Who loves the sun? Who cares that it makes flowers? Who else thinks that those are among the doofiest lines Lou Reed ever wrote?
Except the first one. It makes sense. Sun is far preferable to today's hazy, fugazy something-more-than-drizzly meteorological situation, and after consulting with the Buttermilk Softball League's leading meteorological figures, I have gathered that we can't play today. Everyone who lives near the park says it looks super shitty to the max and that there is, as they say, no end in sight. So game's off. Sorry.
You could always read a book or something (or order the anthology I'm in, you could do that: you won't get it today and not all the essays are that good, but what could be more satisfying than spending money on Amazon while it's raining?). And Comedy Central is probably showing a heavily edited version of Van Wilder or Scary Movie 2 or something. But you'd probably be better off killing yourself, honestly. Or buying my anthology. Do the second one first.
Okay: sorry about this week's crappy outcome, and I hope you'll all turn out next week. I won't be there, but this is one of those do-as-I-hope-not-as-I-will-do situations. Have a good week, playaz, and I'll see you in a fortnight.
