TBH II

You know that excitement you feel when you find out your favorite artist is releasing a new album or your favorite author is writing a new book? Well, friends I am sure you are all feeling that same excitement with the triumphant return of my blog from its little hiatus....Feel free to organise JK Rowling-new book release type parties.
You know that disappointment you feel when you find out that "new" music is just a different version of the same songs, or the same book with slightly different characters? Prepare the angry mumbles now, my loyal readers (and by loyal readers, I mean my mom) as I proudly present TBH II. After all we all know if anything is good (or marginally passable) in true Hollywood style a sequel is a no-brainer. And by no brainer, I mean ADD-fueled trip through previous blogs, and slightly whinier excuses as to why I can't come up with original material. The blog equivalent of another Godfather (or more realistically, Scary Movie 5)
(Friends don't let friends wear these)

To be honest, I'm kind of glad Rock of Ages has been reported to be a flop. Not that I have anything against musicals, I enjoyed 8 Mile. What? That wasn't a musical; well, you know what I mean... But, I spotted actual acid washed jeans for sale in the Battlefield Mall the other day, and the neon colors splashed everywhere are burning my retinas. I tried to warn you people, yet here it is invading every pore of our being-nothing is safe. Our fashion, our movies, and soon saxophone and big guitar laden songs will be pouring from the radio. This must be stopped before it is accepted again, have you people learned nothing from terrible yearbook photos and Prom pictures of the days gone by? 1987 needs to stay where it was....in the ugly, ugly past. I can see why Tom Cruise would be all about a movie glorifying the '80's, but Tom- you are not Maverick anymore and big hair and terrible bands are not welcome in this new millennium. 

Not Dirk, or a Celtic...unrelated OKC player not mentioned in blog, included for your, okay my,viewing pleasure

To be honest, I hate grass. No, not the kind Kid Cudi writes songs about. The kind which grows in my yard, forcing me to cut it. The kind birds-which I also dislike for no real reason- use to make elaborate nests in my BBQ and bring forth other birds which then either die in said BBQ or around the yard only to be chopped up in the previously mentioned lawn mower. I also hate rain, because it makes the grass grow. And while I am on the subject, I might add I also have an irrational dislike of the Boston Celtics, Dirk Nowitzki, frozen custard, and saxophones.And while I can't relate any of these to how fast my grass is growing, I might or might not be enjoying an evil fantasy about forcing Dirk to mow my lawn right now.

Durantula-an awesome nickname, that I probably misspelled

To be honest, my son and I enjoy watching many sports playoffs together and one of my favorite memories in his short life is that we were watching together in October when the Cardinals won the Series, but I am really enjoying the NBA playoffs. If you're not okay with your kid looking  up to Kevin Durant, then I am not sure what I can say. They don't come much more clean cut in the world of sports, or much more enjoyable to watch. And watching the Oklahoma City fans reminds me of the glory years of Willard basketball when the gym was small and people were so packed in you couldn't move. Much like my life with my dad has been timelined by the sports events we watched, so has my son's with me. And I'm okay with this. All families have their traditions, this is ours. I can't really make up my mind as to who to cheer for in these playoffs, but watching with my boy is really more important to me than who wins.

To be honest, it is the son of someone else that my last blog was about that has kept me from blogging for the past two and a half months. I wrote my last blog the day that Steeler Seaburn died and in the time since then, although life has gone on, in so many ways it has not. I wrote that blog before I saw the peacock feathers at his funeral, before I watched his friends mourn for him, before I sat in a cemetery on my knees crying the kind of heaving sobs I didn't even know I had. Before I realised the number of memories, stories, songs on my Ipod, movies I like, tv shows I watch and even little sayings I have that Steeler was a part of. How I took for granted that sometimes I just asked him questions that I knew he would know the answers to, or checked Facebook just to see how he was doing.  Before I watched his class graduate without him, watching his friends walk to the stage-not needing their names called because I recognised them by the way they stood or walked and knowing that somehow-deep down- I was looking for Steeler even though I knew he wouldn't be there. I was in shock, I think, still when I wrote that. I was not yet accepting that he was really gone and that I would mourn him in a way I had never mourned or grieved for anyone or anything in my life. It is a grief I am not sure I have a right to, but there are days when the reality hits me like a punch in the face and I am sometimes almost doubled over again with crying that this person who was so alive, and so dynamic and so very good for the world is gone. I have seen Steeler's mother, Genny, a few times since his death, and often times I feel angry afterwards. Angry and confused because I want to know why....why Genny's child? and these are answers I don't have....
So tonight I will watch the game with my son, and to be honest, tomorrow (maybe even tonight) I will probably yell at him for something. I will think, as I do every day, about this son of another mother who is gone and I will pray for her, for him, and for my son. And to be honest, I will wait for the world to be normal again, and know it will not be.