I am as predisposed as the next guy to be allergic to and critical of any sort of relentless “toxic positivity” attitude that papers over the fresh hells we hear about or experience daily with smug, unhelpful moralizing, BUT I am equally repelled by cynical nihilism, so I try to take stock of my joy and carve it out where I can. It is in this state of mind that I’d like to share some things I’ve encountered as of late that have made me stop in reflection and think, “Hey, that was some good shit.” As a first order of business, however, I must address…

Some bad shit

Don’t worry, this is a very surface level complaint and does not engage with the, you know, prominent ills of society, but one of my number one boys Shane Bieber is out for the rest of the MLB season due to needing Tommy John surgery. I was informed via text and it gutted me. This is an instance where I feel something has been lost with the extinction of the corded telephone; if I’m going to receive this kind of news over the phone, I want to slam a handset down in frustration, roll up my shirtsleeves, light a Lucky Strike, and take a long slow drag. Instead, I just muttered curses without any prop-based histrionics and it sucked. Bieber has one of many exploding elbow tendons across the league right now. I am no pitching expert and do not want to speculate on what is wrecking arms across the MLB, but disaster in sports brings out my superstition and primal guilt and there is a small part of me that believes that this has to do with me owning a Shane Bieber jersey. Did I curse him the first time I put it on? Do I not wear it enough? Is this because I wished for a healthy season for him the other week? What will please the cruel and vengeful baseball deity that I only believe in when bad things happen?

My petty neuroses aside, Bieber is a great pitcher in a contract year, so my heart breaks for him. He had a real hot start to the season and looked to be setting himself up for a great deal of money. I suppose at least now I won’t have to suffer the indignity of him pitching at a Cy Young level all year with the knowledge that the Guardians won’t give him the big payday.

Ok back to good things

Number One:

You seen these friggin’ flowers?

The bloom is on, fellas, and its looking real good. It’s still early enough that the novelty of flowers hasn’t worn off yet coming out of the gray drab of winter. Hell, who am I kidding, the novelty doesn’t wear off! I will be enjoying these beauties right up until the point I stick my snooter into one to take a big fragrant whiff and get stung by a nasty bee, resulting in a unsightly sore that ruins my big date that night.

Number Two:

There are some families with young kids on my block, including a set of twins that seem to be 2-3 years old. I’ve passed by them a number of times and chatted with the parents a bit and now whenever they see me coming they go “HI NEIGHBOR” and then I go “HI NEIGHBOR” and earlier this week one of them did that thing that little kids do where they strike up conversation by pointing out an object and identifying it. In this case, the twin presented a water bottle and said “This is my water bottle” and then pointed to a bike and said “That’s a bike.” I said that I, too have a bike and that it is up in my house and that since the weather is nice it is probably time to take it out and ride it, to which the child nodded and with great ceremony said “BYE NEIGHBOR.” I felt like a Kirkland Brand Mister Rogers.

Number Three:

Hanif Abdurraqib is one of my favorite writers and an all-time great Ohioan. I first picked up his tremendous collection of essays, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us back around 2017-18 and was immediately sold on the surface level - guy is from the Buckeye State and writes essays on topics ranging from Chance the Rapper to Ric Flair to My Chemical Romance to Prince’s Superbowl Halftime show? Count me in! And then I started reading and was treated to observations and perspective on all those things, but functioning as an entry point into some of the most beautiful, poetic writing about life and art I’d ever had the pleasure to read.

Abdurraqib has a new book out titled There’s Always This Year; a new collection of essays and poetry that uses basketball as the entry point, particularly the career of LeBron James. As of this writing, I am close to finished with it and this might sound corny, but few books have I ever made me feel so loved as a reader. This is intentional (our author addresses the readers as “beloveds”), but there is something extra special about someone uncovering or articulating something that resonates with you that you never could uncover or articulate with such style and elegance, though you’re really glad someone did. I’m thinking specifically of a passage where Abdurraqib waxes poetic on Daniel “Boobie” Gibson, a feast-or-famine sharpshooter who bridged the tail end of LeBron’s first Cavs run and the post-2010 wasteland era of the team. I haven’t thought about Boobie a lot over the last 15 or so years, but I have such fond memories of that ‘07 finals run when he would occasionally catch fire and rain down 3s, particularly thrilling in a pre-Steph Curry era. He was so young! His Grandma gave him his nickname! Reading Abdurraqib’s tribute was like being reminded of an old friend I had drifted apart from.

Also

I had some good barbecue recently! See you next time!