Already Too Late and Too Crazy
First notification of the Spring Gold Cup race festivities out at Great Meadow came out this morning. This is huge. With March Madness, the Masters, and the spring frocks being tried on and the sloe-eyed promise that Spring makes us all better, that marks our traditional emergence into the warmth. You know that this is one of those mornings when it would make more sense to call a Red Top cab to go to the liquor store than to venture out to the parking lot and drive my own vehicle.
I can’t imagine how life got to this strange equilibrium, and that is also totally accompanied by the very clear view of what comes beyond it came to be. But it has, and I know I should just submit to the will of the universe, I guess. Or not- it will have its way with both of us regardless, and I think I subscribe to the idea to take the vehicle to the guardrail as fast as possible, in the final analysis, rather than worry about what I look like when it is done.
Here in the land of the living, it was a great weekend, watching the March Madness, except for the MSU defeat and the magical last second buzzer shot by the Wolverines. Otherwise, and considering the sadness of the Spartan’s collapse on Sunday, an altogether entertaining Sunday with very tall people running around much better than I can.
I understand there is more action coming on Thursday, though how we got this far this fast always is a bit of a mystery. and how the field got from whatever it was to the Sweet Sixteen.
I told one of my absolute favorite female pals that I was going to swear to pay attention to Major League Baseball this season- I mean, we have a grand team here in DC, and I have a legacy relation with the Detroit Tigers and the old central regional teams in Cleveland and Chicago and Toronto, and why not?
Where is Rocky Colavita when you need him?
In the end, I looked up at the interior and realized if I was going to do that baseball thing, I need another ceiling fan. Or maybe a trip to Key West before summer starts and the pool opens. In 53 Days.
Copyright 2018 Vic Socotra
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