I got Steve baseball tickets for our anniversary. Opening weekend at the Jake, where we will probably freeze our byootocks to the seats. April in Cleveland. There are fools, damned fools, and Indians fans. Guess which of the categories we belong to.

(I usually say I’m a Cleveland fan when people ask me my team. My thoughts on the name “Indians” are incoherent and ill-formed. Essentially, I agree with whoever spoke last.

This is unlike me. Usually I get an opinion and stick with it, never letting inconvenient things like facts get in my way.)

April means spring, which means baseball, planting tomatoes, and having to mow. Two out of three ain’t bad.

My thoughts only turn that way because the thermometer read 52 at one point today. It made me want to pick out seedlings.

Bears have the right idea.

I just remembered that April also means the drive-in opens and I turn 35. I’m aging awfully gracefully for such a surly punk. Rarr.