Oh, my, I haven't blogged since Monday. I have a good excuse this week, though. And you'll all see it tomorrow in the form of a 48-page Weekend section, which is the biggest the section has been since I took over the tab four years ago.Very large. Very heavy. Very tiring. Very time-consuming.
But now that it's over, I'm winding down by watching both the Celtics and Red Sox win games, which makes me very happy. Very happy.
Anyway, so a handful of you guys have e-mailed me about this: I am happy to report that Jack's Bar & Grill, my softball team, won our first game of the season 20-7, actually mercy ruling our opposition in the top of the seventh inning. This made me happy and giddy, like a little child. We played very well. Let's hope it continues this coming Monday. We'll see. That's me and teammates Stefanie Harris and Shayne Harrel enjoying a postgame celebration at Jack's. Thanks to Shiloh Kinne for snapping the photo.
So what else is going on? Well, you can check out my new video here. I didn't use any props because I barely had time to think about it. I decided to use my monotone voice, which I think makes people happy. I'm kidding.
I guess there was another Phish reunion. You know, I hate jam bands, but I do have a soft spot in my heart for Phish. That "Golgi Apparatus," that's a good song.
Speaking of Phish, Trey Anastasio and Son Volt have been added to the Newport Folk Festival lineup, which makes me a very happy little boy.
The stupid "CSI" star was formally charged. I wonder if they used to DNA samples to make sure they were his drugs.
This is very wrong. We all know who should be in this role.
And I guess that's it for now. I'm off to a wedding this weekend, but I'll try to post. Woo-hoo.
2 comments:
I do hope that Lou protested.
Just one man on the sidewalk, with a cardboard sign: "I am Arthur, King of the Britains."
My condolences on the wedding invite.
Ow.
And in New Jersey, no less. Double ouch.
To be honest, I don't think I know any guy (even the groom) who WANTS to be at a wedding.
If weddings were guy things, grooms could register for lawn mowers, Barca loungers and big screen TVs. Wedding food would probably be chicken wings and burgers. I'm sure the only thing that might stay the same is the beloved open bar.
And don't even get me started about the injustices heaped upon the poor single folk who are invited to attend. First and foremost, there is the dreaded singles table at the reception. It is viewed by most as a social leper colony. The bride will inevitably chime in with something about perhaps some of you hooking up. That's like claiming you hope that the bearded lady and the frog boy hook up in the freak show. And when your buddy, the groom, promises you that there will be lots of hot single females at the reception, rest assured that any hot female will be accompanied by their male model boyfriends, and the rest of the single female populus will be as miserable as you are being there.
What else? Oh yeah - the expectation that you will make small talk with people you don't know and will never see again. Questions like "And when will YOU be getting married?" will be fired at you by the people who you DO know. The looks of pseudo sympathetic derision from those selfsame folks when you plant yourself at the open bar in hopes of numbing yourself to the inane proceedings going on around you. And of course, one of the huges lowlights - the garter and bouquet toss. All of the poor beleagured singles are coralled onto the dance floor and literally thrown into the spotlight for the sadistic amusement of the blissful marrieds (who have spent most of the reception chatting about their summer vacation plans and checking their cell phones for calls from the sitter). The poor shmoes who are unlucky enough to catch the bridal toss offs are then further humiliated by being asked to perform the embarassing strip joint routine where the guy sticks his hand up the dress of someone he's never met. Oh yes, and there's that expectation that unless you're wheelchair bound, you'll be out there tripping the light fantastic with anything that moves.
So, my deepest sympathies for your unfortunate weekend plans. I hope at least that the drive was trouble free, and that the free hooch was top shelf. And, of course, that you weren't unlucky enough to catch the garter.
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