I apologize for the vaguebooking yesterday, but a friend of mine passed away. I was going to save this for whatever ceremony happens but I don’t think I can read it all the way through without busting up and destroying my stoic fortitude. This is a public post so please be respectful. I met Julian DiMarco sitting in a café called Paradiso on Capital Hill, in Seattle, sometime in 1994/5(?). Dmitri Antos introduced me to him, Matt Westervelt, and Cooper Johnson. I believe their plan was to go to the Catwalk later that night. We were all engaged in some pseudo-philosophical conversations that twenty year-old guys dressed in black are wont to do in coffee houses filled with clove smoke. Not wanting to leave the conversation or take his glasses off, Julian tried applying eyeliner while sitting there at the table while slinging some sideline comment about the intent of Nietzsche passage. This was the first of the many meaning smirks I had with Julian. To say that Julian was a friend wouldnt be a complete story. While we were friends, over 19 years, your relationship with someone isn’t as simple as a single term. Julian was my competition. When we worked together at start-ups and large companies, we fought and argued over jobs, salaries, policies and co-workers. We argued over who had the worst job and boss. We match each other drink for drink and punch for punch. We compared girlfriends and argued who had the worst ex’s. We called each other names both in jest and in earnest. We paid each other compliments… both in jest and in earnest. But we always had rules. We never stole from each other because there’s honor amongst rogues. We always stuck up for each other. And when we couldnt, we’d say it to each other’s face. I treated Julian like a brother because he always made time for me as an individual with nothing to prove even though we competed for near everything. And just like my real brothers, I was the only one that could insult him and damn you if you thought you had the right. Julian was part of my imagination and creativity. He told the truth. He told the tales. He recited the facts and fiction. But most of all he was an avid bard with a lesson to be learned or a situation to be recalled. Did he ever tell you the one about the bear? Did he ever tell you about that fight? Did he ever tell you about that thing about the mafia or Scotland or that Old Norse god? Did he ever tell you about the wilds of Boston or child-metropolis of Fairbanks? Did he ever tell you about the time he was on this boat? Did he ever tell you about that time at Neighbors? Did he recite it to you in Latin? Did he ever tell you about... Julian has been my validation as well. He was the look-out and sometimes muscle for a speak-easy we “worked” at. He was there for an eye-gouging fight in the Rammstein mosh pit. He was there for fights and scores at the Machinewerks. He flew with me, off the balcony, onto the trampoline on Evil Dead Easter. He knew all of my ex’s. He stood by my side when we faced off against skin heads. We were adventurers and always learning. He saw when I was being unreasonable and laughed at me accordingly. He saw the logic and humor when I was on a roll. He knew all of my quotes, references and obscure jokes because we read the same books and borrowed from each other’s libraries. We fought and argued together with a confidence of tried warriors and without the worry of the other disappearing. Julian has been my humility, my ego, and my example. He showed me that I should never get too full of myself. And yet he could grow twenty times his own size in a story or a fight. He led by example… often by what not to do. He was wrong as much as he was right but he was always right even if he was wrong. Often we’d stride through life knowing it was easier to ask for apologies than permission. Often we’d act with confidence and authority, knowing that there was none to be had. Both of us shared the unpopular stance that if you lead the way you’d get the correct leader to come forward when we’d cock it up too bad. But the great thing was, when we fell, we fell together and laughed about it after the job was done. Even if we didnt fall together and we could still laugh about it afterwards. Julian and I had some great times. We took the good with the bad. He was there when we both lost loves and jobs. And even though we didnt see eye to eye, because he was short and I’m tall, he always listened and considered what I had to say. He was as generous with telling me the truth as he was supportive of the lies I tell myself. I’m sorry for my honesty. I’m sorry for my jokes. But most of all, I’m sorry because no amount of being ‘the asshole you need’ or humor is going to pick you back up this time.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Jul 2014 22:50:06 +0000
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