Today was pretty weird. My grandparents came up from Virginia to visit us. We only live hours away from them, but ironically they drive out to Kansas ,Arizona, and New England to visit relatives much more frequently than they drive the the four hours it takes to get to northern Delaware. Oh well.

I finally found the Anime section in Blockbuster again. I swear they're out to get me. By that I mean that every few months the workers of Blockbuster decide to move every genre to a different location in the building. If i am correct the next step will a Communist plot to floridate our water. But aside from passing references to Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb by Mr.Kubrick, this node is more about Dean.

Dean is this incredibly unique free-spirited person, whom I could attmept to decribe with a million clichés, which, ironically, would undermine the image of Dean: one of the most authentic people I know. I was always kind of afraid of him (probably because he picked on me in junior high), but around our sophomore year, we acually became friends. Last year, we were in an acapella group together (for the entire first semester we were the only two basses in the entire group). Dean is smart: he got a 1400 in his SAT I, and he can pick up any instrument and wail on it because of all the music theory he knows. However, he never really applied himself in high school, and he was kicked out at the end of last year. He will spend his senior year at another school. I already miss him.

He can play the guitar better than anyone I know, and he sold me his old Fender Stratocaster (painted psychedelic colors) when he upgraded to a Gibson SG. I never regretted buying that guitar. I have had a great time playing it, and it reminds me of him. He was going to teach me this summer, but he went to Thailand and I went to France, and he's going to Alabama... So I'm hoping I'll find time in my senior year to learn from him.

He introduced me to The Doors, Bob Dylan, Tom Waits and many others. He was also the first person to call Jimmy Page "... a sloppy guitarist." At first I was incredulous. It was almost blasphemy. But now, a year later, I tend to agree with him.

I was almost afraid to call him this summer. I can't begin to explain why. I really wanted to see him, and I kept hoping I'd run into him somewhere. I just didn't want to call him. I guess I was afraid he'd be tripping at the time or something. I never wanted to see him more all summer than I did today, when I was looking around in Borders. I run into him alot there. And then: I saw him. I didn't believe it at first, but there he was in cords and his favorite shirt with the burn from when he spilled hashish on it. I saw him the same place I always do: by the jazz section where he told me to buy Bitch's Brew. I still haven't purchased it ($25 is too much for a CD, even a fantastic one). We talked for awhile. He's leaving again tomorrow. But I finally saw Dean. He's going to call me when he gets home from Alabama, and then maybe, finally, he can teach me guitar. But I'll miss having him at school. I'll miss those perfect Tom Waits impressions he does when he gets bored. I'll miss those crazy acid logic thoughts he'll have without realizing it (my favorite being: "Wow, Corey's pants are really tight... I hope her legs don't fall off.") I'll miss him telling me about how much he loves Sartre, and how he had a horrible trip the night before. Somehow, hanging around Dean has actually kept me away from drugs. If I'm ever curious, I ask him, he tells me, and then I know. Now you know, and knowing's half the Battle. G.I. Joe! Most of all, I'll just miss Dean. I hope he enjoys his new school, and I know I'll never see him again after we graduate, but I wish him the best of luck, and I hope he's happy.