Stuff
So, after one glorious autumn day on Saturday, the weather seems to have taken a turn towards winter-cold*, gray, windy, rainy. Blech.
* It's actually in the fifties, but it feels damn cold after the tropical air we had last week.
---
I'm watching House as I write this, and I was going nuts trying to figure out where I'd seen the patient of the week before. Turns out it's Amy Irving, who I haven't seen in anything since, like, Yentl. She's gotten old in the interim. What's worse is that she's a year younger than I am.
---
Ben Mondor, the owner of the Pawtucket Red Sox and one of the best-liked people in Rhode Island, died this morning at the age of 85**. In the late seventies he bought the then bankrupt PawSox, and over the years built it into one of the most successful minor league franchises in the US. He was the antithesis of the stereotypical team owner, always wandering around the stadium during games, talking to fans. (The first time I ever saw him was when he took my ticket as I entered McCoy stadium for a game a couple three decades ago.) He always seemed a nice man, kind and generous, and I've never heard anyone say different. He will be missed. R.I.P.
** He was two weeks younger than my father. Gulp.
---
I need to get back in the habit of writing stuff down. I did lots of stuff in September, and all I've got to show for it is two lousy posts. We'll see. I've also written no book reports in a very long time, but I have been reading a lot. Lately I've been alternating between rereads of Pratchett's Vimes novels and first-time reads of Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series.
* It's actually in the fifties, but it feels damn cold after the tropical air we had last week.
---
I'm watching House as I write this, and I was going nuts trying to figure out where I'd seen the patient of the week before. Turns out it's Amy Irving, who I haven't seen in anything since, like, Yentl. She's gotten old in the interim. What's worse is that she's a year younger than I am.
---
Ben Mondor, the owner of the Pawtucket Red Sox and one of the best-liked people in Rhode Island, died this morning at the age of 85**. In the late seventies he bought the then bankrupt PawSox, and over the years built it into one of the most successful minor league franchises in the US. He was the antithesis of the stereotypical team owner, always wandering around the stadium during games, talking to fans. (The first time I ever saw him was when he took my ticket as I entered McCoy stadium for a game a couple three decades ago.) He always seemed a nice man, kind and generous, and I've never heard anyone say different. He will be missed. R.I.P.
** He was two weeks younger than my father. Gulp.
---
I need to get back in the habit of writing stuff down. I did lots of stuff in September, and all I've got to show for it is two lousy posts. We'll see. I've also written no book reports in a very long time, but I have been reading a lot. Lately I've been alternating between rereads of Pratchett's Vimes novels and first-time reads of Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series.