After all the new-arrival girls screaming end of the world...the freakin' half ends on a 172 pace...

a propos of that...here's a half-time "reading between the lines" exercise

______________________




there was an excellent 4-hour documentary a few years back about Jazz (not the basketball team...but the uniquely-American form of music)...one of the things i remember clearly about it, was

...the musicians (mostly black) touring the country in the 30s and 40s had to deal with considerable bigotry from much less talented, generally unsuccessful non-blacks (aka. "crackers") who just could not "get" what they were doing and were jealous of their success

the great tenor-saxophonist, Lester Brown, developed a signature expression for when he felt trouble was possibly brewing with a local shit-disturbing square...and that the crew should all just politely ignore and get themselves away from the frustrated cracker...

he would say..."I feel a draft"...and everyone understood Lester's meaning...and where (ie. who) it came from...and everyone politely backed off all interactions with the a-hole, and continued interacting to those many blacks and non-blacks who were "hip" to the music and the underlying philosophy and attitudes behind it...

This has been and is a real hip thread...and it must continue...but i must observe..."I feel a draft"

___________

A public service message from the Troll-Eradication Unit