Perhaps I didn’t know him, exactly, but I did tear many a page featuring his boyish visage from the pages of my Tiger Beat and/or Bop magazines, and I stuck them to my walls (all the better to gaze at) despite my parents hating that they’d eventually have to repaint my glorious seafoam green room.
It’s true, Wil Wheaton was really my youthful crush of choice, and then of course I went the hair band route (in an attempt to bring me back to earth my mother once told me that my great unrequited love, Sebastian Bach, probably had so many zits that he couldn’t see himself in the mirror for all the pus he’d squeezed onto it. Thanks, Mom, for that!).
But the Coreys also held a special place in my unjaded (at that time) heart, mostly due to a fantastic piece of entertainment called The Lost Boys (they don’t make soundtracks like that anymore, and, hey Stephenie Meyer, you didn’t make up vampires having fun!).
So it’s been a while—four days—since I last rewarded you hungry readers with a post. I apologize. I have been remiss. Well, I would be remiss except I think I am excused because I’ve had a personal/family thing going on that has been taking much of my focus away from (I’m sorry) you and, to be honest, work in general.
It’s weird to unload such things in a relatively public forum, but I’ll tell you anyway: Last Thursday I found out that my very active, healthy, irrepressible mom had been taken to the ER in the middle of the night by my dad. It turned out that she had bleeding in her brain. Nobody likes to hear those words together.
She went into surgery later that afternoon and had two hematomas removed, one from each side of her brain. We think they may have been from a bike accident sustained in New Zealand around Thanksgiving. Since the surgery, she’s been in the ICU convalescing (they’re keeping her asleep to avoid harm/jarring/whatever else might happen). My dad was recently allowed to hold her hand.
Hey ya’all! I feel kinda old school this Monday. Why, I have no idea—old eggs maybe?—but a fact’s a fact. And the soundtrack to my rather old-school day today seems to be, well, this:
Yes, complete with applause and a naked chap playing the drums and big ole awesome arm claps and cowboy hats and oiled-up pecs and bleach-blond highlights on men who look kinda like men and kinda like ladies. And, yes, even choral repetition. God, I love it.
