Back When I Had a Soul
Today, when I wasn't doing work for an hour, Joe and I discussed via gchat the Good Ol' Days which tends to lead us to: That One Time I Wrote That Awesome Thing About Joe.
This blog post (before blogging was Blogging) is legendary.
Today we concluded that maybe I was psychic and knew that he would almost die during this time in China.
We also concluded that Joe once also said something nice about me. Approximately June 2004.
All in all, a little reminiscing has me thinking about Life... that at this moment in time life is pretty fantastic... but life was also fantastic when I was incredibly soulful, flat broke, living in an un-ariconditioned house in Baltimore, cooking dinner and drinking wine all alone, spending my days reading and reading and reading and writing things like this:
THE REPOST (note: formatting and links are not indicated here... because now I am lazy and have no soul)
The end of the beginning...
August 11, 2003
I have always hated the idea of a “Tribute Album.” What is that all about? A collection of some artist’s Top 20 songs (as deemed by some money-grubbing producer) that will be wailed out by various “Artists” (namely people like Celine Dion and Sheryl Crow), none of which sound even remotely close to the original, in their honor? All for what? One compilation, one CD that will somehow try to capture every listener, bring them into the depth and passion these dead musicians (or sometimes not dead….) held, and to (thank you, Billboard) make these aforementioned “Artists” more famous?
Please. You can’t capture legends like that. They live on forever.
*** A SKETCH ***
Item: Away Message
Author: Alli
Approximate date/time: August 10, 2003; 5:00 p.m.
Status: Sober
“It started at a bar in central London. From there it moved to a bar in north central London, south London, west London; it moved to classic 21st birthdays, stateside to 22nd birthdays; to Outkast shows, 2 Skinnee J's shows, endless hours of IM conversations, text messages and LiveJournaling...and now ladies and gentlemen, in sparing as much time as possible from packing, the two meet at the half-way point: a bar in Old Town Alexandria, to polish off the end of a Legend, a friendship that has flourished into one of the best in just over a year and over thousands of miles. Tonight I bid adieu to The One and Only Joe P. Frick before he takes off to teach the young minds in China for a year. (God help them. Really.)
Back not too late (and after one hour-and-a-half sob-fest drive home, I'm sure)”
Maybe I should call you up so we can spend some time together, take a walk or have some dinner, I don’t care I’ll do whatever.” ~The Girl With the World in Her Eyes, 2 Skinnee J’s
It didn’t really matter that we didn’t hit up a bar. I told the nostalgic side of me to “Shut the fuck up” and just go with the flow. “I’m hungry,” I said. There’s a Chipotle down the street, he pointed out. Perfect. Done. So, inside Chipotle, when he was on the phone with some girl who won a bikini contest and nudged me, asking if it was ok if we only got one beer, so he could say good-bye to her too, of course my answer was yes.
And of course, there was no beer. Just a small post-Chipotle stroll around Old(e) Town(e) Alexandria, and then, the adieu.
The Good-Bye: Sans bar, sans beer, sans sobs.
You need a heart that’s filled with music, if you use it you can fly” ~Sacrifice, The Roots
“So! Guess what I was listening to on the way down here, in honor of you?” I said too cheerfully as we walked towards Chipotle.
“Outkast.” He said. Certainly, Outkast.
“No. But close.”
“2 Skinnee J’s.”
“No.”
“Uhm…Jurassic 5.”
“No…ugh! It’s something that we shared together. Kind of…did we? No, we did.”
“Madonna? Michael Jackson?”
“No, dammit! The Roots!”
Ahh…The Roots. August 2002, opened for Outkast. We sat on a blanket and drank huge beers. It was my first legal beer at a concert. I waited for you, with Ann, in a diner parking lot in Vienna, VA, before the show. We listened to Outkast’s Greatest Hits CD on the way over.
Sunday morning I got a voicemail message from you that said you forgot to put my Going Somewhere/California mix CD you made me in your car, and therefore left it way back in Fredericksburg (a.k.a. Fred Vegas). Figures.
Just like a dream, you are not what you seem” ~Like a Prayer, Madonna
Item: quote from a Street Spins Album Review dated November 29, 2002
Author: unknown; pulled by: Alli
Approximate date/time: August 11, 2003; 2:04 a.m.
Status: sober
“Like other Roots offerings before, Phrenology (so named after the questionable Victorian ''science'' of the study of the skull) is music that can't be consumed in one listen. To fully savor the sound, you've got to commit to spending time with the Roots, to wallow in both the music and the message. There's Chuck Berry-style rock 'n' roll, jazz fusion, funk, poetry, shoutouts to hip-hop pioneers, lyrical slaps upside the heads of money-mad rappers, black nationalism and some groove-laden neo-soul musings. It's a lot to take in, and it is only through repeated listenings that these disparate elements coalesce into one head-nodding whole.”
Joe P. Frick cannot be pegged down over one Chipotle burrito. Or beer. Or bar. Or bar crawl. Or kegger. Or double kegger. Or political discussion. Or 5 a.m. truth or dare sessions in Regents Park, London, after breaking in. Or in weeks shaking bootie on the dance floor. Or months. Or a year. Or two? Or a lifetime.
Joe P. Frick cannot be “consumed in one listen.” In order to “fully savor the sound,” one must “commit to spending time” with Joe P. Frick, to “wallow in both the music and the message.”
There is no tribute album to Joe P. Frick.
***
It’s not like I idolize Joe. That would be ridiculous.
“Sometimes I wish I could be more like you are” ~Grown Up, 2 Skinee J’s
Joe P. Frick is not particularly gentle, or head-over-heels polite. He’s not well-versed in theatre, dance or painting. He doesn’t croon over love or relationships. He’s not drop dead gorgeous. I mean, I have better hair than he does, so what’s there to idolize?
Maybe its his compassion, his ability to know just what to say when you’re going through a hard time, like a break up:
Item: Away message
Author: Joe P. Frick; edited by Alli
Approximate date/time: May 2003; 3:30 a.m.
Status: Shitfaced, or, as Joe would say, “Hammertimed.”
“Drunk Joe on the proximity of 'Hot Allison Houseworth':
"Yo, I can't imagine having you live a floor below me...it would be like having an M&M machine that like...dispenses free M&Ms all the time."
and....
Alli: Joe, when you find that lady that you have that special connection with, and you hook up with her, and it's like mind-blowing, then you can come back and talk to me about hook-ups...
Joe: (Pause) Better than the Pizza Hut lunch buffet...?
Alli: Yes Joe, a hook up better than the Pizza Hut lunch buffet”
Hmm. I don’t think that’s it…after all, it’s really rare when “compassion” and “Joe P. Frick” can be mentioned in the same sentence.
I’m a gentleman, I’m gonna satisfy your soul” ~I’ll Call Before I Come, Outkast
…Unless of course, it’s Uber-Liberal Joe, indulging on the his compassion on subjects, and run-ins, with things like: homosexuality.
“I transmit, transcripts, transcontinental lyrics / deeply rooted in your spirits, uh, / I love the power of words, nouns and verbs / the pen and the sword, linguistic art of war” ~Quality Control, Jurassic 5
I think it’s his brilliance. His languid knowledge, his ability to fight for what he believes in, to the death. How he’ll kick back with a beer and cigar and proclaim that he will be the next President of the United States. I used to laugh at that, petrified for our nation when we see the day that Joe P. Frick becomes President. But we couldn’t be worse off, could we? And I suppose living in a Joe P. Frick world would be pretty kick ass…
Joe P. Frick: Penetrating intelligence, heart stopping fervor, side-splitting humor.
It takes one on-the-ball mother fucker to come up with shit like this and, of course, this.
Admirable, in some parallel universe. (Like mine.)
Item: LiveJournal, turned away message of Alli’s
Author: Joe P. Frick
Approximate date/time: Fall, 2002
Status: Sober. (Arguably)
“"And I have to say, James Madison was the shit...While Monticello's mansion is cooler, I think Madison wasn't all about being blinged out...he found a nice piece of land, built a chill house, and enjoyed himself. Madison was just kicking it, while Jefferson was a square in some ways. What's really cool is that the two were best friends...Can you imagine those two hanging out? I can. When they were at Madison's, I can just see James saying, 'Yo, Jeff, beer me!' and Jefferson being like, 'Oh, I do say...' Ha." ~the immortal words of Joe P. Frick, forever my hero’”
It’s not really like Joe P. Frick’s pad was so “blinged out.”
When I went down to visit, and was treated to The Joe Frick Reality Tour, I expected to, you know, at least not have to step over the trash in his Fred Vegas apartment.
So what if the building was once owned by George Washington, and is above a bar? I suppose I couldn’t have expected too much class (though the boy’s got it somewhere—maybe it only comes out when he frequents the VA Governor’s Ball) from Joe P. Frick. I should have known that my feet would stick to the kitchen floor, not entirely clean from the keg spillage. I should have imagined the row of empty liquor bottles, and (my personal favorite) the comic section of the Washington Post spread on the floor in front of the toilet in the bathroom. (So you could read the comics while you took a dump, you know.)
The Playboy magazines were under the pile of dirty underwear in the corner.
The street was lined with Cherry Blossoms and I woke up in the morning to the sounds of drums. When I looked out the window there were men in Colonial uniforms marching down the street. So Joe, so Joe.
“So what happens to a dream deferred of purple mountains” ~2 Skinnee J’s, Change the World
We met a bar in London. I couldn’t even remember his name. “Some guy from ISH,” I called him in my journal. Just some guy.
Just some guy I’d eat Indian with every Thursday night, followed by mad bootie shakin’ on the dance floor. Just some guy who loved a good beer. Just some guy who went on about “the hot chicks in Copenhagen,” some guy in my history class, jus some guy I held up on his 21st birthday, some guy I strolled through Hampstead Heath with, just some guy.
Joe P. Frick: just “some guy.”
Item: Away message
Author: Alli
Approximate date/time: May 2003
Status: Sober.
“Happy Birthday, Joe!!!!!
Joe, who I love dearly even though he says things like:
1. "Your world is not a world I want to live in, Alli." (In reference to my favorite bands.)
2. "When I think of places in my mind I don't want to be, I think of...Baghdad...and a John Mayer concert."
Drink one for me, babe! Too bad I can't be there to, literally, hold you up like last year! *hugs*”
“Aint nobody does it better” ~The Best, 2 Skinnee J’s
Maybe it was his ability to pull through during hard times.
Maybe it was how he’d always take off work to come to my birthday parties.
No.
It is definitely how skilled he is.
AND his dedication!!!!
Oh God…no…
“She’s got a secret tie too with my home address” ~Grown Up, 2 Skinnee J’s
No, it was definitely because he’s from where I was born. I mean what can bring two people together better than Northern Virginia!? Yeah, it must have been NOVA.
Yes!
And his violent dedication to my favorite home-town football team!!!!
Oh God, yes, that’s it, that’s it! Yes! That’s why we were going to go to Redskins Fan Appreciation day this year, to say good-bye to each other! YES! To say good-bye to each other over the one thing that brought us together! The Washington Redskins! It was a relationship that developed over the WASHINGTON REDSKINS!!!!
Sadly, that can’t be it. I mean, the Skins can’t hold anything together; not even a freakin’ football, let alone a fantastic friendship….
I don’t know. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know what it is.
Idolize? Admire? Worship?
Joe P. Frick. Who is Joe P. Frick?
”This is a lesson in friendship / the depths of a kinship” ~Thin Line, Jurassic 5
He held me up, he did. He was there with M&M quotes when I was crying on the inside. He knew how to hold me up when I almost slipped and fell.
”Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run / there’s still time to change the road you’re on” ~Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin
Somehow, he showed me what’s important.
Somehow.
Focus, flawless New York to Europe / to lands where my feet ain’t even touch the soil yet” ~Thought at Work, The Roots
He was going to be my roommate, my solidity, my life, there for me, after graduation.
We were going to gallivant in New York, bring back the spirit of London.
We talked about Chicago, Key West, London. We talked about him living in this house with me this summer.
But none of the “plans” worked. I imagined myself walking barefoot across a sandy Florida beach to meet up with him while he wrote his book (which I said he should call “Frick-tions"). But I just imagined.
But no, he’s going to China.
Joe P. Frick is going to China to teach. I like to laugh and say “God help those children.” But deep down inside I know they couldn’t be in better hands.
Joe P. Frick is going to China.
There will be no more LiveJournal rants about “The Cradle of Civilization” or “Fred Vegas.” The updates will be far and few between. I will miss scripted madness based on truth.
And I will miss his truth, his brilliant, beaming truth, hidden behind scripted insanity.
”There’s a feeling I get when I look to the west, and my spirit is crying for leaving” ~Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin
“And you have to get back to Baltimore,” he said our last night together, during the good-bye, in Old(e) Town(e), “And I’m sure something dramatic will happen to you on the drive home that you will have to write about in LiveJournal.” I laughed.
I thought…I could write about the colonial buildings that rose around us. I could write about colonization, about England and the US and Hong Kong, and how, here, they all tie together: with Joe. I could write about politics and comedy. I could write about his flip-flops and shorts, his plain white T-shirt. I could write about the uneven brick sidewalks, the President-named streets, getting turned around as I went back to 95. I could write about the setting sun, the rising almost-full-moon. I could write about the ice-blue color of the Potomac River as I drove back to Maryland…
I could write about how when I hugged him under that tree I didn’t want to let go. I could write about how I wanted to kiss him, and hold him because I was so overwhelmed with some sort of desire to express to him how deeply I love him in a way…I just can’t express. I wanted to find the words, poetic, gorgeous, perfect words that would capture the essence of him. The essence of Joe P. Frick.
But I did none of those things.
I just got in my car and watched him, in the reflection of my rear-view mirror, walk away. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I told myself I wouldn’t let them fall, or write about them.
I figured the only way to deal with this good-bye was to come up with the best “Tribute” I could: The Best of Joe P. Frick.
It wouldn’t be written with gorgeous words or poetic stories; there would be no metaphorical greater meaning, because that’s not what Joe is. Joe P. Frick just is.
And the greatest “Tribute” I could give him includes:
1. The Soundtrack to Joe playing in my car as I flew up 95: Led Zepplin, The Roots, Outkast, Jurassic 5, 2 Skinnee J’s; all REALLY loud, windows down
2. One MEGA-long, research oriented, obsessive, LiveJournal post that took me literally HOURS to write; all about him
3. Quotes from some of his favorite bands in said LiveJournal post
4. NOT finding any greater meaning in the “good-bye”
5. A small note to let him know this whole thing was written by me, with my shirt off.
That’s what he would love.
Joe P. Frick; it was all too perfect.
<3
This blog post (before blogging was Blogging) is legendary.
Today we concluded that maybe I was psychic and knew that he would almost die during this time in China.
We also concluded that Joe once also said something nice about me. Approximately June 2004.
All in all, a little reminiscing has me thinking about Life... that at this moment in time life is pretty fantastic... but life was also fantastic when I was incredibly soulful, flat broke, living in an un-ariconditioned house in Baltimore, cooking dinner and drinking wine all alone, spending my days reading and reading and reading and writing things like this:
THE REPOST (note: formatting and links are not indicated here... because now I am lazy and have no soul)
The end of the beginning...
August 11, 2003
I have always hated the idea of a “Tribute Album.” What is that all about? A collection of some artist’s Top 20 songs (as deemed by some money-grubbing producer) that will be wailed out by various “Artists” (namely people like Celine Dion and Sheryl Crow), none of which sound even remotely close to the original, in their honor? All for what? One compilation, one CD that will somehow try to capture every listener, bring them into the depth and passion these dead musicians (or sometimes not dead….) held, and to (thank you, Billboard) make these aforementioned “Artists” more famous?
Please. You can’t capture legends like that. They live on forever.
*** A SKETCH ***
Item: Away Message
Author: Alli
Approximate date/time: August 10, 2003; 5:00 p.m.
Status: Sober
“It started at a bar in central London. From there it moved to a bar in north central London, south London, west London; it moved to classic 21st birthdays, stateside to 22nd birthdays; to Outkast shows, 2 Skinnee J's shows, endless hours of IM conversations, text messages and LiveJournaling...and now ladies and gentlemen, in sparing as much time as possible from packing, the two meet at the half-way point: a bar in Old Town Alexandria, to polish off the end of a Legend, a friendship that has flourished into one of the best in just over a year and over thousands of miles. Tonight I bid adieu to The One and Only Joe P. Frick before he takes off to teach the young minds in China for a year. (God help them. Really.)
Back not too late (and after one hour-and-a-half sob-fest drive home, I'm sure)”
Maybe I should call you up so we can spend some time together, take a walk or have some dinner, I don’t care I’ll do whatever.” ~The Girl With the World in Her Eyes, 2 Skinnee J’s
It didn’t really matter that we didn’t hit up a bar. I told the nostalgic side of me to “Shut the fuck up” and just go with the flow. “I’m hungry,” I said. There’s a Chipotle down the street, he pointed out. Perfect. Done. So, inside Chipotle, when he was on the phone with some girl who won a bikini contest and nudged me, asking if it was ok if we only got one beer, so he could say good-bye to her too, of course my answer was yes.
And of course, there was no beer. Just a small post-Chipotle stroll around Old(e) Town(e) Alexandria, and then, the adieu.
The Good-Bye: Sans bar, sans beer, sans sobs.
You need a heart that’s filled with music, if you use it you can fly” ~Sacrifice, The Roots
“So! Guess what I was listening to on the way down here, in honor of you?” I said too cheerfully as we walked towards Chipotle.
“Outkast.” He said. Certainly, Outkast.
“No. But close.”
“2 Skinnee J’s.”
“No.”
“Uhm…Jurassic 5.”
“No…ugh! It’s something that we shared together. Kind of…did we? No, we did.”
“Madonna? Michael Jackson?”
“No, dammit! The Roots!”
Ahh…The Roots. August 2002, opened for Outkast. We sat on a blanket and drank huge beers. It was my first legal beer at a concert. I waited for you, with Ann, in a diner parking lot in Vienna, VA, before the show. We listened to Outkast’s Greatest Hits CD on the way over.
Sunday morning I got a voicemail message from you that said you forgot to put my Going Somewhere/California mix CD you made me in your car, and therefore left it way back in Fredericksburg (a.k.a. Fred Vegas). Figures.
Just like a dream, you are not what you seem” ~Like a Prayer, Madonna
Item: quote from a Street Spins Album Review dated November 29, 2002
Author: unknown; pulled by: Alli
Approximate date/time: August 11, 2003; 2:04 a.m.
Status: sober
“Like other Roots offerings before, Phrenology (so named after the questionable Victorian ''science'' of the study of the skull) is music that can't be consumed in one listen. To fully savor the sound, you've got to commit to spending time with the Roots, to wallow in both the music and the message. There's Chuck Berry-style rock 'n' roll, jazz fusion, funk, poetry, shoutouts to hip-hop pioneers, lyrical slaps upside the heads of money-mad rappers, black nationalism and some groove-laden neo-soul musings. It's a lot to take in, and it is only through repeated listenings that these disparate elements coalesce into one head-nodding whole.”
Joe P. Frick cannot be pegged down over one Chipotle burrito. Or beer. Or bar. Or bar crawl. Or kegger. Or double kegger. Or political discussion. Or 5 a.m. truth or dare sessions in Regents Park, London, after breaking in. Or in weeks shaking bootie on the dance floor. Or months. Or a year. Or two? Or a lifetime.
Joe P. Frick cannot be “consumed in one listen.” In order to “fully savor the sound,” one must “commit to spending time” with Joe P. Frick, to “wallow in both the music and the message.”
There is no tribute album to Joe P. Frick.
***
It’s not like I idolize Joe. That would be ridiculous.
“Sometimes I wish I could be more like you are” ~Grown Up, 2 Skinee J’s
Joe P. Frick is not particularly gentle, or head-over-heels polite. He’s not well-versed in theatre, dance or painting. He doesn’t croon over love or relationships. He’s not drop dead gorgeous. I mean, I have better hair than he does, so what’s there to idolize?
Maybe its his compassion, his ability to know just what to say when you’re going through a hard time, like a break up:
Item: Away message
Author: Joe P. Frick; edited by Alli
Approximate date/time: May 2003; 3:30 a.m.
Status: Shitfaced, or, as Joe would say, “Hammertimed.”
“Drunk Joe on the proximity of 'Hot Allison Houseworth':
"Yo, I can't imagine having you live a floor below me...it would be like having an M&M machine that like...dispenses free M&Ms all the time."
and....
Alli: Joe, when you find that lady that you have that special connection with, and you hook up with her, and it's like mind-blowing, then you can come back and talk to me about hook-ups...
Joe: (Pause) Better than the Pizza Hut lunch buffet...?
Alli: Yes Joe, a hook up better than the Pizza Hut lunch buffet”
Hmm. I don’t think that’s it…after all, it’s really rare when “compassion” and “Joe P. Frick” can be mentioned in the same sentence.
I’m a gentleman, I’m gonna satisfy your soul” ~I’ll Call Before I Come, Outkast
…Unless of course, it’s Uber-Liberal Joe, indulging on the his compassion on subjects, and run-ins, with things like: homosexuality.
“I transmit, transcripts, transcontinental lyrics / deeply rooted in your spirits, uh, / I love the power of words, nouns and verbs / the pen and the sword, linguistic art of war” ~Quality Control, Jurassic 5
I think it’s his brilliance. His languid knowledge, his ability to fight for what he believes in, to the death. How he’ll kick back with a beer and cigar and proclaim that he will be the next President of the United States. I used to laugh at that, petrified for our nation when we see the day that Joe P. Frick becomes President. But we couldn’t be worse off, could we? And I suppose living in a Joe P. Frick world would be pretty kick ass…
Joe P. Frick: Penetrating intelligence, heart stopping fervor, side-splitting humor.
It takes one on-the-ball mother fucker to come up with shit like this and, of course, this.
Admirable, in some parallel universe. (Like mine.)
Item: LiveJournal, turned away message of Alli’s
Author: Joe P. Frick
Approximate date/time: Fall, 2002
Status: Sober. (Arguably)
“"And I have to say, James Madison was the shit...While Monticello's mansion is cooler, I think Madison wasn't all about being blinged out...he found a nice piece of land, built a chill house, and enjoyed himself. Madison was just kicking it, while Jefferson was a square in some ways. What's really cool is that the two were best friends...Can you imagine those two hanging out? I can. When they were at Madison's, I can just see James saying, 'Yo, Jeff, beer me!' and Jefferson being like, 'Oh, I do say...' Ha." ~the immortal words of Joe P. Frick, forever my hero’”
It’s not really like Joe P. Frick’s pad was so “blinged out.”
When I went down to visit, and was treated to The Joe Frick Reality Tour, I expected to, you know, at least not have to step over the trash in his Fred Vegas apartment.
So what if the building was once owned by George Washington, and is above a bar? I suppose I couldn’t have expected too much class (though the boy’s got it somewhere—maybe it only comes out when he frequents the VA Governor’s Ball) from Joe P. Frick. I should have known that my feet would stick to the kitchen floor, not entirely clean from the keg spillage. I should have imagined the row of empty liquor bottles, and (my personal favorite) the comic section of the Washington Post spread on the floor in front of the toilet in the bathroom. (So you could read the comics while you took a dump, you know.)
The Playboy magazines were under the pile of dirty underwear in the corner.
The street was lined with Cherry Blossoms and I woke up in the morning to the sounds of drums. When I looked out the window there were men in Colonial uniforms marching down the street. So Joe, so Joe.
“So what happens to a dream deferred of purple mountains” ~2 Skinnee J’s, Change the World
We met a bar in London. I couldn’t even remember his name. “Some guy from ISH,” I called him in my journal. Just some guy.
Just some guy I’d eat Indian with every Thursday night, followed by mad bootie shakin’ on the dance floor. Just some guy who loved a good beer. Just some guy who went on about “the hot chicks in Copenhagen,” some guy in my history class, jus some guy I held up on his 21st birthday, some guy I strolled through Hampstead Heath with, just some guy.
Joe P. Frick: just “some guy.”
Item: Away message
Author: Alli
Approximate date/time: May 2003
Status: Sober.
“Happy Birthday, Joe!!!!!
Joe, who I love dearly even though he says things like:
1. "Your world is not a world I want to live in, Alli." (In reference to my favorite bands.)
2. "When I think of places in my mind I don't want to be, I think of...Baghdad...and a John Mayer concert."
Drink one for me, babe! Too bad I can't be there to, literally, hold you up like last year! *hugs*”
“Aint nobody does it better” ~The Best, 2 Skinnee J’s
Maybe it was his ability to pull through during hard times.
Maybe it was how he’d always take off work to come to my birthday parties.
No.
It is definitely how skilled he is.
AND his dedication!!!!
Oh God…no…
“She’s got a secret tie too with my home address” ~Grown Up, 2 Skinnee J’s
No, it was definitely because he’s from where I was born. I mean what can bring two people together better than Northern Virginia!? Yeah, it must have been NOVA.
Yes!
And his violent dedication to my favorite home-town football team!!!!
Oh God, yes, that’s it, that’s it! Yes! That’s why we were going to go to Redskins Fan Appreciation day this year, to say good-bye to each other! YES! To say good-bye to each other over the one thing that brought us together! The Washington Redskins! It was a relationship that developed over the WASHINGTON REDSKINS!!!!
Sadly, that can’t be it. I mean, the Skins can’t hold anything together; not even a freakin’ football, let alone a fantastic friendship….
I don’t know. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know what it is.
Idolize? Admire? Worship?
Joe P. Frick. Who is Joe P. Frick?
”This is a lesson in friendship / the depths of a kinship” ~Thin Line, Jurassic 5
He held me up, he did. He was there with M&M quotes when I was crying on the inside. He knew how to hold me up when I almost slipped and fell.
”Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run / there’s still time to change the road you’re on” ~Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin
Somehow, he showed me what’s important.
Somehow.
Focus, flawless New York to Europe / to lands where my feet ain’t even touch the soil yet” ~Thought at Work, The Roots
He was going to be my roommate, my solidity, my life, there for me, after graduation.
We were going to gallivant in New York, bring back the spirit of London.
We talked about Chicago, Key West, London. We talked about him living in this house with me this summer.
But none of the “plans” worked. I imagined myself walking barefoot across a sandy Florida beach to meet up with him while he wrote his book (which I said he should call “Frick-tions"). But I just imagined.
But no, he’s going to China.
Joe P. Frick is going to China to teach. I like to laugh and say “God help those children.” But deep down inside I know they couldn’t be in better hands.
Joe P. Frick is going to China.
There will be no more LiveJournal rants about “The Cradle of Civilization” or “Fred Vegas.” The updates will be far and few between. I will miss scripted madness based on truth.
And I will miss his truth, his brilliant, beaming truth, hidden behind scripted insanity.
”There’s a feeling I get when I look to the west, and my spirit is crying for leaving” ~Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin
“And you have to get back to Baltimore,” he said our last night together, during the good-bye, in Old(e) Town(e), “And I’m sure something dramatic will happen to you on the drive home that you will have to write about in LiveJournal.” I laughed.
I thought…I could write about the colonial buildings that rose around us. I could write about colonization, about England and the US and Hong Kong, and how, here, they all tie together: with Joe. I could write about politics and comedy. I could write about his flip-flops and shorts, his plain white T-shirt. I could write about the uneven brick sidewalks, the President-named streets, getting turned around as I went back to 95. I could write about the setting sun, the rising almost-full-moon. I could write about the ice-blue color of the Potomac River as I drove back to Maryland…
I could write about how when I hugged him under that tree I didn’t want to let go. I could write about how I wanted to kiss him, and hold him because I was so overwhelmed with some sort of desire to express to him how deeply I love him in a way…I just can’t express. I wanted to find the words, poetic, gorgeous, perfect words that would capture the essence of him. The essence of Joe P. Frick.
But I did none of those things.
I just got in my car and watched him, in the reflection of my rear-view mirror, walk away. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I told myself I wouldn’t let them fall, or write about them.
I figured the only way to deal with this good-bye was to come up with the best “Tribute” I could: The Best of Joe P. Frick.
It wouldn’t be written with gorgeous words or poetic stories; there would be no metaphorical greater meaning, because that’s not what Joe is. Joe P. Frick just is.
And the greatest “Tribute” I could give him includes:
1. The Soundtrack to Joe playing in my car as I flew up 95: Led Zepplin, The Roots, Outkast, Jurassic 5, 2 Skinnee J’s; all REALLY loud, windows down
2. One MEGA-long, research oriented, obsessive, LiveJournal post that took me literally HOURS to write; all about him
3. Quotes from some of his favorite bands in said LiveJournal post
4. NOT finding any greater meaning in the “good-bye”
5. A small note to let him know this whole thing was written by me, with my shirt off.
That’s what he would love.
Joe P. Frick; it was all too perfect.
<3
posted by AllDeTime at 9:47 AM
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