Saturday, July 4, 2009

Goodbye Capital T, you've been, well, capital.

Dear Capital T,

This is Goodbye. Don't cry, we are still going to be great friends.

Big T you've been with The Bitter Spiritualist since the beginning. You and me, The Bitter Spiritualist, sharing a laugh, a thought or two, my rabid insecurities; boy we had some fun together. You were right there when I came up with this new idea and moniker and there when I decided to share my words with the world. A fucking thrill a minute joy ride, and now the ride is coming to an end.

I, The Bitter Spiritualist, am feeling a bit sad and would be remiss if I didn't highlight a few great Capital T's in my life, so you and I know everything will be okay. Two T's to make the pain a bit more bearable.

First and foremost, Mr. T, who put the Capital T in T. I met him while watching ABC's World's Greatest Bouncers, breaking through doors and ringing bells, apparently bouncing requirements. Then as Clubber Lang in Rocky. Can't remember if I knew his real name Capital T, but then in seventh grade "The A-Team" (two of you present in the title) premiered and he became Mr. T, and to a lesser degree B.A. Barachus. I'd not heard from him in quite some time until 2002 when some newly minted friends read excerpts from his autobiography. Mr. T was right, no ghost writer needed, Mr. T was back on my map. It might have something to do with the three great friends who reintroduced me to Mr. T, yet he did jump out his bedroom window clad in his skivvies firing pistol shots at two guys who may, or may not, have messed with his Daddy sitting on the stoop. It's a must read, an even better listen in your best Mr. T voice, as it was presented to me at The T Club Mexico in Santa Monica. A fantastic two Capital T pub. A place to laugh, cry, hoot, holler, hear a madman read aloud from "Mr. T: The Man With The Gold", and watch Boston sports. Now, as you know, it has morphed to The T Ranch, another great two Capital T pub, with regrettably readings less frequent.

At The T Club Mexico said friends introduced me to a fellow who I am now happy to call friend. Possibly crazier and more colorful than Mr. T, but smaller, more Italian and, as far as I know, without an autobiography. I have witnessed his genius in action, a small sampling until the autobiography is written and/or published - Came up with the slogan "It's a velour suit, get on Bitch." on the same day he showed us all how to laugh and be repelled with his patented Kung Fu grip; Full disclosure - The Bitter Spiritualist pinched the name The Avid Outdoorsman from one of his lies told to a lady. As The Bitter Spiritualist doesn't name names, I will leave this T's official Capital T nickname untyped to protect his identity.Clearly a modern day Prophet.

The Bitter Spiritualist came along years later. As he and I got to know each other, I realized he wasn't so formal, that The Bitter Spiritualist wanted to be known as the Bitter Spiritualist, or Bitter Spiritualist, or BS. He doesn't need you big "T" to open any doors for him. We appreciate all you've done, being a part of our start and our original title, but I am officially dropping you big T. As you read, there are cool people and establishments caring the Capital T torch.

Not to worry "T" I will use you in many other places; my highly paid creative writing projects; love letter to Mr. T; notes on neighbors cars like, "Your title is now The World's Biggest Parking Prick." And in sentences posted on the Bitter Spiritualist like "The Bitter Spiritualist in now the Bitter Spiritualist. The Bitter Spiritualist realizes the majority of you don't give a fuck and know that the BS is full of BS, but not about the BS name change."

So you'll be used extensively, just not formally on this site or any of the BS writings. And yes BS is so much easier and funnier than The BS.

So Capital T, I thank you. I needed you for a little while, but it's easier this way. I leave you in the capable hands of a Illinois bred gun toting preacher known to have rocked a small Italians world on film, and a Massachusetts reared, Balboa-esque, original Avid Outdoorsman.

Sincerely, I begin being,
Bitter Spiritualist

PS: Forgive the typos, I wanted to get this posted to you from 37,000 feet. Yes my first Airpost to you Capital T.

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