I guess there is one thing I need to clear up. When I was talking about "the feedster," I was strictly talking about "redsox.feedster.com," i.e. The Boston Globe's list of blogs and blog feeds, which is powered by Feedster. So, for example, when I called Feedster "fascists," I meant to call DirtDog and boston.com fascists. My mistake. I know you all knew what I meant. But I just feel bad about calling the wrong people fascists. A dude from Feedster e-mailed me and said that my blog is still searchable on Feedster.com itself, where it doesn't seem like the obscenity rules apply.

I want to make an analogy about the whole boston.com thing. There's this guy called Adam. Used to do an act called "Atom & His Package." Ruled. It was a one-man band, just him and his sequencer. He'd play at punk shows, and kids loved it. Even the dirtiest, spikiest punk rock-image types would usually get smiles on their faces watching this really entertaining, funny guy who made really good music. When Atom sent his record to the magazine Maximumrockandroll, the "bible of punk," they deemed it not worthy of a review. The guy did something that was well-liked by a huge percentage of a certain type of audience, and the main publication for that audience refused to acknowledge its existence. I'm just saying, living by rigid rules makes you, and in these cases, lots of others, miss out on a lot of really great things.

Other random stuff: I noticed that someone else besides BSM went to BOTH walk-off games.

Do baseball fans really, really like to do wood finishing? I've been seeing and hearing commercials for "Thompson's Water Seal" during baseball games my whole life. From when I was little, watching NBC's Game of the Week, to five minutes ago on WEEI over the internet, Thompson's Water Seal has been trying to get me to seal out water from the wood on the deck I don't have. (I also remember from Game of the Week Red Devil Enamel, the Wagner Power Painter, and Krylon: "No Runs, No Drips, No Errors.")

Manny's back in the cleanup spot tonight. Maybe they read Gammons' "Manny Ramirez isn't a good baseball player at all" article. [edit: not an article, he said it on the radio, I guess] Why don't ya piss off, Gammons, ya wee dotty skidmark.

While driving through New Haven last week, I saw a sign on the highway for Tweed airport. Their new "T" logo, shown here...


reminded me of the logo of everyone's favorite Spanish language TV station, Telemundo:


Terrible job, Tweed Airport. This Tweed is NOT strong.

In what other city can you see someone dressed like a ringmaster and someone dressed like a clown right near each other on the sidewalk who aren't even together?

Like Winston Zedemore once yelled, "I love this town."

New York is like college without the classes. Of course, college for me also was like college without the classes, pretty much.

(A girl just walked past my window with a Sox hat on. And it wasn't a fashion one.)

Speaking of cities I love, Chan and I were walking past a fountain, and I said, "That spray's gonna be nice this summer." He said, "That's dirty water." I quickly came back with, "I love that di..." Well, you know what I said. He didn't get the reference of course, being a yankee fan.

Last night, Chan and I headed down to the Lower East Side to see
Neil Hamburger at Piano's. (There I saw a dude with a "Jeter Sucks A-Rod" shirt.) Neil is a fake comedian who I've known about for a long time, but had never seen live. He was good; what I expected him to be. But the opening act, Pleaseeasaur, kind of stole the show. He comes out in these ridiculous costumes and sings fake commercials and themes from non-existent movies. My kind of wacky, I guess. It's done in that "fake-serious" style. But with occasional cursing that wouldn't normally be in a commercial for, say, a limousine company called "No Prob Limo."

Is it just me, or is there an inordinate amount of British people on the Lower East Side? Maybe one of the NYC readers could answer/explain this. Also, maybe one of the Harvard readers could tell me if I used "inordinate" correctly.

The show got pushed back, so we didn't get out of the club until 1:17 AM. Which meant I ended up missing the entire Sox game, even though it started at 10:05. I could say that I'm happy I missed a tough loss, but I'm more the type to blame myself for missing it, therefore MAKING them lose. Sorry, everybody. Anyway, another great thing about NYC: Leave a club at 1:17 AM, and the street is packed with people as if--well, you know, the whole "city that never sleeps" thing. Also, not having to drive an hour back to Connecticut after doing something at night in New York is a big plus. And walking back to the subway, I saw an Ortiz shirt on Bleecker, to cap off the evening. (I thought I'd stop with my Sox gear sightings in NYC now that I actually live here, but, it's just fun for me. I will keep doing it.)

Thanks for all your support on both the Feedster and Eric Byrnes issues.

And about the death penalty: When I said that "we" say killing is wrong, I was talking about the fact that murder is against the law, but good point, Sam, that the government essentially says killing IS okay, what with their illegal war. (By the way, if the point of that war was to liberate the Iraqi people, why can't we, at the very least, when we're not too busy killing them, keep track of the number of innocent Iraqis who have been killed?) And also, just having a death penalty I guess is telling people that killing is okay. And that's my point. It's hypocritical. It's like, "Mommy, why did we kill that man?" "Because he killed someone, and killing is bad." "So are we now bad?" "Yes, son, now go watch TV while mommy finishes this wine."

BSM: I got the two-disc Life Aquatic as well. First I went to Barnes & Noble, where it was thirty bucks for the ONE-disc, and they didn't even have the deuce. Then I tried Tower, and it was only 23--for the two-bagger. So I got it there. Unfortunately, today I saw it at Best Buy for $20.99.

And Pixies fans will appreciate this: I went on ticketmaster to check availability for their show at Jones Beach, and the word I had to type in for verification was "debase." I went back and tried again, thinking maybe they're actually using words that relate to what you're searching for, but I got some unrelated word.

The wait for the cable company to arrive begins now. 12-4. I'm betting on 3:55.

I got The Life Aquatic last night on DVD. Chan and I watched it normally, no commentary or anything, because when he saw it in the theater, he was stuck in the front row. "I only heard the movie," he said. I didn't mind watching it again normal-style, as it's one of my all-time favorites. Will catch up on the extras very soon.

"Bye, Steve."

"Don't say that. Even if it's true, don't say that, it's too painful."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say 'bon voyage.'"

"Bon voyage."

Speaking of "Bye, Steve," I got an email from Steve, aka, the "big dog," aka the "grande dame," of Boston Dirt Dogs and Boston.com. This was a few weeks ago. It was a form letter saying that my blog had been selected for boston.com's Red Sox Feedster. I had already known that I was on there. In fact, this blog was one of the first to be on their list. I didn't even really know what was going on, except that I was getting a lot of hits from it. Anyway, then I got the letter from Steve, which also told me to play by their rules, like not swearing. Well, I wasn't about to change my blog. The whole point of this is to be able to say whatever I want. I don't work for them. In fact, it was classic Dirt Dog style. He didn't say, "If you want to stay on there, stop swearing," but rather, "Stop swearing." (Kind of like today, he said, "Gammons tells you what you were already thinking." Classic. Hey, what am I thinking now, Dirt Dog? Wrong. I wasn't thinking about how awesome you are, I was thinking about how ri-god-damn-diculous you are. Where was I? Oh, right, Feedster. Well, I don't swear much anyway, in fact probably less than all the other blogs on their list. So I thought, Whatever, that's cool. I'll get more hits. I'll still do exactly what I've been doing. The weird thing was, had Steve actually read my blog? Surely if he had, he wouldn't have chosen it for the Feedster, since I've repeatedly ripped his "tellin'-me-what-I-think" ass. I thought maybe it was a respect issue. Like, he was trying to be "classy," and put a different opinion than his up there. I didn't know, but I really didn't care. Then I noticed that Bullshit Memorial Stadium wasn't on the list, despite the fact that LOTS of other blogs were. I figured it was because of the word "bullshit." (Although I knew it wasn't dirt dog's type of blog either, but mine was on there, so what the hell?). So I posted about this, telling people who came here from Feedster to go over to BSM. This got me a letter from Feedster, not from Steve, but from a different guy. He said I was right, that BSM was good, and they'll soon make it the "Feed of the Day." (I don't know what that means, I can't find any mention of "Feed of the Day" on boston.com.)

I'm guessing this was the point where this other dude told Steve to put BSM on Feedster, at which point Steve said, "Hell, no. Who told you to do that?" And the other dude said, "That guy that rips you all the time." And Steve said, "Who rips me? Get his ass off of there, too!"

That's just my guess, because as of yesterday, my blog was taken down from the Feedster list. And BSM is still not on the list.

Maybe that's not why, maybe I swore or broke "their" rules somehow. But if they really are basing it on those rules, well, there shouldn't be any blogs on their list. I mean, does it count if you broke the rules before you were told about them?

Basically, this Feedster thing is fucking up a lot of blogs. Because you see the hits you're getting, and you think, "Well, I could swear here, or give a different opinion than dirt dog's, but to stay on the list, I'll just follow their rules." I know what this feels like, because I felt it myself. I'm just mad at myself for not having the gonads (ovaries AND testicles are gonads) to say all this while I was still on the Feedster.

So if you are on the Feedster, which most of you other blogs are, please, for the sake of integrity and individuality, do what you've always done. Don't let people impose rules on you. Don't censor yourself. And here's something encouraging: I got MORE hits the day after I got kicked off Feedster than I did the previous day. I am grateful to them for putting me on, even if it was a mistake. It got me a lot more readers. And as Ice Cube once said, "I got what I want, now beat it." I'd rather be linked by a real person who wants to be friends with me and likes my blog, and hopes I'll like theirs. I don't care if I never get a hit from their site.

So, alas, Feedster, I hardly knew ye, ye fascist.

(Yes, I realize there's a chance that maybe they just took mine down by accident, and they were about to put it back up, but now that I made fun of them, I actually will be kicked off. Well, either way, they did kick me off, and didn't even tell me they were doing it. And the whole thing is rooted in DirtDogness, which I don't want to have an association with anyway.)

And now to Michael Ross. This asshole wanted to die. He wanted to take the easy way out. And the state of Connecticut gave him exactly what he wanted, executing him this morning. Why give him what he wanted? Why not make him live with what he had done. The guy thought he was so cool. And he tricked everybody. The familes of victims still suffer every day, while the killer is put out of his misery. Even if I was pro-death penalty, I'd have been against it in this case.

Terrible job, Connecticut. I can see cave people using the "eye for an eye" logic. But we are a civilized society. How can we let this happen? To say "killing is bad and not allowed, and if you do it, we'll kill your ass" is hypocritical. TJ.

Note: I didn't get to post this until after 6 because of internet connection problems. And I was wrong about the cable guy, he came at 4:07. Terrible job again.

Not double, not triple, but home run-entendre.

Ready?


"Captain Crunch": Cereal Rakist.

With the Sox and yanks both playing day games today, my mood at work went from "happy/happy", to "happy/neutral", to "happy/happy" again, back to "happy/neutral", over to "happy/sad", down to "pissed/pissed", then "ecstatic/don't give a crap because the Sox win turned out to be extra-sweet after all."

When Kookie Kookie Lend Me Your Comb hit that home run in the top of the ninth, not only was I so mad that I thought about not following baseball for a while to avoid an ulcer, but I also thought that every reader of my Byrnes hatefest from yesterday was gonna kick my butt.

Fortunately, Jason bailed us out.

I'm very excited to read of Bullshit Memorial's trip to Fenway. The dude went to both walk-off home run games. Watch for what should be a great post over there soon. As soon as he gets back home, I guess.

You know what I really, really like? The fact that the yanks have finally put a win streak together, but have hardly gained any ground in the standings. In fact, over the last ten games, they have gained exactly ONE game total on all the other A.L. East teams combined. They've lost 2 on us, stayed even with the orange and blue birds, and gained one on Tampa Bay. So their net is actually minus 1.

And if you want to look at just the last five, when the yanks have gone 5-0, we've gone 4-1, and both birds have gone 3-2.

They're still 6 back of us in the loss and 8 back of the O's. And Pavano was horrid today. And A-Rod made errors that led to, like, five runs. Terrible job by Jamie Moyer. When your team gives you five in the first, you DON'T go out and give up five.

I heard WFAN yankee beat reporter Sweeney Murti saying that if their top three starters win two out of every three games, and their four and five win half the time, for a total of a .600 winning percentage, then the yanks have nothing to worry about. Easier said than done, of course. And if you're gonna go by that logic, well then the Sox starters are all good all the time, so we'll be winning at a 1.000 rate anyway.

I can't stress enough how key that Varitek homer was. Love those final at bat wins at Fenway. The people at today's game had the rare experience of standing for the final strike (several times) and seeing a walk-off homer in the same game. And Clement was solid again. Great jorb, Emancipation Proclaimer.

And no Calvin, I haven't forgotten about the Cuba discussion.

Just wanted to say that. More on today's rollercoaster later.

10 out of 12! Nice, easy flight to Seattle now for the Sox.

Sox at 1:05 today. Abe vs. Zito. Let's get that rich kid in our sights and take him down, if you know what I mean. (i.e. if you've seen Rushmore too many times.)

The yanks also play a day game. Any time after 1:05, make sure you ask any nearby yankee fans what the score is. Watch the quizzical looks appear on their faces.

Eric Byrnes. Everybody's talkin' 'bout him...

I keep hearing how the yanks ar going to get this guy, and I think, Good. I like when guys I already hate go to the team I hate. You may ask, "But, A Red Sox Fan In Pinstripe Territory, or whatever you call yourself, you like the down-and-dirty types, like Darren Bragg, right?" And to that, I say, "Byrnes is a wannabe. He's Candlebox to Johnny Damon's Nirvana. Did you ever hear how the promo shot of Burt Reynolds from The Longest Yard was modeled after that famous shot of Joe Namath? Namath always makes fun of the rip-off shot, because Reynolds is just so Hollywood and pretty compared to how dirty Namath was in the photo from the actual football game. And that's Byrnes to me. A Cali-fied-dirt dog."

And then you might say, "Well he went all out on that diving catch tonight." And I say, "Well, I didn't see it, but my dad told me about it over the phone."

But still, I'll always think of that play where he pushed Varitek and never did touch home plate and just walked of the field, and got tagged out. In the playoffs. A prima donna, I tell ya. With fake dirt rubbed on him. I bet he uses Grunge Shampoo. 'Grunge Shampoo: Makes Your Hair LOOK Dirty, While Keeping It Squeaky Clean.' (He just struck out to end the ninth, by the way.)

So when I was talking to my dad earlier, he was giving me a play-by-play, since he has NESN. At one point, he very nonchalantly said, "Fly out to Kookie Kookie Lend Me Your Comb" And then kept right on talking. And I was like, "Beep beep beep, back up..." And he briefly explained this nickname he has for the aforementioned Mr. Byrnes. But I looked it up on the internet to get the whole story:

From fiftiesweb.com:

"77 Sunset Strip Tidbits--Next door was the posh restaurant, Dino's Lodge at number 79, where the 'ginchiest' carpark of all time, Kookie ([Edd] Brynes) worked and gabbed... The dreamboat Brynes became a heartthrob and recorded 'Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb' with Connie Stevens."

So I guess my dad just hears "Byrnes" and thinks of this actor from his childhood, Edd Brynes, (pronounced like "Byrnes," I guess) [Edit: the site I went to spelled it wrong. It's Edd Byrnes, spelled just like Eric], famous for his "Kookie" role. Therefore, Eric Byrnes = "Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb".



Breaking News: I'm here listening to Gameday Audio, bottom nine, winning run at the plate, and the phone rings. It's my dad. "I had a feeling..." he said. Since Gameday Audio is almost a minute behind real life, I knew the game was over, and my dad knew what happened. I couldn't tell if what he said meant "game-ending double play" or "game winning homer." I said, "What?" He said, "Home run, Millar." So I told him how my feed was behind, and then listened to the "next" pitch, and got to hear Castiglione call the walk off homer.

So as my dad started describing the replay he was watching, I said, "Look for the sign! In the Monster seats!" I was talking about BS Memorial, up in those seats tonight with Erin, who brought a sign. My dad said he did see a sign, but couldn't read it. I'll have to check it out on the news tonight. You can't pick a better game to see from the Monster seats than one where there's a walkoff homer to the Monster seats.

Awesome.

So, I was talking about that 50's dude. It's weird how his little catch-phrase involves a comb, and Eric has that shaggy haircut. But I guess the connection is in the name only. At least to my dad. I always thought Byrnes looked more like Luther from The Warriors.

Here's Byrnes:


Here's Luther:


Maybe a stretch, but mind you, I didn't have a lot of pictures to choose from in the Luther category. But if you've seen the movie, and you've seen Byrnes play, you know they're really similar. Kind of.

Note: I don't apologize for using two things that seem to be very common in Red Sox blogs--The Warriors , and showing pictures of two people who are supposed to look similar. I am a huge fan of both those things and will never tire of using them.

Wow, this post turned out better than I thought. The Millar dong helped immensely. Now he's got two for his two new babies. I'm gonna go look for BS Memorial on the news now. The Broseph is gonna be jealous.

The Red Sox scored 7 in the 7th tonight. So I may have won the jackpot in the contest they do on the radio broadcast. But I wasn't listening that inning. So hopefully they email me if I won. I also entered my mom's name, so maybe she'll get a nice surprise.

Francesa was doing his arrogant yankee fan act all day today, pretending like he thinks the yanks are gonna steamroll right to the playoffs starting now. It's like he's desperately trying to will it to happen. A loss by them tonight would have been extra key. At least Randy didn't pitch all that well. I still say they're in trouble.

So I'm in New York, but still commuting to Connecticut for work for a little while longer. It's great, because the traffic goes the opposite way. It's not bad for an hour drive. Tonight, Chan, who will be living here with me starting next month, came down to visit me at his soon to be home. We got cheap but good Chi-Tex-Mex. (A Mexican place that calls themselves "Tex-Mex" as a gimmick more than anything, run by Chinese people.) People keep telling me how expensive NYC life is, but I'm finding some pretty cheap stuff. I mean I really don't eat much, or buy much (except for Red Sox related things). I think I'll be all right.

As Chan and I ate, we realized we had no silverware. Or plates. Or anything. I gotta get on this whole "necessities" thing. I've already bought food items that require a toaster or microwave, and I forgot that I don't have either. Fortunately, Chan brought me a toaster tonight. So tomorrow I can eat my waffles toasted. (But with no butter or syrup. And I'll have to eat them with my hands.)

So...I just met a guy named John on the street. He asked me for some change. I thought my quarter was generous enough. But apparently it wasn't. I started telling him how if his hat wasn't a yankee hat maybe I'd give him more. He said "It's just for show." Thought so. Then he took it off and said, "Pretend it's not there." This got him another quarter. We talked for a little while. Then he tried to show me just how "known" he was in the neighborhood. He took me into a liquor store, and bought some liquor. We went back outside, and I said, "What was the point of that?" He said he was proving to me how respected he was by spending money on something he couldn't afford. I still didn't understand, but I gave him a dollar after much begging. He would have a lot more than that if he didn't buy the booze. I still don't get why, if he was trying to get enough money for a 42 dollar hotel room, he'd spend money on something else, just to prove a point that made no sense anyway. He also had really nice clothes on, which he explained were his only clothes. So basically, by talking to me, he made $1.50, but lost at least 3 dollars on cheap booze. So despite him saying that he wasn't a drug addict, he definitely has an alcohol problem, if he'd rather have it then a bed.

Oh those wacky homeless. I could probably have a story like that every night living in the city. I should ignore these people. But, for some reason, I like to talk to them.

Saturday, May 7th:

I got as far as the Mohegan Sun casino when I found out that my Saturday game was rained out and rescheduled for Sunday at noon. Since the Kentucky Derby was to be run a few hours later, and I'd had so muh fun last year watching the Belmont Stakes at Mohegan Sun, I figured I'd go watch the Derby over there. (I was alone on this trip, as my normal cohort was sick and would have gotten pnuemonia with a capital P had he sat in the cold and rain for an entire day.)

The casino, in southwest Connecticut, is about 80% Red Sox territory, which is good. Although the guy behind the counter at Krispy Kreme was attempting to give me crap about being a Sox fan. "It all comes around," he said, having the audacity to imply that "I'm gonna get mine." I tried to inform him that "it" has already come around, and "it" will be here for a while, and he better get used to it. Like most Krispy Kreme level yankee fans, he literally didn't hear a word I said, and therefore just said things completely unrelated to what I had just said. So I showed him my World Champions shirt, got my one glazed, and my one custard-filled chocolate, and headed to the race book to bet against the horse owned by his team's owner.

After making all my exotic wagers, I realized that I should have done what I did the year before, when I bet every horse in the race except for Smarty Jones, who was a huge favorite, and was going for a Triple Crown, and I won some money. Had I used this method on Saturday, I would have made about 60 bucks. Instead, I won nothing. But what matters was I got to see that pig's horse come in SEVENTH place. If only they could have shown a replay of George's reaction to another one of his soul-less animals choking. They did show him before the race, prompting a chorus of boos from the casino race book crowd, led by me. Even the yankee fans there couldn't bring themselves to cheer for that guy. I also forgot to mention that Torre's horse also lost its race the day before. So it was a great weekend for rooting against yankee-owned equines.

Then I figured I'd just stay in a hotel around there, since I had to be in Boston for gates at 10 A-freakin-M the next day. The room rate at the first place I tried was $130. At that point I thought I might just be sleeping in my car. But then, for some reason, I turned off 395 and took Route 6 toward Providence. I crossed over the line into the unknown netherworld that is the Island of Rhode, and soon saw a tiny motel. The horror movie kind. So I went for it. The Indian lady in the office thought for a second, before answering my pricing query with "fifty dollar." I took the deal. She gave me a non-working remote to the TV, and sent me to Room 1.

I don't know why, but one of the perks of Room 1 was a personal sauna. I was kind of scared at first, imagining the door getting stuck, and me baking to death. But then I noticed a flier in the room with detailed instructions for the thing, so I followed those and got in.

If you've never done this before, I recommend you stop what you're doing right now, and head for the nearest one of these insta-wombs. I don't normally buy into things that say they're going to make you relax, and that people have been doing it for centuries so it must be good for you. But in this case, I became a believer. Sauna. Do it now. Also, while I was in there, I had the Braves game on TBS, and I could see the TV through the little window on the sauna door, and Julio Franco hit a home run. Now I'll always think of the little 200-degree room in the scary motel in the middle of nowhere whenever I hear the name Julio Franco. (This replaces my old Franco association from 1986: Pete Williams, left-handed pitcher from my Little League team, saying how he doesn't buy baseball cards because "What do I care about some Franco Julio baseball card?") Wow, I've really come full-circle on Franco. How is that dude still playing all these years later?

It was also pretty funny, the way in which I called each of the two people I'd be meeting up with at Fenway the next day from the motel that night. Because Empy of Empyreal Environs got the "I'm about to go into the sauna" call. And Rebecca, aka Faux Shui, got the "Awwwww yeah, I just got out of the sauna. Oh my freakin' god, dude" call. Go to their Sox blogs for more on Sunday's game, and possibly some pics, like one of me touching the Ted Williams retired number. (It's possible, but barely.)

Sunday:

I got to Fenway right before ten, and Empy was already there. I recognized her immediately, even though I'd only seen her picture on the internet. But then again, she was the only Hawaiian-looking person in the vicinity. We went up to the right field roof deck, sat around for awhile since there was no batting practice, and monitored the crowd, to see if we could snag a better seat. Right field roof deck is cool, and it was my first time up there, but when it's freezing cold and rainy and there are lots of empty seats, you pretty much have to move downstairs. We sat right behind home plate in the grandstand. Then Rebecca and her friend arrived, and we all moved down even closer, but between home and third.

We stayed there the whole game.

80 dollar seats for 25 each. Not a bad deal. Thank you inclement weather.

Jeremi Gonzalez was great. We gave him a standing O. The Millar three-run double looked awesome from our angle. A very good game one.

In about the eighth inning, something happened to me that's never happened to me before and never will again. I felt something hit me behind my right shoulder. It hit with a real thud, the kind that makes you immediately think you may be seriously injured, until you realize that it doesn't even hurt, like, say, when a Nerf football hits you unexpectedly. I looked back and to the right, figuring somebody threw something, and I probbaly wouldn't find out who. Either that or a bag of peanuts went astray from an inaccurate vendor. I saw nothing. No sign of a thrower, or even an object. Beach ball? Nah, wrong area of the park, and this was more substantial than that. I notice the red-haired girl to my right with a look on her face that suggested she was about to cry. She looked at me and said, "That was a bird."

She pointed down below the seat in front of her, and there was this poor bird, laying on the wet concrete, struggling with not much luck to move it's head and wings. Then the commotion started. "What the-- Where did that come from? What happened?" I watched as the bird's movements slowly came to a stop. It was dead. I was still trying to grasp the fact that a bird just slammed into my shoulder, fell to the ground, and died. We all kind of figured it must have slammed into the glass of the .406 club, and fell to the ground, not before my shoulder broke it's fall. Which would make sense if the .406 club was directly above us, but we were at least twenty feet to the side of it. Maybe the bird came in from an angle, or maybe it flew a little to the right as it was falling. I'll never know, I guess.

After game one, we went to the ticket office and got tickets to game two, which started at five. Then we went to a Mexican place to get food. There, we talked about what it means when a bird dies on you. Because if a bird crapping on you is good luck, the entire bird landing on you must be, like, the holy grail. I just remember Rebecca saying, "It touched you last."

Well, maybe it wasn't good luck, because the Sox lost game two. We were all pretty baffled at Cla coming in for his major league debut in such a key situation. The grand slam looked wind-aided, though.

The three home runs or near-home runs by Ortiz were great pieces of art. Again, we sat behind the plate, and even though more seats filled in for game two, we never had to move. We really picked the exact right places to go, for good seats held by people who never showed up, and for birds falling out of the sky.

There was an Elvis a few rows in front of us. He wore a Red Sox hat. He was a pretty weak Elvis. I called him the "Bedazzler Elvis." He did stand up for "Sweet Caroline," and pretended to sing it Elvis-style, though. I tried to think of what kind of schtick I'd add to my own Elvis, if I were to choose such a career path. The best I could come up with was "The Obviously-Had-No-Help-From-His-Parents-With-The-Costume Elvis." Which is a Simpsons rip-off. ("I'm Idaho!")

We also got our ring-raffle tickets. So they are still available, but they're only selling 200,000. So act fast.

This has been a weird day or so. Not quite like Butch's day in Pulp Fiction. But maybe as close as you're gonna get on what was supposed to be a pretty routine trip.