This Is Not The Most Beautiful Love Muscle In The World...This Is Just A Tribute

3 Min Read

Say, there buddy, do you know that feeling?

That feeling when you’re still waiting for your old pal to reply to you on FaceBook Messenger…

“Howdy! How goes it, sir?”

Those words without context really aren’t that exciting–nay–not even the least bit intriguing. However, with context…

A few weeks ago, right after Hurricane Helene came through North Carolina (and fortunately spared us), one of my old college roommates sent me a message checking in on me, letting me know he was thinking of me, and noted how he missed our little chats. Indeed, I did truly miss talking to him, as it had been a while–I recall trying to make it happen right after The Long Tale of COVID went down, and knowing that he would absolutely love hearing it. But, alas, the two of us are notorious for trying to schedule phone calls, but typically failing for months or even years on end.

But, not this time, no-siree-bob! I was going to make it happen, come Helene or high water, so I shot him back a message almost instantly, telling him that we were going to catch up, and to let me know a time that would be good for him in the next week or so. While I didn’t expect him to reply immediately, I knew he would get back to me quickly enough. I eagerly anticipated soon hearing him great me the same way he always does:

“Howdy! How goes it, sir?”

What none of us saw coming was that barely a week later, he would pass away unexpectedly less than a month after his 45th birthday…

“Howdy! How goes it, sir?”

A part of me is still expecting to hear those words again any day now–he owes it to me, dammit! He can’t just jam out with saying goodbye, right? *sigh* I think I’m in the thick of the Anger stage of grieving.

But I’ll try to spare you, Dear Reader, from having to be distracted by my inner processings of losing a close friend for the first time in my life. Instead, we are here to celebrate the life of one of the best human beings I not only had the pleasure of knowing, and not only had the true pleasure of being his friend, and not only had the utter joy of being his roommate, but–and forgive me if you’ve already heard this punchline–that I have had the Nirvana-like bliss of sharing a bunk bed with.

Okay, maybe that one was a little weirdly hyperbolic, but you get the idea.

I’m here today, instead of writing another post about identity theft (yes, I have another one in the chamber), to put Linkin Park’s Hybrid Theory in my CD player, setup a game of Risk, and then raise my ----- and Roke–sorry, I mean “Rum & Coke”¹This is an inside joke between me and BLM, and I hope somewhere, somehow, he’s reading this and laughing that deep guffaw of his.–to the big ol’ teddy bear that the rest of the world knew as Russell, but you, Dear Reader, know as the Beautiful Love Muscle. Or, as I like to call him–in hopes of normalizing the much-maligned Bureau of Land Management–BLM.

He has appeared several times in stories with which I have previously regaled you, but let me tell you: these do not do justice to the impact he has had on my life (not to mention the lives of many, many others). Perhaps that’s because I hold so many of my memories with him just a little bit closer to my heart–especially from our time as bunk-bed mates when we would chat about what-not with the lights out until one of us finally passed out.

The ones I have shared, though, I have curated for you below, for you to enjoy in remembrance of him if you knew him, or if you didn’t, to celebrate his life with me.

He truly was an exceptional human being, and there aren’t nearly enough people like him in this world. On that note, before you wander off and read the stories below, I will share with you what I would have said, had I had the honor and opportunity to contribute to his eulogy:

“Russell’s life was evidence that there is a G0d. Russell’s untimely death might be evidence that there isn’t…”

You’ll be missed, Big Fella, you are missed…