I have NOT been living the life of a rock star, at all. Last week's creative outburst has given way to this week's apathy and sloth. I very nearly stayed home today because my stomach was bothering me, but I'm here anyway, and I'd be lying if I said that getting my copy of this in the mail today wasn't a big incentive for showing up.
I'm quietly getting baseball fever. Not necessarily enough to jump into a fantasy league, but I've been reading Yankee spring training coverage (including the fantastic Pete Abraham blog and the light-on-substance-but-still-cool-idea Phil Hughes blog) and I can't help but feel good about this year's team. Girardi's apparently creating quite an impression on the players thus far; even Giambi looks like he's ready to rake. Looking forward to getting to some games this year, too - gotta say goodbye to the old Stadium.
I'm doing a relatively good job of keeping my impulse music buys to a bare minimum; I did buy the new Big Sleep album, but they're a local band and they're fucking awesome. This time last year, there's no question that I would have bought the new and very-much-hyped Beach House album, and I'm glad that I haven't because the little that I've heard of it leaves a tremendous amount to be desired. Today I'm back to grooving on The Books.
Anyone up for some Scrabulous or Scramble? Hit me up on the ol' Facebook.
