There are artists, much like people, who grace your life with their presence, and it feels so poignant you wonder how you’ve existed in the world without knowing them, their soul, and the fruits of which they’ve created and were brave enough to share with the world.  Or, drunk enough.  On his work, Zevon was once quoted as saying, “I wrote my songs despite the fact that I was a drunk, not because of it.”

Warren Zevon’s lyrical genius makes even the cleverest of wordsmiths crumble mercilessly to the stories he’s shared, to a tune, no less.   Some are fable and some are stretched reality, though all make me wish he were still around with a larger arsenal of anecdotes locked and stocked from any fortunate additional time spent on his earthside journey.  Yesterday, January 24^th, was his woulda been birthday if he were still in living and breathing human form.

I’m not good at remembering that stuff and didn’t have time yesterday to formulate any articulate words.  I don’t really today, either, but it’s what I reached for this morning as I gathered my agenda, thoughts, and second favorite coffee mug to start the day.

Sentimental Hygiene isn’t my favorite, but it’s got recognizable ones like Boom Boom Mancini and Reconsider Me.  The current copy in my possession was gifted to me for my birthday last year from my sister from another mister.  She knew I needed it for my always expanding yet still incomplete Warren collection.  Unlike me, however, she knows when birthdays and anniversaries are, how to unconditionally care for people, and in general, be a daily warrior.  She makes thriving look like an art and reminds me of my worth every day, as I so easily forget.

It’s with the same grace she carries herself in life that Warren did with his death. His infamous words on the last Letterman appearance advises us to, “enjoy every sandwich.” Because of periodically questioning my own body image especially in the last year by comparing myself to a yardstick of relatively un-pretty yet sketchy fake looking women with big tits (…marginal personality, and I’m guessing, maybe a tenth of the comedy gold I got…) has me avoiding sammies these days but perhaps they need to be reintegrated back into my diet. Who doesn’t love a good Jimmy John’s?  If you’re either thicc or sick, potentially both, you absolutely need to develop those funny chops to avoid sympathy and judgment.  And Zevon had that. He kept candid humor and a sharpness until his dying day. And I’m hoping, very truly, that folks will say that about me when I die. Unless I do finally get that boob job, then absolutely feel free to focus on my phenomenal rack instead.

Until then, do yourself a favor and allow yourself to be captivated by Zevon’s final humble words and simple performances on David Letterman, filmed October 30^th, 2002:

@siliconeandvinyl