In memory of Craig, a man whose deadpan humor had me constantly second-guessing whether he was serious or just messing with me.
My most "Craig" story is our summer sausage Christmas war. You'd gift me summer sausage every year, laughing at the idea anyone would actually eat it. I'd gift it right back. This eventually evolved into a Hannah Montana purple toy guitar that blasted "Nobody's Perfect" - which after several years of gifting back and forth, you brilliantly snuck into my backpack on the way to the airport. Picture me walking through the terminal, oblivious, until the plane ride when I took out my earbuds and realized the strange looks were because Miley was blasting from my bag. I don't think I ever heard you laugh so hard.
You were the king of jokes people weren't sure they were supposed to laugh at - and you loved every moment of their confusion. The only non-musician I know who'd send me articles about guitar chord structures (obviously because they were arguing Alex Lifeson was the best), and one of the few family members who truly got my love for guitar music.
Most importantly, you were an incredible grandfather. Nathan and Jacob will become the men they are meant to be because of you - and your undying love of a good fart joke.
I don't know that I'll ever be able to match you, but I'll try to keep the corny jokes alive. I'll blast Rush when the mood strikes, and I'll do my best to take care of the family you loved.
It was an awesome 17 years and I'm honored to have known you.
Rock on, Craig. The show isn't over - it's just changed venues.