I’ll be attempting to play basketball in an organized fashion this evening at 8:30pm.  Once a baller, it’s been many years (OK a decade +) since I’ve participated in anything more than a park pickup game.  Last three pointer I hit was over my daughter on a Tiny Tikes’ plastic hoop.  Feeling far too old for this but actually am too young.  The league is supposed to be for those over forty, I got an exemption.  I have mixed emotions about this exemption and our team name, “Matrix.”  That said, it will be good to see some friendlies, play a game and bang a bit.

It’s a slow break format, meaning you can’t advance the ball past half court until the other team crosses (unless it’s the last three minutes of a half at which time fast breaking is legal and encouraged so long as you keep your wind).  Think a bookclub where you read just the last chapter and only pay attention to half of what people say while eating appetizers that were given little thought.

If you haven’t already, start worrying about me. I’m a little nervous.  There’s rust here, I doubt my defense, and have a brain chalked full.   Don’t be too concerned though because just when you relax I’ll triple-threat up –>    jab step & deliver a skip pass to my mate low post.  I might just jump-stop to the block &  flip-shot a lupe-de-loosh off glass with seconds to spare. Matrix in your eye.

What? if these are the good times/great oldies.

Damn it(s),  got so/too much going on in my head at times—>  Concurrently–>
It’s vivid in there.   So imagine Jane’s Addiction and Mike Ditka co-hosting a soul food cooking show with a Mediterranean bent       +   some visuals.    Thoughts and memories can be shaken up like a snow-globe. Yesterday’s mistakes heckle today’s progress.   There’s a tidge of leftover jargon floating about.  And sounds, like every middle-school band all playing at the same time in the same gym while a trapeze act corresponds with the square root of G in the rafters.  You know what I mean?         Maybe no not.

It doesn’t matter too much, because at other times it’s crystal silent clear inside.  Like not yet formed mist.

I still make mix tapes. The mixes don’t come/go as often anymore and have crossed over into digital format (as these things do) but I still make them. I get overly excited for the Olympic torch and anagrams. Last year you could find me listening to Sklarbro Coutry, now I listen to Maron. There’s a lot of artisan pizza pie out there, but I just want Pizza Pipeline. I can go week long stretches just listening to country. I glanced through a People magazine yesterday. I choose the worst line at the border. Some days I don’t feel like playing. I dig sarsaparilla and old matchbooks from places I’ve never been. I’ve tried but never quite got The Kids in the Hall. Some times I lose my fo-cus, sometimes I’m superfocused. I miss The Far Side and the Sonics. I’ve got tee shirts and pictures I can’t get rid of.
I have been the last to know. I started reading Papillon, but never finished it.

Russell Wilson.

Life is so ugly/beautiful.  Pearl Jam & basketball taught us that.