Another playoff appearance, another swift delivery of heartbreak to the North Chicago faithful. The Cubs lost 5-1 tonight in decidedly pathetic fashion, stranding a truckload of runners and completing an 0-3 2007 post-season "performance." Or, as aptly summed up by Cubs-theme-named Wrigley the Dog, "Barf - I will now go stare out the window, longingly:"
Okay, obviously that is not Sunny Azz (and also obviously not our schwank now-unwrapped leather couch); that is our apartment in Arlington, MA, from many moons ago (I'm in the process of putting a lot of our old pics online). But Wrigley's and Sparkle's hearts long for that widescreen "TV" these days because the Beck, aka "lady who smells of interesting things and feeds us," is up in Boston right now getting ready to run the Tufts Women's Health 10K tomorrow. Or maybe she's walking the 10K. Regardless, she's not here, making for a lonely weekend here in the Nyetverse and a whole lot of walks with the pups down to the Greenbelt. I'm passing the time by alternating between a whole lot of tutoring and watching the fated demise of stupid baseball teams. Huzzah. I'll also trek out this afternoon to play some Ultimate in some absolutely FANTASTIC fall weather. Nice.
But Beck is the real winner, because she gets to hang out with the iPFam, including iPJ, iPMM and iPMeghanandGreg (and possibly Jamie? I don't know if Margie placed her Panda call the other night from New York or from Boston). AND Beck got to see Nyetverse stalwart/stars Ben the Grin and Christ-rah-colm for a nice dinner down in Beantown. I am supremely jealous. Christophe was kind enough to reiterate his loyal Nyet-reading habits, so
HERE IS HIS OFFICIAL DELIMITED SHOUT-OUT
and general recognition that he is the Man. In fact, I'm relatively certain the pecking order in the greater Massachusetts area goes "Tom Brady, Christophe, others." Though he is starting to receive some stiff competition from pimp-in-the-making Malcolm, who (just in case you haven't seen him lately) is prominently featured at Christophe's flickr page. Of course, what you should really do is check this one, where Malcolm is showing all kinds of red-eyed devious intent and is popping his collar. Somewhere around 2023, fathers, lock up your daughters.
Otherwise, things are pretty low-key here. I am going to actually try to write some of those promised reviews in the next couple of days - I'm currently reading a brilliant book supplied to me by the iPMM entitled Genre & Television, and I'm sure I'll have all kinds of faux-intelligent things to say about it after I dig my way through it, so I should get that fluffy "greatest lit of the last 25 years" out of the way. So that's it for the near-future of the blog and the life - sorry for the lack of more entertaining anecdotes, but I'm spending a lot of time reviewing the same SAT concepts over and over again, so I can't say that a daily life account would blow your mind.
So cry, cry, cry for the Cubbies, when they don't win it's another year-delay for the pending apocalypse. I managed not to let it make me violently ill this time (as compared to 2003), so that's good, but still - this time, the "next season" we're waiting 'til is 2008. That's 100 years folks. Long time. They didn't even have wi-fi in 1908. Wow. Crippling.
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