Notes from 3:17 am on a Sunday morning .tg-table-plain { border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0; font-size: 100%; font: inherit; } .tg-table-plain td { border: 1px #555 solid; padding: 10px; vertical-align: top; }
| Subject | Notes from 3:17 am on a Sunday morning |
| DateCreated | 6/10/2007 1:36:00 AM |
| PostedDate | 6/10/2007 6:17:00 AM |
| Body | The plan for tomorrow (which about three and a half hours ago became today) was to drive up to Plumb Island, hop onto a boat, and channel the spirit of my late maternal grandfather, Papa John Powers. Papa was born in Newfoundland in 1900. He was a fisherman there until he emigrated to the United States and became a fisherman here. (his name was actually Power, but US immigration added the “s” when he crossed the border) I don’t know much about what he did. I think he used to sail up to the grand banks for a few weeks at a time, sail back, spend a week or so with his family, and then repeat. I know there were some scary moments. He survived a shipwreck once and was lost at sea for days on a lifeboat. (no one told my grandmother. they didn’t want her to worry. my grandmother is the only human being I’ve ever met who was without question a saint, but I can only imagine how royally pissed of she must have been when she found out. wrath of god pissed, I’m sure) Papa died in 1972, about a year after I was born. I’ve made a ton of bad decisions in my life, but there are very few things that I actually regret. Never getting to know my grandfather is one of them. (my paternal grandmother died the same year. not getting to know her is another regret. A few months ago one of my oldest and best friends, Mike the Bass player, became a father for the first time, and without realizing it he named his daughter after my father’s mother. Cecilia) Anyway, that was a rather long winded way to say that we were planning on going deep sea fishing out of Newburyport. My brother is a fishing fanatic these days and made the arrangements He picked the day, invited half the Earth, and made the arrangements with the charter. Unfortunately the weather forecast got progressively worse as Saturday wore on. We had planned the same trip last year and the weather conditions were similar to what is being forecast now, and the day turned out miserable. So in order to avoid a repeat of a bad experience the trip tomorrow has been called off. So instead of going to bed painfully early tonight I find myself still awake painfully late. Today was actually a very good day. Last night Jen came home from a business trip to Florida. I picked her up at the airport in Manchester and took her home. We just crashed at her place and then spent most of the morning just flaking out. Then we went to the movies to see Knocked Up. We had both heard that it was good, but I think we were both surprised at just how good it ended up being. Afterward we drove to Burlington for dinner at the new Border Cafe. Jen has been initiated. It’s not the Harvard Square Border, but at least she now knows what to expect when I drag her to the big group dinner trips. Congrats Jen! The change of plans tomorrow sort of skewered my frame of mind for tonight. I was planning on trying to be asleep by 10:00, but that was about the time that final word on the cancellation came through, so I just stayed up. I finished season 7 of the X-files. I told myself I was going to stop there (that was when David Duchovny effectively left the show) but I caved and amazon.com delivered seasons 8 and 9 this week. Season 8 disc 1 is in the DVD player ready to go. I watched a little bit of the Red Sox game from Phoenix. The Sox came back to tie the game in the ninth and then took the lead in the 10th. Papelbon came on in the bottom of the 10th and got the save, despite letting two Diamonbacks on base and making things more interesting than I would have liked. Then I hit the books. I have about 100 books that I’m partway through right now. I read a bit of Now I can Die in Peace by Bill Simmons. I was planning on bringing that book to the airport with me last night to read while waiting for Jen’s plane to land, but she had a chance to rebook to an earlier flight and I ended up going straight to Manchester from work. I went to the news shop to get something to read and the only thing that interested me was Everything’s Eventual by Stephen King. I’ve read it already, and have a hard cover copy somewhere in this pit I call a room, but I had heard that the story “1408” was made into a movie (John Cusack I think) and figured I’d give it a reread. I finished it tonight. I don’t see that story coming off very well as a movie, unless of course they took the title and the setting (haunted hotel room) and wrote a completely new story… which would be typical of a lot of the movies “based” on King’s work. That lead to the next book. Ghost Rider by Neil Peart. As has been often mentioned in this little collection of brain farts, I am an obsessive Rush fanatic. Peart, apart from being the greatest drummer alive, has internationally published three of four (I think) books. They are all travelogues. I had never read any of them. I was afraid that I would learn a bit about the real life of this guy that I have been hero worshiping for 26 years or so and that I wouldn’t like him. Basically, I was afraid the journals he kept on his various trips would show me that he’s a jack ass and my goofy little vision of him would be ruined. I very much like the idea of not getting to know my heroes. That way I can’t be disappointed when they don’t live up to my expectations. But for some reason I decided it was time to give the old drum-god-dude a try. Ghost Rider is the story of a motorcycle trip he took in ’98. He had lost his only child (a teenage daughter) to a car accident, and then his wife to cancer within a 10 month period, and the cross countries (yes, plural) trip was his attempt to put his life back together. I picked it up at about 1:00 am and the next thing I knew it was after 3:00. I couldn’t put the sucker down. I think I’m going to finish that before any of the other 100s of books I’ve started recently. Well it’s happened. I am officially tired. I’m ready for bed now. The blog has done it’s duty and drained the excess fat from my brain for another day. Before I sign off… Stanley Cup predictions. Out of 15 series, I picked 9 winners for a winning percentage of 60%. I’m a tad too lazy to pick through the blog postings from last year, but if memory serves that is exactly the same percentage I picked last year. My hockey predictions skills remain consistant, as do my use of the blog to drain my brain. Night/Morning (4:27 am) |
Inside the Red Head's Head 