I'm a little worried that I mentioned babies so much, but then again I also mentioned cheese.

What a jam-packed weekend that was!  I'm still in the process of recovering, as is my roommate's car after I accidentally hit it Friday night.  No damage done, although for a second I thought I hit it hard enough to make the trunk pop open (I didn't).  Sorry, Omi.  That's what happens after a wild and crazy game of Wits 'n Wagers.  Have you ever heard of this game?  It's Trivial Pursuit meets gambling.  Everyone writes down their answers to a question and then we put the answers on a board with the odds laid out on them (3-1, 2-1, etc.) and then you place chips on the answer you think is correct, even if it's not your own.  I'm pretty terrible at it.  The questions are all something like, "What's the average amount of pizza slices American children eat in a year?" One of my friends actually wrote down the exact number, but failed to bet on her answer.  It's 46, in case you were wondering.

Saturday I went to help out at my church's ladies' Valentine's tea.  I'll admit I was kind of more excited about all the food we were preparing than the tea itself, but the actual event turned out to be so fun.  There were all these older ladies recounting the travels of their youth.  Many of them had been flight attendants for TWA and had some great stories.  The woman who was hosting the party is 90 years old!  She was sharp as a tack.  She told us about the history of her beautiful home, which she has lived in since 1958.  She and her husband made plans to build the house, but he was called up to fight in Korea (after already serving in WWII!).  So she built the house while he was gone and also gave birth to his son in the meantime.  Her husband returned 13 months later to a new house and a new baby.  What an awesome lady. 

And yesterday of course was the Superbowl.  I was a lone Steelers fan in a room full of Cheeseheads, which made things pretty exciting.  I mean, we're talking people who actually import cheddar from Wisconsin for events such as this.  I'm not really a diehard Steelers fan at all, but since my grandma the avid sports watcher had me following their run-up to the Superbowl, I figured I should go with them.  Ah well, it was a great game. What wasn't great?  Those stupid talking babies commercials.  When will they end that campaign?  I am seriously creeped out by them, but I guess I'm in the minority.  It's just me and Lindsay Lohan hating on the E-Trade babies.

Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About

My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.
My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.
Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.
(Stumick and speshul?)
I could play tag all day and always be "it."
Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.
My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.
Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.
(Who's Afghanistan?)
Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.
My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.
My dad could decide that I needed less TV.
Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.
(I'm better at printing.)
Chris could decide to stop being friends with me.

The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.
The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.
I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.
And then I'd have to do my homework instead.

-Judith Viorst

(But she still doesn't like Paul Pierce.)

My 87-year-old grandmother got me into basketball.  Back when the Lakers were in this year's finals against the Celtics, I happened to be visiting her.  I knew she enjoyed the occasional football game, but I guess I never realized just how avid a sports fan she really was until that night. 

It was the last game and it was one of the most exciting things I've ever seen in my life.  Up until that point, I don't think I had ever seen a full basketball game before, even in school.  My grandmother knew all the players.  She complained about Paul Pierce and the way he always "knows how to get fouls."  Glen Davis was a big baby.  And she thought Pau Gasol deserved MVP over Kobe.  Boy, I learned a lot that night. 

Now, I'm back visiting at her house, and the only thing we could agree to watch was the Bucks vs. the Celtics.  Another nail-biter of a game, it went into overtime that was way past Grandma's bedtime.  She got fed up with 1 minute, 6 seconds left on the clock and went to brush her teeth.  As soon as she walked away, the Buck's Delfino made a 3-point shot.  That gave the Bucks 100 against the Celtics' 101.  Ironically, my grandmother was rooting for the Celtics this time around.  "But, Grandma," I said, "I thought you hated the Celtics. Remember the Lakers championship game?"  She told me she was just going for the underdog.  Wait, the Celtics are the underdog here? 

One minute later they won 105-102.   Aha.  Grandma just likes to back a winner. 

Slam, Dunk, & Hook

Fast breaks. Lay ups. With Mercury's

Insignia on our sneakers,

We outmaneuvered to footwork

Of bad angels. Nothing but a hot

Swish of strings like silk

Ten feet out. In the roundhouse

Labyrinth our bodies

Created, we could almost

Last forever, poised in midair

Like storybook sea monsters.

A high note hung there

A long second. Off

The rim. We'd corkscrew

Up & dunk balls that exploded

The skullcap of hope & good

Intention. Lanky, all hands

& feet...sprung rhythm.

We were metaphysical when girls

Cheered on the sidelines.

Tangled up in a falling,

Muscles were a bright motor

Double-flashing to the metal hoop

Nailed to our oak.

When Sonny Boy's mama died

He played nonstop all day, so hard

Our backboard splintered.

Glistening with sweat,

We rolled the ball off

Our fingertips. Trouble

Was there slapping a blackjack

Against an open palm.

Dribble, drive to the inside,

& glide like a sparrow hawk.

Lay ups. Fast breaks.

we had moves we didn't know

We had. Our bodies spun

On swivels of bone & faith,

Through a lyric slipknot

Of joy, & we knew we were

Beautiful & dangerous.

 

-Yusef Komunyakaa