I know I’m coming to an age when people about my age die.
But today, indie singer-songwriter Jill Sobule died at 66 years old. I never met Jill, but from all accounts, she was an incredibly cool, kind, brilliant, talented human. Her music was groundbreaking in all sorts of ways, the most famous being her 1995 hit “I Kissed a Girl,” the first openly queer song to crack the Billboard Top 20.
It’s a banger of a pop song, delightful in its earnestness and sense of playful exploration as it challenged societal norms of its time.
“Kissed a girl / won’t change the world…” except, it sort of did.
Jill kissed a girl so Chappel could have wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee.
She died way too young.
She also died senselessly, in a house fire.
Tonight I’m unreasonably sad about the death of a stranger.
Her death it hitting especially hard because this week I also lost a friend. He and his wife have been friends of mine for years—and they’re the best friends of two of my very best friends. They had incredible lives, and an enduring love story for over 30 years.
They were traveling in Europe when he had a catastrophic allergic reaction and went into cardiac arrest.
He didn’t make it.
He was the kindest, smartest, coolest, all-around wonderful guy. And he was only 51 years old.
Another senseless, cruel loss.
In a time when senseless cruelty floods the news every day.
Why him? Why Jill?
I have no answers and no profound words to say… just a moment of raw strange grief to share in this video, as I simultaneously marvel in the most glorious blue skies Seattle has seen all year.
Paradoxes are gonna paradox, I guess.
Thanks for watching. Hug your pets and your people extra close.
And maybe have a listen to Jill…
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