Bands Not Bombs, Part II

Please excuse the gratuitous cleavage.
Beer so early, fellas?
After the platter of BBQ tofu nachos

The Bunny, Louis, and I went to Bands Not Bombs on Saturday, and, on the whole, the day was pretty damn idyllic. The rain held off, save for a few drops, and we drank PBR and ate BBQ tofu nachos. We sprawled out on my old blanket and enjoyed the variety of bands that donated their craft for the sake of the Memphis Peace and Justice Center.

At one point, I left the boys with their beer and punk music to go find coffee. On the walk to the shop, I must have passed a million friendly faces. I guess I'm just used to my own little hostile town, because every person I passed on a scant three block walk smiled or wished me well. Even a classy red fire engine--no, it was not summoned by me this time--passed slowly, and I swear the cheerful little firefighters all raised their hands in passing. I started to wonder if I'd stepped onto a movie set or something, because people just aren't that nice anymore, are they?

Being in the Cooper Young District of Memphis always makes the Bunny and I feel so at home. Because my Bunny spent his formative years in the Memphis music scene, and I've been trekking there for work the last five years, it is our home away from home. He saw old musician friends, and I ran into grad school pals and reminisced. At one point, we even met up with some close friends of ours, who shared the most delicious news. Little Midtown, bohemian babies and their laid-back mommies mingled with tattooed daddies and activists. Honestly, the day couldn't have been lovelier.

Despite all of these sunshine good times, I've cried more in the last two days than I did all last month. I can't explain why I've been an emotional wreck lately. I've always been one to cry at the mention of anything to do with life or death or ceremony, but just yesterday, when we were visiting my mother for Mother's Day, I started crying in the middle of a story about a beloved student who exceeded my expectations. It's so embarrassing to be so emotionally expressive. Sometimes I feel I was cursed by my Mom, who cries every time Oprah gives something away.

I cried a little for the Bunny, who just wasn't able to commemorate Mother's Day for his own mom. I cried for Dax, who must sleep downstairs now, since he nearly slid all the way from the top to the bottom the night before last when we were trying to help him upstairs to bed. I cried for my beloved, beautiful friends, who have so many changes in store for them. I did not, however, shed one tear for myself; it simply is not necessary.