catchup bloggage

So, yeah, I kinda suck at this blogging thing... I can't make myself stick to doing an entry with any regularity. Maybe I'll add something to my nightly reminder thing. (I've got one of my unix-servers set up such that every night at midnight it sms-messages my cellphone and says, in effect, "take your medication, stupid. and while you're at it, a vitamin wouldn't kill you.") ... maybe I should add "... and maybe post to the blog" in there. I dunno.

Saw a Yankees game Thursday night, my first in probably three weeks. 'Twas good, and we sat in the cushy seats in main reserve, looking up the third baseline. Got moved twice (I have a pass which basically says "sit somewhere unoccupied in main reserve, but move if people show up."), but the usher was this nice, near-retirement-age lady who, for once, didn't look at my pass like I had just offered her a handful of puke, and just said "slide over" or "how about those seats over there". She rocks, and I later saw her REFUSE a one-dollar tip from some guy whose seat she helped him find.

In other news, there's a bunch of stuff I'd love to write about the strike but we're actually under a gag order to not talk about it. How much drama queen fuel is that? I went to a bar on St. Marks Saturday to watch the game, after watching innings 2-5 at Paul's Burger Palace ("NO! I MEAN A REALLY, RRRREEEEAAAALLLY GREAT BURGER!! RRRAAHHRRR!!!"). At the bar, I and two other dudes chatted about the game a bit, and when they asked if I thought they'd strike I got to say "I'm not really allowed to talk about it." (!) How overly dramatic is that shit? It's like I'm on jury duty or something. Work this week felt like I'd been sequestered in Staten Island, anyway.

So, anyway, if you wanna read sassy posts about baseball strikes, read Sara Bunting's piece, and that'll sum up my feelings about the whole thing. I'll seal my predictions in an envelope, and tell y'all how I did after it's all over.