ok, i am not given over to this sort of self-congratulatory bullshit, but i did write this in 2002:
The worst part about these Indians is that they’re not even going to surprise anyone when they threaten to contend in 2005 and then implode over the next two seasons in a patootie-storm of contract squabbles, weird knee injuries, culminating with Josh Bard having his shoulder broken in seven places by Pete Rose III in the 2007 All-Star Game.
also, for the first time I think I sort of understand what we mean when we call someone “a person of means” — I always thought the expression would be better put as ‘a man of ends’ because the means in every single case amounted to US cash dollars and nothing else, other than not being paralyzed. what i am laying down here is that, yes, means are just money, but the means is more about the freedom of being a freestanding white 21yr old dude or whathaveyou. maybe nobody is following me. this was inititally intended to be part of one of those terrible scat poems I periodically post here that are about either recasting speculative amorous adventures in either sports or literary terminology. this is all because of one plot-advancement sequence in The Given Day wherein a scraggly dude trying to reclaim his wife from her new life as a domestic servant (she doesn’t want reclaiming) and a second, uptown lace curtain dude sneeringly (or not) says he’s a man of means for having crossed an ocean to holler back or whatever. maybe i should stick to the scat poems and quoting Jay Z or something. anyway more youtube videos and weird amateur art that’s trying to tell you about jouissance or something.