At moments like these, I become philosophical, remembering the words of that sage, C.B., who said, "In a seven game series, the best team always wins."
I'm referring, of course, to the Pistons' loss to the Spurs. As I lay, desolate, in bed this morning, I told my husband that I thought that ultimately, the Spurs were just a little better than the Pistons. Duncan showed his true mettle, and I will acknowledge that Ginobli was pretty much revelatory. I love the Pistons--their no-star team ethos, for instance. I could go on, but I won't.
[Anyone who was rooting for the Spurs--you know who you are!--who's tempted to gloat about their triumph had better not, at least not around me, or our friendship will be over. OVER!]
Okay, so now the long winter until basketball starts again. In the meantime, my writing has been going well, so well that now I actually can conceptualize this rather lengthy piece of writing, so well, in fact, that I look forward to writing, that I actually believe, for the first time in a long time, that it's within my power to do this thing. Just so you know. Thanks to middlebrow for his research on behalf of my question, which is still open, by the way. You don't have to be an expert--in fact, I'd rather you weren't--to tell me your anecdotal evidence about whether poetry thrives or withers at the present cultural moment. So tell me, for the love of God and for the sake of science: what do you know?