I’ve never been much of a basketball fan, but tonight I was watched the last game of NBA play-offs between the Boston Celtics and the LA Lakers. For all of my lack of interest, it was a fairly taut game, points ricocheting every direction, every moment too hard to tell who would actually win the game, and thus the series. While half paying attention, though, I noticed that the Laker’s Catalan player, Pau Gasol, (I believe he’s the only Spainard or Catalan in the league) seemed strikingly like an El Greco painting. Whenever he moved, his long limbs seemed like they were crusading across the court. His gaunt features and paleness eerily mimic the long-those eternal ghosts of subjects of the Spanish master.
Proustian Thoughts for June
In other news, I realized I was becoming old, maybe even ancient, when I was in the bathroom, reading old back issues of the Smithsonian. Half-heartedly paying attention (the glasses of wine during the game had gotten to me), I flipped through an article on the history of cap and trade, when something caught my eye: pigou. Arthur Cecil Pigou in fact. The best name for an Economist I’ve ever seen. To be excited by the mere name of an economist: my god I am becoming an elderly British man. Maybe I am turning into a Pigou….