1,500 posts ago the late and much-missed Steve Gilliard cruelly put me out on the street to fend for myself.
OK, that's not exactly true.
This from a long-ago 2005 post sums up the actual/factual of what Gilly's Place was like upon the occasion of my packing my bindle and getting a little joint of my own:
...Gilly wanted lots of voices out here in the fields, raising hell.
Through their Open 24/7 Blog Home Place, I know a little about their past(s), birthdays, family backgrounds, health and taste(s) in booze, food, sports, lovers and politics. Stuff I couldn’t tell you at knifepoint about cousins of mine, I could tell you about them. And they share those things freely with the world through the big front window of their capacious Addams’s Family Mansion.
I hung out there -- and still do and will -- for the same reason anybody hangs out anywhere. A lot of places serve a decent burger, but only a handful of them serve a good meal.
Steve and Jen serve a good meal, and only ask that if you have something to say, you speak up and put a little skin into it. Be too much of a smartass, and you’ll get smacked. Too much of a dumbass, same deal. You’ll learn, or smack back, or back off, of dig in your heels, or be vindicated, or whatever. But unless you go waaaay out of your way to be nothing but obnoxious, and at a 120-Decibel-Loud, Toxic, and set-your-head-on-fire Nuts level, and post repeated calls for the Violent Overthrow of Petting Zoos, you won’t get tossed.
You’ll get mocked. Oh Boy Howdy Yes! You’ll get your monkey skull hollowed out and serially shat in in front of God and Everybody by the cadre of smart, interesting, opinionated, musky-but-in-a-good-way, lunatics that Steve’s honest, muscular prose has drawn in.
You’ll be shown to be a fool...but not shown the door.
Lots and lots and lots of voices.
And one small part of his legacy is that he now has blog grandkids: The estimable Physioprof has taken his Sharpie of Doom to the Politics of Dorian Gray, and enough kindly bootmarks were placed on Rehctaw's backside that he has up and started making eloquent mischief full-time here.
A pretty good legacy.
So instead of getting too soppy over dear and absent friends and exciting new voices, in celebration of my 1,500th I'm gonna have myself a quiet shot of very old Ardbeg, put on something bluesy and appropriate from Tom Waits' "Asylum Years"
allow myself one retroactive "Holy shit, that's a lot of writing!", and mediate over the fact that in addition to other fine attributes --
-- Gilly was also one funny son of a bitch.
"You know, I love my friends, but I wouldn't leave them in my house with a couple of cases of beer to wait for the delivery of a grandfather clock."-- Steve Gilliard