Turning 40 is a big deal for most people (present company excluded), but I have a feeling that my friend Skip is going to sail through it without issue, as he tends to be more pragmatic and sensible about such arbitrary matters. Since today is his 40th birthday, I’m breaking with the usual black-out posting schedule for Tuesday and putting this up so he gets the honor that he is due.
To the best of my memory skills (which deteriorate by the minute) the first time we met was at my Venetian Vanity Ball – the holiday party we were throwing that year. I’d only heard about him from his then-girlfriend Sherri, but I trusted her judgment implicitly and figured he was a good guy. (Good people bring other good people into our lives.) Most of our co-workers who knew him said the same thing.
I greeted many friends that night, old and new, but only Skip’s introduction sticks out in my memory, which is slightly strange because it was so long ago – 2005 to be exact. At the time I had dark red hair (to match a dark-red Venetian-inspired ensemble) and Skip had, well, more hair (which he mostly kept hidden under a dapper cap). I sensed he had done his best to dress for the occasion, and anyone who makes such an effort gets my respect. We spoke a bit, but like so many other things I can’t recall anything earth-shattering or specific. It would take a while before we became friends, which is usually how the best friendships come to be.
Over a dozen years have passed since that first meeting, and in the way that destiny often designs it our friendship grew organically. He completely set up and designed this website as it now stands, bringing his web-building expertise to my utter lack of HTML knowledge, and after a few power meetings at our respective houses, one of us suggested we check out a movie at some point. The rest is happy history. By now, I’ve probably gone on more movie man-dates with Skip than with my own husband, and while it began with a shared love of cinema, it’s turned into something more.
I’ve never had many straight-guy friends, and at that point in my life I didn’t have the energy or desire to make new ones, but once in a while someone comes along who is supposed to be part of your journey, and if they seem to value you in return, so much the better. Soon our movies included a pre-game cocktail (and my introduction to the World of Beer) over which we’d discuss what had been happening in our lives since the last night out.
Far more than flattery or awe or simple admiration, Skip offered something that I don’t often feel I get from many people, friends and family included: a complete lack of judgment and an apparent enjoyment of my company. You cannot know the relief and exultant joy it is to be around that when the entire world seems hellbent on judging and appraising your every single move, to say nothing of how badly we judge and appraise ourselves. He also liked to talk, which is a nice break when you spend most days explaining things twenty thousand times to the same few people. Skip offered wisdom and a philosophical slant on life as it should be, and he showed me new ways of looking at things that I never would have considered otherwise. We were a good sounding board for each other, and on those movie nights we could escape from our daily lives and be, for a few hours at least, completely free of baggage, of worrying about whether what we say might be misconstrued. I could even wear sweatpants and he wouldn’t even notice.
Since that holiday party evening when we met almost thirteen years ago, we’ve expanded our hang-out time to include an annual outing to see the Boston Red Sox (check out last year’s side-spitting event here and here) and there are persistent, dogged and wildly-unfounded rumors of a possible podcast for some vaguely uncertain future date. In all our time together, there are a few things that have never changed, and I hope they never do: I’ll always ask if there is a new decaf soda at the concessions stand, Skip will always offer to play his memorization game with any game bartender, and we will always recount the tale of Thor to anyone who will listen.
There’s not much we can count on in these dark days, but the safety and comfort of true friendship continues to give me hope.
Happy birthday Skip – and many happy returns of the day!
