I am sitting in a half-empty Barney’s Beanery on Santa Monica Boulevard, and like normal, I am complaining. My beloved Philadelphia Phillies have just crashed and burned in the second round of the MLB playoffs, and for the zillionth year in a row, we’ll go home full of what ifs, maybes, and might-have-beens, rather than results.
Continue reading ““Repent, Harlequin!” Said the Pitch-Clock Man”