Monday 10/18/21
* Wrote a 2700 word story this AM. Excellent. "All I Do Is Laugh." Unique form. Tells the story of a life and two marriages via forms of laughter. There's a glass of teeth, a squirrel and a dog, a Columbian-Hungarian contractor named Lymon, an English teacher, a porn connoisseur named Ablecain, Stendahl, an older lesbian couple, and a beautiful relationship between a dad and one of his daughters.
* Why put out what is supposed to be a definitive version of Let It Be, with attendant session material, and not include the entirety of the rooftop concert, which is one of the signature moments in rock and roll history and a fantastic "show" to boot?
* An irony I’ve noted: people love to think of themselves as old because it gives them the excuse to be the slothful cowards many are. Never learning, growing. Or running stairs. But they’ll rip on older people at every chance, as if an older person was as helpless as a mealworm.
* Crazy baseball stat: in 1930, Lefty Grove led the AL in wins…and saves.
* Isn’t it nuts how rare so-called quality starts—6 IP, 3 or fewer earned runs—are becoming? Anecdotally, I feel like they’re getting rarer than complete games used to be. I’m surprised now when someone goes six.
* And am also surprised the Dodgers are down 2-0. I think they are the Tampa Bay Lightning of MLB. The clear-cut best team.
* Something worthwhile that someone capably stated to me yesterday: "Guilty is guilty. Everyone knows when they're guilty. That doesn't mean that they don't hate the person--or hate them more than they already did--who pulled that to light. But they still know exactly how guilty they are."
* Often, despite having begun work at four in the morning, I am not able to watch sporting events at night because I am still working. There is no point in my day when I "stop." But as I sit at the desk, I hear grown men down the street, in their homes, screaming about the games. The other night, one of them bellowed, "Salami!" and what I hope that meant was someone on the Red Sox hit a grand slam and they were now up 4-0 early, but this is the North End, so it also could have meant salami. That is the neighborhood form of the sports update. Last night, one of them yelled, "Get on the ground! That's my ball! My ball!" which I presumed referred to a Cowboys fumble that the Patriots may or may not have recovered, which this fellow would have. I texted someone and said they should endeavor to be a guy who yells so loudly at their TV that someone in a different home sixty yards away can hear them.
* Doesn't that mid-October air feel good? This morning I made a point of going to the breakfast joint down the street this AM in the shorts I slept in just to feel more of the air.
* I will run some stairs and revise an essay on two horror films.
