Go Hornets!

The NBA finals are taking place right now. Anyone who knows me is thinking, “What the hell is she talking about?” because I’ve never shown any interest in the NBA or basketball or sports, for that matter.

But when you live with two men who watch every NBA game that’s televised (and we have cable, so that’s a lot) and these two men also play fantasy basketball (and you’re engaged to the 2008 winner of his fantasy basketball league), you’re bound to be exposed to—I mean, inundated with—basketball.

I suppose it was one of those “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” type of things. How ever it happened, I found myself sitting down to watch the games. And I enjoyed it. The athleticism, the gravity-defying assents to the basket, the tattoos, the handsome young things slapping each others’ butts—that’s entertainment.

Then I found out that the New Orleans Hornets are in the finals, and my enthusiasm was kicked up a notch. I may not know sports but I do know that New Orleans isn’t exactly a leading sports franchise kind of town. The fact that New Orleans made it to the finals was a rare and beautiful thing, of this I was certain. Plus New Orleans is Leo’s hometown, and I had spent a summer in New Orleans so this kinship with the city also added to my interest. And after all that New Orleans has been through, I thought, “The city deserves to win. New Orleans needs this.”

So a couple Saturdays ago, I sat down to watch Game One between the New Orleans Hornets and the San Antonio Spurs. I had spent the day buzzing around town, dropping Leo at the groomer and doing some shopping. While flipping through one of the weekly artsy-fartsy newspapers at my favorite coffee shop, I stumbled on an article about a local chocolate maker. “Lulu’s Raw Chocolate Alchemy” promised something akin to an orgasm combined with divine ecstasy. Being that it was “that time of the month,” chocolate was on my list of must-haves. I made a mental note to get me some of that Lulu’s chocolate before I headed home.

When I finally settled into the couch for the Big Game, I was a very happy woman. Leo was clean and fluffy and smelling like a new carpet, the Hornets were looking good, and I had a jar of Lulu’s Lavender Blueberry chocolate to dip into.

As I sat on the couch, watching my team and eating my chocolate, a strange and wondrous thing happened: a wave of warmth and joy radiated through my body, starting somewhere in my belly and spreading down to my toes and up through the top of my head. Hot damn! Was it the chocolate or the fact that the Hornets were up by eight points within the first five minutes of the game?

Sure, the chocolate had promised pleasure not unlike that of Ecstasy but I didn’t really believe it. It had to be my complete and utter shock at seeing the Hornets spank the Spurs (the Spurs are a team we love to hate in this household, because they are so good, and because they play mean, dirty B-ball).

Whatever it was, I found myself transformed into a rabid fan. I was yelling at the TV, telling Manu Ginobli (of the Spurs) to get out of the way and stop being such a little bitch. I was slapping Chris Paul (of the Hornets) on the back, telling him great job on that kamikaze drive to the basket. I concentrated my efforts at the free throw line, saying quietly, “Sink it, Melvin (Hornets), sink it.” And when Tony Parker (Spurs) threatened to drive it to the basket, I said “Oh go home to Eva (Longoria, of “Desperate Housewives”) where you belong!”

Suddenly I was emotionally invested in a sporting event and it was both invigorating and comical. I “woo-hooed!” when New Orleans won the game, and “woo-hooed!” again when they went on to win Game Two. I was devastated when they lost Game Three and thought I might cry when they lost Game Four.

But last night, the Hornets won Game Five. “Step aside, Anthony Bourdain (of “No Reservations”),” I announced. “The Hornets are my new TV crush.”

How Do I Love The Internet? Let Me Count the Ways…

I first heard of the Internet in 1995 while living in New Orleans. I was in Saturn Bar, my Lower Ninth Ward neighborhood bar, sipping on a Dixie beer as this guy tried to explain what it was and how it worked. “The ‘Internet,’ huh? Lots of information at your fingertips?” I listened politely but inside I was thinking “Snooze-o-rama. Sounds like a big waste of time.”

When I moved to Portland, Oregon at the end of August 2005, a full 10 years later, the Internet had, to put it mildly, taken over the world. However, my initial impression of it had been partially correct: the Internet is indeed a gloriously easy way to waste time. How did I ever make it through a full workday at one of the boring office jobs I had held over the years without the Internet? I shuddered to think of it.

But the Internet was also a tool I couldn’t live without. Hurricane Katrina was raging in New Orleans when I arrived in Portland. I went online daily to get the latest updates on the disaster and watched in horror as the city I loved was destroyed.

I also used the Internet to jump start my new life. Apartment? Quickly found on Craiglist. Job? Eventually found on Craigslist. Directions around my new hood? Google Maps. Social life? Some assistance provided by MySpace. Tips on a burrito that didn’t suck? Citysearch. Last minute ride to that show I wanted so badly to see? Craigslist again.

I’d spent my 20s roaming around the country (Albany, Buffalo, New Orleans, Minneapolis, San Francisco) doing mostly temp jobs, trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I loved the thrill, then, of moving to a new city, gathering the local newspapers, and piecing together the necessities of life.

But I was the ripe old age of 36 when I arrived in Portland. I was ready for some assistance. And the Internet provided—and continues to provide—just that. I found my dog on the Internet (more on him later). I found a new and far better job on the Internet, working at findingDulcinea.com, writing and editing Web guides for the Internet. I even found my boyfriend (now fiance) on the Internet.

Last night, The Fiance and I were watching All the President's Men (you know, the movie version of the Woodward and Bernstein super duo who uncovered Watergate). One scene showed Woodward (Robert Redford) surrounded by walls of phone books, flipping through each one, trying to locate a suspect. A collective “ugh” settled over the couch as we contemplated the drudgery of such a task. Snooze-o-rama.

Then The Fiance and I said, almost in unison, “Ah, the Internet!”

We love you, Internet! We love you for almost as many reasons as there are Google search results. Ok, perhaps our love isn't that cheap and indiscriminate. Just know that we love you. A lot.