Steve Gilliard (1966--2007)

Steve? Dead? At 41? No, not yet. We ain’t ready. I’m not ready. You see, Steve was the guy who first introduced me to Blogsville, and I couldn't have asked for a better tour guide. He opened up my eyes and my mind to the rich majesty of this new Wild Wild West. It was waiting to be explored and it wasn't to be found on the radio, TV, movies, newspapers, or magazines. It was a mouse click away. This is where all the good writing is: Shakes, Lance, Avedon, Hunter, Fixer, Jersey Guy, Skippy, Kung Fu Monkey, and The Rude Pundit. But Steve was my favorite. Steve’s prose was smart, funny, insightful, scary, invigorating, essential, unique, clear, direct, and tough. From the perfect Mac ‘n’ Cheese recipe to a brilliant analysis of our present Big Muddy in Iraq to the fucking Yankees, he did it all. Steve was a proud, African-American man who kicked ass with his mind. Steve made me want to be a better writer and a better man. But now he's dead, and I'm gonna miss him. Dead. Fuck.