JM, read Case Closed, by Gerald Posner. I had some lingering doubts about the Kennedy Assassination, too—until I read it. It's also a terrific read and incredible work of research.
As to where I was, 11/11/63...kindergarten. That's right. Half day. Went home and my father met me halfway along the 5 suburban blocks or so to our apartment. He knew that that way, I would always remember.
Always amazed that my mother, who could conceive over every possible catastrophe striking us kids, let me walk to kindergarten alone. Everybody did then. Different world.
Last night, I had to go to a thing down in the Village. Didn't get back to the Upper West Side until about 10. I thought the Knicks were going to blow the game to start with, and all along the way, I was getting really bad vibes.
No noise. No one screaming with joy, or yelling out the windows, or honking horns. City was quiet as mid-March at night. Bad, bad.
Got home, Knicks were down 18 in the third. Checked back, still down 15 going into the fourth. Turned to the news a while later. They were all smirking, as if they knew some big secret. Turned back to the Knicks.
NY down by one. Hart blows that bunny. Despair. OG makes the defensive play of the year. Hope! OG—suddenly everywhere, doing everything—inbounds to Brunson. Thought Spurs not challenging inbounds pass was a mistake.
Ball to Brunson. He shoots quick, which I thought was very smart...but I had no confidence in the shot...seemed a little weak...what do I know?
This all passed through my brain in a microsecond. OG, out of nowhere. OG, unhurt, somehow. Taylor Swift is courtside, tossing Marisa Hargitay around like a rag doll.
I didn't think the Spurs could score—but who knows by this time. Worried they would get one more dumb foul call. But no—everyone is on court in a flash. A ref trying to reconsider and call something is going to have his whistle shoved down his throat and be trampled like a security guard on Black Friday.
Game. Series? Who knows? These days we're past any predictions.
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They are watching; they are listening.
ReplyDeleteThey are omniscient and omnipresent. Care is always warranted.
ReplyDeleteI am naughty but floss and seafoam in the vast darkness...
ReplyDeleteThat is so fucking awesome, Duque.
ReplyDeleteJM, read Case Closed, by Gerald Posner. I had some lingering doubts about the Kennedy Assassination, too—until I read it. It's also a terrific read and incredible work of research.
ReplyDeleteAs to where I was, 11/11/63...kindergarten. That's right. Half day. Went home and my father met me halfway along the 5 suburban blocks or so to our apartment. He knew that that way, I would always remember.
ReplyDeleteAlways amazed that my mother, who could conceive over every possible catastrophe striking us kids, let me walk to kindergarten alone. Everybody did then. Different world.
Last night, I had to go to a thing down in the Village. Didn't get back to the Upper West Side until about 10. I thought the Knicks were going to blow the game to start with, and all along the way, I was getting really bad vibes.
ReplyDeleteNo noise. No one screaming with joy, or yelling out the windows, or honking horns. City was quiet as mid-March at night. Bad, bad.
Got home, Knicks were down 18 in the third. Checked back, still down 15 going into the fourth. Turned to the news a while later. They were all smirking, as if they knew some big secret. Turned back to the Knicks.
NY down by one. Hart blows that bunny. Despair. OG makes the defensive play of the year. Hope! OG—suddenly everywhere, doing everything—inbounds to Brunson. Thought Spurs not challenging inbounds pass was a mistake.
Ball to Brunson. He shoots quick, which I thought was very smart...but I had no confidence in the shot...seemed a little weak...what do I know?
This all passed through my brain in a microsecond. OG, out of nowhere. OG, unhurt, somehow. Taylor Swift is courtside, tossing Marisa Hargitay around like a rag doll.
I didn't think the Spurs could score—but who knows by this time. Worried they would get one more dumb foul call. But no—everyone is on court in a flash. A ref trying to reconsider and call something is going to have his whistle shoved down his throat and be trampled like a security guard on Black Friday.
Game. Series? Who knows? These days we're past any predictions.