So, the Braves get hammered by the Sox in the first game today- real ugly, Matsuzaka handled the team easily and Boston wins 13-4. So I'm pretty bummed. Then, in the second game, Smoltz pitches a gem, and the Braves score 14 runs while the Red Sox don't score at all. Talk about good news, bad news, yeah?
Anyway. I finished Thomas Pyncon's V. a few minutes ago. And I'm still confused. The book, as I've mentioned, is really good, and maybe one day it will all click, but I'm afraid I would have to re-read it to really begin to approach the book's mysteries, and I'm not sure when I'll get around to doing that. It's not the easiest read, and it's not the shortest book. Right now I'm torn between Nabokov's Pnin and Sabbath's Theater by Philip Roth. It's pretty much a coin flip in my mind between the two, at the moment. When I have made my final decision, I will let all of you noble bastards in the infernal book club know.
And I went ahead and made a reservation for three nights in a hotel in New York City. I can still wriggle out of it, but it's begining to look a lot like Manhattan for your humble narrator. And my plans for the city are begining to take shape more clearly in my head. I think I'll probably try and see Spamalot the night I arrive, and a Yankees game my second night there. One day I'll probably devote to Central Park. And I'll definitely try and find a good cd store that sells some of the bootlegs I'm dying to own copies of (most importantly, a complete Basement Tapes compilation).
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