Yanks down to their last two outs!

Crushed grapes last night under full moon. Full moon? Harvest moon. First frost. Brian broke out his lighting kit. Surreal lit gasps of breath. At one point I thought I was working with Max von Sydow in The Exorcist. We crushed 20 lugs of petite syrah grapes. Each lug is 36 lbs. Over half a ton of grapes. Inspired by this years success.

Buck O'Neil RIP. If you've seen any of Ken Burns' Baseball, Buck is a refreshing antidote to all the blah-blah's from the pontificating know (nothing at) alls that Burns seems fond of. Check out what he says about Ty Cobb in this interview.

Joe Massey reads tomorrow from his Property Line. If you don't have a copy yet you've been under a rock for how long? You really shouldn't nap on this, it'll disappear sooner than you think.

Final 8-3, goodbye Yanks, hello Tigers! Tigers-A's. Go Tigers. Tigers-Mets.

Current artist obsessions, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Richard Tuttle.

Acclimating to this space. I'm such a creature of habit, trying to forge these routines.

Writing in Al Swearengen next presidential election. I just want the president to be articulate this time around. I realize Al's seen his day.

New England fall! You lump-in-the-throat beautiful.

"It would feel so good to see you cry."

I have too many records. Anyone interested in records?

Chris Rizzo sent me a complete set of Wch Way. Yeah!

"If I seem a little strange well that's because I am."

"Can I see your driver's license?"
"Can I shoot your gun?"


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