On a night in Corpus Christi, along the old Gulf Coast, I came up from quiet water to see the Nehi moon. It was orange, the color of soda, but instead of effervescence it hinted at airborne filth, a heavenly stain turned loose by an earth so long ignored by the selfsame sky. Rain had forsaken the land. Continue reading
Azure Texan
2 posts
On Sunday, August 21, at around 1 p.m. Central Standard Time, America’s favorite centaur, Alex Rodriguez, at last returned to the ball field after six weeks away for the repair of a torn meniscus (the meniscus, for those of you who skipped med school and went straight into shamanism, is a thing the knee requires to perform the functions that God and/or evolution made necessary to the pursuit of happiness and/or sexual encounters with human beings who may or may not have starred in Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle). A-Rod’s return served as proof, perhaps, that a muscular young man can remain on the DL for only so long – and by DL, I also mean the disabled list – and also that with time and patience, a semicircular band of fibrocartilage, located between the medial condyle of the femur and the medial condyle of the tibia, can make like Billy Ray and Miley and have that painful rift mended. Continue reading