I will start using this on a more regular basis. Until then, here's a little something I've been chewing over: leaked excerpts from Tim Donaghy's (the ex-NBA ref, fired and then jailed for illegal betting on NBA games) not-yet-published book. Thanks to deadspin, the original publisher of the leaks.
Not to get all paranoid, but if you stop to think about the amount of sway and power any game official has over the eventual outcome of an event you can begin to realize just how possible it would be for someone to use their authority for nefarious deeds. With great power...
Monday, November 2, 2009
Friday, March 28, 2008
This is my first post. It contains a bit of randomness...
As I believe most of my posts will probably contain. I have decided to post the first piece of well, anything that I have written in over a decade. It is below. Feel free to comment, regardless if it is nice, nasty or nothing much at all.
Cheers,
Will
Glori Be To the Highest
“Honey, I’m home. And I brought the bacon,” I chuckled, as I stepped into our apartment. But instead of the usual pitter-patter of little feet, I was greeted by silence. It wasn’t silence so much as a profound disquieting lack of presence; her presence. Dropping the slab of bacon I’d brought home on the entry table, I winced as it smacked the bills and letters piled there, and started to slide. “Cripes,” I muttered, realizing too late the mistake. The bacon slid off the bills and hit the floor with a greasy squelch. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I sighed, trying to use a few of the older bills to mop up some of the excess juice that had squeezed out of the packaging onto the wood floor.
“Glori, can you give me a hand with this?” I yelled, momentarily forgetting that I hadn’t yet heard the sound of another living thing in the apartment. Still nothing. I picked up the soggy mess of bills and bacon and hustled it all into the kitchen, lest I leave a trail of grease to mark my path. Plopping the mess into the sink, I started to rinse my hands, immediately shutting off the water when I realized I was washing the bills too. “SNAP, CRACKLE & POP!!!” I screamed (I’ve been trying to give up cursing). Now trying to dry off the wet, dripping, still-greasy mass of bills I noticed the folded, single piece of notebook paper. It was partially transparent, owing to the magical water and grease combination, but I could make out neat, precise cursive. Glori’s hand writing.
“Convince me, to please you. Make me think that I need this too…” echoed from the bedroom. “Wha…?” I said, before realizing that it was only the MP3-stereo popping on. Glori and I both like a little music when we get home. Momentarily forgetting the note, I headed to the back bedroom, and noticed the song playing was “Love Song,” by Sara Bareilless. It’s a cute little piano-driven pop song that Glori’d been enamored with of late. It’s a little too saccharine for my liking, but I indulged her. Give me the depressed torch-wailing of Fiona Apple any day. If you want love songs that’ll crystallize your suffering, making you think glass-encrusted nails digging into your heart would be a welcome respite from the ache of heartbreak, then she’s the songstress for you.
Noting that I still hadn’t heard Glori, I decided she must have stepped out for a moment. Sitting down on our bed I began going through my daily ritual – untying my shoes. For whatever reason I’ve always struggled with double-knots; maybe it’s because of the hook. Anyway, I haven’t actually tied my shoes since I got to college; I’d always ruin the heels of my shoes, just jamming my feet into them before they fell apart. The last two years Glori’s been kind enough to assist me. She likes to kid that one day she’ll be gone and I’d walk around with laces flopping. She tell’s me plenty of people can do it in spite of a handicap and I should learn as well. Either that or I need to stick with boots and Velcro, haha.
Glancing at the clock I realized that it’s nigh on 7:30. She should have been home by now, even if she took a ride down to the Trader Joe’s for dinner. Then I remembered the note…getting up hurriedly, one shoe on and the other off, I went back into the kitchen. But I paused, sliding slightly on the wood floor as I went back through the living room – the quilt her grandmother knitted her when she was born (yes, some stereotypes exist for a reason) wasn’t on the couch. It was…gone. Glori didn’t even like washing it, let alone moving it from its place of importance. That piece of cloth meant more to her then, well her collection of Sarah Mclachlan and Tony Bennett vintage LPs. It meant more to her then her imported Harajuko-Girls-edition, Hello Kitty Tokyo backpack. (A brief aside, we actually met at a Japanimation Festival here in Boston. She was wearing these irresistible librarian-esque cat’s eye glasses, and had just let out a peel of girlish-giddiness at the sight of said backpack. I was one stand over, browsing through some vintage import-only Nintendo games. I looked up just as she spun around in a fit of glee, our eyes met and. I gave her a sheepish grin, blushed and looked away. She came over, slowly tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, and showed me her personal piece of glory, the back pack. It was instant karma, love at first otaku.)
I stumbled back into the bedroom – glancing left I saw that Nibbles, her stuffed Chobits character was missing from the bedside table. Her anime figures, her statues were still in their place, but that Chobits, she loved him. Jokingly said he was the only thing she could count on to be there every night when she got home. Now I was worried. I fumbled for my cellphone, bringing it up and dialing her number. The three rings, then click, “Hi, you’ve reached Glori…” her voicemail.
“Hi sweets, it’s Chris. I got home and you weren’t here, and just was wondering when you’d be back. Call me.” I hoped I didn’t vocalize my worry, but ugh. Now I could feel it, my worry, sitting in my stomach like a piece of three-day-old pizza. But back to the note, sitting now partially dry on the table where I had discarded it what seemed like only moments ago. I rushed back into the kitchen and bent over the table, trying to decipher the writing. It was certainly Glori’s, her minute, just barely slanted, neat block print. Because of the water and grease, the lower portion was somewhat smeared, and runny. As I sat down at our little kitchen table and reached out to open it up, I realized my left hand was trembling. So was my hook. I opened the letter fully, placing my hook on the end so it wouldn’t fold back up. Then, realizing I was still trembling, I did a few calm breathing exercises. It began,
Dear Chris, (okay, that’s fine)…
Um, hi. How was your day? (that Glori, always thinking about me). Mine was kinda okay. No, wait, it was really quite good. On my way to work I realized that my life is pretty close to amazing right now. I have a great job at the Museum, the apartment is wonderful, Genni, Hedy, Alex and Spike are excellent friends, Grammy is still with us, and the sun is shining. (I exhaled loudly; I guess I was holding my breath, but it looks like there’s nothing to worry about, right?) But this afternoon I was examining my planner saw that it had been nearly 6 weeks since my last period, (uh, that’s not good, right?). I pulled out my little survival kit that I have in the office, pulled out the pregnancy test (Oh, you were always a girl scout), and went to the restroom. Well, you can imagine my relief when it came back negative (whewwww. I exhaled deeply again. I keep holding my breath). I walked back out and returning to my desk called Dr. Parker. He was actually able to see me this afternoon, so I left early and when to the hospital. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I’ve been having pains in my abdomen off and on for a few weeks now, but I didn’t want to worry you (Pains!?). But I had tests done two months ago and they didn’t turn anything up, so I didn’t mention it. See, I bet you’re already worried, (YES, you’re dang right I’m worried!).
After asking me questions about recent habits, ( you’ve been quite insatiable of late) (haha, I could feel myself blushing), Dr. Parker reviewed my previous tests and then had me go down to the X-ray room for a scan. One of his assistants also three vials of blood and had it sent for tests. Then I waited. It would have been nice to have you here, but I kept myself entertained by looking at models of wax hands, so in a way you were here. I did my best to keep from being nervous (now I’m nervous; my hook is tapping the table in an almost drumroll-like cadence). I only had to wait 45 minutes for the results (modern medicine can be so marvelous), but it seemed to drag on for days. Do you remember when we took that drip to North Carolina and went hiking in the Cumberlands two months after we met? How we found a brief clearing an hour into the hike and set down our gear to just watch nature? How the sun lit up the valley, and we watched the dew burn off. You had been so grouchy since we got up early, but sitting there, next to you with the sun warming us, I saw the tension in your face relax, and I could feel the heartbeat in your hand slow. I felt time stretch to infinity, that the sun warmed our souls and melded our hearts together. I knew from that moment that I wanted to be with you. But that’s how the time seemed to stretch this afternoon, when I waited for my test results, as if the sisters of fate were stretching out the thread of time itself.
(I had to stop reading, to stop the tears. She was right, I had been grouchy that morning. You would be too, if you’d been up since 5AM when an early Saturday normally meant getting up before noon. But Glori had suggested this spontaneous road trip the afternoon before and, well when she got all cute and glowing like that it was all I could do to not leave right then. I remember looking over at her as she gazed out at the valley, and wondering where it was this angel had fallen, and hoping I’d never have to let her go. I dried my eyes and started reading again.)
When the tests came back, they showed that I have developed extremely aggressive, late stage uterine cancer (WHA!!!!!!!!!. I immediately tried calling Glori on her cell phone again. Ring, ring, ring, “Hi, you’ve reached Glori…” Nothing. I went back to reading). The doctor said a lot of medical gobbledy-gook, but I don’t really think I listened. All I could do was sit there, letting his words flow over me, like a stiff breeze. Even before he finished talking I knew what I was going to do. I only wish you had been there with me. Although it’s probably better that you weren’t. If you had been there I know you would have held me, and we would have cried as one. But you weren’t there, and I resolved to not shed a tear. The one thing I did hear the doctor say is that, given aggressive treatment I might get another month, maybe two.
I know I left his office, because I found myself here, at our table writing this letter. I blinked, but an hour had passed. You’d be home soon, so I had to hurry. I’m leaving everything for you, but my grammy’s quilt and Nibbles. They’ll be with me.
(This can not, this IS NOT HAPPENING.)
So this is the part where I say goodbye. I’m sorry, but I love you so much Chris, that I couldn’t, can’t let you see me suffer. These last two years have blessed my heart and warmed my soul. Your passion for life in the face of your handicap is a virtue that I can not match, but only strive towards. In your arms I feel as though all the pain, the misery, the anguish of man could find solace if only they knew this joy. In your eyes I see myself as I’ve always wanted to be. I will never be better than I am at that moment. For you to see me after, after all that the doctor said I could do, that would not be me. You have loved me totally, unconditionally, uncompromisingly, irrefutably and with all that is. I will always love you. I can see time stretching out in front of me again, time becoming infinite. You and I are in that time, we are together, we are beautiful, we are infinite.
Glori
Epilogue
It’s light outside. The sun is throwing rainbows, sparkling off of the Glori’s prism in the window. That means I’ve been sitting here for a while. I’m not sure how long that is, but it’s not today. It maybe tomorrow, it might be a week from yesterday. I’ve read the note at least 98 times, but probably more, I don’t know. At some point I think I moved, if only because there’s an empty bottle of ginger wine on the table. I don’t think it was open before. Maybe if I read it one more time it will be too blurry to make out. That will mean it isn’t true, that it didn’t happen, that Glori is going to walk in the door in the next moment, or just after that. My cell phone’s dead, because it’s sitting on the table too, next to the empty bottle. I think I kept calling Glori’s cell. I sit up, there’s noise. I sag back as I realize it’s just the stereo, starting another track, slow piano and high hat, and that lilting sallow voice, “Won’t do no good to hold no séance/ What’s gone is gone and it won’t bring it back around…” I notice another sound, a keening, wailing howl. I realize its me, and I stop. Oh Glori, where you have you gone?
Cheers,
Will
Glori Be To the Highest
“Honey, I’m home. And I brought the bacon,” I chuckled, as I stepped into our apartment. But instead of the usual pitter-patter of little feet, I was greeted by silence. It wasn’t silence so much as a profound disquieting lack of presence; her presence. Dropping the slab of bacon I’d brought home on the entry table, I winced as it smacked the bills and letters piled there, and started to slide. “Cripes,” I muttered, realizing too late the mistake. The bacon slid off the bills and hit the floor with a greasy squelch. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I sighed, trying to use a few of the older bills to mop up some of the excess juice that had squeezed out of the packaging onto the wood floor.
“Glori, can you give me a hand with this?” I yelled, momentarily forgetting that I hadn’t yet heard the sound of another living thing in the apartment. Still nothing. I picked up the soggy mess of bills and bacon and hustled it all into the kitchen, lest I leave a trail of grease to mark my path. Plopping the mess into the sink, I started to rinse my hands, immediately shutting off the water when I realized I was washing the bills too. “SNAP, CRACKLE & POP!!!” I screamed (I’ve been trying to give up cursing). Now trying to dry off the wet, dripping, still-greasy mass of bills I noticed the folded, single piece of notebook paper. It was partially transparent, owing to the magical water and grease combination, but I could make out neat, precise cursive. Glori’s hand writing.
“Convince me, to please you. Make me think that I need this too…” echoed from the bedroom. “Wha…?” I said, before realizing that it was only the MP3-stereo popping on. Glori and I both like a little music when we get home. Momentarily forgetting the note, I headed to the back bedroom, and noticed the song playing was “Love Song,” by Sara Bareilless. It’s a cute little piano-driven pop song that Glori’d been enamored with of late. It’s a little too saccharine for my liking, but I indulged her. Give me the depressed torch-wailing of Fiona Apple any day. If you want love songs that’ll crystallize your suffering, making you think glass-encrusted nails digging into your heart would be a welcome respite from the ache of heartbreak, then she’s the songstress for you.
Noting that I still hadn’t heard Glori, I decided she must have stepped out for a moment. Sitting down on our bed I began going through my daily ritual – untying my shoes. For whatever reason I’ve always struggled with double-knots; maybe it’s because of the hook. Anyway, I haven’t actually tied my shoes since I got to college; I’d always ruin the heels of my shoes, just jamming my feet into them before they fell apart. The last two years Glori’s been kind enough to assist me. She likes to kid that one day she’ll be gone and I’d walk around with laces flopping. She tell’s me plenty of people can do it in spite of a handicap and I should learn as well. Either that or I need to stick with boots and Velcro, haha.
Glancing at the clock I realized that it’s nigh on 7:30. She should have been home by now, even if she took a ride down to the Trader Joe’s for dinner. Then I remembered the note…getting up hurriedly, one shoe on and the other off, I went back into the kitchen. But I paused, sliding slightly on the wood floor as I went back through the living room – the quilt her grandmother knitted her when she was born (yes, some stereotypes exist for a reason) wasn’t on the couch. It was…gone. Glori didn’t even like washing it, let alone moving it from its place of importance. That piece of cloth meant more to her then, well her collection of Sarah Mclachlan and Tony Bennett vintage LPs. It meant more to her then her imported Harajuko-Girls-edition, Hello Kitty Tokyo backpack. (A brief aside, we actually met at a Japanimation Festival here in Boston. She was wearing these irresistible librarian-esque cat’s eye glasses, and had just let out a peel of girlish-giddiness at the sight of said backpack. I was one stand over, browsing through some vintage import-only Nintendo games. I looked up just as she spun around in a fit of glee, our eyes met and. I gave her a sheepish grin, blushed and looked away. She came over, slowly tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, and showed me her personal piece of glory, the back pack. It was instant karma, love at first otaku.)
I stumbled back into the bedroom – glancing left I saw that Nibbles, her stuffed Chobits character was missing from the bedside table. Her anime figures, her statues were still in their place, but that Chobits, she loved him. Jokingly said he was the only thing she could count on to be there every night when she got home. Now I was worried. I fumbled for my cellphone, bringing it up and dialing her number. The three rings, then click, “Hi, you’ve reached Glori…” her voicemail.
“Hi sweets, it’s Chris. I got home and you weren’t here, and just was wondering when you’d be back. Call me.” I hoped I didn’t vocalize my worry, but ugh. Now I could feel it, my worry, sitting in my stomach like a piece of three-day-old pizza. But back to the note, sitting now partially dry on the table where I had discarded it what seemed like only moments ago. I rushed back into the kitchen and bent over the table, trying to decipher the writing. It was certainly Glori’s, her minute, just barely slanted, neat block print. Because of the water and grease, the lower portion was somewhat smeared, and runny. As I sat down at our little kitchen table and reached out to open it up, I realized my left hand was trembling. So was my hook. I opened the letter fully, placing my hook on the end so it wouldn’t fold back up. Then, realizing I was still trembling, I did a few calm breathing exercises. It began,
Dear Chris, (okay, that’s fine)…
Um, hi. How was your day? (that Glori, always thinking about me). Mine was kinda okay. No, wait, it was really quite good. On my way to work I realized that my life is pretty close to amazing right now. I have a great job at the Museum, the apartment is wonderful, Genni, Hedy, Alex and Spike are excellent friends, Grammy is still with us, and the sun is shining. (I exhaled loudly; I guess I was holding my breath, but it looks like there’s nothing to worry about, right?) But this afternoon I was examining my planner saw that it had been nearly 6 weeks since my last period, (uh, that’s not good, right?). I pulled out my little survival kit that I have in the office, pulled out the pregnancy test (Oh, you were always a girl scout), and went to the restroom. Well, you can imagine my relief when it came back negative (whewwww. I exhaled deeply again. I keep holding my breath). I walked back out and returning to my desk called Dr. Parker. He was actually able to see me this afternoon, so I left early and when to the hospital. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I’ve been having pains in my abdomen off and on for a few weeks now, but I didn’t want to worry you (Pains!?). But I had tests done two months ago and they didn’t turn anything up, so I didn’t mention it. See, I bet you’re already worried, (YES, you’re dang right I’m worried!).
After asking me questions about recent habits, ( you’ve been quite insatiable of late) (haha, I could feel myself blushing), Dr. Parker reviewed my previous tests and then had me go down to the X-ray room for a scan. One of his assistants also three vials of blood and had it sent for tests. Then I waited. It would have been nice to have you here, but I kept myself entertained by looking at models of wax hands, so in a way you were here. I did my best to keep from being nervous (now I’m nervous; my hook is tapping the table in an almost drumroll-like cadence). I only had to wait 45 minutes for the results (modern medicine can be so marvelous), but it seemed to drag on for days. Do you remember when we took that drip to North Carolina and went hiking in the Cumberlands two months after we met? How we found a brief clearing an hour into the hike and set down our gear to just watch nature? How the sun lit up the valley, and we watched the dew burn off. You had been so grouchy since we got up early, but sitting there, next to you with the sun warming us, I saw the tension in your face relax, and I could feel the heartbeat in your hand slow. I felt time stretch to infinity, that the sun warmed our souls and melded our hearts together. I knew from that moment that I wanted to be with you. But that’s how the time seemed to stretch this afternoon, when I waited for my test results, as if the sisters of fate were stretching out the thread of time itself.
(I had to stop reading, to stop the tears. She was right, I had been grouchy that morning. You would be too, if you’d been up since 5AM when an early Saturday normally meant getting up before noon. But Glori had suggested this spontaneous road trip the afternoon before and, well when she got all cute and glowing like that it was all I could do to not leave right then. I remember looking over at her as she gazed out at the valley, and wondering where it was this angel had fallen, and hoping I’d never have to let her go. I dried my eyes and started reading again.)
When the tests came back, they showed that I have developed extremely aggressive, late stage uterine cancer (WHA!!!!!!!!!. I immediately tried calling Glori on her cell phone again. Ring, ring, ring, “Hi, you’ve reached Glori…” Nothing. I went back to reading). The doctor said a lot of medical gobbledy-gook, but I don’t really think I listened. All I could do was sit there, letting his words flow over me, like a stiff breeze. Even before he finished talking I knew what I was going to do. I only wish you had been there with me. Although it’s probably better that you weren’t. If you had been there I know you would have held me, and we would have cried as one. But you weren’t there, and I resolved to not shed a tear. The one thing I did hear the doctor say is that, given aggressive treatment I might get another month, maybe two.
I know I left his office, because I found myself here, at our table writing this letter. I blinked, but an hour had passed. You’d be home soon, so I had to hurry. I’m leaving everything for you, but my grammy’s quilt and Nibbles. They’ll be with me.
(This can not, this IS NOT HAPPENING.)
So this is the part where I say goodbye. I’m sorry, but I love you so much Chris, that I couldn’t, can’t let you see me suffer. These last two years have blessed my heart and warmed my soul. Your passion for life in the face of your handicap is a virtue that I can not match, but only strive towards. In your arms I feel as though all the pain, the misery, the anguish of man could find solace if only they knew this joy. In your eyes I see myself as I’ve always wanted to be. I will never be better than I am at that moment. For you to see me after, after all that the doctor said I could do, that would not be me. You have loved me totally, unconditionally, uncompromisingly, irrefutably and with all that is. I will always love you. I can see time stretching out in front of me again, time becoming infinite. You and I are in that time, we are together, we are beautiful, we are infinite.
Glori
Epilogue
It’s light outside. The sun is throwing rainbows, sparkling off of the Glori’s prism in the window. That means I’ve been sitting here for a while. I’m not sure how long that is, but it’s not today. It maybe tomorrow, it might be a week from yesterday. I’ve read the note at least 98 times, but probably more, I don’t know. At some point I think I moved, if only because there’s an empty bottle of ginger wine on the table. I don’t think it was open before. Maybe if I read it one more time it will be too blurry to make out. That will mean it isn’t true, that it didn’t happen, that Glori is going to walk in the door in the next moment, or just after that. My cell phone’s dead, because it’s sitting on the table too, next to the empty bottle. I think I kept calling Glori’s cell. I sit up, there’s noise. I sag back as I realize it’s just the stereo, starting another track, slow piano and high hat, and that lilting sallow voice, “Won’t do no good to hold no séance/ What’s gone is gone and it won’t bring it back around…” I notice another sound, a keening, wailing howl. I realize its me, and I stop. Oh Glori, where you have you gone?
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