Adam Joseph Smith

Adam loved changing the lyrics to songs, and Christmas music had so much opportunity for him. One of his favorites was "Feliz Navidad", but he would misinterpret/change the lyrics, and instead of "Prospero año" he would say "Los perro año" which honestly is what it sounds like the guy is saying. "The dog year."
"Last Christmas" by Wham was another that he worked with. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very same day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears..." Adam would stop at nothing - nothing, to prevent his tears. And the vengeance he would seek in his lyrics was limitless. Often sung in a deep metal voice.
"Do They Know It's Christmas" is a song by Band Aid, which as far as Adam and I could tell is about how Africa is a forsaken and godless land, and they don't even know it's Christmas. It repeats the lyric, "Do they know it's Christmas time at all?" which becomes funnier the more angry and incredulous you pretend to be when you say it.
He did a great Burl Ives impression, and could sing dead-on the Frosty the Snowman song, but with little changes, like going down through the village, with a boom-stick in his hand. Such beautiful imagery.

Adam was the loudest vomiter I have ever encountered, and this started as a child. When we were living together as kids at our parents house, when I got sick, I'd run to the bathroom, open my mouth, and puke. When Adam got sick, he'd do this gutteral yell, and then blow chunks. And every heave of throwing-up was accompanied by its own yell, so listening to Adam throwing up in the next room was like,
Adam: "AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaghhbbluhhuhuhgh"
*breath of air*
Adam: "AAAAAAAAAaaahhwaaaaaarfffgugg"
*breath of air*
Adam: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaahhhhhgubuguhguhgh"
Every time. It was always impressive. And it wasn't like he was overly taxed by the activity; just some people are loud sneezers, some people are loud eaters, and Adam was a loud puker. He'd scream about it for a couple minutes like that was how everyone did it, and then it was over. It was quite a thing to experience.

Adam loved a good cup of espresso. He wasn’t a coffee drinker but he enjoyed a well-made cup of strong brew. Something to make your “tits sweat” as he’d say. He particularly loved when my wife would brew coffee with nutmeg and cinnamon. I do not prefer nutmeg or cinnamon in my coffee and would always let Sasha know. Adam would always request those additions to be brewed in when we lived or stayed together. He definitely loved the flavor. But the flavor of my bitterness was something he enjoyed more than anything. He loved to see me lose my cool. He'd give me a smirk that let me know I was acting childish. Never a word. Just that damn smirk. He treated me like a little brother and I continually learned from those little smirks. He'd basically laugh at me any chance he could if he knew I was getting upset for no reason. God I miss that smirk.

Adam was a phenomenal cook. He was the first person to get me to try eel. Disgustingly prepared in the kitchen at Beeler. He convinced me to start using more sugars to compliment the saltiness of dishes. He and I had a challenge that we never got to complete. I was supposed to cook something savory and he was going to cook something sweet and we were going to get an opinion on the results. He insisted he could prepare a better dish using sweet compliments as opposed to my salty/savory approach. He probably would have won. I love challenging Adam because he always brought the biggest and boldest approach to the challenge. I'm incredibly disappointed that I never got to have that cook-off with him. But, his recipes shall remain. This is a recipe of his that I believe is almost exactly as he cooked it the first time we had it together at his apartment in Fairfield. I can only truly remember two of his recipes. This is the recipe for what Adam called "Garlic Shrimp'r'lings" and I'll be damned if you don't enjoy this dish. He had this one mastered.

Ingredients

• 2 lbs. Shrimp (deveined)
• ½ Stick Butter
• 12 Garlic Cloves
• 1 Vidalia Onion
• ½ Red Pepper
• ½ Lemon
• 1 lb Bag of Fingerling Potatoes
• 1 tbsp Black Pepper
• 2 tbsp Salt
• 2 tbsp Basil
• 1 tsp Cayenne Pepper

Preparation

1. Slice Fingerling potatoes in half, long-ways, and set aside.
2. Preheat Oven to 400 Degrees
3. Rough-Chop the Onion & Red Pepper
4. Very thinly slice all garlic and add to Onions & Peppers mixture.
5. In a cast iron skillet, begin slowly melting down ¼ stick of butter. Once butter is melted, bring heat on pan up to medium heat.
6. Add Potatoes and cook for roughly 5-7 mins.
7. Add Spices along with Onions, Garlic & Peppers. Allow to cook for roughly 5-7 minutes on medium heat.
8. Add shrimp and last ¼ stick of butter
9. Stir shrimp thoroughly within the mixture of vegetables and spices for 4-5 mins.
10. Move Cast Iron to Oven and cook for 15 mins. Potatoes should be soft to a fork piercing when complete.
11. Serve and Enjoy!

Like most little kids Adam loved doing experiments. One day when Adam was 2, we had all gone to the grocery store and were carrying the groceries in and unloading the bags. I was busy putting food away when I heard Adam yell, "Mom! Come see!!" He sounded so excited. I went into the living room to see what he was doing and stopped in my tracks. Adam was standing over the couch with a large bottle of corn oil. The lid was off and he was holding it upside down and a great stream of oil was pouring across the cushion and cascading down the front of the couch. The bottle was nearly empty. His eyes sparkled with amazement. It was breathtaking on many levels. As appalling as it was, I just couldn't get angry with him but I explained why this wasn't a good idea. Unbelievably, the couch did survive, and so did Adam!

Once upon a time, I took Adam disc golfing at Winton Woods disc golf course. I brought along my usual bag of about 20 plastic discs. Adam brings one 13-inch diameter gear from some heavy machinery. He says that's his disc. I don't question. He proceeds to chuck this 20lb steel disc across hole #1, Taking out divots and anything else in its pathway. He finally makes it to the basket. Probably fourth throw. Hits the basket with his steel gear and it shatters into a bunch of small metal shards. He says “Welp, that's two! Mark it. I'm done for the day.” Doesn't play another hole, but everytime someone makes a basket he would yell, “That's two!” Didn't matter the throw. I still yell it to this day. Especially when I bogey.

Adam and I were both in highschool, and we had just gone to Meijers in Hamilton, and filled our pockets (Adam had JNCO's on) with snacks and drinks to sneak into the movie theater, because nobody's paying $8 for a half-empty box of milk-duds in the theater. We're standing there waiting for the ticket taker to let us in, so we're basically queued in line at the entrance to all the theaters with a bunch of people, and there's a mild slope where we're standing that leads down into the theaters, ramp-style, but it's a very mild incline, like 20 feet long and 1 foot difference in height. So we're standing there waiting, and you hear this loud, "TINK!" sound, like glass breaking. Adam, who was always metal-working, must have put his hand in his pocket just right, and hit the bottle with a metal ring or bracelet he had on, breaking the glass Sobe bottle he had hidden in his pocket. Instantly, an entire bottle of Sobe pours out the bottom of his jeans leg with a gush, and starts its slow journey down the carpeted incline, past the ticket taker, down into the main theater hallway. I was laughing so hard I could barely function. The ticket guy didn't care enough to do anything or say anything, so we ended up watching whatever movie it was, and Adam's pants were only mildly soaked I guess.

Winter. St. Louis, MO and Adam is having the time of his life. Pretty sure he'd just gotten laid. High on life, he asks me to write, in huge bold permanent marker across his back, “Nice Job Archimedes!” I proceed to take the marker and write “Nice Job DICKFUCK!” The room explodes in laughter. Adam, looking horrified goes to the bathroom to see what I've done. I thought he was going to beat my ass. After a short chase and a solid punch to my sternum, he got over it and laughed as hard as the rest of us. I betrayed him that day but the man couldn't even stay mad. He was always a good sport.
There's a photo of about 13 of us all around the breakfast nook in my old house. Same day. It's my favorite picture.