Round Two!
Okay, we'll give that synopsis thing another go-round today and see if maybe it goes a little more productively.
I slept in a little today, hoping that could help -- didn't get out of bed until 7:30. Still grey & rainy out there so I probably won't do my 3 mile walk today, either. Supposed to go to the baseball game tonight so I hope it clears by then. A man I know here is one of the owners of the team (we have the Cleveland Indians' farm team here) and he & his wife had to be in NYC this week (he is a part-owner of the Yankees, as well), so he gave away all his VIP tickets for this week and tonight is my lucky night! Yay!
Except that my cousin said that she wouldn't come to the game with me because she has an acute fear of being hit by foul balls. Okay, I said. I understand about those hard to explain or defy phobias. But then a couple guys who have had the same seats that I'm getting tonight, said, "The seats are great but you have to stay alert because you can get hit by a lot of foul balls."
I'm, like, what is this? When I lived in NYC and went to see the Yankees play out in the Bronx, it was never even so much as a germ of an idea. I guess because we never had what would have been called "great seats."
So now I, too, have a phobia about getting hit with foul balls. As if I needed another phobia! (I suffer from anxiety disorder so my inner world is already really splendid, gang.) But you know what? In the words of that really famous writer whose name escapes me right now, but he wrote Go Tell It On the Mountain and Giovanni's Room, etc., he said that you gotta say "Yes!" to life, gang, so on we go. Out the door I go every day; phobias and all.
The jazz concert last night was superb. They had 3 visiting tenor saxophone players. It was an all-blues night, well jazz/blues. Unbelievable. These guys are just so good. But that was it for the season. Won't see them again until October. I crush on the bass player (is it actually called a double-bass? It's one of those huge ones.) But I'm guessing he's married because every guy who's interesting in this town is married. Or if not married, then living with some sort of incredibly hard to believe woman, like, you know, she runs their organic farm all by herself, raises sheep just so she can knit sweaters & socks & berets and stuff, and they have not one love child but, like, seven and while she takes care of all that, she also painstakingly restores their 200-year-old farmhouse to its original condition, only better. That kind of gal.
(And what do you do, Marilyn? Me? Oh, I write porn. But it's really really good porn....ha ha ha.) Whatever. Onward, right, gang?
Now, I really, really gotta get crackin' around here today. Gotta get to the grocery store. Not so much because I'm out of food but because the birdseed is all gone and the many birds out back are getting antsy. Hey. I saw the Hitchcock film; you don't have to tell me twice. So, I'm outta here! See ya, folks. And thanks for visiting!
I slept in a little today, hoping that could help -- didn't get out of bed until 7:30. Still grey & rainy out there so I probably won't do my 3 mile walk today, either. Supposed to go to the baseball game tonight so I hope it clears by then. A man I know here is one of the owners of the team (we have the Cleveland Indians' farm team here) and he & his wife had to be in NYC this week (he is a part-owner of the Yankees, as well), so he gave away all his VIP tickets for this week and tonight is my lucky night! Yay!
Except that my cousin said that she wouldn't come to the game with me because she has an acute fear of being hit by foul balls. Okay, I said. I understand about those hard to explain or defy phobias. But then a couple guys who have had the same seats that I'm getting tonight, said, "The seats are great but you have to stay alert because you can get hit by a lot of foul balls."
I'm, like, what is this? When I lived in NYC and went to see the Yankees play out in the Bronx, it was never even so much as a germ of an idea. I guess because we never had what would have been called "great seats."
So now I, too, have a phobia about getting hit with foul balls. As if I needed another phobia! (I suffer from anxiety disorder so my inner world is already really splendid, gang.) But you know what? In the words of that really famous writer whose name escapes me right now, but he wrote Go Tell It On the Mountain and Giovanni's Room, etc., he said that you gotta say "Yes!" to life, gang, so on we go. Out the door I go every day; phobias and all.
The jazz concert last night was superb. They had 3 visiting tenor saxophone players. It was an all-blues night, well jazz/blues. Unbelievable. These guys are just so good. But that was it for the season. Won't see them again until October. I crush on the bass player (is it actually called a double-bass? It's one of those huge ones.) But I'm guessing he's married because every guy who's interesting in this town is married. Or if not married, then living with some sort of incredibly hard to believe woman, like, you know, she runs their organic farm all by herself, raises sheep just so she can knit sweaters & socks & berets and stuff, and they have not one love child but, like, seven and while she takes care of all that, she also painstakingly restores their 200-year-old farmhouse to its original condition, only better. That kind of gal.
(And what do you do, Marilyn? Me? Oh, I write porn. But it's really really good porn....ha ha ha.) Whatever. Onward, right, gang?
Now, I really, really gotta get crackin' around here today. Gotta get to the grocery store. Not so much because I'm out of food but because the birdseed is all gone and the many birds out back are getting antsy. Hey. I saw the Hitchcock film; you don't have to tell me twice. So, I'm outta here! See ya, folks. And thanks for visiting!
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