Our friends, Chuck and Danna Pearsall, have welcomed their second child, Anna Catherine Pearsall, into this world yesterday at 12:45 PM. 7lbs, 19″ long. Congratulations, Pearsalls! May this childe be as lovely as the first.

Those of you who knew me when I was younger knew that I worked at the Dairy Queen in Middletown for most of my college years. Working at a restaurant offers interaction with a good number of people – but there are always a few that stand out, the regulars. One of my favorites was Carroll King. He was a man who did odd jobs for us on occasion or sometimes just sat in the back booth sipping coffee, always ready with a “hello” and a too-good-to-be true story. He was a bow-legged story teller, always dressed in black. He was a good man, but deeply flawed. Carroll died on January 4th, 2007 in a wooden shack in Middletown, Kentucky.

Carroll was a man about Middletown. He was known by all and was as close to a fixture as Middletown has ever had. Carroll was also homeless by choice and an chronic alcoholic. You could make reference to the loveable Otis the Drunk from TV’s Mayberry, and you’d be about half-right. Carroll, like Otis, was harmless and had a heart that, while weathered like the wrinkles on his face, was still good and true. But to romanticize him would be overlooking the crippling addiction that Carroll faced day-in and day-out. He was unapologetic in his poverty, and squandered much of what he received on alcohol. He seemed to accept his lot, and turned away offers for a place to stay. He was wild at heart. He won’t be missed by some, but he will be missed by many.

He was, in the end, a bridge to a lifestyle and a disease that no one would ever normally wish to associate with, but he managed to do so without force with so many people in Middletown that he had become part of Middletown.

Article: Homeless man had a place in friends’ hearts


Gallery: Memorial for Carroll King


Video: Carroll King’s Memorial Service


Obituary: Carroll M. King

The ol’ gallery has been a little silent in the past few months, but I have been busy:

2006.08.18 – My 28th Birthday

2006.08.25 – Kentucky State Fair

2006.09.04 – Mayor Jerry’s Hike & Bike

2006.10.14 – Huber’s and Holly’s Birthday

Over the weekend, Kelly and I helped Hunter and Jamie move into their new digs – a second story walkup apartment on Cherokee in the Highlands. A sweet two-story apartment with a master bedroom and bath down below and a big kitchen and living room upstairs. And it doesn’t even stop there! Above the living room there is a loft, which Hunter has deemed the “fapcave”. Also, a semi-private deck outside the master bedroom. Really unique place.

The move-in went pretty well until we got to the sleeper sofa. The stairwell leading up to the apartment was too tight, and even with the sleeper out of the sofa, we couldn’t cram it up the stairway. The only other choice? Over the 20-foot deck railing, of course! With only rope! The probability of failure lead us to choose the name Project Ridiculous.

Surprisingly, it all went fairly well. The sofa made it up in one piece thanks to no less than 10 people. Adam ensured us that we could get it up the second flight of stairs, and it actually did! Mission, operation, project — accomplished. Photos were captured and are in the 2006.04.03 – Project Ridiculous gallery.

So Saturday night after a fairly successful poker tournament, Hunter, Chuck, Chris, Kelly and I headed down to The Outlook in the Highlands to meet up with some other revellers, including Hunter’s fine lady Jamie (whose birthday it was). As it normally conspires at The Outlook, we sat around, chatted a bit in a the dark and loud “back room”. There are no TV’s in the backroom, and eventually our attention was focused on the two large windows facing the street.

These windows had shown us many things in the past, and tonight was no exception. No one really paid much attention to the two motorcycles parked just in front of the windows. No one paid attention until one of the riders appeared, that is. His first few fitful minutes of attempting the simplest of operations like putting on gloves, finding keys, etc. were not noticed, until someone realized that this man was heavily intoxicated. We all made suppositions as to his next move – would he attempt to find the sunglasses there were on his head? Would he fumble for his house key, and attempt to ram it into the unforgiving ignition? Would he release the kickstand and be crushed? Unforunately for us and most fortunately for he, none of these things happened. The entertained were no longer so.

But wait! There is still one bike left, and a rider no doubt. 10 minutes pass, and the other rider greets his hog. Thought not as obviously pissed as the first rider, I did notice his multiple attempts to fasten and zip his leather jacket. After at least 5 minutes, I decided that I could stand it no longer, and offered a bounty of $40 to anyone seated at our table that would help that poor man put on his jacket.

It should be clear to the reader that I did not expect anyone to take me up on such a ridiculous quest.

But someone did – oh, they did. Hunter immediately stands up, and I realize that of all the people there, I could count on him to hold fast to his boast. However, seeing as how Hunter had spent most of his luck (perhaps over-spent) placing 2nd in the evening’s poker tourney, I thought for sure he couldn’t complete the deal. My second thought was: My god, Brian Walls is not here, and Hunter is most certainly going to be killed. My third thought was then, of course: At least I will still have my $40.

Moments later, after Hunter had exited the backroom (with Katy in tow) I saw his betoqued head appear on the other side of our window of disconnect. I saw him face the big man, who was still struggling with the jacket. A number of possible scenarios raced through my mind, the least of which was Hunter explaining this farce and offering the dude $20 to have him zip up his coat. The worst was Hunter being punched so hard that he flew backwards into the glass, no doubt expending his $40 in stitches. Shortly after that grisly premonition, Hunter turned about face, saluted to us in the back room, and strode off exit stage right. My challenge well met.

Hunter and I had shook hands before, and I was therefore obligated to complete the bet, which I did. Hunter graciously gave $20 of it to Katy, though frankly if I had had the balls to confront a drunken ogre, I would have kept that $40 for myself.

It’s fairly safe to say that my bets in the company of the Incorrigible Mr. Dixon will no doubt be of a smaller sort from now on. Kudos to you.

Both Gary and Nick made it in town for Joe’s visitation and funeral. Gary flew in from Los Angeles, and Nick drove down from Chicago. Particulars of the situation aside, it was very good to see them both.

As I suffered through Joe’s “Celebration of Life” put on by his Friends of Hope friends, Hunter suggested I take off the next day (Friday) and kick it with him, Nick and Gary. Normally, it takes an act of Congress to get me to take a day off work, but there was compelling evidence in favor of me not giving a damn about work after the last few days, and the concentration of the old crüe would do me very fine.

We took the day and pounded the pavement from Longest to Trevilian on Bardstown Road and had a grand old time. I picked up a copy of “The Watchmen”, as well as issue #2 of “Y: The Last Man” at The Great Escape. Hunter and I bought a “Made in Louisville” onesie for the young Ella Pearsall and we spent a good amount of time in Book & Music Exchange. All in all, generally cutting up and trying to forget what we had seen and felt in the preceding 48 hours. It did the job, and did it well.

Can I tell you how great it is to be drunk around noontime when you should be at work? I can? Excellent. IT IS GREAT. We stopped at Cafe 360 for lunch and threw back some draught Smithwicks and tasty food. Hunter and Nick ate a tasty Indian dish called Chole Batura, and I had a leg o’ Tandoori chicken with tamarind sauce. The waiter told a so-so joke, and was honest with me about the tamarind soup. Good man.

Commisseration was completed as we sat out in the open at the Highland Taproom in the brisk air and warm sunlight. Bourbon polished a rosy patina on our cheeks. Ice Cube never said it better: “It was a good day.”

Later in the evening, we had a get-together at Holly’s (ne’ Chris’) house and played all sorts of bad music (some from cassettes), as well as some bizarro infite-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon-game. Beer was had.

Check ou the 2006.02.03 – Brothers in Arms gallery for photos, like this one below:

After a lengthy battle with cancer, our friend Joe Crosser passed away in the early evening on Sunday, January 29th, 2006 surrounded by his family and friends.

This was not a sudden or unexpected turn of events for Joe, but rather the end of an arduous journey with more ups and downs than any man of his few years should have been the subject of.

Joe was a friend of mine from high-school – I met him my senior year while he was a junior. A funny guy with a real love and knack for comedy, Joe was always a bit of the kooky straight man. He performed in the comedy troupe “BAMF” at Eastern High School’s “Vaudeville”, a troupe which included a number of our friends, including Ben Edelson, with whom he shared a great friendship. I remember those days of high school fondly – due in part with the great group of friends that surrounded me. A wonderful, smart, and funny group of the “best and brightest” that our little town had to offer.

After high school, that group of friends scatter somewhat to the four winds. Joe attended Hanover in Indiana, Ben Edelson went to Harvard, Janice went to Missou (right?), etc. A core group of us stayed here in town to attened Bellarmine or UofL. The group was still connected, though parties were often held during the holidays, and that group of friends would often convene for one celebration or another. One of those parties in particular I will never forget, as it (at least for me) signalled the start of Joe’s impossible journey.

I believe that it was a New Year’s Eve Party in 1997/98, though I could be mistaken. In the basement of Hunter’s parents townhouse in LaFontenay, we were holding our annual New Year’s Bash. The music was loud, the party was in full swing. Joe appeared confused, maybe dizzy. He sat or layed down, and attempted to explain what was happening to him. He couldn’t say what he was thinking – the idea of “apple” only came out as “poison”. None of us were quite sure what was happening – except to think “maybe this is just one of Joe’s games!” Eventually the spelled passed. The rest of the night was a blur, but looking back, this was a defining moment in all the lives of those present, especially Joe.

I don’t clearly remember when or where I first heard that Joe had been stricken with cancer. I don’t think I was alone when I thought “Why?!”. Nature certainly follows no rules – it does not abide by any remotely human instinct to punish the bad and reward the good. Joe was a “good guy”, and things like this should not happen. The years after high school are inexorably filled with change. For most, it’s their first steps to independence and the joy, wonder and fear that follows with it. Joe’s journey into adulthood was irrevocably altered. While the rest of us seemed to move on in a straight line, he had been forced down a sideroad – and did not know how long or short it might be.

Things certainly did change after Joe’s diagnosis. They most certainly changed for him, and I know they certainly affected those around him. His relationship with everyone changed – he was no longer just Joe, but Joe, “our friend with cancer”. Harsh though that may sound, a diagnosis like that touches every part of your life, and tints everything around you.

Joe always was the “funny guy” in the room before and even after his diagnosis. However, as the years grew on, and Joe saw many ups and downs, you could see this was taking a toll on him. You could see it in his eyes and in his face. We all saw him struggle to cope with the weight of what had been placed on him. On story in particular gave us insight into his world – I remember him reciting his cancer-themed stand-up routine in front of us, and receiving nothing but confused and shocked stares. We cared about him, and it hit us hard to see him struggle so to cope. How do you handle something like this? This is not something that is learned, and is won only with the dearest of costs.

I seem to remember someone saying “Are we bad friends?” after the stand-up routine had started making the rounds. How can you know when you are in such deep and uncharted waters? In hindsight, there are many things I wish I would have done differently, and I don’t think that any one of us around him could say any different. I was afraid of not supporting him enough, and I was afraid of the disease that had stricken him. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it all, and in some cases chose to ignore it all together.

About that time (roughly 2 years ago), Joe told us he was writing a play based on his life. We were obviously wary that it would meet with the same approval that his stand-up had, and approached the script he had gingerly. Eventually, in June of 2004, his work became a reality with two showings at the Thrust Theater at the University of Louisville, and the impact that it had on me was remarkable. It made me realize just how much Joe appreciated our friendship – even though he could not often say it. I had heard stories from others about his work with Friends of Hope and the hope and inspiration that he gave to them – and this was just a glimpse of what he had given them.

The remainder of Joe’s life was filled with the physical and emotional ups and downs that he had come to know so terribly well. He was diagnosed with leukemia in 2005, and it amazingly remissed for a short while, only to come back. Due to his prior treatments, there was little they could provide for him. His beard grew long and you could see in his eyes something deep and profound.

My rememberance of Joe is split between the triumph and jubilation of the stading ovation he received after his play, and that look in his eyes as he reached his final days. Though, the latter is not a morbid thought – it grants me a joy and stillness in a way few other thoughts do. That look was many things – sadness, stillness, patience, fear – but above all, that look was truth.

While Joe’s circumstances I wish upon no-one, I do feel fortunate to have known Joe in health and in sickness. His troublesome journey through life has granted all that he touched with an understanding of life that is uncommon. I am greatful to him for that.

Joe’s funeral is this evening at 6:30 PM at Trinity Presbyterian Church here in Louisville. It is to be a “Celebration of Life”, rumored to be very Andy Kaufman-esque. Sometime in April, there will also a be a “Game Night” celebration in rememberance of Joe’s love of games of any kind – no matter how confusing or numerous the rules.

Obituary: Joseph Earl Crosser

A few years ago, Kelly and I started donating to Goodwill on a regular basis. For a while, we didn’t keep records of what we gave, but then we decided to start claiming that stuff on our taxes (especially when we were going to owe!). We just keep tick marks of each piece that we donate, and then use a donation valuation guide to tally it all up at year-end. A note on the valuation guides: Goodwill nor the Salvation Army have an “official” guide, so use discretion. Imagine explaining claiming $6 for a ripped Def Leppard t-shirt to an IRS auditor. Each few months, we end up donating a couple of trashbags full of ill-fitting clothing and stuff that we never use. In the end, we cut our tax bill down considerably, and the Goodwill benefitted.

Kelly’s family also adopts Angel Tree children instead of exchanging gifts. Again, tax-deductible and much better than having to hem and haw over what horrifying sweater to get your gram! I helped out one year, and was given charge of a 13 year old kid and proceeded to kick out the Christmas present JAMS (literally!) It was a lot of fun.

Finally, the venerable Hunter Dixon for the last few years has been flexing his B&N muscle and buying a bunch of books for children with donations from friends. With the employee discount, he can purchase just tons of books for kids. It’s great! And to top it all off — he donated his poker winnings for December to the cause, thereby making this year the most bookalicious for needy kids. In the end this year, the official final tally was $360, allowing us to purchase 103 books. Dang. That’s awesome.

Hoo-ray for charity!

In honor or Katy Dixon’s birthday, today begins the week-long (perhaps longer) celebration known as Katypalooza.

May God have mercy upon us. Also, happy birthday kay-dizzle.