If it's not Raven, it's crap...

"Here's a full cup..."

H.A.M - Kanye West feat Jay-Z   It's not that I didn't remember on my own that today is Hug A Mulatto Day; it's just that it doesn't quite feel like Hug A Mulatto Day until Schmiddy has wished me a Happy Hug A Mulatto Day. And he has, every year without fail since its inception. Kind of like one of those reassuring constants in life. It helps that Schmiddy plugged that shit into his calendar, precisely so that he won't forget it. Anyway, I hugged a lot of mulattoes last week. Probably more than you, so that means that I'm way ahead of you in terms of mulatto hugging. If you're on Central European Time, you've got about 2.5 hours to catch up. But if you're in the U.S. time zones, you've got a bit longer. So get to it! It's like Kayne and Jay-Z said in their famous rap tune H.A.M (Hug A Mulatto): "I'm gonna H.A.M. / Hug a mulatto hard as I can." Word.

I'm back in OKC right now.  This trip was made possible by the generosity of a number of friends, family and colleagues who, in the span of about a workday, managed to cover the cost of a short-notice, intercontinental flight. It's been five years and so many things have changed (I mean, even aside from the obvious fact that both of my parents are now deceased). The city where I grew up and spent about the first 20 years of my life (and, intermittently, my early 20s) is only vaguely familiar. I remember the basic layout and major landmarks, etc. But overall, the place just looks different. I'm staying at my sister's place, which is on a side of town where I never spent much time anyway...so that probably also adds to the peculiar foreign feeling. It's not bad, just different. Less like a feeling of being "home" and more like "being in the city where I'm from" -- if that makes any sense. I got to see all of my siblings the evening that...

Over the last few years, I've managed to start and stop and start over and delete and write and re-write this post. I never published it, because I'm ever-so-slightly superstitious sometimes and a teeny tiny part of me thought that somehow I'd be jinxing things by writing about it too early. So then, I'd save the draft for "when the time comes". And then a few months down the road delete it again, while cleaning out unfinished drafts. So now the time has actually and finally arrived...and I don't have any words on hand. It's such an absolutely bizarre situation, because when my dad passed, it was so easy to reminisce and talk about his life and the shared moments etched into my memory. The pain of the loss was like a fresh open wound and talking about him and his life helped the healing process along. I think the main difference was that the death of my father just came out of the blue and with my mother...it's been an extremely arduous and...