Memo to The Boston Celtics:

WIN A DAMN ROAD GAME.

For serious.

To be fair, due to scheduling and the minor obstacle of not having my own personal television set, I'm not seeing enough of these games to have a developed and intelligent opinion; for that I'm reliant on the pieces that I do watch being augmented by the collective wisdom of these here interwebs. But my gut and my pre-existing prejudices tell me that

(1) Doc Rivers really isn't a good coach. It might not be fair to lay this on him, but the guy can't manage his rotation and can't effectively micromanage specific in-game situations when they arise and beg for occasional micromanaging.

(2) Kevin Garnett is what he is and what he is not is a crunch-time go-to guy, whether crunch time be "the last two minutes" or "near-must-win Game 4 on the road".

It must be said that I'm a longtime Garnett skeptic; he's one of the most talented guys in the league, but I don't think he's remotely as good as he could or should be despite his also clearly being one of the best guys in the league. That he's disappointing me in a way I could've predicted six months ago - I'm not sure whether that reflects more on him or me. (Conversely, Objectivity notes that I'm in the tank for Paul Pierce. He's my favorite player on this team and while I'm not blind to his several flaws I'm more forgiving of them. I thought I'd write a bit more about why and what I like about Pierce and my mild irrationality when it comes to his career, but it'll have to wait for some other time.)

I did like, from the AP/espn.com recap, this: "When Garnett dropped his first jumper, former Celtics player and current broadcaster Cedric 'Cornbread' Maxwell removed his headphones, rose out of his seat and screamed, 'Get down in the box,' toward the floor below." Also, the recap describes a moment where Paul Pierce intentionally fouled LeBron James to stop him from dunking and their momentum carried them into the stands and onto LeBron's mother. Now, I should've snagged this last night when I could, but the original recap said something along the lines of: "Gloria James tried to pull [or hold, or something] Pierce while her son yelled at her to sit back down," whereas that's been scrubbed for: "The players' momentum carried them into a crowded front row, where Gloria James told Pierce to leave her baby alone.
'I told her to sit down, in some language I shouldn't have used,' James said. 'Thank God today wasn't Mother's Day. All I could think about is her. ... I know my mother. It's fine, we're good.'"

Look, I know LeBron is the best player in this series, and in my estimation it's not particularly close. And the Cavs had one of the best defenses in the league, and they have some guys who can make some shots, and the Detroit Pistons are actually the only team to win a road game so far in the second round. But the Celtics had THE best defense in the league, one of the best defenses of the post-ABA merger era, are the only team left in the playoffs that hasn't won a road game at all despite being the best road team in the regular season, have four of the five best players in the series not named LeBron, and UGH. At the beginning of the season I thought this team would need time to gel and learn together and predicted that they'd make to to about the second round and no further, but at the time I didn't think they were going to win 66 games, either; a second round exit at this point would be a serious disappointment, and I can't psych myself into thinking otherwise. The series isn't over, but I don't like what's going on AT ALL.

Sigh.

Assignation

I should stop doing things which negatively impact my self-esteem.

Plus: The Indignities of Modern Life

(1) (This was originally going second, but it's funnier - or at least it might be funny at all - so I put it first.) So, working for/in a Government Agency, I have to pass a drug test. Now, this is not a concern, since I've led a boring and surprisingly law-abiding life and haven't actually ever partaken of a substance the government doesn't let people partake of (though I did drink before legally allowed, but, you know, fuck that noise). Let's repeat: passing the test is not a concern, and now that the test is behind me I haven't given the results a second thought.

TAKING the test was a huge concern. I have, to deploy medical terminology, mild paruresis. It is not in my case a crippling condition or anything (I don't plan my day around it and lots of people have much more severe manifestations) but I'm, e.g., incapable of using a urinal if someone else is free in the vicinity, except for instances of most severe and excruciating physical necessity overcoming my psychological blocks. Now, I've taken urine-based tests before (one in this very facility, actually), but they were of a more purely medical nature, and much lower-key in atmosphere. I presented myself and was asked whether I was ready to produce 30 ml. I had a little water, just to get myself in the mood, and said I was.

I was not.

I had washed my hands with the door open as per protocol and solemnly agreed while closing the door that I would not flush the toilet, that I would not run the water, that I would produce 30 ml. But there I stood, fully capable in the physical sense of doing the job, but incapable under that pressure of convincing myself to do it. An attendant was just outside waiting for me to finish my business, and I was on the clock. Inevitably she knocked. "I'm sorry, I couldn't do it," I said sheepishly, and then, "I'm a little shy with it."

"Mmm-hmm. You can wait around and try again. We'll wait until we close."

So I waited, and paced, and downed tiny plastic cup after tiny plastic cup of water, and I thought of rivers and waterfalls and gentle babbling brooks. I needed to use the bathroom. Not badly (not badly enough), but I definitely could fill that fucking cup. I'm ready. "I'm ready."

And this lady fixes me with what I felt was a surprisingly humorless expression and utters the immortal words: "Do you feel the urge to go?" They are delievered almost without rhythm or stress, as close to affectless as a midwestern black lady who's getting pretty annoyed can come. These words cut me. "Do you feel the urge to go?' I do not.

"I think so," I offer with a grin. She is not amused.

I fail, and am additionally informed that I voided (ahem) the test, because while I did not fail it neither did I honestly produce 30 ml of liquid. I would need to speak to my HR person and try again.

On leaving the building, of course, I immediately needed to go to the bathroom. Like, really bad.

The next day I plotted my triumphant return. I'd head over right at 5PM (the testing location was a few blocks from work), pumped so full of water that I'd have no choice but to give them what they wanted. And all day I thought of how ridiculous this was. I should've volunteered to be strip searched, and on satisfying the attendees that I had no mechanism by which to cheat, I should've been allowed to shut the door, run the faucet, and have an hour to myself in contemplation of rolling waves and gentle estuaries. (As it turns out, this happened to my dad when he did some work for a government agency in Miami, except without the closed door, gentle contemplation, and the hour to himself. The procedure there was to strip naked, then put on some sort of paper or cloth doily insufficient to a grown man's proportion, and then be directed con cup to a separate but exposed location and barked at to produce the evidence under the watchful scrutiny of bitter men who dreamed of the fortune their family abandoned in Cuba when they fled Castro.) It was ridiculous. I should've been allowed to volunteer a blood test instead. If it didn't affect my work who cared if I did drugs or not. Fuck them. I was angry, and with my anger I drank water. And drank, and drank, for hours. Round about 3PM I realized my miscalculation. It was too close to the hour of destiny to relieve myself but Jesus Christ did I have to go. I wiggled and pretended to be able to work and, improbably, kept drinking water. Finally at 4PM I succumbed to visions of Tycho Brahe and bolted from the office, rapidly hobbling my way over to the testing location. I burst through their doors and attempted to explain my situation to the attendant when my friend from the day before emerged, fixed me with a bemused look, and asked whether I need some time, or did I "feel the urge to go". Then she smiled (joyous day!) and ushered me to the room, whereby I washed my hands with the door open, promised not to flush the toilet or run the faucets, and did my proud duty as a government employee, as an American citizen.

(2) On my last day at Medium Sized Law Firm I realized that I had lost my driver's license. Also, I'd lost my old college ID, which was worthless except for pretending to be a student at the local symphony, but was a nice reminder of what I looked like roughly fifty pounds ago; the college ID sat just behind the license in the same pocket of my wallet. I had no idea, and have no idea, of where these items were lost, or when. The last time I know for certain I pulled my license was a week before I noticed it's absence, and I've gone into or called every place I can remember being in the interim asking if they'd found it. No such luck, of course. So, being somewhat paranoid, I freaked out about what would happen if I were caught out on the street without ID, and thereby started carrying my passport, which of course made me freak out about what would happen if I lost my passport. Since my driver's license was actually issued in a state where I've never spent more than three months at a time and have no intention of living in for the forseeable future, I figured I ought to get a license issued in Illinois, which means starting from scratch, which means that I will need to provide a proof of citizenship (my precious passport, which has been photocopied several times in luxurious color, preserving the accuracy of a picture which shows me roughly sixty pounds ago), proof of residence (a bill or lease), and a social security card (oops). So I had to spend an afternoon at the social security office a week ago, which if you weren't concerned about how much money you were making seems like it could be a pretty decent job. You can dress casually and conduct your job with friendly enthusiasm but at a very slow pace, which to be honest is probably about how I'd do it myself. All of this was more interesting a week ago when I didn't have a social security card, which finally arrived in the mail a few days ago. Now I just need to hit the DMV and, uhm...I'm not actually sure I'd pass a driving test. I'd certainly flunk a parking test. I'm not sure I'd pass the written test. I have no idea what they'd ask of me. I might shoot for a state ID just to get my passport out of my pocket and worry about driving (in which I have little interest) later; for now I'd just like something that attests to my name and birthday.

It all has exposed a kind of raw anxiety about not being able to prove that I am who I say I am, which shouldn't be surprising considering that I'm a mildly paranoid person who is additionaly less than 100% secure with his essential Americanness (I mean, I'm about 87% secure; this is a long topic I've written at length about elsewhere under other pseudonyms and will eventually regurgitate here, but not tonight). The import with which we invest a few small and easily misplaced pieces of paper and plastic has become unsettling to me. I discussed this with a good friend from high school, and he related that he and his girlfriend were talking about the recent Supreme Court decision re: voter fraud in Indiana, and she'd opined somewhat skeptically about what sort of person really wasn't able to cough up some government ID; my response, which jibed with his, was along the lines of, "Well, someone who doesn't have his shit together," but as recent events in my life demonstrate, it's pretty easy to not have your shit together. I'm a mildly disorganized person who's moved around a lot and I was a misplaced passport away from truly being up shit creek. This is getting a bit self indulgent, now. It's not like I was in any real trouble (I think).

The Week That Was

It had been my intent to start this blog around May 1st, in the caesura between leaving my old job and starting my new one, but lethargy, mild illness, business, and the indignities of modern society (more on that in the next post) have delayed me until this inopportune hour. There's probably going to be a flurry of posts over the next day or two as I try to squeeze out everything that, in my head, I thought I ought to blog when I get it going. I've tried blogging before, but it shouldn't be hard to turn this into my most sustained effort in the medium (at least my most sustained quasi-public effort). Anyway.

Left my old job, amicably, at the Medium Sized Law Firm (MSLF) in Chicago [I decided that playing coy with my residence was silly and unsustainable]. I may write more about this old job in the future. I have started a new job at a Government Agency Concerned With The Poor (GACWTP), also in Chicago. I did not come by this job completely honestly, which is to say that in qualifications I am capable and I deserve it (or so I think, so far), but in practice I got it through a family connection, and a much more direct one than that which yielded me the previous job. GACWTP has for many years contracted out one of its major functions to private consulting firms, and after roughly twelve or so years of one firm monopolizing this project, a company half-owned by my father competed for the most recent contract and was after a lengthy process awarded roughly 35% of the project, while the incumbents get to keep the other 65%. There's a lot at stake for My Dad's Company (MDC) (this one third of a contract is the biggest contract in the brief history [between one and two decades] of his company), for The Other Guy (they want to prove the GACWTP wrong and take the whole thing back), and for the GACWTP itself, since they feel (correctly) that they'd completely lost ownership of this important component of their mission. Into this mix I've been dropped to basically do I'm not sure what, other than be clever and observant.

It should be noted that though my dad is currently around a bunch and will be intermittently in the future, it's his business partner (50/50) who is directly monitoring this contract and even she is not the full time person in charge. This other lady is, most properly, my boss, and so far my job has been to impress on her that I'm not just trustworthy due to being In The Family, but that I'm actually capable of doing whatever she wants me to do; so far I think I've done a better job convincing her of this than myself. She was out of town last Friday and today (should be back in the office tomorrow) for an extended Mother's day trip home, and in her absence I didn't get accomplished quite everything I was supposed to, because basically my ingenuity and inquisitiveness ran up against my meek acquiescence in a new environment. There was a body of information I was supposed to gather, and while I gathered it, I could and should have done more; there is a lot of information that will be necessary to MDC that, right now, it's not entirely clear where it is. We need maps, for example, maps which break down things like zip codes and census tracts and alderman's wards, but it's not clear who has these maps or when we can get them, so I wasted too much time on Friday dicking around with what passes for a free zip code map of BMC available online. Similarly there are various sub-programs and initiatives wrapped up in this contract which are at best ill-defined in the official documents, and I don't know or didn't want to get out there and ask The Other Guy to help me out on this.

My sense of things right now, as we gear up to officially take control of our share in a couple of weeks, is that we're Getting Ready to Get Ready. I think on the actual start date we'll be ready to get ready to do the job, but too much of the focus right now is necessarily on things like hiring all the necessary people and making sure we've all got network logins and making sure we didn't extend a job offer to anyone who lied on her resume so that we need to rescind it and asking for more chairs because really we need more chairs. There's some agitated headless chicken action going on, and most of the people currently in the office are concerned with getting the human and logistical infrastructure in place for us to do our jobs. Since I don't have a defined job yet and I'm floating around like a free agent, I'm pretty much the only person I've met whose primary concern is the informational infrastructure we'll need to conduct our jobs, and I'm not the guy to just whip that into shape without some support. We'll see.

Theme Song

We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,

lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.

Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;

and not from every edge explode
like starlight for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.