Natick Writer's Group

Last night at Fenway Park. Beautiful evening, and then the Blue Jays humiliated the young pitchers brought up from the Paw Sox, and finally the rains came, huge sheets of water drenching the field.

Notice the sign says "Welcome Natick Writer's Group to Fenway Park."

We dined and wined and chatted and even watched the sad game. Youk hit a couple homers which definitely livened things up.

At the park, you get to hear all the cool (hot) music that you never hear on television because there is always a commercial.

Fenway Park rocks, and in three years, the park will celebrate it's 100th birthday. Yowza! The incredible energy--when Papelbon comes in to save the game in the 9th inning it's like the large defining moment, with the Drop Kick Murphys belting out "I'm Shipping Up to Boston."

The Natick Writer's Group segued from Wellesley to Natick when the bookstore closed. I named a cat Cyrano after the bookstore cat. Mine was fictional. That book, Promiscuous Mode, still hasn't sold, the one the Natick Writer's Group liked best. Less cerebral than the others.

A thinky person writes a thinky book. A feely person writes a feely book. Whatcha gonna do?

A decisive person writes a decisive book. TDF! Oh yeah.

I am so far behind in my tasks that I may never get caught up. Oh, sure, eventually.

Onward.

Grapeshopt

Red Sox Nation revisted

Last night, for the first time since May, 2004, we saw a Red Sox game, a big comeback game after the road trip debacle with Tampa Bay and the Yankees. Yeecch.

We tried a new restaurant, Cafeteria Boston, on Newbury St., mentioned in Sunday's Boston Globe as a spot where Gisele Bundchen hangs out. No Gisele, but an interesting crowd, especially the passing throng on Newbury Street where the world marched by, many en route to Fenway Park, a long slog in the 91 degree heat.

However, we discovered it was Restaurant Week, and ordered from the "specials" menu. I had a salad with roasted beets and chevre, with hanger steak entree, and fresh berries for dessert. Didn't wreck the diet, except for the yummy roasted potatos with the steak. Lots of greenery, and I resisted the bread basket.

At Fenway park, we must have been sitting downwind from the Italian sausage and peppers cooking area. After a while the odor becomes a stench, and I envisioned hair and clothing reeking of Italian sausage. May, it was strong.

The game was exciting, with mega-energy when Papelbon came in to pitch at the top of the ninth with the tying and winning runs on base. Yowza! Mega-excitement, too. The sound system plays I'm Shipping Up to Boston (from The Departed soundtrack- the Drop Kick Murphys). They play it LOUD and the crowd goes crazy. The energy really pumps you up.

The only downer was the my Charlie Card stopped functioning, claiming to be expired, still with money on it, and now I have to go to the T HQ to get things straightened out. Couldn't add to the card or anything. Just kaput.

There was a huge mob of people trying to get on the T at Kenmore, and of course the person trying to help me navigate the ticket machines was equally clueless, and we ended up in Chinese. It was ugly, and who knows how many people cursed the ididotic woman who was too dumb to buy a ticket. It was so damn hot in the bowels of Kenmore that one of my dollar bills was too WILTED to feed into the machine.

However, the transportation craziness couldn't dent the fine mood of a Red Sox victory, particularly such an exciting one with a finish that couldn't be beat! :)

More anon,

Grapeshot

Am I dreaming?

It's been a busy week, no a busy month, and September was crazy, too. The long simmering days of summer are gone and life has come to a boil.

So last night after dinner I was pooped, and with a post-dinner piece of that coffee cake, so comforting, I draped myself on the couch to watch the Red Sox. Ye Gods! Things went to hell in the first inning, and only worsened, until it was 7 zip in favor of Tampa Bay. Significant Other toddled off to bed with the remark that, "when I don't stay up to watch, they always win."

Yeah, sure. I dozed a bit, and woke up with the score still 7-zip and Papelbon was pitching, which means the end is in sight. Ate the last of the Halloween candy, chocolate being so comforting and fell into an apparently deep sleep on the couch.

Awoke and thought I was dreaming, because the score was 7-6, Tampa Bay, and there were two outs, and a man on second and Coco Crisp was batting. Red Sox fans know that there has been bad blood between Crisp and the Rays, rightly so, and how sweet it was, HOW SWEET IT WAS,
when Coco got a hit and tied the game. Wow, was I ever awake!

Thought about waking S.O., and decided that might bring had luck. While the Rays were batting in the ninth, I got ready for bed, and crept back downstairs--by now it was so late the automatic timers had turned off the lights.

The Red Sox got a man on and J.D. Drew batted him in. EVEN SWEETER! Then, of course, I had to wake S.O. up. In Boston, we take our baseball seriously in Red Sox Nation.

So revved up by the excitement and my ill-timed nap, that I had to read some Proust to get my mind and body in the mood for sleep.

Holy freakin' crap, who would have thunk it?

Cat blog day? Forget it. Annie barfed and Thisbe had lovey time and complained about everything. Same old. Same old. The cats are waaayyyy to portly for a hawk or an owl to carry off.

Grapeshot