MySpace to find MyFriend Tim

A few months back, I was “Googling” to unearth a friend from college. I discovered he had a MySpace page, but couldn’t tell him I was alive unless I agreed to be assimilated into the MySpace collective. A rebel at heart, I shelved the idea until later.

Later came in April, when Molly and I went to Portland to see a dear sister Molly drew closer to Christ 12 years ago get married. Molls was the matron of honor (sounds old & wrinkled, doesn’t it?), Carol the beaming bride. The weekend was a whirlwind of conversations and quality time with even higher quality friends. Morning ‘til noon, evening ‘til wee hours, I enjoyed the privilege of listening to my friends’ journeys, and hopefully encouraging each. Probably exhorted some too (can I help it?). So many conversations I started going hoarse. I flew home exhausted, spent, and fulfilled. During that weekend my bro Drew helped me set up a MySpace page.

It lay dormant for almost two months—white blah w/splashes of orange, declaring that I exist, and some guy named “Tom” is my only friend. That was until last weekend. I typed a few lines (understatement of course) explaining who I am, who I’d like to meet, what tunes I like etc. (such information is the currency of MySpace existence, apparently). Even fought through some HTML to escape the white and orange.

All this, to contact my friend Tim.

Tim is a bit larger than life. His constant quips and unmistakable laugh in the dorm dining hall made me dislike him instantly. That’s because I was a cocky, self-absorbed overachieving idiot who paused only to eat in those days. I would’ve been happy if dinner was silent, but every meal Tim loitered among a gaggle of guys and gals all giggling at his jokes.

I distinctly remember my girlfriend at the time (Corrine) telling me that I’d love Tim, if only I got to know him. Then a mutual friend (Propst) bridged the gap. I found myself walking by Tim’s dorm room one night and he welcomed me in, offering a drink, nachos, and conversation about movies, sports, and (beloved most of all) music. I was hooked. Tim and I hung out almost all hours (to the detriment of our GPAs) for two years thererafter.

My favorite memories of Tim are varied and vivid. Playing flag football & softball against the Delta Chi Omegajerks (of various names) … and winning, much to their chagrin. After all, our team was perennially named “100% Fratfree,” like some sort of nonconformist yogurt. With Tim I discovered the Seattle sound scene as it emerged before our very ears. Unknown bands called Nirvana, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Pearl Jam came out of nowhere to our CD players, then later to America. Through them we heard poets who understood that life isn’t a never-ending party (See the film Rockstar, with Mark Wahlburg & you’ll get a glimpse of the shift). Far too many late night Sega sessions with Queso and coffee (we and our following of friends were addicted to EA Sports … among other things). Halucinagenically witnessing Val Kilmer become Jim Morrison in the first showing of The Doors, driving home in slow motion, then later finding my friend in darkness and helping some light to shine. Writing countless screenplays and movies in our minds, to the point of taking photos for storyboards the world has yet to see, but we’ve already directed. Serving on student council together, buying the first dorm-owned big screen TV at the Oregon State University (the death of Propst’s academic life, I think. I don’t recall him leaving the lounge for a year and a half, except to meet the Dominos delivery guy).

Time with Tim was a blast. Lots of laughing, often ‘til tears. Dreaming outside our destinies. Reading his many articles in the school paper. Leaving behind reality. Coming back to it. Graduating. Fantasy football. Friendship. Fun.

Then, he left. Graduation—the design of college and death knell of college relationships.

Tim returned to Tacoma to get a job, while I finished my last year at OSU. My last semester there, I came to faith in Christ. Tim already knew him. I had no idea. The next two years I was a mess of confusion, regeneration, and legalism. I got married. The last time I saw Tim was at my wedding, in 1997. He should’ve been my best man, but my head was in a weird place—dictated by the paradigm of a personality-cult pastor. Before I knew it, I was in Dallas helping plant a church and attending grad school. I lost Tim’s number. Didn’t know his email. I blinked, had two kids, and it was 2008. I haven’t seen him for ten years.

That will all change in four weeks. Molls and I are again flying to the Pacific NW—this time for a family reunion … on her side. Half of them will be Mormon and the other half pagan. I’m eager to see the show, personally.

But even more so, I’m excited to see Tim. My long lost friend. My kindred spirit in all things art. And my brother in Christ.

For that reunion, I can’t wait.

PS. Cory's MySpace page is: http://profile.myspace.com/corykuhn.