Memorial
I thought there would be more happening during this springtime that many of you would be interested in reading. Instead, I dedicate this post as a memory.
To Sugar Ray.
I am not jiving you. We all remember the upbeat guitars. The frosted tips. And the sexy goatee stuck on the bottom of Mark McGrath's face. We all remember the highly saturated music videos. The frequent confusion of "Who did sing "How Bizarre" if it wasn't Sugar Ray?" (Perhaps it was the trumpets). And then the wondering if anyone else saw a distinct resemblance to Brad Pitt.
Let's take it back, circa 1999.
I was ten years old. It was during the phase our parents let us have cable (we often vacillated between basic and not-so-basic television depending on how fed up my parents were with MTV). Summer smells stick to my bare and calloused feet while I sit cross-legged on the floor in our upstairs family room. Ashleigh and I have just finished "Rocko's Modern Life" and are watching music videos to pass the time.
I look out the window, down at our street, and I see something larger than a suburban street scene in the middle of July. I see potential, capability, and freedom. I see the option of running through a field of high grass and looking for birds' nests. I see the orchards out a ways and the blackberry bush that Ainsley and I hollowed out into a fort. I see slip n' slides and capture the flag, hide and seek, sardines, and kickball. All resting on the bottoms of my feet while "Every Morning" courses through my ears, echoing that same feeling of light optimism.
Now, when I hear Sugar Ray, I smell wet grass. I feel hot pavement. I remember the careless way I played through sunny days and then, for the smallest moment, I feel the future brush against my fingertips, waiting for me to reach out and take hold of it.
This is why I bought three of their songs last week $.99 a piece.
You may call it nostalgia. I call it inspired recollection. And in the dim and grim world we live in today, we could all use a little inspiration.
To Sugar Ray.
I am not jiving you. We all remember the upbeat guitars. The frosted tips. And the sexy goatee stuck on the bottom of Mark McGrath's face. We all remember the highly saturated music videos. The frequent confusion of "Who did sing "How Bizarre" if it wasn't Sugar Ray?" (Perhaps it was the trumpets). And then the wondering if anyone else saw a distinct resemblance to Brad Pitt.
Let's take it back, circa 1999.
I was ten years old. It was during the phase our parents let us have cable (we often vacillated between basic and not-so-basic television depending on how fed up my parents were with MTV). Summer smells stick to my bare and calloused feet while I sit cross-legged on the floor in our upstairs family room. Ashleigh and I have just finished "Rocko's Modern Life" and are watching music videos to pass the time.
I look out the window, down at our street, and I see something larger than a suburban street scene in the middle of July. I see potential, capability, and freedom. I see the option of running through a field of high grass and looking for birds' nests. I see the orchards out a ways and the blackberry bush that Ainsley and I hollowed out into a fort. I see slip n' slides and capture the flag, hide and seek, sardines, and kickball. All resting on the bottoms of my feet while "Every Morning" courses through my ears, echoing that same feeling of light optimism.
Now, when I hear Sugar Ray, I smell wet grass. I feel hot pavement. I remember the careless way I played through sunny days and then, for the smallest moment, I feel the future brush against my fingertips, waiting for me to reach out and take hold of it.
This is why I bought three of their songs last week $.99 a piece.
You may call it nostalgia. I call it inspired recollection. And in the dim and grim world we live in today, we could all use a little inspiration.
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