Observation:
I was watching the NBA the other day during one of my sleepy stupor episodes. It happened to be a Spurs game, and as I watched the team with the best win/loss record for the regular season lose to the Memphis Grizzlies for a third time, something occurred to me. The Spurs are a good, consistent team. They've kind of always have been. They're known for putting up good results with their veteran lines, and doing so day in and day out. But the playoffs are another animal. When it comes to the big stage, there is a thing people like to talk about called shifting gears. This gets used all the time when announcers talk about individuals (especially in tennis, which I follow more closely than basketball). They'll say something like "things were going well until Roger Federer found another gear, and the other guy just didn't have a response." It seems like the Spurs are just always playing in a high gear. Which makes sense; they are old. They know how to play well on a day to day basis, and they know what it takes to win. But they don't have another gear to go to for the post season. The Grizzlies are a young team with tons of energy, and yeah, they'll lose to the Spurs when they can't find that gear. But they have it, and that's been the difference so far. They get pumped up and once they got rolling in game four, it was over. They blew the Spurs out. And it was fun to watch because I don't like the Spurs. This also highlights why it's getting to be depressing watching Federer. I keep waiting for that gear to kick in. But like the Spurs, he's getting old. He'll still consistently be in the final rounds of tournaments, but it seems like that gear is slipping beyond his reach.
Me:
You get half a post while I write my paper for tomorrow. Sorry about that.
I got on my bike the other day and put my headphones on to listen to some music, as I usually do. What I don't usually do is start pedaling without making sure I know where my headphone cord is. It took no time at all for the cord to be shredded by the chain of my bike, and now I am out my second pair of nice-ish headphones in as many months. But, as usual, this just inspired me to upgrade. My iPod got stolen so I got an iPhone. I broke my headphones, so I opened up some better headphones. Because nothing says "I'm responsible enough to have this" like having just destroyed it.
And now back to my paper.
April 28, 2011
April 25, 2011
Tired
Me:
My schedule got thrown off a bit. So the previous post will have to stand in for the Tuesday morning edition, and I'll try to be creative again soon. Right now I'm tired again.
My schedule got thrown off a bit. So the previous post will have to stand in for the Tuesday morning edition, and I'll try to be creative again soon. Right now I'm tired again.
I'm beginning to dislike titling these things
What to do with Leftovers
It takes a lot of confidence to reach into the drawer of Tupperware
knowing you'll come up with a lid to match the bowl.
I reach and rummage and curse in despair
while in one easy motion she slides in her hand and grabs my soul.
That's confidence, knowing a match is in there somewhere,
And with the first try her hand will find the pair ready for the cold.
So scoop your remnants in, fasten the lid tight
And know we fit, won't spoil, and when the door is closed
That we won't mind the disappearing light.
Poem:
Our leftover-container-drawer is a mess. I can only assume it's that way for many people. I know it was like that when I was kid. It would take fifteen minutes of searching to put away a serving of leftover noodles. So I used it as a metaphor. And I know it's cheesy. It's a first draft. I've gotten more into the idea of drafts, since I have to revise every one of the twenty poems I wrote this semester for my final portfolio. And because I've been too lazy to do things right the first time. So there you go.
Observation:
Did you know the fine for trespassing is a dollar? It's true. If you are sued for tresspassing that's the price. Of course, in many places, if you are trespassing the owners of the property can take other action against you. And if you have to do some extra work to gain access, like climb a wall or something, you'll probably get more than a dollar fine, but if you wander across a property line or refuse to stay off someone's lawn, be prepared to shell out a dollar. At least, that is what my law and politics professor said yesterday. Under the law of torts, which compensates people for damages incurred, that is the value of trespassing. Because who is really hurt by it? So it's mostly a symbolic decision. An acknowledgment of violation, but without real significance. And interestingly, you don't have to be the owner to sue for trespassing. You can be a person renting the property, since it's you the trespassers are "inconveniencing" somehow.
Exercise:
Below are 3 sets of words. Use all the words in each set to write mini stories in 300 words or less:
SET 1: paper clips, principal, lunchbox, swing, girl with a pink ribbon
SET 2: biology, class card, foreign student, leaf, blood sample
SET 3: typewriter, filing cabinet, puncher, clerk, carbon paper, janitor
The principle entered the elementary school amid a flurry of swinging lunchboxes. The opening of the heavy wood double doors and the excitement the children exuded never ceased to impress him. The girl with the pink ribbon in her hair, for example, bounding up the steps eager for class, was oblivious to the dread most secondary students felt at the onset of another academic year. For the kids, this was another year of exploration. Whether beginning their studies of biology or getting their first taste of fractions, the students all seemed eager to get on with things. No matter which name was chosen from the deck of class cards, a response was sure to be given enthusiastically (if not accurately). And to top it all off, this year's fourth graders had the novel experience of including a foreign student. The language barrier was no match for the universal concepts of recess, candy, and laughter.
The principle wondered for his fifth straight year when the excitement stopped. The secretary at her typewriter smiled only at the sight of break time. For the kids, recess meant the flood of energy could be released into the grassy field, the wooden play structure, the monkey bars, basketballs, and swings. The secretary left behind her filing cabinet, her stacks of carbon paper, her hole puncher and her paper clips for a few minutes of coffee designed to restore some of that energy so eagerly strewn about outside. The janitor took five minutes from scraping off gum, sweeping the remnants of leaves and grass, and waxing floors to marvel at the ingenuity required to get spitballs into particularly difficult positions. And the nurse felt guilty at holding children back from recess, sending some home, and occasionally taking a sample of blood to ensure nothing communicable made the rounds. And not one of these people knew when it was they stopped wanting so desperately to flood through the doors and into class. Bt they remained in close proximity, hoping to gather a faint reflection from the bright, flowing energy the kids released.
Me:
In the most predictable of ways, I am already conflicted between activities. This weekend I played handball in the mornings and biked forty to fifty miles in the afternoons. It left me worn out and with little time or energy for much else. Between preparing food to fuel my draining reserves and lying around in a half-asleep state, I was hard pressed to even open my eyes long enough to see the score of a basketball game, much less write anything worthwhile. And today I am incredibly stiff. My neck and back are far worse off than my legs, in fact. But enough complaining. I'm also faced with a decision about which activity to pursue this weekend. I have an important handball tournament in a few weeks and the opportunity to play against some quality players this weekend, but then again, there are two bike races in Iowa City. And it's hard to prioritize practice over racing, but I'd be making the trip to Iowa City solo, and I dislike criteriums. Apparently by "enough complaining" I meant "time to complain some more." Sorry. I guess I'll see what the weather forecast looks like.
I wish I had more news, but my weekend really just consisted of handball, biking, eating, and sleeping.
It takes a lot of confidence to reach into the drawer of Tupperware
knowing you'll come up with a lid to match the bowl.
I reach and rummage and curse in despair
while in one easy motion she slides in her hand and grabs my soul.
That's confidence, knowing a match is in there somewhere,
And with the first try her hand will find the pair ready for the cold.
So scoop your remnants in, fasten the lid tight
And know we fit, won't spoil, and when the door is closed
That we won't mind the disappearing light.
Poem:
Our leftover-container-drawer is a mess. I can only assume it's that way for many people. I know it was like that when I was kid. It would take fifteen minutes of searching to put away a serving of leftover noodles. So I used it as a metaphor. And I know it's cheesy. It's a first draft. I've gotten more into the idea of drafts, since I have to revise every one of the twenty poems I wrote this semester for my final portfolio. And because I've been too lazy to do things right the first time. So there you go.
Observation:
Did you know the fine for trespassing is a dollar? It's true. If you are sued for tresspassing that's the price. Of course, in many places, if you are trespassing the owners of the property can take other action against you. And if you have to do some extra work to gain access, like climb a wall or something, you'll probably get more than a dollar fine, but if you wander across a property line or refuse to stay off someone's lawn, be prepared to shell out a dollar. At least, that is what my law and politics professor said yesterday. Under the law of torts, which compensates people for damages incurred, that is the value of trespassing. Because who is really hurt by it? So it's mostly a symbolic decision. An acknowledgment of violation, but without real significance. And interestingly, you don't have to be the owner to sue for trespassing. You can be a person renting the property, since it's you the trespassers are "inconveniencing" somehow.
Exercise:
Below are 3 sets of words. Use all the words in each set to write mini stories in 300 words or less:
SET 1: paper clips, principal, lunchbox, swing, girl with a pink ribbon
SET 2: biology, class card, foreign student, leaf, blood sample
SET 3: typewriter, filing cabinet, puncher, clerk, carbon paper, janitor
The principle entered the elementary school amid a flurry of swinging lunchboxes. The opening of the heavy wood double doors and the excitement the children exuded never ceased to impress him. The girl with the pink ribbon in her hair, for example, bounding up the steps eager for class, was oblivious to the dread most secondary students felt at the onset of another academic year. For the kids, this was another year of exploration. Whether beginning their studies of biology or getting their first taste of fractions, the students all seemed eager to get on with things. No matter which name was chosen from the deck of class cards, a response was sure to be given enthusiastically (if not accurately). And to top it all off, this year's fourth graders had the novel experience of including a foreign student. The language barrier was no match for the universal concepts of recess, candy, and laughter.
The principle wondered for his fifth straight year when the excitement stopped. The secretary at her typewriter smiled only at the sight of break time. For the kids, recess meant the flood of energy could be released into the grassy field, the wooden play structure, the monkey bars, basketballs, and swings. The secretary left behind her filing cabinet, her stacks of carbon paper, her hole puncher and her paper clips for a few minutes of coffee designed to restore some of that energy so eagerly strewn about outside. The janitor took five minutes from scraping off gum, sweeping the remnants of leaves and grass, and waxing floors to marvel at the ingenuity required to get spitballs into particularly difficult positions. And the nurse felt guilty at holding children back from recess, sending some home, and occasionally taking a sample of blood to ensure nothing communicable made the rounds. And not one of these people knew when it was they stopped wanting so desperately to flood through the doors and into class. Bt they remained in close proximity, hoping to gather a faint reflection from the bright, flowing energy the kids released.
Me:
In the most predictable of ways, I am already conflicted between activities. This weekend I played handball in the mornings and biked forty to fifty miles in the afternoons. It left me worn out and with little time or energy for much else. Between preparing food to fuel my draining reserves and lying around in a half-asleep state, I was hard pressed to even open my eyes long enough to see the score of a basketball game, much less write anything worthwhile. And today I am incredibly stiff. My neck and back are far worse off than my legs, in fact. But enough complaining. I'm also faced with a decision about which activity to pursue this weekend. I have an important handball tournament in a few weeks and the opportunity to play against some quality players this weekend, but then again, there are two bike races in Iowa City. And it's hard to prioritize practice over racing, but I'd be making the trip to Iowa City solo, and I dislike criteriums. Apparently by "enough complaining" I meant "time to complain some more." Sorry. I guess I'll see what the weather forecast looks like.
I wish I had more news, but my weekend really just consisted of handball, biking, eating, and sleeping.
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