Mr. June

I got the idea for the Robert Horry as Mr. June reference from Michael Wilbon, columnist for the Washington Post, whose

today compared him to Reggie Jackson's October heroics. Mr. June. I was on the phone last night with a friend and said, "that shot by Horry." And I wondered how many times people have said that. I wasn't banking on it, when he got the ball outside the arc. I was in a panic. I had been that way for four full quarters and all of overtime, as I watched the Spurs give away seven- and nine-point leads at the blink of an eye. As I watched them play pretty hideous basketball during the second half. And Tim Duncan. Jesus. I'm hoping he couldn't sleep last night, just like I couldn't. I hope the series ends tomorrow night, not because I'm tired of watching, but because I can't handle this kind of stress. I don't know how people can coach. But deep down, somewhere, I'm thoroughly enjoying it. The Spurs are a hard team to love, but love them since 1987 I have. Because I didn't sleep last night, I wasn't feeling well this morning and left work early. I took a rare four-hour nap when I got home and am hopefully still tired enough to sleep. The big pride weekend is coming up, and I'm not totally looking forward to it. I'm marching on Sunday with the butch-femme group so I can hang out with Cindy and her partner Yvette. The only reason. I'm thinking to make the time go by quicker of trying to get a date at every block. Maybe every other block. Or maybe I'll just keep my blinders on. I've got to get girls out of my head for a while. They're keeping me up at night. And not in the good way. After the game last night, I was considering becoming straight so I could marry Mr. June. My friend Kerry, the one making the film I'm gonna be in, is coming over Wednesday to check out my apartment to see about lighting and noise levels. She also asked if she could shoot me this weekend during pride to get some footage. I'm getting excited about this film prospect, but it hasn't hit yet. I don't think it will till I actually see myself on camera. What a fucking leo dream come true. The funny thing is she keeps asking if I'd mind if she gets extra footage of me. Um. No. I don't. I'm gonna see about her putting my contact info during the credits. Or at least my status: perpetually single. Could be an interesting way to get a few dates. All right. To bed. And hopefully to sleep.