I wouldn't ever tell anyone they 'should' wait 7 and a half hours for 'free' tickets. I will say that I'm glad I did, though, because it was a pretty unforgettable New York experience.
I wish I could take high-school NIL deals at face value. I really do. But I can't help but think about where this will wind up leading.
A quick conversation with my neighbor's nephew hit pretty close to home and had me digging through my own keepsakes to find something to pass along.
It wasn't the sorriest apology I've ever read. That doesn't mean it was good, though, as the Mariners outfielder spent entirely too much time talking about himself.
Turns out I need to adjust my not-yet-patented "Guide to Good Apologies" after a Bay Area chef showed the danger that comes when you can't seem to shut up.
When you're finished saying you're sorry, you should stop talking. Seriously. Just shut up.
While the Mariners were in the midst of a second straight sweep, I was providing a poop bag for a famous and amazing lady who is apparently a neighbor.
I should feel bad for the young gymnast whose attempt to buy Babe Ruth's old apartment was snuffed. I'm finding it hard, though.
How a scene from "Pulp Fiction" captures my current attempt to maintain my brain-dead enthusiasm for the Mariners recent acquisitions.
My six days in Seattle started with a meal that had special meaning and ended with a reminder of how fun baseball can be in that city.
Of course he will. My former co-worker dabbled in AI this past week, and all that proved is that Robot Jim is no match for the original.
