Skip to main content

R.I.P. Shane

I hesitate in writing this. Even more so, in posting this. Shane would be annoyed. Secretly, he may appreciate it, but publicly, he'd have quite a bit of criticism. Therefor, I will try to keep canned praise and cliche accolades to a minimum and tell you a little bit about the man.

I got a call one late afternoon, inviting me to a new Broadway show. His job's connection, called him with two last minute tickets to one of the hottest new shows in town. I was on the train in seconds. The show was magnificent and we hopped aboard the train home, cold beers in brown bags, with seconds ready and waiting. We chatted briefly about the show and then sat back to take it in. The train wobbled back and forth and I felt a relaxation and euphoria, from experiencing true art. "There this lion fucking an antelope," says Shane. Without warning, Shane tells me the funniest joke I'd ever heard. One, to this day, I can't repeat with even half the impact as his impromptu telling. I mean, I laughed so hard on that train, people got up and left the car.

That was Shane.

Shane's gift for storytelling, came completely from his devouring of books, both classics and pure rubbish. He would often give a synopsis of a book, so incredibly brief, but informative, that reading it almost seemed superfluous. His ability to consume and process information was incredible, but he was almost shy about showing this prowess. He'd wait til a crowd dwindled, always worried he'd bore someone, but knowing I'd take part, sometimes actively, often just intently listening. His ability to make me sit and listen, being happy with being nothing more than a spectator for his analysis is a feat in itself. Shane was one of the few people I would find myself mesmerized listening to . I'll miss that

A book, a beer, a fishing rod and a warm Summer's day.  If he could have had those four things, every day, of every month, of every year, he'd have been content. To be completely honest, he'd be ecstatic. Shane loved solitude, but loved to share that space too. I remember once, long before my vegan ways, he talked about catching dinner. I sat and listened as he described the sun dancing on the lake's ripples, the feint sounds of those on the beach and his love of that moment of tranquility. The story would end with butter and herbs, spooned gently over the fresh fish. My mouth watering, Shane taking almost as much joy with his gastronomic torture as in his memories. He'd segue quickly to another topic, almost as if lifting the unfinished plate of food from my desperate hands. He knew all along what he was doing and took great pleasure in keeping that meal from me.

Last summer, I sat outside on a porch and received a call from Shane. I didn't know it then, but that would be the last time we spoke. It had been well over two years, since I'd seen him, he in Florida, me in New York and it didn't matter. It's cliche to say that some of us can pick up where we left off, but that would be an understatement. He asked about few and cared even less by my answers. He opened up about things he'd often kept to himself and I obliged with some things of my own. For well over two hours, two people who loathe speaking on the phone, spoke about everything. Unlike the golden rule, Shane and I loved speaking about religion and politics, but much more so the philosophy behind the odd belief system ingrained in so many of us. We spoke about our mutual love of movies and he twice stopped my to get a scrap of paper to write down names and I did the same. We hung up, with plans to do it again soon and promised to write more, which we did for a time.

Shane understood my failures in life, as I his, but what I always found interesting about him was, despite our knowing each other for 30 years, we rarely spent time reminiscing. Almost the entirety of our final conversation was about the future, both immediate and long term. He spoke of his family and his desire to connect more, both physically and emotionally, while I spoke of my life growing in the opposite direction. We warned of the perils of each, then lost interest in that topic. We decided to end there, joking that our election results may dictate whether we ever saw each other again and hung up. Texts later that day, almost simultaneously thanking one another for the chat.

My friend is gone and decades too soon, but it's much more than memories that will stay with me. The next time I read philosophy, watch an Eisenstein or Tarkovsky film, maybe even witness a young boy fishing, I'll think of Shane. I'll think of him when I have my next beer, my next dart throw or catch a Yankees game. When kids are climbing a tree or mowing their mother's front yard, I'll think of Shane. Come to think of it, despite all our gaps, all of our differences, there's not too much in my life, I do, that he didn't have some impact. I just hope he knew, because I loved him like a brother and will miss him as such.

Fin



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

White Privilege

This was a post I wrote on Facebook after surprisingly not seeing any moaning about the Documentary by Jose Antonio Vargas, titled White People Dayyum! I just scrolled my timeline and not a single white person got their feelings hurt by White People. I unfortunately haven't seen it, but the number of fake accounts that popped up on twitter, tells me it was a damn good show. Here's the thing. If someone of color aka non-white says "White Privilege," are you offended? If you said yes, then you are exhibiting white privilege. It has nothing to do with how hard you work or study, how you stayed out of trouble, because here's the thing, that is entirely the point. Somewhere out there, there are 100 Black, Spanish, Native American, Arab, Asian, who worked and studied as hard as you and never got in trouble, but they don't have what you "earned" or achieved. Stop looking at the one person you know who isn't white that achieved as your benchmark. Loo...

Quickie Review - Finding Vivian Maier

While I thoroughly enjoyed the film, especially the first 15-20 minutes, I was a little bothered by the way the film played out. The interviews with the clearly disturbed brother, sister and the mother, who obviously, was in for a cut, didn't need to be in the film. Then the woman who suggested abuse, yet seemed to have her life defined by Maier, as she tried to muster every ounce of emotion and fake guilt. Her friend, more than happy to be party of the charade. People who talk about abuse for the first time, usually don't do so on camera. The fact these scenes were so prominent, shows that they felt wronged that they were not rewarded. Maloof on the other hand, seems to disappear from the documentary during this part, almost hiding away from the fact, he went from complete praise, to even making money off of her, to destroying her personal legacy. He almost mentions the family of boys taking care of her rent, as an afterthought. Her burial spot, never shown, yet a video of her...

If You Listen To One Speech - Lana Wachowski

http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/videos/lana-wachowski-opens-up-about-difficult-past-and-attempted-suicide-20121024 Today I saw a link to a video for a speech by Lana Wachowski.  The last name rung a bell, but I could't put my finger on it. Lana, used to be Larry, one of the writer, director, producers of the Matrix trilogy, V for Vendetta and the upcoming Cloud Atlas.  Lana is transgendered and has "come out" as a woman.  She was being honored by the Human Rights Campaign. I didn't know what to expect when this broad woman with crazy hair and a raspy voice began to speak.  She began with the usual pleasantries and told of her hair dresser. She then tells of her desire to be a quiet person and how hard the success of the Matrix movies made this.  The first ten minutes is telling of how she's not quite ready to be this spokesperson.  Then she speaks about the new movie Cloud Atlas and reveals the heart of the movie and this speech. She states,"The resp...