It is not my intention to hijack the blog today, but this has been on my mind and even the bat-shit crazy Palin/McCain rally or the equally bat-shit crazy Michele Bachmann "Repeal" insanity is not cheering me up. Please indulge me.

Johnny Hardesty

I met Johnny by introduction. Someone that I did not know took pity on me and said that I needed to experience some fun in my (sad) life. I was on shaky ground and didn’t really see the point of this experiment, but I was willing to play along. I immediately saw that this was bound to fail. Johnny wasn’t at all my type. I was a serious, gloomy, pasty-white, punk rocker prone to wearing cut up t-shirts, black jeans and army boots. I carried a knife. Johnny had long golden hair flowing against a colorful paisley silk shirt and large bell-bottom jeans over puffy faux fur Go-Go boots. He carried a shoulder bag. He had a smile so big and bright that it would shatter champagne glasses if it were a voice.

Johnny did not pity me. Instead, he swept me up and took me to dinner with him and his friends. He made it clear that this was not a choice.

No matter how sad and desperate I made my stories that night and in the days and weeks to follow, he would shrug them off. I tried to make him understand how bad things were and he would simply annoy me with one of his catch phrases uttered in a way I can only describe as a bad Cher impersonation. “Aw, that’s so sad”, or, “Super!” Eventually, I gave up trying to make him understand the bleakness of everything; he was a lost cause. Besides, the more I was around him, the less bleak the world was becoming.

He had a penchant for painting his fingernails black or dark gray. He might wear large Sophia Loren style sunglasses. He had a fringe suede vest - - in Miami. He bought his t-shirts in the girls department. He could and did, change his style on a whim. Retro-disco Queen, Glam rocker, heavy metal God, leather-clad Euro-punk; you never knew who would show up at your door.

Johnny drove an old crème colored Dodge valiant convertible. The car was a piece of shit and anyone else behind the wheel would suffer the indignity of its’ crappiness. He made the car look fabulous; a car that would turn heads cruising down Ocean Drive.

He threw parties that constantly amazed me; there was no alcohol or drugs at the party, yet I always had a great time. Friends would exchange gifts at his Christmas or Valentines Day parties, then, with Johnny as emcee, lose their gift to someone else in a sort of bizarre “Lets Make a Deal” type game. You never went home empty handed, but you rarely got something you wanted or needed. Often during these parties, He would get a crazy notion that was so fabulous it must be done right then and there. Like convincing a partygoer to strip nude for a photo shoot in the bathtub filled with green paint and flowers strewn about her. Or, a complete makeover of someone’s apartment including hand stitched throw pillows, made on the spot using supplies laying around or whatever one could acquire at the 24 hour bodega. Johnny would oversee the work, keeping us going with fantastic stories and other ideas that we could do next, while his insane laughter and his bad Cher impression echoed through the rooms.

Johnny was naturally talented in everything he tried. He never went to school for fashion, but ended up under the VIP tents at Fashion Week in New York. When MTV decided to get on the Design show bandwagon they called Johnny to be one of its stars. Friends often got their homes redecorated with or sometimes without, their knowledge. Colors, furniture, knick-knacks and pillows that you’d swear would look hideous together would look amazing under his command.

He loved people unconditionally and without boundaries. So even though I knew him as a gay man, I was not at all shocked when he told me he fell in love with a woman.

Johnny taught me how to live and to enjoy each moment and to take chances. He taught me to experiment and be daring in sobriety. He taught me to have fun. He taught me often bizarre and totally useless things such as penis-shaped napkin folding.

There were times I would plunge back to my dark place and become my dour self again. Johnny would let me experience it for a moment, then he would pooh-pooh my mood with an “aww, that’s so sad, let’s see what your hair looks like with Afro-puffs!” Or, he’d make you dance the Running Man or some herky-jerky/spastic dance with him in the middle of Lincoln Road in front of a window of diners in a busy restaurant.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

It is said that the disease of addiction is “cunning, baffling, powerful” and nothing could be truer. Johnny decided to take his own life last week; leaving so many of us with so many questions. I am only one of his many friends that are stunned by his severe action. No doubt Johnny had some very dark demons that none of us knew about. I don’t know how bad the demons were or how deeply disturbing the secrets he kept. But I hope that you don’t suffer with them and I pray I never have them. His friends and family loved him and miss him very much. Many questions and a very large hole has been left in our lives.