It is in the spot I’m going to now.
The secret. The real secret is
I’m already there, you are too.
So’s the lightning and wind
it’s stapled to, like a slip
from the nurse’s office letting you
out early. All’s already there
and we’ve already been
wasn’t it nice? But now
it’s time to be getting back.
Where? To the spot
we’re heading to, that thin gray crack
of light slowly spreading.
Against meaning, lunatic, real.
[Joanne Kyger / Anselm Hollo]
swiftly relight the flame
she said, and it rose
with a wail from candle’s
throat, the cave walls
damp with excrement,
rocks dripping. We breathed
each other’s scent.
Inhuman. Not even
animal, just soulless flesh.
We left our bodies
there, empty screens
for flickering light.
Won’t need them anymore, she said
when we come to Death’s customs.
[H.D. / Robert Duncan]
Can’t decide what’s worse — having your teams suck so bad that they don’t even reach the playoffs, or watching them flame out with the whole world watching. Someone pointed out that the Pistons are stuck in a rut on offense against the Cavs – just as they were last year, a bump in the road they never recovered from. Billups had five TO’s against three dimes last night. Not good.
Meanwhile, I wouldn’t be so alarmed at the Tigers getting swept at home by the Indians, except that they got pummeled just a week and a half ago by the Sox. I don’t see a front-line starter stepping up to stop losing streaks, and the bullpen is really in tatters without Zumaya. Guess I’ll go back to quietly posting poems and whatnot…
Watch and decide for yourself. Chris Sheridan of ESPN says yes, and even takes Mike Brown to task for not complaining more after the game.
I agree with others who say there were lots of non-calls both ways. Yes, there was contact, but Hamilton established position and never left his feet. A mid-range jumper was there for Lebron, and a gimme-putback off the rebound was served up to Larry Hughes due to the collapsing defense. Either one a golden opportunity to steal a game on the road. Personally, I’d rather see this kind of officiating than the breathe-on-me whistles that Wade got last spring.
We did it. Tina got her Green Card, first try, no problems. Everyone we dealt with at the San Antonio office, including Officer 27, was extremely friendly and helpful. The interview was a bit weird but not difficult at all. I wasn’t expecting to have to summarize my life’s story from the time I graduated from college, for example. Tina had to do the same, of course, and then we told the story of how we met and started dating and decided to get married. It was a bit like what you’d expect to discuss at one of those marriage-class things if you’re Catholic or something.
Officer 27 just chatted away with us, even supplying anecdotes from the previous couple he’d interviewed (one of whom was a professor at Texas State)! He never even looked in the bag of tricks we’d so meticulously put together — copies of birth certificates, tax forms, wedding photos and the like. The only thing he was interested in were documents that proved we live together and share financial-type stuff, which we had. I knew we were in the clear when he suddenly switched from informal, conversational mode to a businesslike demeanor, and began checking little boxes in Tina’s file. But I noticed that he did pause for a longish moment on the note explaining my yearly income, which I had to provide as evidence that I can support Tina (ha ha ha).
Suddenly it was done and he was stamping her passport and explaining that we were approved. Just have to go back (to some office, wherever we are) in two years to have the “conditional” removed from T’s status. We walked out with dear 027, past the poor souls still waiting in the main lobby for their chance. I asked how many of these he does per day, and he said 12; 6 in the morning and 6 in the afternoon. I’m sure they’re not all marriage-related, though. I just feel sorry for all those who can’t speak English too well, are poor, or have to go through the shadier process currently being debated in Washington. It was hellish enough for us. And expensive. But obviously it could have been a lot worse, and I’m thankful we got through it so quickly.
* * *
Back to the sports: After the Red Wings play their Dead Man Walking game tonight (I’m predicting a 4-1 score), the Pistons get set to continue their series with the Cavs. (Seriously, my Dad mentioned the Wings while I was on the phone with him just now, and I couldn’t even discuss it. I just had to mumble till he changed the subject. I can’t think rationally about what happened, even two days later. I’ll never get over it.)
So I have to focus on basketball, even though I’d much rather see Detroit bring home another Cup or World Series win than an NBA title. Why? I dunno. I played hockey growing up and I always loved baseball. Of course I was a big fan of the Bad Boys (boo… hiss…), and I couldn’t have been more delighted to see the Pistons single-handedly demolish the evil Lakers dynasty in 2004. But I feel like this team has chronically underachieved since then.
Actually, I shouldn’t say that. They played their hearts out against the Spurs in 2005 and came up just short. But the whole organization’s taken its foot off the gas too many times. It’s maddening. I’m still disgruntled about the indefensible Darko draft — and yes, we really could have had Melo, Bosh, or Wade –; the Larry Brown affair; the 64-win season followed by a lackadaisical playoffs last year; even the two hiccup games against the Bulls last round.
And last night they apparently did it again. Not that I saw the game, but by all accounts it was their worst of the postseason. This team does that too often. I’m sorry, but you just don’t see the Spurs turning in efforts like that. Obviously, James needs to score more than 10 a game for the Cavs to have any chance at all, but I’m imagining David Stern chewing out whoever’s gonna ref the next game already, guaranteeing Lebron much more than the zero free-throws he had last night. In fact, how does 15 sound as an over-under? The Pistons ought to win this series, but with games like this, I don’t see them offering much resistance to the Spurs.
all right, the Pistons just survived a tight one against the Cavs (sorry, Nick). I’m sure the stories tomorrow will all be about how Lebron only scored 10 points but they still had a great chance to steal the game. Screw it. I needed some good mojo heading into tomorrow. Wish us luck.
Total domination, Red Wings: 2-1 advantage in shots on goal, complete control of the game in terms of physical play, puck possession, etc., couple of hit posts, missed wide-open net, the lead with less than a minute to play…
Then, disaster. A bad penalty. A guy unable to clear the zone. A fluke bounce off the stick of our best defenseman. Overtime.
A power play. More good chances; nothing to show for it. I think to myself: now they’re going to come back and score. What happens? Bad give-away in the zone, suddenly Teemu Selanne (Teemu frickin Selanne, goat of so many Sharks games over the years) is walking in alone on a startled Hasek. Shovels it over his shoulder. Game over.
I walk out of the house. Down to the river. Sit there. Fantasize about jumping in, ending it all. Fantasize about electrocuting all the obnoxious Spurs fans floating by. Gradually, life seeps back in. I come home.
But this was a tough one. A combination of Level IX and II on the “Levels of Losing” by Bill Simmons (that’s “sudden death” and “stomach punch” for those who don’t know) (hell, throw in a little of Level IV, the Broken Axle, just for kicks).
Yup. Stomach punch. That’s exactly how I feel. It’s one of those “can’t function for 24 hours” type of losses. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me like this, but this one really, really, really hurts. Apologies in advance to Tina and Q.
* * *
One more thing about the controversy from my previous post: Yes, I should have clarified my intention in characterizing San Marcos as a small town when David asked me for some commentary prior to writing his review. I will write to him and see if there’s time to do so before he goes to press. The focus ought to be on the great work inside the journal that David writes about, not my careless remark. Sorries all around.
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