Sunday, August 17, 2003

NYY 8, BAL 0.

The less said about that, the better. Except that Mike Mussina looks good in a Yankees uniform, which sucks because he always looked good in an Orioles uniform.

The stadium, however, rocks. (And I mean literally -- baseball music is so much better than football music, "Centerfield" and "Sultans of Swing" instead of "We Will Rock You" and "Born To Be Wild"...) We had great seats on the club level, where the barbecue is excellent and there are much, much shorter lines than down on Eutaw Street, plus there's air conditioning inside which on a day like today was much appreciated between innings.

Unfortunately the club level also seemed to be the Yankee cheering section -- we were lone orange shirts surrounded by a sea of blue. But the views were great, the peanuts were very salty which is just the way I like them, and I got to see a beautiful throw home for an out after what would have been a sacrifice fly if the runner had run just a teeny bit faster.

Then we drove to Westminster and barbecued over a pit fire with my in-laws, in their beautiful campground full of deer and rabbits which we saw on the way in and out but not at the campsite as their beagle tends to discourage visitors of that sort. And s'mores. Any day can be improved with s'mores.

Out of 24 votes no one thinks I need a fic journal and two people said they'd read this but not that, so I think I'll stick with one LJ for now. Which is rather a relief, as I'd hate having to sign out and sign back in as someone else.


While There Was Still Time

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