On my way between the ballpark and Times to see Washboard Hank last night, I got so rained on it was ridiculous. Not warm laughing summer rain but monsooning buckets, like you see in movie storms. I was on Main street when it hit and had to stand waiting profanity-laden minutes for a light to change so I could cross. Washboard Hank was kind of interesting, but nothing I’d bust a nut over.
The baseball game was good; I had great seats, two rows up from the visitors’ dugout. There was a girl bugging the CrackerCats’ number 35, almost the whole game. He wasn’t playing, so he was around to be not-quite-hit-on for great swathes of time. Max Poulin (Winnipeg’s shortstop) was instrumental in making the Goldeyes lose. He fucked up two double plays, one time not even throwing the ball anywhere. Runs scored because of both of those.
Last weekend I was in Saskatchewan for my cousin’s wedding reception (a few months post-wedding). Families are weird. The best part was at 1am Sunday when my aunt was getting mad at her brother for saying that he fought a guy when they were kids because that guy’s in Headingley Jail now (where my aunt works) and lifts weights all the time. She was drunk and stupid and wouldn’t let go for hours. I laughed and laughed.
