2002-05-09 - 5:16 p.m.

Added an entry the other day, but it was so bad that the servers mercifully rejected it somehow. Anyway, this one won't be much better.

I think last time around I rambled on about how much the Pistons rocked on Sunday and how they were operating like a well-oiled machine. Like maybe a brand-new Japanese automobile. Well, last night they were operating like a poorly maintained Saturn. Emily and I watched them stink up the Palace at two different bars (first half in Chelsea, second in the Village). By the end of it, she'd lost interest and was telling me stories that I couldn't pay attention to because, dammit, the game wasn't over yet.

It could have been an amazing victory. Late in the third quarter, the Pistons came within two after playing two quarters of the worst basketball this side of Catholic high schools threatening to close due to dwindling enrollment. But that was as close as they got. Honestly, Detroit deserved to lose that game by at least 20. The Celtics should be ashamed they didn't rack up the score like they could have.

But I think we'll take one in Boston. Why? There's no way the Pistons will allow that many points in the paint next time around. If it weren't for all the easy layups, Boston would have, well, had to work for their field goals. Props to Jerry Stackhouse for actually coming to play.

Last weekend was good. Nami and I hit the Ikea in Jersey. The free bus from the Port Authority is as close to a demographic slice of the city as you can get. I picked up a CD bookcase, a desk lamp, a rug, and a couple other things, all for about $55. Finally, excess CDs aren't sitting in teetering piles on my tiny desk.

Later on Sunday, after pounding together my new piece of furniture, doing my laundry, and watching the game, I finally made it up to Astoria after a woeful absence. The weather cooperated, blessing us with a perfect Beer Garden night. Did more drinking Sunday night than the whole rest of the weekend combined (not saying much, however).

Last night we ate dinner in a small Japanese restaurant, wedged between a couple obviously on their first date and another table seemingly composed of three business-type old dorks and two Japanese prostitutes. The dude on the first date seemed like he'd polished his pitch over the course of a few dozen encounters with cousins' newly single friends, random web-dating dabblers, and future stalking victims. He spoke rapid-fire about his job history, love of the music recording process, and his autistic relative. At the other end, the girls looked bored and their johns looked nervous. All in all, a very entertaining backdrop to our noodles.

I'm starting to get over my annual May weather-change sickness.

I gots nothing left to say.

trvr 3002