Dave is here.

Going crazy

I lost a book somewhere in my own house. It’s a out-of-print book I had finally tracked down a month ago after two years of scouring used bookstores.

I looked for an hour straight, gave up and tried to read something else. I couldn’t focus so I looked around for another half an hour and still could find it. I don’t know if it’s bothering me because it was so hard to find this book or because it’s lost in such a small space.

If you were this book where would you be?!?

Being haunted

As you may or not know I’m coaching a grade 10 basketball team out here in Vancouver with my brother and a friend. (long story short; one of my Dad’s co-workers has a son in grade 10 and he let us know they weren’t going to have a team this year because they couldn’t get a coach).

We’re a pretty good coaching team for a last minute pick up if I do say so myself. I played some College ball, my bro played a lot and is great at noticing the smaller things and our friend, Mike, coaches a few different teams so he knows how to communicate well with the kids. Plus I have buddies like Drew hooking me up with great material.

So far we’ve had three tryout practices. They went pretty well, we’re going to be a small team so we wants kids who are willing to run and play tough defense.

Thursday night we all sat down together for a meeting to make our first set of cuts, we needed to get the team of 22 down to 16 (then eventually to 12). I didn’t think cutting a kid would be too difficult. First, that’s life. Second, that’s sports. Third, I have little to no emotions. But there is one kid who we cut that is just haunting me.

Skill wise he was one of the top ten players but he had some attitude and could not and would not listen to instruction. Easy cut.

Last night when I went to bed, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He’s a recent immigrant to Canada, speaks good enough English but through a thick, thick accent (Eastern European of some kind). Clearly he has attached himself to the basketball culture in North America since he moved here. He has the clothes, the slight swagger and the slang. I know how much things like sports define you in high school and here I am taking that away from him. Within the reference group he has put himself in since moving to Canada, which gives him his self-confidence and sense of community, I’m saying, “sorry, you’re out.”

While I laid in bed last night I couldn’t stop thinking about him reading the list of in-players on the Gym wall. He’s haunting me.

Hopefully he’s ok.

Next set of cuts is Tuesday night then we have ourselves a team. Hopefully one that can win some games, and maybe a have a little fun.

Do you buy books here too?

Me: Yes, here’s a pamphlet.

Skeevy Old Guy: Well without me actually reading this, can you just tell me what you buy? Like I guess this is just a literate kind of place…and not really a visual place.

Me: Sorry. What do you mean?

Skeevy Old Guy: Well, I guess you just buy books here. You don’t really look at porn, eh?

Me: Yeah, no, not really.

(via aquabooks)

The best is when guys would come in and use all sorts of round about slang which would lead me to the romance romance section, then sexuality and then “Oh, yea, no… we don’t sell any porn mags.”

Another weekend, another trip to the Island

Have a good time, folks. I know I will. I have a couple days of visiting cousins and singing “happy birthday” to 90 year old grandpas.