How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.
You know what else makes you question things? Waking up in Cleveland, Ohio, and looking north out the window of your Marriott hotel room and realizing that there’s a barely discernible line out there in the distance, and that that line separates the gray lake from the slightly less gray air; then going down to breakfast and watching out the window as two men carrying stacks of overstuffed binders walk straight into the teeth of the wind screaming off Lake Erie, their faces being savaged by tiny airborne razor blades; then going back up to your room and looking out your window again and observing that, while the gray slab of day has lightened a little, the contrast between lake and sky is still imperceptible; and then finally realizing that the people of Cleveland live a large portion of their lives inside a howling, subfreezing, youth-repelling, job-vanishing, anti-light box.Also, yes:
I’m a lifelong New York Knicks fan, and before going to play LeBron I was getting pretty pumped about the prospect of him coming to New York in 2010 and saving the franchise. But sitting there watching Will and Fred tramp around in the snow..., their breath rising in the already dark air, all I thought was, man, I hope you don’t leave Cleveland. I hope you stay here. This is your place. It’s written on your body. Stay with your high school girlfriend and raise your kids in your giant house and win championship after championship and let the side of the Sherwin-Williams building be an evolving piece of public art in a way it could never be anywhere else. You can be so much more, mean so much more, if you stay here. Don’t leave. Just don’t do it.