Hoops Notes, Booknotes
The Suns lost again tonight. Their season record at home is now 1-4, and they've only played two road games. You could write the loss to Dallas off as opening-night jitters, the Kings loss as due to bad refereeing, and, well, the Pistons are just incredible right now. But when you lose to the Memphis Grizzlies (which features some good players but could hardly be considered a squad for the ages) by 12 points after a three-night layoff, then perhaps you should polish off the dust that gathered on the mirror last season and take a look. Last year at this time, the Suns were an unstoppable force of nature. Now I find myself looking at my watch. By the time Amare rises from the grave, it may be too late.
Meanwhile, book number 45 is in the bag, and man, is it a doozie. How does this sound: a weather scientist gets dropped on an obscure island at the edge of the Antarctic, and almost immediately finds himself beseiged by a strange race of bloodthirsty reptilian monsters. I though that might sound good to you. Add to that the fact that this book is brilliantly and dryly written, and you have Cold Skin, by a Spanish anthropologist named Albert Sanchez Pinol. It resembles an H.P. Lovecraft novel with the sensibility of Borges, but is also as scarily thrilling as the first two Alien movies. This one is an absolute classic.