at this point, pretty much un-smirchable

When I was in high school, I participated in that time honored tradition of mediocrity: zero-period health. nothing says that "this isn't important" like having it start at ridiculously early hours. And the teacher was really the coach of the varsity baseball team, because we believe that it is the duty of academic integrity to suffer in the face of athleticism. This fellow thought, as I have mentioned before, that most of the best health knowledge could be gleaned from made-for-tv movies and very special episodes, and films starring comedians named Bill (What About Bob, I hate that movie, but I am okay with When Harry Met Sally).

We once watched the cinematic masterpiece of the small-silver-screen that was the movie in the which Fred Savage is a high school wrestler who abused his girlfriend Candace Cameron and then kills her and puts her body in the lake. Come on Fred, couldn't you think of somewhere more creative to put your dead? The lake is soooo cliché.

Anyway, after this one and the movie Sleeping with the Enemy, Mr. Coach then taught us what to say if we are in an abusive relationship.

PAUSE: THIS IS A DISCLAIMER. I am not trying to say abusive relationships are funny, or that what follows is a useful technique is escaping one. I'm trying to point out the stupidity of the technique. Don't get mad and read me lectures about how my insensitive soul will be forever cursed. It is a well-known fact I gambled away my soul in '01. UNPAUSE

As I was saying, Mr. Coach told us we should look the person in the eye and say forcefully, but calmly the following phrase.

"Look, (place name here), It's Over."

Then apparently the abuser will be enlightened and contrite and wish you well for the future and will not be tempted to kill you and put your body in the lake/bay/body of water.

So, as much as I've made fun of this, and I have, I kind of feel like I have said, 'look, workplace and Earnesto, It's Over.' But it worked this time. I feel borderline euphoric. So when I have had to interact with Rusty these last few days, I didn't have the smirched feeling he usually causes. I have become un-smirchable. Awesome. On the chart of awesome-osity that is my life, that rates right up there with my Mr. Popper's Penguins and Thom Yorke Dream. It's a pretty sweet dream. And it's pretty sweet that finally I can thumb my nose at the collective insanity that is this place.

jack

I bought some new shoes tonight. Exciting! I saw them and wanted them because made me think of sweaters for my feet. Also Exciting!

But in describing them to family and friends, I realized I liked them because they remind me of my high school English teacher, Jack. There are a very few people that I wish came in pocket size so I could keep them around for reference. Jack is one of them. Since people do not come in pocket size, maybe in shoe-representation is the next best thing.



Yes, I know they are not blue,like I talked about before, but they are Jack-ish. Davey G. shoes will have to wait. But he is still my favorite.

Relative Class

What does it mean to be classy? Does it mean flashy, debonair, suave, what? Or does it mean not going to the press with disparaging comments about other players? Because to me, Class does not mean coming out and calling other players dirty, no matter what you think.

I used to really respect Amare Stoudemire. I used to think he was an amazingly skilled player. I still give him props for size and skill, and applaud his absolutely classless statement to the press when he called the Spurs a "dirty team." That last clause was sarcastic.

In his statement, he said that Bowen should have had more class than to try to injure him. Amare, you should have more class than to call out another player by calling him dirty.

Other people, IE Isiah Thomas, have alleged that Bowen is dirty. However, these people are clearly in the minority. Otherwise, how did Bowen get on the All-Defensive Team, with the most votes?

Moreover, basketball, for all of fouls, is a contact sport. It may not be hockey, but it sure isn't golf. If that wasn't the case, then why did in 2003 people refer to Manu Ginobli and Tony Parker as soft, and recommend hard fouls as they drove to the basket in order to stop penetration? The game demands physicality and resilience, and if you're frightened that you might fall apart if touched, then you might need to remove yourself from the game. A game where feet and arms are flying around, where you are injured by your own teammates, and season-ending injuries often have no direct culprits.

So, speaking of whining, it's time to have a stiff and silent upper lip and trust the league and officials to call the game, because no matter how much the court of public opinion might sympathize, it's what happens on the real court that gets you the ring and trophy.