Caps. Nats. Wizards. Bloom. Derby. Fight night. Yankees-Red Sox.
Somebody pinch me.
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When the Chicago White Sox take on the Baltimore Orioles this afternoon at Camden Yards you’ll notice something unusual in the stands. Not a single patron. Yeah. Apparently they’re playing the game in front of custodians and the hot dog guy. I’ve played that gig before, but not as a highly-paid professional athlete.
They’ll make up games for rain but not for public riots. I don’t really understand the rationale behind playing a game in an empty ballpark but you can be damn sure I’m going to be watching with interest later today. Really today’s post was so I could note this occasion and be able to search for it in the futur. The day this really did happen.
Wizards, you have toyed with me all year. Thank you for seeming to bring it at the right time. I hope you saved a little of that D.C. magic for my ice skating friends tonight.
Thank you, New York Yankees for helping both yourselves and the Nats last night. Now, to hockey!
Apparently the makers of Kraft macaroni and cheese have given in to public cries of despair and are changing their decades-old recipe of the iconic childhood food item.
Who am I kidding? Adult food item too.
Soon Kraft will be taking out those delicious chemicals that make your mac and cheese not only tasty but bright neon orange, the only true color in which God makes cheese.
Is nothing sacred anymore? I understand wanting to respond to one’s customers, but seriously, who’s buying blue-box mac and cheese because it’s healthy? There are plenty of terrible organic macaroni products out there. Find one.
In the mean time… add every current box of Kraft you can find to the bomb shelter immediately!
So this is what I meant to post yesterday…
Dear Sports Gods:
Please arrange it so that not only do all our local teams win, but that they all win big games in dramatic fashion.
Thank you.
Called it.
I’m come to the conclusion that Binghamton’s not so bad for one day a year, or even one and a half as I subjected myself to this weekend. I limit myself to people I like, places I like to go, and things worth seeing. Takes about a day and a half. Plus, you bring a cute baby with you and people pretty much treat you like royalty wherever you go.
Now back in Loudoun County (also known as the anti-Binghamton) I go back to living my real life, away from people I know and the usual collection of Rust Belt troubles. Same time next year, Binghamton. If nothing else I know you’ll be exactly the same.
This morning I’m off for my hometown of Binghamton, New York. Everyone sort of has a love-hate relationship with his hometown and that couldn’t be more true for me. I haven’t been there in several years and never miss it, but honestly last night I was like a kid trying to go to sleep on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t be more excited to see some old friends and have them meet my new one. A full report follows on Monday.
Last night I watched a one-hour special on TCM celebrating the 20th anniversary of the movie channel in general and the great Robert Osborne in particular. Hosted by Alex Trebek, the show featured a coterie of A-list actors and celebrity well-wishers and a musical performance by Michael Feinstein. Yeah, it was classy, and all I could think was, Damn, what I would give to be any one of those people.
Luckily for us we got to see it all on TV. And it strikes me as the kind of thing TCM will show about once a week for the next decade. Apparently the show’s actually a year old, having taken place and been filmed in 2014, but no worries, it’s a timeless piece of Americana. Robert Osborne, of course, is a national treasure. It’s proof that even in an era in which pretty much any movie is available to you at any time, you still want to watch it on TCM because Robert Osborne is going to talk about it for 90 seconds.
And if I’m never a famous actor or television host, just let me be the guy who watches movies on TCM 24 hours a day when he’s old. That’s retiring in style.
Living where I do I make it a point to choke down The Washington Post every Sunday. Those of you so disposed would’ve found an amusing article yesterday in the magazine section. It was the “Date Lab” column, the weekly description of a D.C.-area blind date, written at about a fifth-grade level and appealing perhaps to same.
The marvelous thing about this week’s column?
The date was bad.
Ha!
“Refreshing” is the word I’d use to describe the text, and surprisingly honest. Kudos, Washington Post.
Never though I’d say that.
It’s that time of year a man’s thoughts turn to golf, and the classy strains of “Augusta” touch his ears like rolling greens. Boy, do I love rooting for an underdog, and this year that’s Tiger Woods. Nine shots off the lead after Round One? Yup, setting us up for a great comeback.
My favorite number from Thursday, of course, was not 73 but 71. As in… Watson, 71. That’s Tom, age 65, and Bubba, age 36 and winner of two of the last three Masters tournaments, shooting the same score, and a good one at that. My congrats, Watsons. See you on the weekend.