Take this one, for instance. It begins: "I'd like to see Duke and UConn face off..."
Granted, no matter the nefarious impact of Arizona in the world, I can always conditionally hope to see a match between Duke and UConn. Just not in the 2011 NCAA Division 1 Men's Basketball Tournament, West Regionals, in Anaheim.
Arizona. Jeez. Let's look at their earlier blow-outs. Yeah, like their 2-point massacre of the #12 seed (19th in the AP Poll for the season) Tigers of Memphis. After trouncing Memphis, those wild Wildcats beat the living daylights out of the Longhorns of Texas, to the tune of a deceptively scored single point game, 70-69.
And then, of course, naturally, as expected, and obviously -- last evening, Arizona beat the Blue Devils 93-77, in a real nail-biter. Cliff-hanger. Narrow escape. Close shave. Heart stopper. Photo finish. Tight squeeze.
Seventeenth in the AP seasonal poll, Arizona had only once this past season posted so high a score, and that was in a triple-overtime game against... Cal. [Yes, Grader Boob, we are witnessing the dismantling of the Prof-de-Rien Lucky Alumnus Basketball Charm.]
I didn't see the game, though I'd planned to. Much as I'd planned on polishing off the NCAA b-ball draft begun earlier in the week. Similar to the way I had planned to cook an exciting vegetarian menu as pre-game nourishment -- delivering a mighty blow to Fred's growing affinity for microwaved prefab foods.
But no, I fell asleep. And woke five hours later to find pus coming from the red, sore corner of the incision for the portacath.
My theory? Dr. EyeGuy finally got in touch yesterday morning (via his nurse Ms. I'll-Talk-Over-You) and called in a prescription for another eye drop in the battle against my out-of-control eye pressures. You remember -- the last drop he added had the beta-blocker Timolol in it, which caused me to feel mighty crappy and to have severe hypertension. I reviewed that with Ms. I'll-Talk-Over-You and she said, "Uh-huh, uh-huh... well, he called in something else for you... Uh-huh, uh-huh." So Fred hustled over to the Lone Alp Super-Duper WallMart to pick up the new drops, a nice, cheap generic that is made up of Dorzolomide HCl and Timolol Maleate.
We decided to trust in Dr. EyeGuy, in hopes that this was some differently formulated medication, perhaps a different strength, a refined mechanism of action or some such shit... I took the first dose around 7 pm, felt rotten at 7:30, put my head down at 7:35, and woke to discover Arizona's perfidy, pus from the surgical wound, and Fred's offering of nuked frozen burritos, all at half past midnight. If I'd had my wits about me, I'd have giggled and called out "Eureka!" [I can't explain the urge or the unhappy pairing of myself with Archimedes, nor the suspicion that I've more in common with the sneaky goldsmith than with the philosopher or snookered king.]
Yes, so. Don't yell at me, but I've decided to try a topical antibiotic ointment on the incision (I'm already taking an oral antibiotic, remember) but if it doesn't improve by Monday, I'll give the surgeon a call. I feel like I might tip the delicate balance we've achieved around here if Fred had to dedicate his Friday to more medical junk. [He has made the difficult decision to resign from the Militant Lesbian Feminist Existentialist Congregation, and has gone off to a lunch date to explain his treasonous ways to The Girls.]
Actually, you, my Faithful Readership, are the lucky party in this instance. Had I finished this draft, you would have drowned in the weird minutiae that is the I Ching, and I'd have obsessed over the role of its 64 diagrams in Taoism -- wanting the Book of Change to be less a means of prediction and more a group of dynamic reflections, meanings, and, okay, oracular clues.
I did, however, have plans to incorporate one of the funniest moments of my life into that unwieldy narrative
-- the night my Anthropology professor asked me to serve as his "goddess" and allow him to pour beer and honey over my feet in some ceremony or other. All on the up-and-up, of course.
I kind of figured that this post would need some filler, some entertaining this or that, in order to move from draft status to publishable material... because no way in hell was the Duke-Arizona game to amount to more than boredom.
Big wave to Derrick Williams! (Without him in the first half, Arizona wouldn't have had the chance to dazzle in the second half. Or so I am told.)
But I also concur with Chris Chase that there was a powerful Jinx at work -- activated when Coach K gave an interview at halftime.
Unwise, very unwise. Outside of the Winning Tradition, and clearly against Oracular Advice...
I'd like to see Duke and UConn face off... Wisconsin and Florida -- except for choosing UConn over SDSU, I'm just advancing the seeds. That's what it *looks* like. My picks are actually the result of finely tuned prognostication techniques that I cannot reveal here.
I will say this about that, though: The I Ching is much maligned.
To the all-important question of the tourney's outcome, I cast hexagram 53 (Chien):
The trigram above – SUN – the Gentle, Wind, Wood; The trigram below – KEN – Keeping Still, Mountain