarn, implying that he was taking part in a comparative study of collegiate living situations across the nation and would need room and board for two nights. He informed them of the dates of his visit and asked them to prepare accordingly.
As Spring rolled around, he sent out another round of letters and packed up the van. He didn't hear back from any of the schools and didn't really care -- if he wasn't able to con his way into a free room, he could most assuredly sweet-talk someone into letting him crash at their place. His plan almost worked -- he spent a few uncomfortable nights in the van, but was able to gain access to a dormitory at a prestigious California university. After partying for a few days, he was discovered to be a fraud. Narrowly escaping, he hit the road to his next stop, where he failed to procure a room. After running his game on a woman at a nearby bar, she put him up for the night. The next day, things were cut short by car problems and Rich returned home. Despite the numerous hang-ups, Rich considered his outing to be a complete success.
After the "summer of chaos" tour, Rich decided to continue his studies at Harvard University. A larger city provided him with numerous opportunities for ridiculous adventures, but he also spent time practicing the piano and singing. He spent a summer in New York, where he talked his way into the champagne room at a prolific Manhattan strip establishment. Rich loved a good lapdance, especially if they were free.
After Harvard, Rich returned to Portland and began crafting a book. He also spent time volunteering, playing the piano at the Children's hospital. In between illicit trips to Las Vegas, Rich began constructing his masterplan -- to become a paid speaker.
Unfortunately, those plans could not be completed -- Rich tragically suffocated. While playing the piano, singing "Aint That a Kick in the Head", he was taken by an avalanche of gorgeous strippers and fine champagne.
Per Rich's request, there will be a party to celebrate his awesomeness. Formal attire for men, short shorts for the women. Highlights include: A live performance by The Frogs, a Kirk Cameron effigy (to be burned), an open bar and Rich's topless "Secret Recipe" puddin' wrestlin'. Donations can be made to Farts Without Borders.
Most of all, Rich will be remembered as a kind soul, a beautiful mind and truly one of the sickest, most magnificent assholes the world has ever had the pleasure to host. He will be dearly missed.
to be continued...
