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What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

A Few Notes Before the NBA Finals Begin

Thank God, no more EJ, Shaq, Charles, and Kenny blather. Weren't they becoming predictable, boring, and silly? For the finals, we'll be able to listen to basketball talk, possible strategies, match-ups, personel evaluations, etc, important stuff, that the above mentioned TNT foursome felt was irrelevant.

My prediction: The Thunder in six. Reason? The Thunder is too deep at all positions. The odds favor the Thunder bench out producing the Heat's bench. Any caveats? Yes, if Mario Chalmers can have an exceptional series, shooting and defending, the Heat have a chance.

Basketball    by Louis Jenkins

A huge summer afternoon with no sign of rain.... Elm trees
in the farmyard bend and creak in the wind. The leaves are
dry and gray. In the driveway a boy shoots a bastetball at a
goal above the garage door. Wind makes shooting difficult
and time after time he chases the loose ball. He shoots, re-
bounds, turns, shoots....on into the afernoon. In the silence
between the gust of wind the only sounds are the thump of
the ball on the ground and the rattle of the bare steel rim of
the goal. The gate bangs in the wind, the dog in the yard yawns,
stretcthes and goes back to sleep. A film of dust covers the
water in the trough. Great clouds of dust rise from open fields
that stretch thousand miles beyond the horizon.

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