I realize I haven't posted since Spring Break, and the longer one goes without publishing, the harder it is to get back into the flow of it, so here's a quickie update to get things goin:

Everything's going well except for my Modern Muslim World class, which is not well only because I'm failing to do the work. (Ma, if you're reading this, note that I got an 89 on the first paper.)

I'm going to St. Louis this weekend because UNC is in the Final Four.

Sorry, that's so ridiculous a concept I was unable to continue typing on that line. My sleep schedule is wildly off and I blissfully blame one person for that, and they know who they are. I was also mostly MIA for the weekend. Let's just say that development A and development B are tied together.

Uhmm... Dan Blank saved Michael Wilbon's life at the ACC Tournament a few weeks back, so you have him to thank for the continuation of PTI.

Crap, I'm struggling here... Sash is HI-larious. When a guy IMs you saying that he's the dumbest man on earth, and then proves it when he recounts the story, well, friends like that keep things entertaining. Luckily, despite the now virulent potential for manhood deprivation, Sash, Juan and I are maintaining our steez. (Yeah, I'm bringing back another one - rugged and dope have company)

I really hope I didn't just erase my iPod. Night y'all.

Geller, Phill, Me and Colin at the New Ramshead Center on South Campus... It's good to know that four years of tuition hikes paid for a building I'll be able to use for three months.

Gotta throw this in there, but the Knicks managed to blow that game against the Heat which prompted me to say they looked good. They lost 98-96 on a DW 18-footer with Trevor Ariza blanketing him. So is life.

Yo... I'm chillin' at home, and I love it. I'm sure that's a running theme of this blog by now, but if you notice me caring, do tell. I'm just bummin' around the house, which you can see in Anthony Hamilton's Charlene video. (It's not in the background of a shot - It's THE background - like the house that they're in. During the whole thing. Yeah. My house.)

I'm watching the Knicks on TV and they're beating the Heat by six at the half. I'll be honest here - the team looks pretty good. Jamal Crawford's made some nasty passes, Tim Thomas actually made some shots, Malik Rose plays good defense, Marbs is Marbs (which he gets way too much hate for being) and Mike Sweetney is gigantonormous. I don't think even made-up words properly convey that, but I'm limited by what I can come up with right this second, so you'll have to deal.

In other news, the ACC Tournament was a dope experience. The Tar Heels got bounced by Georgia Tech because of Will Bynum's absolutely reeee-diculous game. (He scored 35 points. Read my article about it.) Then stupid Dook beat Tech because of the worst officiating known to man. And the fact that Bynum reverted to his priorly slumping form. All told, UNC's still a one seed, and I'm going to the Queen City this weekend to watch North Carolina win twice (in theory). And see some people who need to get seen. Yeah, I'm hype.

By the way, I think I'm in the midst of hitting my conversion point. All my potential - in every facet of life, is becoming knetic. It's a beautiful thing.

Read The Virgin Suicides. Watch Garden State. Move to Brooklyn.

Word.

A thought, two days after the fact:

Sports aren't supposed to matter this much. I knew North Carolina growing up, knew my dad went to grad school there, but I wasn't invested. I rooted for St. John's as part of an ill-founded decision to follow the career of Felipe Lopez (whose NBA career never happened) and the Red Storm instead of Allen Iverson (The Answer to any Question) and the Georgetown Hoyas.

I got here and the Tar Heels went 8-20 in men's basketball. 8-20! The team had 30 consecutive 20-win seasons. 27 consecutive years in the NCAA Tournament. And then I show up, and they suffer through that horrible, awful season.

And I got sucked in.

The Mets and Knicks fan in me felt right at home - I was in for mediocrity at best. And it got worse. This storied program suffered blow after blow, culminating in Matt Doherty's ugly forced resignation and Roy Williams declaring, "I don't give a shit about Carolina right now."

But then Roy came home. And the players bought into his system. And they made it back to the Tournament.

Then, this year, the expectations were there. Everyone knew UNC was top three heading into the year, and you could make a solid argument for them being number one. Sports Illustrated picked them to win the national title in their college preview issue.

After a fluke loss to Santa Clara to open the year, UNC rolled through its next 14 games before getting pounded by Wake Forest on the road. But the Deacs are going to be a No. 1 seed, so no real damage there. Then they beat up some more teams before fumbling away a chance to beat Duke in the final seconds. But losing to the Blue Devils on the road by a point is nothing to worry about, just a slight blow to morale.

And then Rashad McCants fell sick with a mysterious intestinal disorder at the same time Sean May decided he wanted to leave no doubt about who should be named ACC Player of the Year. UNC entered it's final game of the regular season - a rematch with Duke and the final game for seniors Jawad Williams, Jackie Manuel and Melvin Scott - with the chance for redemption and an outright regular-season ACC title at stake.

When they honored the seniors before the game, the Smith Center was louder than I'd heard it in four years. And when Jawad Williams stepped to the middle of the court with four years of dedication, consistency and the resurrected hopes of a program on his shoulders, the roar of 22,125 fans rang in my ears with more force than I thought possible, goosebumps raised across my flesh and I wanted to cry more than I ever had as a sports fan. If I hadn't been there as a reporter, I would have been bawling.

Then they had to play the game.

When Lee Melchionni rattled in a 3 from the corner to put Duke up nine with 3:07 to go , it felt like a dagger. But UNC couldn't lose this game. It wouldn't have been fair. It would have disrupted my faith in any sense of justice in the world. And I know that's absurd, but damn it, I mean it. And screw off if you don't think so.

Then:

Shavlik Randolph fouled out. Manuel drove. Missed a layup. May rebounded. Missed the putback. Jawad tipped it. In. Two points. Daniel Ewing dribbled. Off his foot. Turnover. Marvin Williams. Got fouled. Two free throws. Two points. DeMarcus Nelson. Got fouled. One-and-one. Missed the front end. A Felton runner. A miss. May rebounded. A putback. And one. Melchionni missed. J.J. Redick missed. Felton missed. Out-of-bounds. Ewing dribbled. Blew past David Noel. 30 seconds. Noel. Hit the ball. From behind. Popped loose. Felton recovered. Called time. 27 left. Felton drove. Got fouled. Hit the first. Missed the second. A scramble. 17 seconds. Marvin's got it. He shoots. Goes glass. He scores. And one. He hits. Five seconds. Redick jumps. He shoots. He misses. Two seconds. Ewing misses. May rebounds.

Game.

Roar.

Rush.

Melvin.

Jackie.

Jawad.

Thanks.

Wow. The North Carolina Tar Heels are ACC champions. After going 8-20 my freshman year. This caps one of the best two week stretches of my life.

I'm waiting for the crash.

Because when you're flying this high, things have a tendency to break down. And falling that far means there's a hard landing in store.

At least my seat cushion doubles as a floatation device.

When girls present you with opportunities, turning them down should not be an option.

And yet, I never fail to find choice E when the reasonable actions lie on the A-D scale.

Good times.

I'm officially the Chris Webber of dating.

All the elements are in place, and there's an overall success rate because of that, but I always manage to find some way to choke in the clutch.

Life is a series of complications.

An unrelated quote I found interesting:

[Writers] sit down to commit an act of literature.

~William Zisner, On Writing Well