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enough about women's basketball
Sunday, June 2 2002setting: Park Slope, Brooklyn, New YorkGretchen had a kind of a rough night last night when her pain medication wore off. Most of today she was either sleepy or weak, although at times she seemed to rally, even managing to eat some basmati rice with a side of cream of mushroom soup, an act she subsequently regretted. After the season finale of Six Feet Under and the premier of The Wire, she mustered the strength necessary to come with me and Sally for the 11pm stroll.
Mostly for Gretchen it was a day of either reading or television. This afternoon there was an "important" women's basketball game between the Miami Sol and the New York Liberty, and it pleased us both (though mostly Gretchen) that "we" (New York) won. I know enough about women's basketball at this point that I could probably enjoy myself going to a game. I know that North Carolina has an enormous hulk of a player named Summer Erb, that Miami is led by a hideous trailer trash mom named Debbie Black, that Sue Wicks is a six-foot-three white girl who graciously takes responsibility for her "bads," and I can immediately recognize the enormous shoulders of Lisa Leslie, who plays for the Los Angeles Sparks.Yesterday I'd been kind of lethargic and sleepy, but today I sat in front of the computer for much of the day cranking out what stories I can remember from my recent Redneckistani vacation. I'd check my mail every now and then to make sure nothing too screwy was happening in the world that depends on me. This evening my mother sent me a panicky email about a Javascript error on the Washington Post home page, asking if it was her new computer acting up. You'd think an operation the size of the Washington Post could figure out a way to keep errors from happening on the computers of nervous retirees.
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