Biweekly Update From Ira's Inter-Temporal Search for Calling the Shot #2

To Whom It May Concern Regarding the Concerns of May-Whom, This past week has been filled with grand philosophy spanning the mind, body, and heart starting with an epic five hour delay in the Dallas Greyhound bus station (which were pressure cooking conditions enough to explain the epic five minute fight I was sitting not an epic five feet away from in the back of the terminal - can confirm that fights are merely showdowns to see who has less to lose) to the less epic, though still respectable one and half hour delay in the Atlanta Greyhound bus station this morning (with less pressure cooking conditions to report here, although certainly plenty of people and behavior that was worthy of observation...). The shot I called at the beginning of the week was noting any and all things shots-calling related, which is probably just a new bottle for the old wine of setting intentions that I've been blasting plenty of you with these last some odd years, but be that as it may - be that as it will be. The top three shots called this last week were: <ol> <li>On the pool table at the HI NOLA (New Orleans, LA): After an unforgivable night of sinking shameful combinations of queue balls and eight balls prematurely with Zach in Austin, I was inspired to reengage with my pool game which has been neglected since Jacbous Hall got ripped down to put up the Stevens towers in ±2018. I believe the term Zach used was "eight ball awareness" which got me asking myself in NOLA where the eight ball is, where I want the white ball to be if I miss, and where I want the white ball to be if I make it before every shot. It makes it all a bit more of a checklist than a game, but maybe one day soon it'll all come more naturally where I can do all this while playing. For now, this is the next step to mitigate all the shingus that comes with just shanking balls left, right, and center. This offered a small amount of order in what was otherwise the largest and most unrefined experiment in chaos I've experienced in recent memory - a night out on Bourbon Street replete with tap dancers, marching bands, Tarot readers, and middle schoolers beating on buckets in front of strip-clubs, bars and courtyards packed with an unquantifiable amount of women twerking unstoppably and unqualifiably, restaurants without a single vegetarian option, and of course some damed loud music - I've truly never been called baby by so many men, women, and children.</li> <li>Serving up the T with Cide (Villa Rica, GA): Al Cide is my tennis coach from when I was eight years old in Riverside Park, we bonded sometime between when he reamed me out for jumping the net almost busting my ass and when we found out we had the same birthday. I knew coming to visit him would revolve around any and all things tennis (as it should), but it wasn't until I jumped in the car with him that I realized his worldview had also shifted to calculate for any and all things traffic and green lawns as well, a function of these last eleven years in the burbs I'm sure. The particular serve that I'm thinking of comes off of being pushed into a set that I didn't exactly ask for, largely because my shots are too rusty to rely on so it hardly seemed worth testing anything in game. Before long, I found myself trying to not let my teammate down rather than hit shots and serves worth hitting. It wasn't until he told me to hit my serve down the T (rather than just get it in) that I actually started seeing the shots I wanted to hit in my mind before hitting them and everything started to come off stronger. There's a laundry list of pointers for me to follow up on with my shots but what I'm most proud of this week was leaning into the discomfort of knowing my shots are imperfect and starting to swing the racket the way I know I can anyway.</li> <li>Classified: Cide, his wife Mili, and I celebrated the birthday last night together, there should be an adorable video of this <A href = "https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nuPI9Q8nMBI" target = "_blank" rel = "noopener">here</a> along with the rest of the pics <a href = "https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1tPYGDDHCu_jDjHOblJh3pGBcRKeb-x8z?usp=drive_link" target = "_blank" rel = "noopner">here</a>. While I can't get into the specifics of this shot as it ruins the wish the way I understand it, I can confirm that the love flowed this week as if no time had past whatsoever and I look forward to doing it again soon. It's the height of the human condition when you can just pick up with the people you love right where you left off - eating, drinking, laughing, and talking like the love connection just needed to be plugged back in. Unrelated to shots being called, although perhaps not unrelated whatsoever, the Cides hit me with story after story of their run-ins with the spirit realm which gave me all the reason I needed to try my own hand. It's tough to explain the feeling that followed, but before going to sleep on Wednesday I opened my heart to all four of my grandparents who have now passed, only one of whom I ever met. The way my chest expanded right afterwards was unlike anything I've ever felt and can describe, but for minutes it felt like my heart was the size of my whole body. I would have tried it again last night if it wasn't 1:30am and I wasn't so inebriated, I'll try again tonight for sure (barring more 1:30amers and prohibitive inebriation) but suffice it to say, they're there and the portal's through the heart.</li> </ol> Shoutout to the street artist Ricco for mentioning to me on my way out of town that Frenchman Street is the actual spot where locals go out in New Orleans, oops - now I know for the next time I'm in town for some bachelor party or another no doubt. The next stop is Charlotte to back that ass up with the one and only Low Rider von Goose-Bird; Le Moulin le Mange will be attendance and there will be friz, then it's off to the north-country to look for land. From Whom It May Concern, Iraa