After hearing the news about Anthony Bourdain's suicide earlier this month, a friend said, simply, "People need to stop dying."
I couldn't agree with her more. The sheer number of important people in the arts that we've lost in recent years is staggering. I'm not going to start listing them all now; you know who they are, because chances are high that many of them meant the world to you also.
Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential was about as punk rock a book as you're ever going to read. I still remember reading it on the bus, circa 2000, with my headphones on, listening to the Stooges' Raw Power. The album was the perfect complement to the book—both full of sound and fury, each forged out of a passionate intensity found only in the very best artists.
In short, Bourdain was everything I ever wanted to be. He saw injustices and called them out, loudly, by name. He raged against the machine because the machine is killing us and he damn sure wasn't going to stand silent while it happened. He was probably our most honest public figure. Everything he did or said or wrote was laced with that brutal, heartfelt honesty.
Today, Anthony Bourdain would have turned 62.
Rest in Power, Chef.
I'm not going anywhere. I hope. It's been an adventure. We took some casualties over the years. Things got broken. Things got lost. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
I was shocked to hear of his passing. I always appreciated Bourdain because, unlike most other travel/food shows, he showed the lives of the people who actually lived there. He didn't go and stay at a luxurious resort and show you the sparkling beaches or eat at the five-star restaurant, he went and stayed with the locals and had them show him what they liked to do for fun and where they liked to go and how they cooked their favorite traditional foods. It was always a really interesting look into other cultures and parts of the world, rather than a look at this dream vacation location.
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