By Bruce Smith
The artist is a creep with his little boxes, but the athlete is a man
who has stolen glory in all its forms, stolen honey in a cup from the gods
and hidden it in his insides where the bees drone. I'm always a boy
as I sit or stand in the shouting place and breathe the doses of men—
smoke and malt—as the night comes down in the exact pattern
of a diamond, a moonlit hothouse of dirt a boy knows is something
to spit on and pat into a shape. Dirt's a cure for the buried someone.
Even as it begins with its anthem, it's lost to me, the exact color
of devotion. So goodbye to the inning and other numbers on scoreboards
and the backs of our team, our blue and red, our lips, our business,
which is to rip into them, a boy learns, or bark at the hit or miss.
Men have skill, although I see them fail and fail again and fail to hit
the curve. I'm always a girl as I aww and ooo. What's the infield-fly rule?
I tried to watch the grips and tricks, the metaphysics, the spin,
the positions of fast and still, scratch and spit . . . but I thought,
in all this infinity, of the Clementes, the Mayses, and the Yogis,
of the bats of ash I would have to crack and would I have to squeeze
them home? Would I be asked to sacrifice? Would I belly-button it
or break my wrists trying not to swing? There's a box and a zone
in the air and the dirt I must own. To find my way out
or know where it is I sit, I keep my ticket stub in my fist.
From this week's New Yorker.
Daniel finally had his first day of school, which was interrupted very early on by a fire caused by a faulty air conditioner, resulting in the building being evacuated for an hour. At least they had a beautiful morning for it. He seems happy with his schedule -- he is taking marine biology and graphic design as well as AP world history, the second level calculus course, and chorus (no conflict with health, he got an A in the summer session). Adam's geometry class discussed Rubik's Cubes and he came home determined to learn to solve it under a minute based on a YouTube video that I don't think he's mastered yet; somewhere in my bedroom I have a Charles and Diana wedding Rubik's Cube that came with instructions for solving it that I will have to see if I can find.
My day was not very eventful; rearranged my closet a bit for the season to make room for my Renfaire clothes, now freshly laundered, went to Best Buy to get State of Play (as Anna the Piper says, any film in which Russell Crowe sings along with Great Big Sea is a must-have) and discovered that season seven of Smallville is now on sale for under $20...I think I have bought every season not the year it came out, but the next year, when it was half the price of the newer one, and since we haven't made a dent in rewatching -- and probably won't while the show is still on the air -- that's worked out quite well. I wish just once I could find seasos of Deep Space Nine as cheaply as I've found Smallville, Arrested Development, Due South, etc.
Juliet on her balcony in the Shakespeare's Skum performance of Romeo & Juliet in the Globe Theatre at the Maryland Renaissance Festival on Sunday.
Tales of Robin Hood with audience participation on the Gatehouse Stage.
Daniel, Duke of Danger balances above the Market Stage.
Mother Goose tells stories to children near the faire's entrance.
A Fool Named O balances an egg on the Lyric Stage.
The Squire of the Wire prepares to walk over the audience's heads to the Fortune Stage.
Fight School's Nymblewyke and Dash Rippington demonstrate the case of rapiers on the Market Stage.
Hamlet expresses disinterest in Ophelia and her baby clothes in Shakespeare's Skum's Hamlet at the Globe Theatre.
It's not my favorite of their flavors, but I am eager to try Ben & Jerry's Hubby Hubby anyway!