"We live to dance another day, it's just now we have to dance for one more of us..."

It has been quite an intense week. Last Friday our close group of friends was rocked by the news that one of our own had taken his life. Jason "Old Boy" Kuzniarski had hung himself in his house. Words could not explain the shock, confusion, and utter sadness that collectively settled over the group that night. After each of us received the phone call from somewhere along the chain of friends we all gathered at our favorite bar- the bar where Old Boy had worked- to begin to try to make sense of the situation.

What occurred that evening, in the face of such unspeakable tragedy, was nothing short of inspiring. Both the bar and the sidewalk outside the bar were scattered with the people affected by Old Boy's death. It was clear that the usual atmosphere of laughter and general shenanigans had been replaced by an almost visible cloud of shock and sorrow. The amazing thing, however, was how every single person, through there own sadness, found a way to support every other person in the group. No one tried to find the magic words that would take the pain away, because we knew they didn't exist. No one tried to compete over who was the most sad over Jason's passing, because we knew that didn't matter. We were all simply there for each other in any way we could be. Some people needed to cry, so someone was there to hug them. Some people needed to tell jokes to alleviate the tension, so someone was there to laugh. Some people needed to sit silently by themselves, so we left them alone but stood close by in case they changed their mind. It was natural, it was beautiful, it was devastating.

In the days that followed each person mourned and honored Jason's memory in their own way. After his standing-room-only funeral (if that) the group that was now more family to each other than friends gathered once again at the bar where Jason worked and spent the entire day drinking beer and telling stories about the insane memories we had of Old Boy. Even his parents and sisters showed up to join in the reminiscing and by the end of the night they were our family too. It was exactly the way he would have wanted it.

It seems as though when someone dies the people left behind tell only the best qualities of the one who has passed on. It always seems a little exaggerated too. "She was always smiling." or "he was the greatest guy I've ever known". Nobody wants to admit that she was kind of a bitch sometimes or he was an angry drunk. That is not at all the case with Jason.

Jason was like that song that comes on the radio that instantly makes you perk up and sing at the top of your lungs. It was impossible to be in a bad mood when Old Boy was around. He wouldn't have it. He'd grin as wide as he could, his eyes would sparkle, and he would say just the thing you needed to hear to laugh like crazy and forget whatever the hell you were upset about. Even when he was drinking too much and doing something wildly inappropriate you couldn't help but laugh because only Old Boy could pull that off. The guy simply radiated joy and animation and he made everyone he met feel like they were the most important person in the world. And for the record: I believe I can speak for everyone when I say that we would all say exactly that about him if he was still with us and it was just another Friday night at the Wharf Rat.

One such night about three weeks ago my brother, Jon, was sitting at the Rat among the usual group of friends watching the Oriole game. Jon was giving Kevin a hard time about refusing to give him a piece of cake at a party they had been to earlier in the week. After a few minutes of light-hearted bantering between the two of them Old Boy, overhearing the conversation, disappeared for about ten minutes or so. He returned with a huge slice of cake that he placed in front of Kevin. This cake was not intended for Kevin, but for Kevin to redeem himself by giving it to Jon. No one knows where he got the cake from. He just wanted to put a smile on Jon's face. Jon told me later that it was one of the best night's of his life, sitting at a bar with all his friends, watching the Orioles, and being the only one in the bar eating a giant piece of cake.

Old Boy is not one that will soon be forgotten and I truly pray that he has found the peace that he was seeking. I like to think that he's happy now to see how close all his friends and family have become through this. However, I know we all wish it was under less tragic circumstances.
We'll miss you, buddy.

Jason "Old Boy" Kuzniarski

August 12, 1981 - July 16, 2010

"Long Live the King"

A Tribute to Charm City

After my last post about the breath-taking splendor that is the great state of Montana a funny thing happened. I discovered a new and refreshing appreciation for my own fair city of Baltimore. I spent the majority of my vacation to where the deer and the antelope play mentally packing up all my belongings and fleeing the East without so much as a nostalgic glance over my shoulder. "I'm so over Baltimore!" I kept repeating to anyone that would listen. "The weather sucks and the people are mean." I was clearly itching for some new scenery and who could resist the landscape that the good ol' West was waving under my nose?
So it was no surprise when I begrudgingly set one foot off the plane at 10:30pm in Charm City and was immediately engulfed in a thick suffocating blanket of humidity that I wanted to spin right around and get back on the plane to anywhere but here. Stepping out into the heavy night air after collecting our bags didn't alleviate my misery one tiny bit.

My brother, Jon, however, couldn't have been more ecstatic to be home. He had convinced me on the plane that we needed to immediately seek the welcoming arms of the Fells Point nightlife. My rationality for agreeing to this insane notion was that after spending the entire day on an airplane, suffering through teeth-rattling turbulence over Denver, and losing two hours somewhere over Omaha I really needed a cocktail. I also figured my brain was still on Mountain time.

After shaking off the stale air of the plane and strolling through the cobblestone streets of Fells Point on the way to our favorite bar I was beginning to feel refreshed. Because of the horrendous parking options available on a Saturday close to midnight Jon and I had a few blocks to walk from our car. It was incredible what happened in those few little city blocks. I don't really know if it was Jon's enthusiasm and love for his city rubbing off on me, the extreme contrast of spending that very morning driving though a Montana valley and mere hours later walking the cracked streets of urban civilization, or maybe a little of both. The fact was, I saw my hometown through new eyes.

Baltimore is a city with a pulse, a city with a personality. It's pleasant enough to appreciate it for the historical architecture in downtown Fells Point or the tourist traps of the Inner Harbor; but what makes Baltimore stand out is what you wouldn't immediately pick up on. The simple diversity of culture that you witness if you just looked up long enough to see it is amazing. I don't mean that in a P.C. "Appreciate-All-Colors-And-Religions-Because-We're-All-Special" kind of way. I mean just seeing people co-existing- smiling, laughing, talking, or shouting at each other because their drunk. While walking the span of two blocks in Fells Point you will pass at least 12 bars, each with their own unique hook and loyal gang of patrons. Probably four or five of those bars will be featuring some crappy cover band or marginally talented folk singer likely playing for the free alcohol and basking in the attention of inebriated groupies. The sidewalks are saturated with bar-hoppers who all seem to be overly enthusiastic about one thing or another. And the entire time Jon and I are experiencing all the familiarity of just another Saturday night in Baltimore all Jon can say is, "I'm so happy to be home."

We reached our destination dangerously close to last call. So we grabbed a couple of Natty Bohs (that's National Bohemians for you foreigners) and settled into a couple of vacant stools. A few of our bleary eyed friends were scattered throughout the bar and more than happy to welcome us home. As the obligatory Boston, Bon Jovi, and Journey bar playlist faded through the chatter of inane bar conversation I sipped on my beer and smiled. This is a pretty frickin' cool city actually. The weather really does suck and many of its citizens could use a pretty drastic attitude adjustment but one thing's for damn sure- this town's never boring.

So with all that being said, the West still maintains a strong pull on my quarter-lifed restless spirit but cruising the balmy cobblestone streets of Fells on a summer night makes me a lot more hesitant to leave.