tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832395694713442433.post8643395828635891055..comments2024-02-18T20:55:41.858-05:00Comments on the rutabega: Bradley R. Weissenberger the rutabegahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11580449303662445003noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832395694713442433.post-68003877174442275252024-02-18T20:55:41.858-05:002024-02-18T20:55:41.858-05:00Thank you for that, Steve. Miss you, buddy. Thank you for that, Steve. Miss you, buddy. the rutabegahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11580449303662445003noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832395694713442433.post-74731214010652992492024-01-31T08:59:41.720-05:002024-01-31T08:59:41.720-05:00I was thinking about BRW earlier today. A presence...I was thinking about BRW earlier today. A presence such as his just kind of sneaks into your brain inexplicably, and then it begins a long consideration. I worked my graveyard shift and got home and I googled Bradley Weissenberger. It's been a long time, since I heard of his passing, that I did that.<br /><br />I'm going to say this from my obvious position. Brad and I were friends. He was always kind to me. I looked up to him as a person of talent, humor, perspective, and demeanor. I remember at one of those old PRF get-togethers, after many hours of watching bands, goofing off, smoking cigarettes, and just generally imbibing in everyone's stories, Brad just said, "I'm hungry." And disappeared. Into the Chicago night he went as if he just willed himself to be far away and fed. No trick since has been as impressive.<br /><br />Wait, that's a lie. The lighter presentation. To offer a light needed some pizzazz. An extended arm wave. A kneel. It began a trend, at least for me. Because it was rooted in something funny and foolish. I forget what he called it and I'll be damned if that doesn't bring me shame.<br /><br />I haven't lived my life in a way that, on paper, seems wise. As a matter of fact, I'd say I'm pretty much a mess who's made many mistakes without self-awareness or self-respect. When I wildly proposed to a woman in Texas, he was the only person to call me because he said such news merited that method of contact. He opened up to me a few times, but I opened up to him many more. I loved his bands, and I loved him as person. <br /><br />There was always drama around me, self-induced and embarrassing now so far removed. But Brad was my friend, one I didn't believe I earned. I don't know what wild frequency we met on, but I never, ever had a time or conversation with him I didn't enjoy. He had those rare eyes that didn't look through a person, but completely and totally absorbed you. And he had the half-moon ears to match. <br /><br />I remember seeing The Book Burners. Brad did this thing where he walked into the crowd and started shaking people's hands near the end of the set. It became as ritualistic to our dumb little fold as the foot on the stage whenever Nonagon plays. These are the exquisite details of life that you never forget, nor do you forget the instigator. And Brad was an incredible instigator of whatever mood or scene he wanted to see.<br /><br />I remember introducing him to a girlfriend of mine and she was enamored with him. He was just so cool. And understanding. <br /><br />He was not without fault, as no one is. But that was not what made me think of him in the past few hours and that's not why I'm writing this. For a person who has a little bit of notoriety in a tiny avenue for writing, I never wrote about Brad. I miss him. <br /><br />Now comes the anger, but I'll reserve that for my pacing in the kitchen and my smoking on the balcony. I have too long sought a way out of circumstances and what he decided I've considered and I am not going to tell you how recently or deeply for fear that people might reach out. For as much joy it took out of the world, I understand, though with some shame. I don't think his act was a reflection of what he loved in others, but a reaction to what he didn't love in himself. And I also respect the decision, because it was his to make, and in the end, we have to, or at least I have to, keep loving him in spite of it. <br /><br />Jesus, I met his daughters. They wouldn't remember, but I recall the pride he had in introducing them. This was so long ago. But you could see there was just a slight difference in him. A gratitude that they will be people in this world and they will be smart and they will succeed. I know he believed in them. He might not have believed in himself, but I never doubted he knew what he would leave behind was the most important thing he'd ever done. <br /><br />I miss my friend Bradley Weissenberger. This seems a place as appropriate as any to say that. Far too late, but still from the same heart.Steve V.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832395694713442433.post-24279693818894580332022-04-27T00:27:40.537-04:002022-04-27T00:27:40.537-04:00Kate - thank you so much for your message. Sending...Kate - thank you so much for your message. Sending love to you and your family. Feel free to reach out anytime if you need anything <3the rutabegahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11580449303662445003noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832395694713442433.post-58180421990339511762022-04-23T15:02:20.091-04:002022-04-23T15:02:20.091-04:00Hey, I'm Kate, Brad's older daughter. I kn...Hey, I'm Kate, Brad's older daughter. I know it's been nearly a month since you posted, but I am just now stumbling across this. Thank you for sharing what Dad brought into your life. I genuinely appreciate being able to read all of the kind words from his friends. Thank you again. Take care. Katehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08067452537721601114noreply@blogger.com