Click images for desktop size: "Custer's Last Stand" Unknown Native American Artist Dr Basketball is now officially Doctor J. She called me today and we settled on this.
Dr J said that everyone at the hospital was now calling her Dr Basketball. . . and it was my fault.
We talked about the original Dr J (Julius Ervin - does anyone remember him?) and how he and the ABA reshaped the game of basketball.
It was the ABA, to our minds, that set the game free - they allowed dunking, encouraged playground style basketball, and drove salaries up.
We talked about athletes salaries. I think they're high but it's fair. People complain about them because sports heros still have much in common with us. They sit as exemplars as well as idols.
No one complains that one year Michael Jackson earned 65 million from record sales and concert tickets, or that a year earlier Bruce Springsteen earned almost that much. For some reason pop stars excesses are allowed while sport stars, who work hard on their skills and crafts are expected to earn less.
It was a nice conversation. I like my Dr J.
She's concerned about but not worried. I think that's a fair assessment.
Today started oddly. I went outside fresh out of bed, as is my habit, barefoot, hare uncombed, dressed but sloppily.
I saw a turtle in the middle of the street. I was worried about a car hitting it so I padded out there and, after inspecting him pretty fully and debating whether I should keep it as a pet, I finally decided to just move him to safety.
I moved him to the grass of a yard and because he wouldn't poke out of his shell (and box turtles close up like a bunker, I decided to wave my arms and loudly proclaim, "Be free little turtle!"
And then I realized a cute jogger and her dog watched the whole little theater. She had a big smile and said, "Good morning!!"
Being the type of idiot who never gets too embarrassed by his own eccentricities or unshaved face and uncombed hair I said good morning right back and only slightly hoped she wouldn't think I was the mad prophet of reptiles.
Work was tremendously dull, which is probably a good thing.
I felt fine until just a while ago.
My housemate made a surprise appearance. I was so glad to see her I couldn't be bothered greatly that her return had negative connotations. I still figure her problems "up there" are easily resolvable.
I took Good Ol' Dog to the dog park. We stared at our Heron friend. Some lady noticed that the big bird comes awfully close to us. I noticed that her coming close to us made the big bird fly away.
At the dog park I clamped on the iPod to shut out the noise from the yuppies and Good Ol' Dog and I had a pretty good time.

Click images for desktop size: "Tinkers to Evers To Chance" I threw the ball about 150 times. If I stretched my arm before each throw the discomfort was bearable. I still have no speed on the ball but I was getting about 40 to 45 yards a toss.
I'm still planning to play ball this summer. The league starts in August and I think I'll be in shape by then. I'm going to look for a batting cage this weekend. And my Dr J said it was ok for me to play so leave me alone about it!
Walking back from the dog park was proving to be dull and warm when we heard a little girl cry. She was about 4 and fell of her bike. We picked her up and carried her and the bike home. She told me the bike was a bad machine. I agreed and delivered them both to her mom.
Our next door neighbors have a rescue dog, a cute 8 month old lab mix. I call her Mr Sox but they gave her a modern name I can't pronounce.
She was out tearing up some garbage. I yelled at her and she stopped.
I think today I did feel like a hero in a small way. But then, it's a small world too.

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