On Friday night at the stadium, B sang the seventh inning stretch anthem, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with such gusto that the man in front of us turned around with tears in his eyes and said, "that was inspiring." No joke. Some people are gifted in that way. Well, don't get too big for your britches Miss B, some songs are just spiritually uplifting in that way.

AAA from The Big D was in town all weekend and I am a little pissed off at her for actually getting on the return flight. I don't know if it is because she didn't get to hear the Randy Newman song at the Dodgers game or if it's because I introduced Pinkberry too late, but she's gone and now I am back dealing with my own regular home life which has lately been involving lots of solo typing and Sportscenter.

A was trying to shake the aftershock of a (wrongfully/dishonorably discharged) broken heart so we took it to the streets. I have a time-tested theory that driving on an open road has a therapeutic effect; if you can't move forward at least your car can. It's even better if you can get out in the desert to see some prehistorical nature. So, I had planned on driving her around until she was cured but that was a lofty goal. Instead of total cure, we learned valuable lessons from random roadside prophets. As the Mariachi band guy says about heartbreak, "don't waste your time." Confusing advice for a messy, unfair world but totally perfect coming from a musician who speaks only one word to his partner on the harp, "SIXTIES" and he knows to play the "Hey Jude/Tomorrow" medley.