AlphaLima

Today after school we were all sitting in the living room, and a bird flew into our picture window. It’s an event and a sound that you are probably familiar with. For me, birds hitting glass generally put some small ding in complacency, and peace, too–it’s not car wreck bad, but you know something, somewhere, right outside your home, is not right.

I am still staggering about under the brunt of whatever respiratory biz I got goin’ on. I was congested and headachey all day. I sometimes wonder if I am suffering from pumpkinitis or scrabulousness. Who knows? I am not convinced that the PA does.

I finished Ivan Doig’s The Whistling Season Friday night while Ms. Alpha was out on the town. I had not heard of the guy before, but Doig has several novels, some of which are set in Montana. TWSeason is good–well written, compelling characters, some nice management of plot. Sometimes the disjoint between past and present is too broad for some authors to manage artfully, but Doig does this well. The 1908 part of the narrative is being told from 1957, and this works well to get the story across. I have a few slight issues with the plot towards the end of the novel, but nothing to really make me throw the book down.

Davidson got knocked out of the NCAA tourney. Rats. I was not too impressed with the final fourteen seconds and the play they ran–Curry dribbles around some, this way and that, gets a half-hearted screen, and passes off to some dude for a near-midcourt heave. You know what play I would have run? The Picket Fence, baby! I fear that Davidson got caught “watching the paint dry.” Ha! Coach Dennis Hopper going for the state title while he is strung out on methamphetamine! All things said, I enjoyed seeing Davidson advance over the Georgetown Hibberts and the Wisconsin Milkers.

The garden boxes are in–we have four more, now, for a total of six, and we should be knee deep in veggies all summer long if Ms. Alpha’s wily machinations come to fruition.

Young Sonny Boy was a destroyer on the soccer pitch on Saturday afternoon–he played tenacious defense, showed some quicks, and showed good skill with dribbling up and shooting. He scored a goal, but I liked seeing his D and his skills better. After the game the opposing coach gave him some little sportsmanship medal for his feats, and Sonny Boy was a happy dude, much like 1984 Olympic gold medalist and cancer survivor Jeff Blatnick, he of the “I’m a happy dude!” exclamation in the post-match interview.

Tomorrow it is back to work after a week off for Spring Break. I’m gonna coordinate me some media.

Garrison Keillor’s A Prairie Home Companion is sponsoring a Spring sonnet contest; poems are due Friday, April 11th. The best submissions will be read on the air, and listeners will vote for the best. The poet of the sonnet deemed “best” will win a Queen Size Sleep Number 5000 bed set and three dozen red roses. How awesome is that? Mighty frickin’ awesome. As I surfed over to the Select Comfort site, I learned that their beds are “a big reason why SheDAISY look forward to coming home after 23 days on tour.”   Well, let me tell you this:  If it is good enough for SheDAISY (whoever that is), it is good enough for AlphaLima.  Complete rules are here, yo.

I am not sure how technically accurate the submissions will have to be–the definition of a sonnet I’ve taught in the past is that it has fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, a definite rhyme scheme (usually Shakespearean or Petrarchan or sometimes Spenserian, but never Busta Rhymes), and a compelling thought conveyed economically. I’m sure there’s niceties I’ve overlooked; for a more authoritative definition why don’t you consult the Holman Handbook or something? Here’s the quote from the rules page:

“Make sure your sonnet has fourteen (14) lines. Works may be rhymed or unrhymed and we think they should be love poems, but love of what, who’s to say. Absolutely must be original.”

I may pen some little ditty for this; if so, you may see it here. I’ll bet you cannot wait.

So I’m struck down, pretty much, with my recurring sinus issues–I believe it has something to do with the arrival of Spring here in the mountains. Things are greening up, flowers are blooming, the birds, they are a-singing. The crocuses are about gone, the daffodils and forsythia are abloom, the trees are budding out. The leaves on a couple of our red oaks do not fall until the new ones are sprouting out, and I noticed while I was sitting on the deck today admiring my domain that the leaves are finally all down. Right now Ms. Alpha and the kids are out back getting our garden boxes ready for planting. I am going to seat the other two garden boxes in the ground tomorrow, probably. I came back from seeing the doctor and the family was out back, Sonny Boy and Baby Girl taking the greatest of glee smashing grubs they found.

The PA said I should take Sudafed, Claritin, and some prescription anti-inflammatory I’ve yet to pick up. So by tonight I will be reeling under the effects of a pharmaceutical cocktail much like those fancied by Hunter S. Thompson, only my cocktail will mostly be over the counter, will not feature hallucinogenics, and will not (hopefully) end me up on the pages of Star magazine.

I am going to watch the NCAA hoops deal again tonight; Carolina is playing the mighty Jackalopes of Washington State. If you have any doubts about who to root for, remember that Ryan Leaf went to Washington State.

Also, I must give a “shout-out” to the Wildcats of Davidson College, another fine squad from the Old North State. Congrats for defeating the Georgetown Hibberts with such style. And congrats especially to Stephen “Downrights” Curry for pouring in 70 points in the first two games. Note, however, that Sonny Boy often comes upstairs from playing what he calls “Mini-basketball” in the basement and reports scores of 220-159 or 155-71. And he scores all of the points for both sides by himself.

Finally, after the first round of the basketball pool, I am currently in 2nd place overall. Feel the breeze off of me, and do it while you can, for my scores this weekend may not be as high.

A couple of weeks ago, I was stopped at the light after dropping off Sonny Boy at school and headed to work. Post time change, it still seemed early in the day–sun just coming up, a magical hour. Then, a formation of geese flew overhead, five in the first V and two hustling to catch up, headed off to the East for some reason. They vanished off into the brightening day headed towards Black Mountain (it seemed), and with their formation, their synched wingbeats, their apparent sense of destination, convinced me for a moment that there was order in the Universe. Maybe nothing huge or all-encompassing, but ordered nonetheless. In times like these, thoughts like these bring comfort.

Then, a scant mile or so up the road, a murder of crows flew over the interstate as I drove towards work. They flew as a group, but loosely aligned, more like ashes blown across the sky than any cohesive, order-affirming group. The sanctity of that group, I am sure, would have been abandoned for a bag of fast food leftovers or some odd carcass not quite out of the road.

In most ways, I am a crow.

Some compelling questions about the 8 and 9 seed matchup in the Midwest Regional between the UNLV Runnin’ Rebels and the Kent State Golden Flashes:

1.    What are the Runnin’ Rebels fleeing from, or to?  And what kind of rebels are they?  The mascot they have seems to be much like a Confederate rebel, but I am not sure that mindset is in good standing in America’s Themed Hotel Capital of America, Las Vegas.  I’m not sure how heavily involved Nevada was in the Civil War.  Nothing but confusion there.  I’m thinking Rebel Without a Cause would be as (if not more) compelling than the aged looking Rebel figure they have now.

2.    I’m sure I’ll find out in the scintillating color commentary during some broadcast tomorrow (maybe on ESPN witty repartee), but who knows what the Golden Flashes are supposed to represent?  One Southern California Christmas from decades past, my dear Bubby clocked me right in the head with a softball he hurled with all of his might, and I am pretty sure I saw golden flashes then, but who wants that associated with their team’s sports prowess?  And is the “flash” supposed to elicit visions of quickness, or of light?  I’m thinking light all the way, but I am sure that all of the denizens of Ohio, the Kent State, would tell me I’m way off on that one.

3.    Are Mike Scott of the Golden Flashes and Mike Scott of the Waterboys the same individual?  If so, that’s impressive.  If you’re into music, you might check out the Waterboys album, Fisherman’s Blues.  It is good stuff.

4.    UNLV’s Wink Adams and Rene Rougeau have two of the cooler names in the tourney, I think.  This may very well give them the edge they need to defeat the Golden Flashes even though Kent State starts a dude named Haminn Quaintance*.

*the computer spellchecker failed to recognize either of Haminn’s names–maybe the whole “Cool Names Give A Edge” idea is a wash between these two squads.

Marvin “Popcorn” Sutton was arrested last week for manufacturing and selling untaxed liquor. The Asheville Citizen-Times gives this account of his past:

“Born near Maggie Valley, Sutton has spent a lifetime in the moonshine trade, which he has said he learned from his father and grandfather. He has also been in and out of prison in Haywood County and east Tennessee since 1974 for liquor law violations, assault charges and other offenses, according to affidavits.

But Sutton’s craft has brought him a level of fame in the mountains, especially in recent years with the release of his film “The Last Run of Likker I’ll Ever Make” and book “Me and My Likker.”

He is said to only answer to “Popcorn,” a name he acquired following an altercation with a popcorn machine that gave him neither popcorn nor his money back.”

The AC-T also posted this fine picture:

The overwhelming majority of viewer/commentators in the “Comments” section support Popcorn and are derisive towards the Federal Government in general. Some there commented on the tastiness of Popcorn’s wares.

While I support the efforts of the individual and personal liberties, I cannot help but wince at the forging of an unholy triumverate: Snuffy Smith, the Deliverance guy, and now, on the front page of the local paper, Popcorn Sutton. It’s as if Hollywood has shaken yet another chestnut out of its big old sack of stereotypes.

So I’m flicking through channels this morning as the PBS fundraisers are blathering on: “Hey, kids, you need to go and get your parent or whoever is watching you right now…” and I am on the hunt to find some credible analysis of the NCAA brackets. Bobby Knight over on ESPN says that Pittsburgh will win the national championship. In Division I men’s basketball. The General’s obviously talking all crazy.

So, anyhoo, I flick past a channel that is broadcasting a radio broadcast. The screen showed a couple of guys all decked out in their headphones and stuff, talking to their radio listeners. Radio on TV! What a low-overhead having, low viewer producing, so it all comes out even (but we can make a little bit of dough on the advertising) concept. I didn’t view much longer than it took for me to realize what I was seeing–the very best of American television, obviously. I had to flick back to PBS right quick as Baby Girl was clamoring to watch Curious George. It was the one where he was a “super spy” and made a periscope and followed the Man in the Yellow Hat around. Hooray! TV is redeemed!

The kids are abed, the night’s quieting down, and my mindset is pretty good. Tomorrow I will not go to work as I must stay home and help my young outlaw daughter convalesce as she recovers from the flu. She was in pretty good spirits all day long, but the doctor said she ought to stay home through Wednesday, but we suspect she’ll be back in daycare on Tuesday.  Some good things happened today. To whit:

• Birthday fun. I got me some cool swag. My birthday was a couple of days ago, but I was out of town, Baby Girl had some flu, so we partied tonight. Hide the breakables. For my birthday my dear wife bought a couple of tickets to Merlefest for the Friday shows; that means I’ll get to see the Avett Brothers, a band that is in heavy play in my little world right now. I’m taking extra panties so’s I can hurl them up on stage to demonstrate my fanboyishness.
• An email from my good friend Dean, who has invited me once again to invest in his precious NCAA Basketball pool. This year? This year I kick some ass and take home the winnings.
• The Heels won the ACC Tournament. They are one of my more favorite college hoops teams, and while I’ll not go so far as to paint my considerable torso sky blue and confuse all manner of feathered creatures, I do like to see them win.