friday.

left work early at 3 to play basketball at the gym. played with a one-armed man who was fantastic. i was on his team and we celebrated every basket he made like it was the tying basket in a champsionship game. he had heart and played gritty. he made me happy.

met up with the michigan crew at a bar called firecracker in chinatown. i got there a little early so i had some time to hang out. there was a jazz band in the corner and a tiny old bar that reminded me of those sad, empty affairs we used to play in while our parents held banquets in the restaurants next door. i sat at the bar and saw the bartender was a crickety old chinese lady like the dragon lady in all those war movies from the 50's. she looked like the type of lady you order a mai tai from, so that's what i ordered.

the portland/knicks game was on silently in the corner, competing with the jazz. i heard the girl next to me scream and pump her arms in the air when portland scored, catching the attention of the entire room. then she leaned over to her group and explains, i'm from portland. they all act politely impressed, one girl saying, wow, i didn't know that. followed by an awkward silence. the guy asks her, do you think portland's current run is a fluke or do you think they can keep it up? she looks at him blankly, then says, uh...i'm just from portland. and everyone nodded their heads and politely agreed. i figured these people knew each other from work.

i liked watching the game with live jazz in the background. i could care less about the knicks but their winning would have helped my warriors. so i was intent on the game, going out of my way to ignore any eye contact with anyone at the bar, while simultaneously im-ing with my mom who had gone to the warriors game that night and wanted to tell me about it.

my group showed up and i was informed there was a second floor. so we left the cozy confines of the jazz club, and traveled up the stairs somewhat oxymoronically into someone's basement.

the upstairs of this bar looked exactly like someone's basement in new jersey, circa 1982. there's a tiny dance floor with a disco ball, surrounded by couches and a small bar. serving drinks that night, was a guy in a facemask decked out like a ninja suicide bomber.

we sat in a booth in the very back of the room, watching the dancers trying to figure out the dj's rhythm. they guy was either sadistic, or using this venue to practice, because he would throw out these beats and just as the dancers figured it out, he'd switch to something completely different and off. if the people on the dance floor were sims, they would have had big question marks over their heads, but they were determined to figure this guy out.

i hung out for a while but got tired. i wanted to get up early the next day to shoot baskets by myself. on the drive home, i took the streets. had radiohead with street spirit vibrating the car. a guy at a stoplight in koreatown asked me if i knew where hill st was. he looked about 23. i told him man, it's waaaaay back there! and he laughed and said, cool, thanks. we both rolled up our windows. i turned my music back up. he needed to make a u-turn to get to hill st but instead, drove alongside me for a few miles. finally, he smiled and waved at me as he made a turn and headed back in the direction we came.

drove through downtown, koreatown, west hollywood, beverly hills, century city. saw a police road block, a construction crew and a man getting pulled over. entertained the notion of getting something to eat, but didn't see anything crowded enough for me to want to stop. thought about not stopping at my house and taking a little drive up north of the 405 to explore those neighborhoods there. decided it was late. went to bed. dreamed of the ocean, people the size of ants, and beethoven.

sat.

got up so late. damn those dreams of beethoven. but i really felt like i was getting to know the man.

took some of this n.o. explode that brian had gotten at gnc and it made me crazy high, like there was juice running through my muscles and it was all systems go in my control room. I could see the basket so clearly, and i felt like my legs were springs. i still have terrible focus when i'm close to the basket though, because i'm actively aware of people under me and wanting to know where their feet are. i have to protect my knees. but overall, i felt like an athlete flying on a banned substance.

the group i like to play with was already there. then candice, the lesbian, and her friend showed up. candice used to play saturday mornings years ago, and she was a hurtling cannonball of fierce. she's in her 50's but she takes basketball seriously, and she's not afraid to take you down. she used to play with her girlfriend and this really tall woman who had played at nortwestern, and it was always fun, but you were always worried that she would hurt you or hurt herself. but i like playing with her. she likes talking to me a lot. quite a lot. she likes talking to me with her face really close to me, so close that i smell the mint on her breath as if it were coming from me. it makes me uncomfortable, and sometimes, i pretend i'm protecting her from a rebound coming towards us by running for it, when really i'm trying to create space.

i had a lot to do to prepare for super bowl and then my business trip next week, so i left and ran errands. but all i really did was stroll around the mall, irritated that i had to be at a mall, then get a massage. i had wanted to go out to san gabriel for dinner but ended up getting something at the hong kong cafe down the street and headed home to figure out my life.

seattle and i need to talk.

i need more romance in my life. i feel like the analytical, detached side of life has been taking over.