***Tonight***
Wednesday July 2nd
kIMYA DAWSON
PALEFACE
GRAHAM WILKINSON AND THE UNDERGROUND TOWNSHIP
LEVY
with Beau Johnson and Amos Torres playing songs too!
at The Music Hall of Williamsburg
(66 N. 6th between Wythe and Kent in Williamsburg)
doors at 8pm
under 16 admitted with an adult
$20 donation to the Aaron Wilkinson Memorial Playground at the Bridgeport Camp for kids from low income communities and kids with special needs.
"Aaron Robert Wilkinson was born on November 8, 1976 in Englewood, Colorado and died on July 2, 2003 in Brooklyn, New York. He was the first-born, most precious son of Dennis and Linda Wilkinson, cherished and adored brother of Graham and Sarah, and beloved grandson of Alma Thompson."
And he was my friend.
I met Aaron when he moved to New York and started coming around the open mics at Sidewalk Cafe and The Raven. We all called him Cowboy. He had these sweet songs and this charming personality and he won just about every single person over.
Including my mom. He came to a number of community BBQs at my parents place and always sat in the kitchen with my mother and helped clean up. She was very impressed by his kindness.
In the fall of 2001 we were scheduled to leave on a big US tour with the Strokes. Adam got tendonitis in his wrist, so we needed someone to play acoustic guitar for the tour. We asked Aaron. He and I whipped up a quick costume for him. A fur vest with no shirt and a red and white gingham skirt. That, together with his inherent dudeliness and his long blond dreadlocks, was perfect.
Then on September 11th The Moldy Peaches album was released. And the towers fell.
We decided to go on tour anyway. We all needed a little distance from the craziness of New York. And figured people everywhere could benefit from having a fun fun show to go to.
On one of the first nights of the tour someone smashed one of the windows to our tour van and stole my acoustic guitar and the bag with Aaron's journals in it. We were so upset and angry. We got paired up in the hotel that night, because no one else wanted to deal with our freaking out. We turned on the tv to the endless stream of news footage replaying the collapse of the towers. And we just cried. We talked all night about friendship and family and life and love and what is really important. We talked about emotional attachments and the physical attachment to material possessions. We talked about money and stuff. About how stuff is stuff. It's just stuff. We can run out of money and we can lose our stuff. But what is important is the connections we make and our ability to love ourselves and the people we meet and stay grounded, in the face of all kinds of challenges. That night and that conversation were a crucial step in me becoming who I am now. I was just shy of 2 years sober then. I was vulnerable. I still felt broken. That experience and the friendship that grew that night helped me to become stronger.
And the rock continued.
At the end of the tour Aaron parted ways with us to go on with his songs. He had a couple of them that still reduce me to tears whenever I hear them. We stayed friends. He moved in with Paleface and we would have slumber parties. The 3 of us, up all night, eating popcorn, watching videos, and giggling like little girls.
Good memories.
I was in Birmingham UK, at the house of the kids from Misty's Big Adventure- on tour with the Misty's, Toby Goodshank, and the Larval Organs- when I read on the Olive Juice Message Board that Aaron had died.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Going into the other room and having to tell everyone. Being so far away from our friends. Trying to play that night. My friend Scotty Jurnegan had passed away on June 10th that same year, just a few weeks before. I wrote my song It's Been Raining the day I heard about Scotty. I remember trying to play it, and Anthrax- which I had written for Aaron- that night, but just breaking down. I remember it like it was yesterday. But it wasn't yesterday.
It was 5 years ago today that Aaron left us.
5 years. Jeez louise.
And I miss my friend.
Over those years I have grown close to his family. His parents, Dennis and Linda, have strength and beauty and kindness and compassion in the purest form. They are honestly some of the sweetest people I have ever met. I have laughed and cried many times with Sarah. And Graham is my buddy. I have stayed with Graham and played shows with Graham. And just been plain old silly with Graham. We have had our share of shared tears too, but mostly good old times.
It's funny how it happens. Out of the darkness there is light.
And friendship grows. And memories are made and kept in our hearts. And stuff is stuff, but good friends are with us forever. As long as we talk about them and sing for them and keep them alive they will always be with us.
And that's the shit that matters.
Video of Aaron's last show with The Moldy Peaches
Aaron's Myspace Page
Wednesday July 2nd
kIMYA DAWSON
PALEFACE
GRAHAM WILKINSON AND THE UNDERGROUND TOWNSHIP
LEVY
with Beau Johnson and Amos Torres playing songs too!
at The Music Hall of Williamsburg
(66 N. 6th between Wythe and Kent in Williamsburg)
doors at 8pm
under 16 admitted with an adult
$20 donation to the Aaron Wilkinson Memorial Playground at the Bridgeport Camp for kids from low income communities and kids with special needs.
"Aaron Robert Wilkinson was born on November 8, 1976 in Englewood, Colorado and died on July 2, 2003 in Brooklyn, New York. He was the first-born, most precious son of Dennis and Linda Wilkinson, cherished and adored brother of Graham and Sarah, and beloved grandson of Alma Thompson."
And he was my friend.
I met Aaron when he moved to New York and started coming around the open mics at Sidewalk Cafe and The Raven. We all called him Cowboy. He had these sweet songs and this charming personality and he won just about every single person over.
Including my mom. He came to a number of community BBQs at my parents place and always sat in the kitchen with my mother and helped clean up. She was very impressed by his kindness.
In the fall of 2001 we were scheduled to leave on a big US tour with the Strokes. Adam got tendonitis in his wrist, so we needed someone to play acoustic guitar for the tour. We asked Aaron. He and I whipped up a quick costume for him. A fur vest with no shirt and a red and white gingham skirt. That, together with his inherent dudeliness and his long blond dreadlocks, was perfect.
Then on September 11th The Moldy Peaches album was released. And the towers fell.
We decided to go on tour anyway. We all needed a little distance from the craziness of New York. And figured people everywhere could benefit from having a fun fun show to go to.
On one of the first nights of the tour someone smashed one of the windows to our tour van and stole my acoustic guitar and the bag with Aaron's journals in it. We were so upset and angry. We got paired up in the hotel that night, because no one else wanted to deal with our freaking out. We turned on the tv to the endless stream of news footage replaying the collapse of the towers. And we just cried. We talked all night about friendship and family and life and love and what is really important. We talked about emotional attachments and the physical attachment to material possessions. We talked about money and stuff. About how stuff is stuff. It's just stuff. We can run out of money and we can lose our stuff. But what is important is the connections we make and our ability to love ourselves and the people we meet and stay grounded, in the face of all kinds of challenges. That night and that conversation were a crucial step in me becoming who I am now. I was just shy of 2 years sober then. I was vulnerable. I still felt broken. That experience and the friendship that grew that night helped me to become stronger.
And the rock continued.
At the end of the tour Aaron parted ways with us to go on with his songs. He had a couple of them that still reduce me to tears whenever I hear them. We stayed friends. He moved in with Paleface and we would have slumber parties. The 3 of us, up all night, eating popcorn, watching videos, and giggling like little girls.
Good memories.
I was in Birmingham UK, at the house of the kids from Misty's Big Adventure- on tour with the Misty's, Toby Goodshank, and the Larval Organs- when I read on the Olive Juice Message Board that Aaron had died.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Going into the other room and having to tell everyone. Being so far away from our friends. Trying to play that night. My friend Scotty Jurnegan had passed away on June 10th that same year, just a few weeks before. I wrote my song It's Been Raining the day I heard about Scotty. I remember trying to play it, and Anthrax- which I had written for Aaron- that night, but just breaking down. I remember it like it was yesterday. But it wasn't yesterday.
It was 5 years ago today that Aaron left us.
5 years. Jeez louise.
And I miss my friend.
Over those years I have grown close to his family. His parents, Dennis and Linda, have strength and beauty and kindness and compassion in the purest form. They are honestly some of the sweetest people I have ever met. I have laughed and cried many times with Sarah. And Graham is my buddy. I have stayed with Graham and played shows with Graham. And just been plain old silly with Graham. We have had our share of shared tears too, but mostly good old times.
It's funny how it happens. Out of the darkness there is light.
And friendship grows. And memories are made and kept in our hearts. And stuff is stuff, but good friends are with us forever. As long as we talk about them and sing for them and keep them alive they will always be with us.
And that's the shit that matters.
Video of Aaron's last show with The Moldy Peaches
Aaron's Myspace Page
Every day at 8 a.m. I come to the Colorado State University Archives Department and scan old photos for hours on end. The library has thousands of photos, dating back to the university's founding in 1870. They're in the process of uploading the entire collection to a Web site. Here's a random photo I snagged:
Taken in the Horticulture building, October 29, 1938.
Figuring they were about 20 when the photo was taken, that means they were probably born around 1918, which would make them around 90 now. So possibly they're still alive.
But it's a weird thing to realize that most members of my generation (myself included) don't have hard copies of their photos. They're all uploaded to various servers and hard drives, with very few backups or duplicates. Will people my age even be able to look at their own photos when they're 90? Maybe it will be the job of some kid like me in 2078 to recover all the old photos stored on ancient hard drives.
People my age record their own existence better than anyone ever has. There are no records of the day-to-day musings and ramblings and feelings of the members of any society in history. And yet, for all our blogging and Facebooking and Myspaceing and so forth, it's all transient. My earliest messages to Hannah were all deleted when Facebook purged its servers. And yet my parents still have a neatly bundled stack of love notes from when they started dating.
Sometimes I'm tempted to begin the arduous task of printing out all that important stuff, so I'll have permanent hard copies. But I usually get distracted by Wikipedia, and end up reading about fictional frogs or the history of turtlenecks.
Taken in the Horticulture building, October 29, 1938.
Figuring they were about 20 when the photo was taken, that means they were probably born around 1918, which would make them around 90 now. So possibly they're still alive.
But it's a weird thing to realize that most members of my generation (myself included) don't have hard copies of their photos. They're all uploaded to various servers and hard drives, with very few backups or duplicates. Will people my age even be able to look at their own photos when they're 90? Maybe it will be the job of some kid like me in 2078 to recover all the old photos stored on ancient hard drives.
People my age record their own existence better than anyone ever has. There are no records of the day-to-day musings and ramblings and feelings of the members of any society in history. And yet, for all our blogging and Facebooking and Myspaceing and so forth, it's all transient. My earliest messages to Hannah were all deleted when Facebook purged its servers. And yet my parents still have a neatly bundled stack of love notes from when they started dating.
Sometimes I'm tempted to begin the arduous task of printing out all that important stuff, so I'll have permanent hard copies. But I usually get distracted by Wikipedia, and end up reading about fictional frogs or the history of turtlenecks.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/syndicated.gif){kind=small}
-----Email Message-----
Sent: Wednesday, July 02, 2008 12:45 PM
I've started replacing all of the wallpapers of my college's library computers with this image... hopefully someone else will realize they probably mean more to people than they know.
PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people
mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.
-----Email Message-----
Subject: RE : Having An Std Changed My Life For The Better Postcard
I just wanted to let the person know that having HIV changed my life, before my diagnosis I was heavily addicted to crack cocaine. Since my diagnosis Ive been clean over 2 years. My life could not be better.
-----Email Message-----
Sent: Sunday, June 29, 2008 10:02 PM
Frank-
Over the past ten years, I lost almost all of my hearing. My friends, who can still hear, say I should let it go and give into the fact that I can't hear the ocean or the rain anymore. I can't even really hear my son, which kills me.
So I mailed this postcard to all my friends who have told me to accept the fact it's gone. I can't let it go. the emails I got in return amazed me. I think they finally get it.
-----Email Message-----
Sent: Sunday, June 29, 2008 11:16 PM
oh.my. what a huge amount of traffic i've had from the sidebar link! just wanted to pass along that since i do run ads for the blogher ad network (i'm also an employee there) i will be donating my ad revenue to hopeline. thanks so much for helping me help others. :)
-----Email Message-----
Sent: Sunday, June 29, 2008 10:55 AM
To the Diversity Trainer --
Walking in those shoes may be be the best training you could have ever experienced.
-----Email Message-----
Subject: Hopeline Comment
Frank,
I'm 19 years old and I answer calls for Hopeline. Everytime I answer the phones it is a constant reminder of how similar everyone is. Thank you so much for all the information and reminders about hopeline. It is amazing, and I truely feel as if I learn more and more by every call I answer. Never stop promoting Hopeline, it is another way for people to call and release their secrets in a nonjudgemental environment.
Thanks.
~Becca (with permission)
(We thank you Becca.)
Special Hopeline Video
1(800)SUICIDE needs your help. You can become a friend to Hopeline by posting this video on your website/Blog. I will be linking to friends from the HopeLine Blogroll. Thank you for your support of Hopeline.
Help spread this campaign by using this button.
-----Email Message------
Subject: thank you
Frank,
This past Friday night I found myself in a black hole of depression and I didn't know how I was going to make it through the night. Not knowing where to turn and feeling like I couldn't stop. I remembered seeing the Hopeline phone number in the front of your book. I talked with someone there for 2 and a half hours and I truly feel that they saved my life.
Thank you for the book, thank Hopeline for being there, and thank the people that send in their postcards so that others know they are not alone with their secrets.
-Casie (with permission)
-----End Message-----
-----Email Message-----
Sent: Sunday, June 29, 2008 12:59 PM
Yaaaaaaaay Casie's Back!
It's easy to look up to people like celebrities or sports figures, but her honesty and courage accomplished more than any of them just by asking for help. She has inspired me and I hope to inspire others too - someday.
PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people
mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.
i tried to write down one of my secrets on a post-it-note and leave it in public for someone to find. i got this bout of inspiration after reading the latest postsecret book.
i left the bookstore and parked at a nearby grocery store to write down my secret. while i was writing it, a cop pulled up to my car. i told him that i had my head down because i was writing, and he asked to see what i was writing, so i showed him.
he let me go.
there are no words, in any language verbal or pictorial, that could ever describe how much i wish this postcard were for me.
today is my last visit to the site, never again. it hurts too much, seeing postcards like the one i need, knowing it will never come.
When I was three, my mom would tell my brother and me that we could make the stoplight turn green if we blew the red one out like a birthday candle.
Once, my grandfather was in the car and we got to a red light, and my brother and I started blowing at the red light. He thought we were having asthma attacks, and my mom explained everything. At the next light he did it with us.
He died a few months later, and this is the only memory I have of him. I'm 18 now, and I still mentally try to blow out stoplights.
I'm afraid of showing that spiritual side to myself.
Because I don't think I'm ready to understand.
I hope by admitting this, I'll be ready.
Profile
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
noalterego- noalterego