Archives:
November 5-November 11, 2006

November 5, 2006

“Hey Mom,” I say over the phone. In this instant, I can predict every stage of the conversation that will follow. She's going to say I should come to Florida for Thanksgiving. I'm going to say it's hard for me to commit to the trip. She's going lay a guilt trip on me about never coming to see her—which is fair, given that I never have gone to see her in Florida .

There are a lot of reasons I haven't made the trip. On one hand, I'm just kind of lazy. It's a lot easier for me to drive a couple hours home, rather than worrying about buying a plane ticket, waiting around the airport, taking the flight, then doing it all over again for the return trip. With The Window, and a paper for Hancock, and everything else connected to school, I hate the idea of putting anything extra on my plate.

And then there's the desire to go back home—to hang with Matt, Chang and Joey, and to see Dad. I've never been away from Shermantown for Thanksgiving.

Beyond that, I guess there's a part of me that holds Mom responsible for the need to think about visiting two places for a holiday. I can't blame her for leaving my father under the circumstances, and if she really is happier in Florida , who am I to argue with that? Nonetheless, I see the way Dad misses her, and see the way that even I miss her when I head back, and can't help feeling a little resentment.

But then, I suppose Mom living in Florida is as much of an opportunity as anything. Most people don't have the opportunity to take a vacation someplace warm over a short break like the one I'll have at the end of the month, and who am I to reject that?

That, and I really should see Mom again.

The conversation proceeds as planned, but the ending changes. “All right. Let's do it,” I say. “Let's have Thanksgiving in Florida .”

November 6, 2006

I left the Window office earlier than I normally would this evening, to sit in my room and hammer out some plans for the paper I have to write for Hancock.

Hancock left the paper wide open, which is nice in the sense that I don't have to fit everything into whatever narrow lens she would have assigned. On the downside, it means I have to come up something from scratch, and I worry that's going to take more intellectual energy.

I think about developing a thesis around how stupid women can be. I can't help connecting the class with Emma, since it's the only time I see her regularly. My feelings about her vary depending on the day. It's funny because when Emma and I split up last spring, I didn't think much about her. I felt guilty about what I did behind her back, but, in the end I was happy to be with Veronica. And throughout that relationship, and the time after it, I didn't give Emma too much thought. Then we had this class together, and that stupid group project.

I wasn't consciously falling for Emma again. I suppose I thought more about her out of necessity, and out of a sense of déjà vu, working together again. And I suppose that after any relationship that's worth having, there's a part of you that's always going to remember why you go into it in the first place, and sort of miss it when it's gone.

I don't know why Emma and I kissed the other night, and I don't know why I invited her back. I don't know why she got so upset about the whole thing, or why that's getting me riled up. Maybe we're both dumb.

But that doesn't help me with my paper. I drop it.

I think about feminism. It's Hancock's pet topic—the one she used to call me out at the start of class, and the one she's going to be looking for in my paper. So, I reason, I'll give her what she wants. Six to eight pages on feminism in the texts we've been reading.

I start flipping through pages, taking notes, going through the motions.

November 7, 2006

“So basically, he wants a revolution, but he doesn't know why. He just wants to shake things up for the sake having them be different, or simpler yet, just so he can do something,” a guy says. I get the impression that he gets this, like most of his contributions to the class, straight from SparkNotes.

“Good observation,” Hancock says. “And a good note to end on for today.” I glance at my watch, and am pleased at the appearance she's wrapping up a few minutes early. She goes on, though, “A few quick notes about the paper I assigned. I will be accepting drafts for review. Get a copy to me before the weekend and I'll read it and get it back to you with my critique before grading it.”

I zone out for whatever Hancock says next, as I begin to re-budget my time for the rest of the week. In making this offer, Hancock is basically offering free passage to an A on this paper. All I'll need to do is write something, then put in all the corrections she recommends, and the paper's a shoo-in. After starting the paper yesterday, it shouldn't be too rough getting this thing done by Friday.

Hancock finishes talking and lets out the class. I wait a minute, watching Emma leave. For better or worse, I just don't want to deal with her for now—don't want to risk having her bring me down for another day.

I've got a long day ahead of me, between doing an interview for The Window, heading into the office to work on layout, then working on this paper for Hancock tonight. As soon as the coast is clear, I head out on my way.

November 8, 2006

“Whoa—got some dandruff there, Preston ?” Teri asks as I head into the office. It's 10 in the morning, and I'm running late with my section, so I thought I'd stop in early. Teri's the only one here.

“Very funny,” I say, say, brushing snow off the sleeves of my wool coat. It's the first day I've worn the coat this year, for the first snowfall off the year.

“So it's still coming down, huh?”

“Yeah. It's all supposed to melt by tomorrow, though.”

“I think it's kind of nice now,” Teri says. “It's kind of pretty watching the snow come down.”

I shake my head. “Maybe I've been through too many winters now. There's nothing good about snow.”

“Come on, you can go skiing or sledding—”

“I don't do winter sports.”

“Huh,” she says. “Well I'll have to remember to nail you with a snowball later.”

“Right,” I chuckle. “So what are you doing in the office already?”

“I'm usually in before noon ,” she says. “And News isn't the only section that's behind. Just found the Student Life section in my box for proofreads.”

“Well I don't feel so bad then.”

Teri holds up one of the pages she's reading. “Check it out. Article on the a cappella show.” Looking at the page, a photo of The Off Beats is front and center, with Claire singing her solo. “So remind me—which of those girls were you mixed up with?”

“Emma and, more recently, Veronica,” I say. I'm about to correct myself in light of the other weekend, but then think better of it.

“Ah. I sensed a little tension with Veronica.”

“Is that right?” I look away. “I guess there still is some unresolved business. Kind of hard for us to talk—”

“I'm not even talking about the way you guys were talking,” she says. “I'm talking about the way she gave me the death stare.”

“What?”

Teri smiles. “She thought we were together, and she was totally jealous. Staring me down the whole time.”

I laugh. “You're kidding.”

“Trust me. A girl can recognize that sort of thing.”

“Huh,” I say, taking my coat off. “Well, my apologies then if, under that false impression, Veronica nails you with a snowball today.”

Teri laughs. “Na. I'm a pretty quick draw with the snow. I'll beat her to the punch.”

November 9, 2006

After the meeting I head with the Window crew to the Chinese place on Main Street . Most people just grab take out from here, and I think the owners are a little uncomfortable with a group of 10 sitting down in the restaurant, pushing tables together and rearranging chairs.

“So what's going on this weekend, everybody?” Sam asks.

“Homework,” Carl says, wiping his mouth off.

“Eskimos season opener tomorrow night,” Rich, the sports editor says. “You know that's where I'm going to be. Probably party after.”

“Same for me,” I say. “My suitemate's the starting shooting guard—not about to miss this game.”

“That's right,” Rich says. “You think you could help me set up an interview with the guy? I mean, he's like the star of the team.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I know he's not wild about talking to the press, but I'm sure at least give you a quote or something.”

“You mind if I join you for the game?” Teri asks.

“I don't see why not,” I say. “I didn't know you were into basketball.

“I'm not really. But then, what else am I gonna do at Taylor on a Friday night?” She pops a piece of broccoli into her mouth.

“Well at least the sports section's going to look good next week,” Sam says, taking a sip from his coke. “Maybe between the three of you, you can put a decent story together.”

November 10, 2006

The Taylor power forward sets a screen, freeing up Perry, who plays point. Perry drives inside then kicks the ball out to Mike, wide open at the three point line, where he knocks down the shot. It gives him his fifteenth point of the third quarter, and 28 overall. Besides that, Mike pulls the Eskimos to just four points back, with less than a minute remaining before the final period.

“He's really good,” Teri says.

“Basketball's basically his life,” I say. Perry picks off a pass at the other end of the court, and comes racing back. He tosses the ball to Mike, who gives up the lay up in favor passing it back to the power forward for a lay-in of his own.

“Does he want to keep playing—like go pro or something?”

“I don't know if he can go that far. I mean, not many guys get to the NBA from DIII schools,” I say as the horn blows, ending the third. “But maybe with some smaller league, or abroad or something. I get the feeling he'd be up for anything if he could keep playing.”

“And you said you played on a team with him once?”

I smile. “Yeah, but that was just this three-on-three tournament thing. Dave here was on the team too.”

Dave's not paying attention to what we say, instead heckling our mascot, The Eskimo. “Do something!” he yells. “Start the wave or something!” He knows the guy in the suit and has some sort of grudge against him that he wouldn't explain to me. This is Dave's first time at a Taylor sporting event, and so his first chance to voice this opinion so directly.

The Bounder College squad takes control to start the fourth, going on an 8-0 run before Mike gets fouled and hits two free throws. Bounder hits a three, then Mike responds with a lay up. The Eskimoes rebound off the next miss and Perry gets a fast break finger roll.

“So are you a basketball fan?” I ask Teri.

She shrugs. “I played in a church league up through my freshman year of high school.”

“Is that right? I never knew that.”

“I was never that great,” she says. “My sister was the starter for the varsity team. I was just following in her footsteps, but I couldn't even make JV.”

Bounder's point guard ices a three pointer, but Mike answers right back with one of his own.

The crowd grows louder as time ticks away. With a shave over ten seconds to go, Taylor is down three, with possession of the ball, and the coach calls for a time out. The pep band launches into full swing, and the mascot looks alive, running down the sideline, far enough away so Dave doesn't bother yelling anymore.

Carl, the center, inbounds to Mike, and Bounder is all over him. Nonethless, Mike gets off his shot from beyond the arc. The shot rattles in off a friendly bounce, and Mike gets fouled on it. With seven seconds on the clock, Mike steps up to the free throw line.

You would think we were still in the first quarter, with the nonchalance Mike shows at the line. He hits his foul shot without incident, and his only show of emotion is when he yells at his teammates to get back on defense.

Down by one, Bounder calls their last time out. An announcer reads over the PA that Mike just scored his fiftieth point for the night, and much of the crowd gives him a standing ovation. Teri beats me to her feet.

Bounder advances the ball and passes it around, eating some time off the clock. They go for the game winner with just a second left, but can't get a clean look, and miss the shot. Taylor has the rebound, and that's the ball the game.

Teri raises her hand, and with a smile, I give her a high five.

November 11, 2006

“Man, this place is awesome,” Rich says, stepping into the common room of our suite. “X-Box, plasma TV—even got the basketball hoop,” he laughs, pulling on the little net between his thumb and index finger.

“We try to make it feel like home,” I say, then pop my head into Mike and Dave's room. “Mike, the guy from The Window's here.”

With a sigh, Mike gets to his feet and heads out into the common room. He greets Rich with a handshake as they exchange introductions. In a moment, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, down to the interview.

“So how'd it feel to hit 50 points opening night?” Rich asks.

“It was cool. The team had a good night, and I was getting a lot of open looks.”

“Now that it's your senior year, would you say that you're on more of a mission this season?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it's just, it's your last season with The Eskimos. Are you feeling any extra pressure to produce this time around?”

Mike shakes his head. “I always go out there and give it my all. That's all you can ask.”

I noticed last year that Mike didn't give much in the way of quotes to the press. This year, it makes a little more sense to me, after he explained the way a hometown sports writer contorted a lot of things he had to say in high school, and even brought Pepper into it.

Still, he's polite enough with Rich, and before long, even offers him a soda from the fridge. I'm not surprised at all when, after the interview is over, Mike picks up the foam ball, and challenges him to a shooting contest on our little plastic hoop.