Joreth is amazingly friendly, kind hearted, intriguing, intelligent, and well the man can cook. As in really cook. I've had several foodgasms this week and they have all been his fault. I'm not sure which is better the food or the conversation... put the two together and it's pure heaven.

xoxo

This is overdue. How can I have been remiss by not writing of a man I've been friends with for 28 years? And how do I encapsulate that time span in a few short paragraphs? It's impossible. Instead, I give a snippet of memories that always come into my head when I think of him.

I want to write his teenaged nickname, because it comes so naturally to me, but I refrain because he doesn't want to be called that anymore.

We went to different high schools together. I'd leave the building at noon and find him in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of my Dodge Dart Swinger, his skateboard beside him, smoking a cigarette with a beret perched askew on his head. We'd travel to San Rafael to invade the private school where Gwen and Shannan were and wait for them to finish class, pretending to be Russian or English exchange students.

Trixie: both of them, one without legs and one with tires.

Endless games of dice and cloves at the Nuvo.

Climbing in the window of Taylor Street.

Trying to skateboard double in the parking lot in San Anselmo.

Skaters in Bad Condition.

Broken arms, flattened tires and asshole (step)father(s).

Our "wedding" at Blackpoint when we red zoned the Well.

The Five O'Clock Champagne Soirees.

Commedia Sgarbata.

"Men are pond scum."

Your beautiful wedding.

You teaching me how to make a roux.

Sitting at the counter in Nona's with G & S while your sous chef tried to pump us for information on your past. "You can tell him anything. I have no secrets," you boasted. I leaned over the counter and whispered something in your ear and saw you blush for the first time. "Except that. You can't tell him that." I never would.

Chicken barley soup, a taste of the past in a new and better present. A gift of love and friendship.

See the truth is, we know where the bodies are buried. Joreth's more than a friend, he's family. I'd drop everything and come if he needed me.

And I can't wait to see what the next 28 years will hold. I love you now as always, Joe.

From late, late nights kicking his ass in poker and gin and dice ... not beginners luck, I was just sober, relatively speaking ...

From skateboards and broken elbows ...

Tiny mustaches and clove cigarettes and high tops ...

shredding words and cementing actions ... a brutal way to learn the difference between the two ...

To this ...

Beautiful

Man.

Couldn't wish for a better friend.

Wow - heh. I actually haven't written Joreth a testimonial yet, have I? Oh, what to say that hasn't already been said, played back and used as evidence against me? How about this:

I've known Joreth since I was 15.
I stopped by for dessert at Nona's yesterday.
His cooking has quite improved.

Good friends, trite as it may sound, stand the test of Time.

Love to you...

For the years I've known Joreth, I've always known that there was something wrong with him, and that it was no small thing. I could never quite put my finger on it. Tonight, watching the Food Network, the name for his malady struck me. Joreth suffers from:

"Compulsive Feeding Disorder"