Something happened the other night that would have been very bad, but fortunately, it didn’t last long.
I also try to make a serious point … honest.
Here are all the places you can listen.
Now, you can listen to it if you like.
Or you can read it. That’s fine, too.
This week, I talk about how the night before Suzi’s and my wedding almost went very wrong.
And while I won’t sing it, here’s the song that nearly led to all the trouble. (Well, not so much the song, as what happened afterward.)
Well, it’s finally going to happen.
Barring any unforeseen problems in the next 24 hours or so, Opening Day is tomorrow.
Sure, the season is only 60 games and for all we know, the Blue Jays could be playing in the park down the street from my house if it weren’t all torn up (or, failing that, maybe Pittsburgh), but Opening Day is tomorrow.
I could only hear one half of the conversation, and even that was a bit muddled, but it sounded like someone was calling the bookstore to order the last copy of Samantha Power’s “The Education of an Idealist.”
”I was here the day you got those books,” I said to the clerk, which I was, last September, because I was buying tickets for her book talk and signing.
He didn’t seem impressed.
When Suzi and I started dating, we lived about two hours apart, me in New York and her in Connecticut.
At first, I had an old car, so I took the bus, but even after I got a newer one that I trusted a bit more, I still borrowed my mom’s cellphone — which at that time was just something to use during emergencies — whenever I drove to Connecticut.
“I need an ice cream sundae like I need a hole in the head, but …”
Me neither, plus we had ice cream in our freezer if we wanted it.
But sometimes, you need more than what your kitchen can provide, and I’m not just talking about peanut butter topping, whipped cream and brownie bits to go with your cookie dough.