a love letter.

i don't even know where to begin with this, except at the beginning:

i met my best friend john around age 15/16, through a fanzine he was writing about the band the smiths. i know, i know -- but let's keep in mind that this was the mid-80s, m'kay? i stumbled across a copy of it at the local record store in grand rapids, michigan (where my family was living at the time; john lived in detroit, about an hour and a half away). we began a correspondence....god, remember actual LETTER writing? i was mad good at it back in the day (if i do say so myself), and must've penned a good 20 pages a week to john. i was 16 years old -- what the hell did i have to write that much about? anyway, john started sending me these amazing mix tapes, all of which i still have (and there must be 40 or 50 of em'). he was one of those people who had a copy of every rare import release before it came out, had intimate knowledge of every obscure-but-soon-to-be-hot new indie band... hence his later positions as art/music critic, writing reviews for spin and salon and so forth. he was (and is) a great writer, and he had that 'hunter/gatherer of art' impulse i lacked -- coupled with amazing taste -- and so opened up an entire world to me over the course of a good 10+ years that i don't think i'd have been privy to otherwise. all of what he exposed me to really shaped who i am today on so many levels [winks to john]. i'll never forget listening to the first tape he sent me -- full of stuff i'd never even heard of before like the go-betweens, sugarcubes, mccarthy, close lobsters, beat happening, and (most importantly) throwing muses -- and feeling like i had found another version of my self in him, feeling kindred and understood somehow. just listening to kristen hersh sing “a boy who was tangled in his bike forever / a girl was missing two fingers / gerry ann was confused / mister huberty had a gun in his head” was like having someone take hold of my tangled 16-year-old identity and unfurl it before my eyes. i sat on the edge of my bed and cried.

and on and on: we visited one another every few weeks while i was still in high school. eventually i moved (briefly) to detroit to live in a house with him and a couple (the male of which i was secretly in mad crushdom with, the female of which was COMPLETELY FUCKING CERTIFIABLY INSANE... need i explain why this arrangement was doomed?). shortly thereafter john and i took a two-week trip to london together (i think i was 18 or 19 at that point), during which i was mugged and had the crap physically beat out of me (simultaneously). the night this happened, john stayed up with me until the crack of dawn as i had what can only be described as a catastrophic psychological meltdown, held my hand (literally), and convinced me i was going to be alright. and of course i believed him -- he was john. if i didn't believe him, then i believed nothing and in no one. he was my better self, my doppelganger, my not-so-evil twin... and during this time period i loved him and trusted him far more than i did myself.

but despite my self-doubt, he loved me for some unidentifiable reason or other. he told me i was good, that i was talented and smart. and i trusted his word enough to begin chipping away at my self-disregard because of that. i know all of this is mush mush mush (apologies), but i just can't stress enough how instrumental he was in shaping my developing sense of self, how truly i would not even *be* myself as i know it now without him. besides, we had ridiculous amounts of fun together. we shared the typical young adult-ish alcohol/drug experimentation experiences (involving hilarious escapades like a hallucinogenic night out driving around detroit FOR SIX FUCKING HOURS STRAIGHT, listening to the pixies and talking like two psychotic wind-up dolls who'd been set to run at warp speed), the rock shows and shmoozing with stars until all hours (john had back-stage access to just about every detroit rock show, so i got the chance to rub elbows with then-heroes like my bloody valentine and throwing muses), the movies and books and art, and our intensity regarding them (john and i saw formative stuff like “heathers” and “down by law” together, and he introduced me to john waters and amy gerstler and jenny holzer and, well, just about everything art-wise that i really gave a crap about until i was at least 25).

random: i don't know why this springs to mind, but i remember during one visit to detroit being left alone in an apartment john was sharing at the time with some friends, and stumbling across a copy of nirvana's nevermind (this was before it/they broke). i put it on for a listen, and when he got back from wherever he'd gone to, john commented off-handedly about it: “yeah, that record is going to be HUGE.” funny, but i remember that he sounded less-than-pleased.

so at some point john moved to san francisco and started working full-time as a writer. i went on to grad school. we continued writing and talking on the phone...but here's where the strings come in. you know how it goes: distance, coupled with full lives, coupled with time... slowly we talked less and less, though i believed then, and still do now, that our feelings about each other hadn't really changed. it was just life, just the way things go. sometimes, despite ourselves, we somehow manage to lose touch with the important people that we shouldn't lose touch with.

so i got that email yesterday and it made my heart ache. it forced to the surface all of these things i've written about, and many more i haven't. i must be old -- here i am, talking history and reminiscing. back around the time i met john, i never even thought i'd live to see thirty. but here i am: married, with a daughter and a house and all the trappings of well-composed adulthood. here i am -- alive and happy and full and intact. and with that in mind, i guess what i really want to say here -- what all of this is driving at -- is simply this: thanks, john. and i miss you.