52 in 07

Holy shit I’ve got to get my ass in gear. Finn marked my 14th book read for 52 in 07. For those keeping score at home, that’s 38 short of the mark right now. And seeing as it’s the 235th day of the year, that means I’ve got 130 left. Which means that I’m going to have to read a book ever 3.42 days. A tall order, especially seeing as I’ve only been knocking out a book once every 16 days or so, right now I’m on pace for a dismal 21 books on the year. Add in November, and this challenge could be a resounding failure.

Treading water

In a transitional phase right now, with nothing either starting or ending. Except JFC, but I’m not talking about that anymore. I keep pecking away at this new novel, but I’m 25k in already – making it longer than A Mirror, Broken – and the story proper hasn’t even started yet. I might be looking at my first full length manuscript (150k, perhaps), if I can find the time to get it all down.

Prospects on that seem grim, though – with the upcoming Nano being my third go, making it a goddamned tradition, my energy will be otherwise diverted. And then there’s my intention of getting my name in a publication during the year 2008. The plan is to get a little portfolio of short stories and start flogging them around, likely receiving nothing but rejection slips. It’ll be like stamp collecting, only way more depressing.

I say this now so I’ll actually go through with it.

Summer’s just about done for the year, and I think this marks the first summer that I wasn’t bored. It’s like I skipped right past the doldrums.

Mostly I wanted to point out the fact that I’ve picked out a new theme, and it is almost unbearably legit.

So devoid of content it doesn’t deserve a title.

I am returned from the cliffs of Madness, and I come bearing posts. Tomorrow.

And since I’ve been off-grid for a week, here’s all I can say about this crooked ref thing so far: Donaghy is Gaelic for failure.

JfC and a couple of 52in07s tomorrow.

Something for the Fourth

If I were Thomas Jefferson, and it was this humid when we were drafting the Constitution… well, you might only be guaranteed an unalienable right to Life. After that, I’d have to take a break, maybe have one of my slave concubines fan me down and brew me some iced tea.

Anyway, I get a lot of fanmail for this blog, so I figured I’d celebrate this fine holiday by reading a little mail, especially since the Post Office is taking the day.

“Hi Erik,
Love everything about you. You’re almost unbearably handsome. Just how raw is Transformers?
Best,
Becky”

How raw? Hella raw. At first glance you might think Transformers is the perfect storm of terrible elements – Michael Bay lensing it, Shia LaBouf getting lensed, and fucking flames and lips on Optimus Goddamned Prime.

But dont’ fear, Bay never forgets what Transformers is all about – humongous robots throwing haymakers and straight proclaiming shit like, “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.” You tell it like it is, Prime. When Prime isn’t on his soapbox, he’s dispensing justice with the help of his scimitar(?) and a couple car commercials.

That ain’t surprising. What might be is how much you’ll like Shia LaBouf. If there ever was a man with a reason to take a stage name, this is he. But he stuck with it, and that kind of pluck is what makes him a perfect leading man for this movie. I never had a quarrel with LaBouf going into this thing (seems to get a lot of unjustified hate), so I wasn’t amazed or anything, but he’s a downright decent humanoid to go scurrying through the titanic robo-clashes.

Next!

“Hey, what’s up with the ‘hella’? Since when did you talk like a douche?”

Back off. Hella is infiltrating my vocabulary as surely as “bro” (and all derivations thereof), and I make no apologies for it.

“Happy 4th of July,
Who do you think the Bulls should go after in free agency?
Number one fan,
Tom”

Tom, the Bulls need Darko Milicic in the worst way. I’m a Darko fan, and not in an ironic way, or because I read FreeDarko. No, I like Darko because he’s packed on 60 pounds of muscle and is unfazed by bats aimed at his skull. Besides the fact that he’s a badass, I feel that there’s a decent center lurking somewhere in Darko Milicic. I like Pau as much as the next guy, don’t get me wrong, but there seems to be something very satisfying about turning a bust into an asset. That’d be like signing Ryan Leaf and turning him into a great publicity guy.

“Hey,
When you think Independence Day, what comes to mind?”

Mostly this: Captain America. Love what Dave Campbell does – I don’t follow comics and I still think that blog is awesome. Actually, Independence Day means a great many things to me. Most of which are far too boring to enumerate.

Until next time, keep writing in, loyal fans.

It’s a metaphor about water, you see.

Water fills whatever contains it. If you want it to obey you, all you need to do is find the appropriate container. Without anything to contain it, water will spread, and, not meeting any boundaries, continue to do so. It doesn’t know any better, after all – it has no discipline. It’s just water. Soon it is just a thin film on the earth, evaporated by a moment of the sun’s attention.

What I’m saying to you, in a roundabout way, is posts will be regular around here. Writing in a little-frequented blog is onanistic at best, a reflexive, and possibly useless endeavor – but I’m no stranger to those. In fact, I’m considering writing another such endeavor, something to keep warm between NaNos.

As always, when I have nothing planned to say, I turn to basketball.

There’s been a general discontent with the NBA Playoffs this year. I feel it, too – after Golden State’s stunner, Nets/Cavs seem like meager fare indeed. Worse still, the Warriors upset was so unexpected as to be almost as jarring as it was triumphant – the Mavericks were going to go deep into the playoffs. Everybody knew that. Oops.

What’s the answer to this playoff ennui? Aside from making Bruce Bowen voodoo dolls, I offer you the prospect of the Draft. Bursting at the seams with franchise-caliber talent, this draft might be the one to drown out the echoes of 2003′s mother lode.

The Bulls are in a good position to get their picks into the vein before it runs dry, since we’ve got the rights to the Knicks’ pick – the Knicks had the 9th worst record in the league this year. This means there are 17 combination of lottery balls that gets us the 1st pick, with a 1.7% probability. Not great odds, but stranger things have happened. I don’t know what Paxson’s plans for our natural first round pick is, but picking twice in the first round of this draft has to be seen as a Good Thing.

Thoughts on Tyrus Thomas to follow.

Rebirth

Summer’s reached me at long last, and right now I’m pretty much Red from Shawshank. My whole plane ride back was spent slipping in and out of consciousness; I’d awaken long enough to grin or down a ginger ale, and then doze off again. Hinsdale is riotous with vegetation – this place has been remade in my absence.

Golden State’s performance tonight was lustrous. I have no idea why that was the first adjective that leaped to mind, but there you have it. Baron Davis, he… well… he did a bad thing to Andrei Kirilenko’s face.

Note the stiff arm preceding the cram – that was filthy. It’s been revelatory to watch a Baron Davis unhindered by injuries showing us what he can do. Pre-injuries Grant Hill was good, but HealthyBaron has been a force of nature.

I continue to love Matt Barnes’s three – it’s like WNBAers who can’t get the ball up without the leg kick.

Amidst the bombardment of Warriors threes, Deron Williams continued to impress me. You might wonder how that’s possible, considering he was riding pine for a good portion of the tilt. Well, that’s cause I got to compare him to AK-47. The Jazz have AK run the offense sometimes, and it really should be accompanied by the Benny Hill theme – Kirilenko dribbles with that kind of panicked purposelessness you NEVER see from Deron.

Or Baron Davis.

Summer hoops has gotten off to a fine start, with three sessions in two days. People kept saying summer would get boring, but right now that seems an absurd possibility at best.

Alright, that’s all for now. I need to get back to tanning.

“We’re getting to the end of everything.”

Prophesy from the mouth of Cheryl, a D-Hall employee – of course, she was talking about home fries and bacon at the time, and probably not existential thought.

Class wrapped today, and I felt a little shocked as we flooded from the room and a chorus of “Thank god that shitty class is over” rose up. I had no idea the class was so alienated, but then as I thought about it, it occurred to me that I really didn’t learn anything during lecture. It’s a bit galling to consider how wasteful a bad college course is – these things are like 500 bucks per session, when you break it down.

Anyway: set adrift, the daily schedule loosing its clutches on me, I made sure I maintained some structure. I accomplished this by watching the Golden State/Mavs contest tip to buzzer. Dirk must be a reader, cause he strapped on his Daddy’s shoes and came to play. I also appreciate that he took a cue from Baron (who we should probably upgrade to Earl after this series) and started growing some facial hair. Facial hair is synonymous with playoff success; just ask Roethlisberger.

I was hoping GSW could close it out, but the Mavs lurched off the ropes and landed a lucky haymaker. GSW was reeling at the end of the game, missing badly. One possession in particular made me want to retch – S-Jax was afraid to put the ball on the floor with Terry in front of him, and after 10 seconds of aimless triple threat, hoisted a deplorable 20 footer.

Baron’s ejection was a travesty, and I posit that the offending ref is a RACIST.

In other playoff news, Vince Carter was awful meek at the end of the game. Him and J-Kidd were playing a game of hot potato in the final possession, apparently afraid to win the game. Carter took an angled drive and laid it off for Bostjan Nachbar. You know what they call him: “Big Shot Bostjan”. Wait – they don’t? I appreciate the fact that Nachbar was draining threes at a sixty percent clip not long ago, but that is not his play to make. Carter should have won the game. If for no other reason than to totally stick it to Toronto (sidenote: Toronto is the only place you see asian fans).

End basketball.

Heroes had a sweet episode, but I’m not so sure about this time travelling business. It enables cool devices like the five year jump they used tonight, but it also comes with about 35 paradoxes. I will say the face scar Peter was sporting upped his hardness by a factor of 10, and it detracted from his drooping Rocky lip. What the hell is that about?

Zachary Quinto’s casting as Sylar continues to disappoint – his voice is better suited for a sidekick than an archfiend.

That’s all. I’ll leave you now palms up, awaiting manna from heaven.