This Blogworld joint’s a funny old place

I’ve recently met not one but TWO people who knew my beloved, departed-way-too-fucking-soon Kevin Alexander Scott. It’s been 24 years since he exited stage left.

The first person to pop up was the awesomely brill blogger/craftsman/artist Jim Wright of Stonekettle Station. Turns out they were in the Navy together (and YES this is now in my head) — Kevin as a Hebrew/Arabic Linguist (or HebLing as they’re known in the biz) and Jim as a Chief Warrant Officer. They were co-workers which came up in a brief exchange of emails about something else entirely.
(funny bit from Jim’s profile: He's been called the Tool of Satan, but he prefers the title: Satan's Designated Driver. You can see why I like the dude, can't you?)

The second person is Kevin’s high school sweetie, the young woman who was the mad love of our man's young life. They were inseparable until they went off to separate colleges. In Kevin’s tales, Linda was strong willed, preternaturally (for an adolescent girl) confident, wildly imaginative, wickedly funny, beautiful and smart. Very smart.

OF COURSE I was intimidated beyond measure — I was none of these things. Why would he want to be friends, let alone more, with me?

But he did.

In any case, Linda and I exchanged a few emails and, on top of everything else, she’s kind, warm and engaging. Wow.

She sent me his high school graduation pic. At left, Kevin in PLAID suit jacket (I can only imagine him burning the damn thing afterwards), sporting relatively long hair and, like me, big aviator specs. I'd never seen Kevin in anything other than faded 501s, tight white Ts and Adidas. A clean cut, short haired, no safety pins, punk look. Ramones-ish even.

With the memories of Kevin flying to the surface of my grey matter, I've been surfing Alternate Reality-Ville. Nice thing about this dimension double is that I don’t have to give up the present one while I cruise the other.

In this other timeline, Kevin never signed on for that 2nd, fatal tour of duty.

He came home, applied and was accepted to a Masters of Fine Art program at NYU.

Conveniently, in this chronology, I don’t have Nf2 (my alternate life/my rules), was able to leave Boston and moved down to NYC. We found a nasty yet charming little one bed in Alphabet City which we set about decorating with cast offs from other, departing students, our own childhood bedroom furniture and other random finds. We created our own sleek, interstellar universe.

What’d I do while my man was in class or at the studio? Painted! Potted and sculpted at the just beginning group studio Supermud. And yeah, I would’ve had a day gig — Kevin’s navy pension and college funds wouldn’t support us completely. I toiled in the stacks at the NYU library, meeting an odd and interesting collection of geeks, desert-dry humored scholars, hipsters, punks and fellow artists. The work was meh, the camaraderie awesome and the pay — just enough to keep me and Blondie in beer, pizza and Utrecht brand oil paint.

My beloved Aunt Mary Ann, (who, in real life, lived up in the Turtle Bay section — about 30 blocks up, near the UN) was appalled at our piecemeal, patchwork, throw-everything-different-together-and-it’ll-work design scheme BUT entertained at the same time. We’d dine up at her place or meet for drinks at McSorley’s. She, like everyone else on the planet fell in love with Kevin on first meeting. How could she not? He was beautiful, funny, warm and smart.

We’d gad about the Village and SoHo with friends Lydia and Steve — discussing new books, artists, philosophies and politics of the day (always) while sipping Guinness at The White Horse or Belgium wheat beer at Dive 75. The four of us would catch the latest, greatest bands at CBGBs and Coney Island High.

Kevin and I would hit Danceteria and pogo, conga and tango our ever lovin’ ta-tas clean off before heading back to our glitteringly hip crib.

And then they lived happily ever after.

The End

I knew Kevin the boy, and you knew Kevin as the man he became.
~ The Gracious, Magnificent Linda