Anything but the Mets

Anthony Bourdain's death was a blow on the bruise of Scott Hutchinson's. Both less than a month apart. Both had the signs, but many (myself included) thought they had gotten through the really bad stuff. I keep forgetting that depression does not just go away. It does not go away like putting Visine on red eyes. It can return at any time, they way a powerful wave at the beach can knock you into the undertow. The way you can be doing well one minute but a thought, a couple of bad thoughts can enter your head and flood it to the point where the body is incapacitated. It all sucks, so much, and plodding on while all this nonsense is happening around us becomes increasingly difficult.

Had two beers with friends last night and woke up feeling absolutely lousy today. Been trying to cut back on the alcohol because it's really not helping me tolerate the daily chaos the administration creates every day. Still paralyzed by all the grief though. Unable to focus on reading, what gets written down is garbage and confidence remains low.

A couple of weeks ago we said the heck with it and put my son in underwear. If he pees or shits in it we'd deal. So far he has not had one accident. His underwear has been dry. Been peeing in the toilet this whole time. He will with more frequency go into the bathroom unprompted. As for the poop though, it's a mystery sometimes. There have been instances he has used his hands to put the poop in the toilet. Sometimes he does not use this extra step, sometimes he does. It is a profound improvement.

I've got this disease I can't shake and I'm just rattling through life

The news that Scott Hutchinson of Frightened Rabbit succumbed to his demons and took his own life has struck me rather hard.

It’s not the same grief as when an icon you never met died, either suddenly or by natural causes. Frightened Rabbit were far from a household name, but they have a niche of very devoted supporters.

I’ve been following the band for over ten years, almost as long as they have been in existence. They had a good social media presence, you knew what they were working on, and where. Hutchinson wrote so eloquently and honestly about the human condition, flaws and all. He really put himself out there, to the point of a twitter meltdown a couple of years ago in which he asked us to not buy his records. The disease was speaking.

I saw them live in 2013 here, and the band delivered the goods as promised. It was a catharsis for both band and audience as we all got to yell scream and shout for a couple of hours.

The band came through town again in 2016, and tweeted that they were looking for a bar where they could watch the Leicester City soccer match. Several of us recommended a place.

The morning of the match I was there, along with other soccer fans, waiting for the game to statr. The band came in. I have to say there were very approachable, even when people wanted to give them their privacy, to let them watch the match in peace - they were very cool about it.

I got to talk to Scott briefly, to thank him for the good work he was doing. Handed over a couple of bottles of Irn-Bru, which they gratefully accepted. Grant cracked open a bottle right on the spot. They signed my CD, took some names for Monday’s guest list and that was it.

Did not get to go to the show, figured I’d catch them next time. You know how that goes.

See ‘em while you can, there may not be a next time.

Scott spoke openly about his condition, his depression and dark side and put them in his music.

Whatever he was listening to when he put out those two last, cryptic, tweets was lying to him so hard. The beast lies. Depression lies. As the band said today, he’s no longer in pain, may he have finally found some peace.

A less funny world tonight

Robin Williams died today of an apparent suicide at the age of 63. He could be a good actor in the right part, and he chose a lot of parts on both ends of the scale. He was always working, to pay the bills, maybe to keep the sadness from taking over.

As a comedian he was a direct descendant of the great Jonathan Winters. His skills at improvisation were unmatched. Sure, he went toward the easy dick joke too many times, but he was great at riffing a good dick joke.

Years ago, I met his brother Todd, who ran a winery. He died of heart disease a couple of years ago.

His onstage energy was amazing. His comic mind brilliant. It's a sad night as his passing is mourned.

This episode of The Actor's Studio had to be cut from a five hour taping. There are some moments of comic magic there. Magic that will no longer be created by Williams, but thankfully has been left for us.

Little catastrophies

This week has brought so much bad news from people around me. Friends, family, acquaintances have had the worst possible things happen to them. Yes. The worst. All I can add to this is that cancer sucks.

That was just to Wednesday.

I'm not sure why I checked his Facebook page today, maybe it was something hockey related, but when I did I found out through the words of others on his wall that he had taken his own life.

I knew him online for about fourteen years. We met in thatplace, the depression newsgroup that I invested a bit of my life in during the late nineties. When Live Journal was popular we were friends over there, and Facebook as well.

He would pop in with random comments about the quality of liquor I was drinking, or give me air transport tips as that was a hobby of his. He'd send me encouraging emails or show some concern about my or my son's well being. The last email I received from him was in October, sending me a link to a site about how to keep an iPad clean.

Here's all he said, "I don't know if this will bring any utility to you, but I thought that I'd send it off just to be safe."

He had many problems and issues, both mental and physical. Now I'm thinking I did not reach out to him enough. He last commented on my Facebook in mid-November. He always showed that he cared. Even when he was ranting about Stephen Harper or Gary Bettman, he was always kind. Always Canadian.

Rest in Peace, Darren. Even though you caused some pain with that horrible act, I hope you are rid of the pain you were in.

I'm having a Glenkinchie, right now, in your memory. Slainte.