William, It Was Really Something

2005, can you suck it any harder?

A friend's dad passed away on Monday. Coincidentally, her birthday.

I've known her since I was 6, (5?), and therefore her parents just as long- I have really, really fond memories of her dad, Bill. He was incredibly patient, weird, creative in a mad-scientist-genius kind of way, and just plain funny. He had insane taste in music, and wore nerdy glasses, and his daughter inherited the best of his traits. This, of course, is just how I remember him as a 13 year old- I can only imagine he'd gotten better with age. I hadn't seen him since I was 19 or so, when I ran into him back home, shopping over Christmas break.

Regardless of where our paths have taken us, I've always held my girl K.S. with deepest respect and admiration, and it pains me in very weird and inexplicable ways to see her hurt. For a brief, specific time in my life, her pops was practically a surrogate father- in the way all dads are to their daughter's junior high BFFs. Giggly girls holding court over sleepovers more days of the week than not, crank calling boys, fucking with his stuff in the garage, exploding things with chemistry sets, recording weird demo tapes in the linen closet, building dioramas in the basement- (what? that wasn't how you acted as a sixth grade girl?) In a way, I'm sure she could think of my dad like I thought of hers, if she wanted to. But let's face it- her house was always way more fun. Explain, please. How do dads do it? Moms, at least, have been there, (well, kind of - I can't fathom my mother ever being a pre-teen, she popped out of the womb ready to talk some fucking business and never looked back) but I cannot imagine a stranger existence than being a father of a 13-year old female. It boggles the mind.

The one pleasurable thought I've had in the last hour since learning that he's gone is that finally, Bill and Frank Zappa are somewhere, together, being awesome.

Please, someone, I beg of you - get married. Make a baby. Get a kitten. Adopt a pony, anything. This year, I haven't even explained a quarter of it, Internets. It's breaking me, and I am sick of funerals.