First and foremost, I know his name is Otis Redding. This is a blog, and that's my play on words. (I went to school for things like that you know?) Music and a passion for the written word that I don't make nearly enough time for sum me up as much as an avant-groove Miles Davis sketch non-flamenco. Seems write in the moment. (I did it again there.)
Second and... lessmost?
This blog switch up is not some sort of poetic coming of age symbol as I ditch my younger self and become an adult. (I think my youth and maturity have always had somewhat of symbiotic relationship.) Simply put, Yesternow was hooked up to my York College email address and I don't think I can access that college account anymore and I therefore cannot access the blog anymore. Not to be censored, I endeavor to press on with this new blog address. Fear not, dear readers. Yesternow wasn't deleted or anything, I just can't create new posts for it. Fortunately, we'll likely never know the day where Sean Taylor's highest and lowest moments are not a click of the mouse away for us all to relive.
Anyway, what prompts me back to the precipice of this proverbial pool of farce, wisdom, and auto-biography is actually a recent Facebook notification that... notified.... me that I had been friends with Sharnell Lightsey for 8 years. (8 years!)
It occurred to me that the last time I had dipped my quill in Yesternow was just before her wedding (her wedding!) and I owed to myself to enshrine that moment in the annals of millennial literature for all time and catch you and my future self up on all that has been going on since that time.
Outright remarkable to reflect on how Sharnell and I became friends. Starting out in a freshman year opera/theatre workshop where if memory serves we didn't say much to anybody, much less each other. I think it's fair to say that we each experienced our own "holy shit" revelation at hearing the other sing (girl's got pipes) and from there we started off with a pretty polite friendship, until I started up with Rhapsody, and all bets were off. In no time at all we were thick as thieves and had no shame in being sounding boards, silly, sad, angry, and straight of weird in front of each other. I once requested to be called "Young Jeezy" for a week (college is a time for experimentation) and she happily obliged without hesitation. Need I say more? And need I say that it was a tremendous week?
Tough to put that kind of friendship into words, really. She's my sister. I couldn't possibly compress the laughs we've shared into a blog. Just couldn't do it.
Anyway, I remember sitting around the Wolf bleachers as she was getting to know Brian and watching her face light up. I then met Brian and I understood why. Could not be happier for two better people. We went from the days of "Young Jeezy" to her wedding day. Surreal.
I made the trip down to Gettysburg for the wedding, where I promptly saw Brian, rocking his sly peacock feather (I see you, bruh.) and was obviously pumped for the day. Spent the ceremony with Jaci (obviously there was nowhere else to sit) and her super cool boyfriend, Bobby, who was short his Macho Man sunnies, but played it off well.
It was a beautiful ceremony and reception and party, and after party, and why am I still partying, and seriously what the heck? I should stop partying. and meeting the Johnson's and seeing the Lightseys and some dear friends from York College circa 6 AIP (After ipod), and rest assured a good time was had by all and the dance floor had no business trying to contain me etc. BUT....
I want to give Sharnell all the props in the world for one, arriving in a horse pulled carriage, and two, stepping out of said horse pulled carriage successfully with the cumbersome (albeit beautiful) shoes she was wearing. Well done. Simply, well done. I do have one more brief story I want to share about the wedding, but to get the moment of sincerity out of the way, Sharnell and Brian, I love you both very much and I was honored to spend the day with you and those you care about (except Jaci) and I don't need Facebook to remind me every 8 years to know it.
Okay, final story. The wedding reception is wrapping up and after a day of driving and dancing, I know that those who are hip are headed down to a post-splendor bonfire and I want to be awake to experience the good vibes. With that in mind, I head to the bar area and start throwing down cups of lukewarm coffee (It's lukewarm, as it's the end of the night.) While I'm in the crux of my dark roast chug session, they clear the urn from the bar area and bring it to the kitchen.
When I notice the urn is missing I ask for one more cup for the road (walking path). A member of the waitstaff happily cuts me a break and heads to the back to get me some coffee. Now, in the afterglow of a subsiding buzz and while passively chatting it up with wedding guests, I am conditioned to believe that this coffee is lukewarm, so I all but literally throw this fresh mug into my mouth.
As this liquid hits my tongue and throat, the dear woman clarifies that she made a fresh pot and I treat my mouth to likely the worst burn it has ever been dealt. (Sure beats the tomato soup incident of '96.) I have no one but myself to blame for this scalding and I have to swallow just about every expletive known to man along with this figurative lava and a myriad of dead body cells, I'm sure. I was out of commission for a couple of days there. A word of caution, dear friends. Always assume it's a fresh cup.
Good to do this again. In the coming days I re-hash another Rhapsody rooted wedding, a trip to Dublin and a few other nuggets of time gone by.
Song of the Day: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen
*Relative to nothing, I remember distinctly listening to this tune on repeat in about the year 1 BIP (Before i-pod) to get myself jazzed up to play Lord Brockhurst in the Mt. Sinai Summer production of "The Boyfriend." That was no chore, as Brian May is all shades of awesome and my Queen kick was in full bloom in early high school. With that said, the swagger and playfulness of the romance implied in that song did wonders to prepare me to play that wildly inappropriate, but somehow charming old man.
Jazz Song of the Day: You've Changed - Charles Lloyd and Jason Moran
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