Somehow between eating brunch (which just means breakfast + lunch for one low price, not "a meal rich people named Muffy eat"), going to a street festival in the West End (JS aka Jenks aka [her real name] of PawSox Heavy, formerly Baseball Heavy, was there to judge a facial hair contest and hand out delicious cookies--she's going to the AAA championship game down in one of those Carolinas!; also my old neighbor's band was supposed to be playing but they were nowhere to be found), trying to pack up Kim's studio as she's actually getting a brick and mortar location (which just means a store, not "a building made up of hard rectangular cuboids and pals of pestles which would probably never stay up") for her soap business, eating dinner at an Indian place on Hope Street we'd never been to before (Kim insists we went once but I had no recollection of the inside--maybe we ordered from there once and she did a solo pick-up?), and watching Casino on AMC ("freak you, you witch!") since amazingly I'd never seen it (don't tell me what happens in the end--the picture got all digitized rendering it unwatchable so I switched over to Seth MacFarlane's great monologue on the season premiere of SNL while Kim slipped into dreamland), all while blowing my nose upwards of ten thousand times (when I get a cold, it's non-stop--I'll never forget working down in the music storeroom ("the cage") at Borders in Danbury in 1998 with this dude Cullie (his reason for hating the Yanks was that he was a KC Athletics fan back in the day and said how they were basically used by the Yanks as a farm team) and hearing him say on the phone to Bruce up at the desk, "yeah, he's down here, I've been listening to him blow his nose for four hours"), I was able to catch at least the ending of four sporting events that I cared about today: Nebraska-Arkansas State at noon (we kicked their asses but you know how it works, they get a big payday for their school), Red Sox-Blue Jays at 1 (Sox win in 9th on Ciriaco's hit--this guy deserves a role on the 2013 Red Sox, and I don't mean that in an "I'm a moron and I think just going with no-names will somehow make us win the World Series because guys with big contracts are horrible people who are also bad at baseball and should feel bad" way, just a "he's done everything he's been asked and has been able to remain steady and solid when most assumed he'd drop off severely" way), Yanks-Rays at 4 (fucking Rays), and O's-A's at 9 (don't start with me O's, we've got a deal here, remember?).