04 June, 2011

RIP Charlie Tuna

Some of you, most of you, I imagine, don't know who Charlie Tuna is. Charlie Tuna is a good friend of mine from back in BG, OH. I don't have a whole lot of details other than that he was found dead in his apartment.
I'd known the Tuna since I was eighteen and going to shows, nineteen and playing shows, and twenty one and drinking at Howard's Club H. Charlie was always cool and we would shoot the shit and have little verbal sparring matches occasionally to amuse the bar patrons.
When I worked twelve hour shifts and a touring band would come through Howard's, Charlie would let me slide on the sixteen dollar cover because he knew that all I wanted was a beer or two after getting sweaty all day in a plastics factory. When I was broke at Christmas, Tuna wouldn't hear of such a thing and slide me shots. Tuna, along with Jimmie and Annie, were sort of like a weird surrogate family to me back in those days, with Jimmie and Annie being like my adoptive parents and Tuna playing the role of the cool-ass uncle.
I got the call from Jimmie yesterday on my bike downtown and had to get home so as to not get smacked by a bus before I could return it. I stopped at the liquor store on my way home and decided against my usual shite beer and stocked up on Guinness.
I spent the night reflective but not mopey. Charlie Tuna wouldn't want any moping. I raised a few Guinness to him last night and kept my chin up and told my Tuna stories to anybody willing to listen.
There are people in your life that you'd never suspect would die but it's an eventuality for everyone. Hopefully where Charlie went, if there's a place to go, and who knows if there is and who can say that there isn't, the Dr. McGillicuddy's flows freely, ferrets run rampant, and hippie women frolic.
Erin Go Braless, ya ol' weirdo.

Left to right: Charlie Tuna, Jimmie, and Me, Summer 2009. Photo by Joe.

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