I’m not a big fan of the Rolling Stones. I like “Honky Tonk Woman” and that song from “The Departed,” but much of their music strikes me as pretty cheese ball. The way Chris writes about them in Z’s Music Monday, though, makes me think I ought to give them another listen.
Mary at Owlhaven is launching a new series called Love Stories for October. I’ve shared our story with you before, but I’d love to hear yours. Let me know if you decide to participate!
I knew my friend Liz had lost her mother early in her life, but she’d never told me the whole story. She’s shared it in a column titled Cooked with love, Mom.
Sarah Hepola takes a shot at Diagnosing Chuck Klosterman in a piece that confirms that Rockford is weird. “If I’m on the subway, or in a crowded line,” Klosterman says in the interview, “I always say to myself, ‘What if there were a terrorist attack right now? Who would be the leader?’ ” More than a year ago, when Rockford was riding the bus to work every day, he told me he did this very thing every morning.
I’m pleased to welcome our first guest-poster here at Butterscotch Sundae. Rockford has asked Chris to talk to you about baseball, and our favorite expat was kind enough to agree to do so.
I was born and raised a Dodgers fan because my Dad was a Dodgers fan. I remained a Dodgers fan until I got to the age when you start to disagree with your Dad, and then I became a Braves fan. I loved the Braves when they sucked, in the ’80s when they wore powder blue and averaged 65 wins per season. When Dale “The Stormin’ Mormon” Murphy was their sole All-Star. There’s something pure about a team that bad, something simple and something loveable. The best thing was that every single game could be seen on “The Superstation” sandwiched between reruns of “The Dukes of Hazzard” and “Dallas.” That glorious 1995 series win over Cleveland made it all worthwhile, yet their hapless record in the post-season kept things simple.
The Braves didn’t make the playoffs this year. But it doesn’t matter because as the 2008 MLB playoffs get started up, I’m a die-hard Tampa Bay Devil Rays.* This isn’t because I grew up in Florida; Tampa Bay didn’t have a team until I had left the Sunshine State firmly in my rear view mirror. Nor is it some kind of bandwagon jumping. I’m pulling for the Devil Rays this year because they’ve got the second-lowest payroll in major league baseball. Continue reading Let’s go Devil Rays! Or, how the MLB lost its biggest fan.→
Pete’s sick. He spent a good part of the morning throwing up, then he had a terrible diaper and went to sleep. He’s napping now. Poor little guy.
I’ve let Poppy watch far too much TV today.
I ordered Pete’s 1st birthday cake this morning. I thought about making it myself, but I found someone locally who had just the cake I wanted in her Gallery O’ Cakes. So that’s the way we’ll be rolling.
I was born and raised a Dodgers fan because my Dad was a Dodgers fan. I remained a Dodgers fan until I got to the age when you start to disagree with your Dad, and then I became a Braves fan. I loved the Braves when they sucked, in the ’80s when they wore powder blue and averaged 65 wins per season. When Dale “The Stormin’ Mormon” Murphy was their sole All-Star. There’s something pure about a team that bad, something simple and something loveable. The best thing was that every single game could be seen on “The Superstation” sandwiched between reruns of “The Dukes of Hazzard” and “Dallas.” That glorious 1995 series win over Cleveland made it all worthwhile, yet their hapless record in the post-season kept things simple.