A Very Specific Memory

John Waters was a guest on Bill Maher's show a few weeks ago.

A very outrageous man and fiercely himself at all times in all situations. Seeing him, listening to him, laughing with him brought me back over forty years ago to a very specific time and place.

On that night my friend, Rob McMenimen, enticed me to go see the movie "Pink Flamingos". He was a John Waters fan; I had never heard of the man.

We were in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That alone defines the funk. I don't know if present day Cambridge captures the same spirit, but back then it was delightfully eclectic. You could just feel creativity and individuality seeping into your bones as you walked around. No better place in the world to experience "Pink Flamingos" on the big screen for the first time.

As a teenager I used to take the train in to Cambridge and walk around visiting bookstores and music stores. Made me feel human. Alive. Unique. Then I died and became an accountant, but that is a long, boring story better told at another time and place.

We stopped in to a restaurant, a funky joint, ate some damn good steak and drank a lot of wine. Talked a lot, laughed a lot. He fit the mold of all of my good friends - free spirit, unique thinker, into different stuff than your normal social prisoner.

He then steered me to a very funky movie theatre, also in Cambridge, where "Pink Flamingos" was playing.

Movie blew me away; it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Of course that is the experience I seek every day of my life. At this stage, "nothing I had ever seen before" happens maybe once a decade. Probably less. Not a lot left for me to look forward to, eh?

We had a great night. A great, great night.

Memories like that are almost edible. They mean something. They give you something to fall back on when boredom and despair beat back your defenses.

Now the bad shit.

Rob was married to Becky. Another memory just leaked out of my brain as I prepared to deliver all the news to you. Rob and Becky used to host legendary Super Bowl parties. I'm talking legendary. Becky was a magical cook. Amazing in the kitchen. We were not eating nachos and hot dogs at these parties. We were eating top of the line food. In an abundance that almost prevented us from getting drunk. Big parties, lots of people, lots of fun.

Becky died on February 11, 2007 from some type of brain trauma, like an embolism. Came out of nowhere. They were married for 27 years. She was 51. Fucking 51.

Rob died on December 17, 2015 after a "lingering illness". I don't remember what the illness was but I remember being told at the time that Becky's death broke his heart and he was never the same after that. He was 66. Fucking 66.

That's the way life works, baby. It is a real motherfucker.

But, thankfully, I have the memories of those Super Bowl parties, that night in Cambridge and many other fun things we did together.

I go through my life carrying the burden of innumerable regrets. But I am beginning to realize there have been many great moments too. A lot of fun. A lot of laughs. I am beginning to realize that those memories mean a lot. Up until recently I downplayed that stuff, choosing to focus on the dwindling time left to me, the diminishing (one might say minuscule) chances remaining to make something large out of my life.

But Christ, man - if seeing John Waters on Bill Maher can flood my emotions with warm, happy, positive memories - this memories phenomenon must be pretty powerful stuff.

With memories like that, who needs whiskey?

I do, for Christ sake. Come on, sentimental only goes so far.