The primary reason you are reading this blog right now, aside from the fact that I’m the type of dork who actually takes the time to maintain a blog, is because of that handsome man, pictured above. That imp. That rascal. That genius.
What are friends for? In addition to the million things you can’t, or shouldn’t need to articulate, I reckon they are there for the obvious things few of us could live without: support, laughter, encouragement, honesty, compassion, and –if you are lucky enough to have even one of these people in your life– someone you measure yourself against in the hope that you are doing your best to live a life of integrity.
I could list the close-to-countless ways Jamey Barlow has affected and influenced my life, all for the better; but perhaps the most pertinent example, being that I’m writing about him in this blog on his 40th birthday, is to thank him for insisting that I write about things in a blog. And then helping me set it up. And answering the (invariably stupid) questions I had (and always have) about all-things technical. With patience, wit and authority. Like he always has done, on a variety of topics, since I was fortunate enough to meet him (ahem) twenty-two years ago.
The portrait of the artists as young men? Or, not to put too fine a point on it, the picture of two freshmen who, in May of 1989, had already talked about more things, seen more things, experienced more things and drank more things, than we ever would have imagined before embarking on our adventure at George Mason University. Of course, if you are fortunate enough to attend college and live on campus, you are likely to meet people you will never forget; if you are really fortunate, you’ll meet a few people you never want to forget. Jamey was one of the first people I met, and I think he would agree that we were quite fortunate indeed to live in a dorm (Amherst 1st Floor: Get ’em Wet) that had more than its fair share of indelible (and unforgettable) characters.
Nevertheless, I still marvel at how incredible it was –and remains– that I met a handful of fellas that I still talk to every day. What a miracle. I am humbled to consider how inadequate my life would be had I not met men like Jamey. That is friendship, the gift that keeps giving.
There we are, circa 1992, with Nick “Sticky Fingers” Fiegoli (perhaps the only thing I share with our last president is a propensity, bordering on obsession –and quite possibly visionary elan– for giving out nicknames). Nick also lived on Amherst 1st. What a year that was. What a four (or so) years those were. That’s yet another example I can think of whenever I need to remember how the forces of the universe have largely smiled on me: to look back at high school and college and have many, many more good memories than bad and know that I’m still close with so many people who came into my life.
We grew up, of course. At least in the unimportant ways that are measured by years. We are, naturally, still immature in our own inimitable ways. Growing up and getting old are two separate things, and they reside mostly in the mind. Or, without getting all metaphysical about it, when I look at Jamey, and virtually all of the cats I knew back in college, I see the same young men I saw when we were lean, mean and wore acid washed jeans. When I look at Jamey, I see the same guy who had a Robocop poster on his wall freshman year (oh, you don’t think I’d remember?), the same guy who was wise and witty well beyond his years (kind of Oscar Wilde meets Chevy Chase, only without the jodhpurs or combover), the same guy I went back in time with at a Jethro Tull concert (long story), the same guy I did too many Liquid Lunches with, the same guy I threw empty bottles at the horseshoe pit outside my window (oh was that only me?), the same guy who you could always count on, be it a crisis or a party.
There we are, last year, with Shieldsy (another charter memeber of that freshman year Syzygy when all those elements came into place). Among the many things we bonded over, aside from the obvious and obligatory love of sports, beer, sarcasm and storytelling, was music. That is the sacred bond, and I can count on less than five fingers the number of people I’ve connected with more closely and passionately on art of all kinds, particularly music. The sonic vistas he has helped me discover and experience are incalculable, and if he did nothing else to forever alter my life, he has helped me love music even more than I already did (which anyone who knew me before 1988 would have thought impossible).
He remains my go-to guy for all-things technical, and his generosity (with his time, his expertise on many topics, his wisdom and, always, his incomparable sense of humor) is constant. I try to never take it for granted, but he makes it difficult because that’s just how he rolls. It’s just how he is.
I won’t linger on this point, but I would be remiss to give the impression that it’s all shits and giggles. Everyone understands that, right? Aside from sharing solidarity and soul during the good time and bad, we have had each other’s back during some particularly challenging times and it will suffice to say that during times of profound loss you are wise (and again, lucky) to understand who and what you still have.
What else can I say? Other than wanting to celebrate a friend, family man, brilliant analyst (ask him what he does for a living sometime and be prepared to be impressed and intimidated at how smart he is) and master brewer (and if you’ve never been lucky enough to sample one of his award-winning beers, my condolences; although you can and should hope –as I do– that he continues to get the recognition his brewing prowess warrants, so he can start doing this professionally and, like a hop-crazed pied piper, lead the rest of the world to the tune he is playing, kind of like Max Von Sydow in Strange Brew, only in a good way).
I want to celebrate my great friend on his birthday, and I want to celebrate my amazing luck in having him in my life.
You are my brother and always will be. Thanks for everything, and let’s keep the party going until we finally grow up.
