An irreverent classic!
John J. Bennett, best in the bidness. Dude can write!
who give a fuck,how is this fucking news
Never worked with Gary, but have seen some of his work. I have worked with Marilyn several times.
What amazing actors.
I am not surprised with a gifted director in Patrick Spike and two wonderful actors that this didn't receive this wonderful review.
I certainly miss being on stage in Ferndale.....what a wonderful venue.
This is Steve Scott, Kyle's Dad. The wreck occurred at 10:47 central time, Saturday morning January 31st in Robertsdale, Alabama. Kyle was just 13 minutes behind me. We had spent the night with my sister and brother-in-law after an 8 day epic pilgrimage road trip to the Florida Keys. I met his Mom there in 1967 when I was in the Navy. It was a joyful journey and he reunited with many cousins, two of whom I had not seen in 38 years. They all still consider me family even though his Mom (a wonderful lady) and I have not been together since 1976. There was never more than 5 minutes of silence in the car. Also, knowing Kyle, you will appreciate that we recited almost every line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, sang songs, made up more, spoke in tongues (authentic gibberish), discussed the meaning of life, and found rare plants forms. We agreed that the trip could not have been more perfect. It was a gift to me from God. Although I am having to go through Hellish things, I am at peace. I have even managed somehow to forgive the low-life that hit him from behind at 125 miles an hour. We are having a small private family gathering in Fairhope, Alabama Saturday 7th and next January 31st we will scatter his ashes at his favorite place in the Florida Keys. I cherish all your stories and comments and they keep alive his memory. I would love to hear from Kyle friends and fans. You can find my Facebook page on Kyle's page. My email is: Stephen.firstname.lastname@example.org. Please give me a week or so. Steve
A former Blue Laker texted me this awful news last night, and it still hasn't quite sunk in yet. I hadn't seen Kyle in a few years since we both moved away from Portland, but this doesn't seem real. He's supposed to be in Austin now living the dream, not taken away from us for forever.
It's funny all the little things you remember about people, and how they seep in and change you and/or your perspectives in subtle ways. Kyle taught me the word "thermocline" one sunny day at the Farmhouse as he was discussing his sunburn. He was truly one-of-a-kind. Only Kyle would be discussing something as random as thermocline while hunting in the garden for aloe vera.
He once did a whole feng shui reading in my house taking hours to get everything just right. Thanks to Kyle, I always now close my toilet lid when not in use so as not to "collect stagnant chi." In return for his careful plotting of my sacred space, I gave him a tarot card reading. We interpreted it as he needed to move to Portland, like so many other Blue Lakers at the time of the "Great Northern Migration" circa 2008-09, to pursue his musical career. He moved up not long afterward and I followed close behind.
While in Portland, I'd introduce him to new friends as "Cool Rocks," which became my nickname for him because of a Jade Stems song about searching in the forests and on the beaches for cool rocks. I thought it was the coolest song ever, because who doesn't like looking for cool rocks? And who else would've thought to make a song out of it? Only Kyle.
My first birthday in Portland, as I was moping about doom-and-gloom style, depressed over something as ridiculous as my birthday, Kyle helped organize a spur-of-the-moment music show/birthday party at a friend's coffee shop/theatre space. He showed up with his electric saw wearing thick black eyeliner. Really, only Kyle could get away with pulling off such a strange and wonderful combo. The highlight of the evening was having my then two-year-old daughter pulled up on stage to sing me happy birthday to the accompaniment of an electric saw over ambient techno. Thank you, Kyle. You turned that day around into one of the most memorable birthdays ever.
We saw each other less seldom in Portland. A trek from the Southeast up to where Kyle lived in the far Northeast wasn't as easy as meandering up a gravel road to the Farmhouse anymore. I had to leave Portland in a hurry in less than ideal circumstances and didn't get a chance to say good-bye to Kyle or many other friends. I had heard he had gone to Austin, though, to keep on pursuing his musical career. I think the Portland winters were a bit much for a Florida boy, and I was happy he had moved to another place with a happenin' music scene.
Again, in my mind he's still in Austin making wonderful, weird music on that saw of his. To think that he's no longer with us just boggles my mind. Wherever you are now, Kyle, I know you're searching for cool rocks on the banks of a warm, beautiful river, beloved Indy at your side, smiling down on all of us as you now know all the secrets of the Universe. Rest in peace, my friend, you will be dearly missed.
So very sad. He was always so engaging. I adopted a rooster from him that was too loud for his neighbors Worked with him at 6Rivers Brewery in the brewhouse off and on for years. This news just sucks. Rest in peace, friend. Check in any time.
There will be a gathering to remember Kyle at the Logger Bar on Monday, February 8th at 5pm. Please bring stories, photos, instruments, and a dish to share.
Thanks for sharing, Damian. I see on FB that you're in contact with Kyle's Austin friends. Sending love to you.
I was friends with Kyle at the beginning of my Portland journey in 2006. He was my roommate and had been randomly selected by my new landlord. We were fast friends, our Florida past lives, love of dogs, and eccentric music bonded us like not so distant cousins of a black sheep tribe of nomads. We stayed in touch over the years and I was there as he struggled with health issues sated by the love of his dog Indy and his membership in Molly Bang as their electric saw player. He helped me get a warehouse job under him at Concentrates Inc. where he had been working for some time, looked out for me, and we grabbed drinks sometimes after work at Apex. I looked after an aging Indy for him in her twilight years whenever he had to leave town, and I was sad to see him leave for Austin, TX but knew in my heart that he needed to follow his path. I intended on making my way down there to see him on a future road trip. Now it seems I'll never get to be around my quircky tall friend and make fun of the fact the he doesn't like to run, or talk music and women with him again. My heart sinks to hear this news, as the world is now a darker place without him in it. Someone please put me in contact with his circle in Austin. I have bad news to deliver to his friends up here, and I know we all have questions. I propose a interstate memorial of friends to gather in his honor, speak of his memory, and raise a glass in gratitude for having known this strange and wonderful man.
Well written review. Must see now!
baba jamal koram--also?
This is my most favorite cheese - especially the Humboldt Tremor
I love the storytelling and imagery!
There's certainly no chance of a vanilla sea washing up here! The reality is, the kink actually never left Humboldt. A new face in the game simply resumed what legacy the Impropriety Society left to the established alive and thriving, existent community. Something Different Humboldt is right here behind the Redwood curtain. Follow Something Different Humboldt on Face book to find out about the next event in 2015. See you there!
We love you Marceau! We didn't get to make it to your opening as we were having a Humboldt Made food demo, but were so happy to see you celebrating. We will have to make it soon to see the whole show. The photos I've seen are wonderful. Congratulations!
See this is how - it is fabulous and will make you think - a lot. (And if you're anything like me, it will make you get your checkbook out as well ...)
I look forward to the rest of your exhibit, Marceau. The explanation here was beautiful. I treasure knowing you.
In my through investigations and observations.....
Women at a male strip show have great fun...yelling, jumping up and down, whistling, hooting and rushing to jam their dollars in the thongs of a muscle gods.
This same reaction is prevalent at men on men strips shows too. Gay boys just whoop it up watching strippers.
Meanwhile, when str8 men are at a female strip show, one could hear a pin drop as they all just sit there in stupors trying to imagine what having sex with her would be like. They don't seem to be having any fun at all. Completely internalized.
To me the extremely different behaviors between the two heterosexual genders pretty much sums it all up.....str8 men are from Mars....Women are from Venus.
In Print This Week:
Feb 26, 2015
vol XXVI issue 9
35 Days in the Form
The North Coast Journal Weekly
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