So I haven't been on the internet all day long. I'm sitting in the middle of Deadrick Street eating food truck Thursday when my friend looks at me and says, "Dude. Brace yourself. Prince is dead." I sat stunned. "You mean the musician, or an actual prince?" "The musician."
We sat in silence for the next couple minutes. "Damn" I said. "Yeah" she said. "Wow." "Yeah."
By the time we got back to the apartment I was afraid of expressing my sadness on the internet-what he meant to me as the strange girl who never seemed to fit in her small town. How he wore his strangeness all on the outside, how he wrote amazingly beautiful songs, and weird songs and dirty songs. Seeing strong, sexy females in his band and on his stage. How his music ran the gamut from R&B to blues to punk to pop. How even his Batman theme song was cool as shit even though the movie was questionable at best. Seeing this crazy, weird, wonderful wild androgynous man in heels and velvet suits in videos on this new "MTV" thing. Hearing his emotion in every song and watching him give it all when I got to see him in concert twice. Watching him combine all the outrageousness of James Brown with the showmanship of Michael Jackson and the wardrobe of a Jane Austen novel. Punk. As. Fuck.
Then I get home and see that everyone I know is mourning publicly for this amazingly talented man. I don't care who he was in real life, what his hangups were, or anything else. He was Prince. He changed so many things for my generation. Thank you, sir, for so many memories. And for making all of us weirdos feel a little less weird.