MOLI VIEW™

I have an associate who now thinks it's good luck for me to smoke weed when the Lakers play, just because I took a frantic bong hit at the nadir of LA's fourth-quarter deficit in last week's dramatic Game One win over San Antonio.

But this week I'm in New York, away from the good graces of my dispensary and even dependable places to watch the game. (NYers will watch crappy early season Yankees before they tune into the Western Conference Finals, and I'll always sorta despise them because of this.) For Game Two, I made sure I watched and willed the Lakers at a reluctant upstate bar. They responded with an easy win.

On Sunday, I failed my team. Yes, the bartender at our downtown hipster bar did grudgingly agree to tune into Game Three, but I only turned around to send good vibes out West maybe a half-dozen times. Instead, I focused on my friends Elliott and Danyel and Marina. Some things, sometimes, are just more important. And you have to put your eyes elsewhere.

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Okay now, admittedly I talk a lot of shit, both serious and playful. People sometimes get mad about this. Like, back in the day when I made all those edgy observations about gentrification in Cobble Hill, a lot of so-called friends got ghost mad fast. That shit was real though, and I've been witnessing gentrification's logical progressions this week while staying at a quirky craigslist housing set-up in the formerly black 'hood known as Fort Greene.

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