Jessi Klein’s NotBlog

I am really heartbroken over the unexpected passing of Tim Russert.  I love Tim Russert.  I have always loved Tim Russert.  I was in love with Tim Russert.  Really, I was.  I thought he was so smart and kind and funny and special and hot.  Years ago I googled him to see if he was single.  Seriously.  I had a whole fantasy about meeting Tim Russert at a book party and then going for a long walk in Tribeca and talking about our lives and making him laugh, and being completely swooney over how shy but funny he would be, and the whole time I would be thinking, “oh my God, I can’t believe I’m taking a walk with Tim Russert.”  Then he would somehow get my email and would send me some cute message.  And then we would get married.

I was at work when someone told me that he had died.  And I felt that elevatorey stomach drop, really a complete knock out as if a close friend had died. 

When I got home I turned on the TV and got into bed and flipped to CNN, where they were memorializing him.  Everyone so clearly adored this man.  There were stories from so many different people all of which touched upon the same qualities – that he was incredibly loyal to the people around him, that he was the first to call when a baby was born or a parent was lost, that he staunchly defended those who worked for him and always stood up for the little guy.  I think my favorite story was someone recalling how one time in the news office a junior person was being yelled at by a superior, really humiliated, for not knowing some obscure information.   And Tim Russert was passing by and saw this and said to the superior person, “Before you continue yelling at this kid, tell me the names of all four Beatles.”  And the asshole couldn’t do it.  Aw, Tim. 

For me, I think that’s what stood out about him the most – his kindness.  As I get older I’m thinking more about how rare it is to meet someone who seems to possess that quality, of being truly kind.  It’s relatively easy for me to meet and like people who are sort of funny or charming - but it’s been dawning on me, I think that kindness is the thing.  Kindness as a priority, the desire to handle all the people who appear in your day with tenderness; this is special.  Of all the hundreds of ways I would like to be better, that is the one I aspire to the most. 

Russert was always kind, even when he was grilling some jerk on Meet the Press.  He never had to yell.  He never had to bark or talk over someone or intimidate.  He never knocked anyone down to make a point.  He never had to put a dent in anyone’s humanity.  His kindness was evident in the way he behaved, always.  And he had I think the kindest face I ever saw.  Really.  That’s why I wanted to meet him at a book party and marry him. 

I was saying to someone the other day that I’ve been feeling like having a good cry and for some reason haven’t been able to.   So finally, last night I cried for Tim Russert.

I have a confession:  I am a song repeater.

Which is to say, once I get obsessed with a song I have to listen to it.  Over and over.  And over and over again.  And again.  Back to back to back to back.  Like some kind of an idiot.  The average obsession with a song usually lasts about two weeks, during which the song is on repeat at least an hour a day, if not more.

When I was a kid and tapes were the thing I would rewind and press stop and then play and then stop and then rewind.  Over and over.  I would memorize the length of the rewind time and could hit the beginning with Tivo like accuracy.  Of course today’s advanced repeating technology only enables the repeat OCD all the more.

This has driven a couple of boyfriends crazy.  “Again?  Really?  We just listened to it.  Again?”

Why do I do this?  Because a favorite song is really just a way to experience a feeling, right?  Some necessary emotion.  And by playing it constantly for an hour I get to really nestle in it, freeze it, hold onto it, stare at it and lay my head down on it.  Root around in it with my snout like a sad little truffle pig sniffing for some pleasant melancholy.

Currently on repeat as I write this: Angels in the Snow by Elliott Smith.

Just recently on extended repeat:  Love Story by Harry Nilsson.

Repeat Hall of Fame: Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands by Bob Dylan.

On repeat in the car earlier today:  Say Hello, Wave Goodbye by David Gray.  (A word on this one.  This is over eight minutes long.  To properly repeat requires a real time commitment.  It podshuffled up right as I was driving down the canyon home from work.  Perfect melancholy soundtrack for leafy curvy canyon driving, marveling at how perfectly gold the sun was turning everything as it was setting and feeling at peace about all the seemingly unhealable hurts caused by all manner of dumb dumbs, which have somehow healed, of course; and also feeling newly calm about the formerly troubling idea that I no longer have any idea at all about what the future holds in absolutely any area of my life.  So the song ended and then I hit backtrack for one more play and ended up getting to my house before it finished.  After a moments consideration I realized I had to let the repeat play out to the end.  I parked the car and just creepily sat there, soaking in the song.)

Upshot:  I like revisiting the things I like.  Music, food, people.  Showing up at the door with unironic flowers for a spontaneous thumb wrestle. 

That is all for today.  Stay tuned for a very serious post about peanut butter.