Comments, ice cream, sleep, baseball
Or "How I Spent My Summer, by Patrick Cooper."
Comments at work hit a million this week, so we celebrated yesterday. Also, the long-awaited ice cream party went down.
The apartment people weren't interested. I gave them their shot. Gave them the essay, gave them the flyer. They appreciated the offer but felt they would had to buy many more cartons of ice cream to go with my 12. The ice cream had to live in my freezer for nearly two weeks.
But I knew what I had to do. Eating the cartons myself would've been awful ice cream karma. I wasn't a big karma person myself, but I did have a TiVo Season Pass for My Name Is Earl. (If you're just catching up on my ice cream saga now, read the essay, the victory news and the karmic ramifications.)
So, I found another venue. By a count of the cups left over, the ice cream fed about 80 people. Cleaning up, I grabbed a lingering spoonful from each carton. The "Take the Cake" yellow cake-flavored ice cream tasted amazingly like yellow cake. With my mileage varying there, I got my biggest kick elsewhere, from "Hollywood Cheesecake." It tasted like everything good about cheesecake.
My brain ended the day on a bit of Three 6 Mafia note, so sleep wasn't terrific. But that gave me the chance to start today with a loosely related link to the Smithereen's version of Behind the Wall of Sleep. The Globe caught me up on that one in the car a couple weeks ago, and I postponed giving up on the station.
Nats tonight with all sort of people in beautiful Section 512, and Nats finale at RFK on Sunday. A woman was likely a non-native speaker of English asked me in the apartment elevator the other day if you could bring bags into KFC Stadium. I replied and motioned that they checked your bag but that you could bring it in. But secretly I thought to myself how a KFC Stadium would need a mascot that was a giant biscuit.
