Imagination

All day long, I’ve been engaged in dreaming. Not asleep, but I’ve been hard at work devising images and ideas for a story I plan to write. Yet, for all my many hours of faroff looking in the reveries that have consumed me, I’ve only just come to be aware of how much of my imagination I’ve surrendered to the physical world. When I was a teenager, and rather bereft of worldly possessions, it did me well to imagine what I might someday possess. Often, it was shapeless and without definite color. It existed out of time, and had to it, no measurable dimensions. My vision was more of a feeling. I felt that the world was a marvelous place in which reality was unfixed. There were possibilities out there, and I loved to dream of grand exploits in faroff places.

Because I lived in an apartment with my parents, I knew the brute functionality of things. I knew that a faucet dispensed water, and that a refrigerator chilled liquids. I knew the thermostat brought forth atmospheres of warmth and cold. And I no doubt knew, when I visited with friends more monied that we, that such things existed more excellently or more beautifully than what our little income could afford. I understood that money could furnish luxury beyond the mere functionality to which I was accustomed. And so it came to pass, I coveted the sinks in which the porcelain was real, and around which marble formed countertops, and mirrors reflected burnished brass. I longed for beautiful Persian carpets in spite of the low-pile rug with which our apartment had come prepared. I wished for larger windows, the better to admit sun and the eventide breezes that carried aloft lilacs. All of these wishes had their places in a real world. For I had seen them with my own eyes. But what of the things I did not see? What of the worlds that were wholly absent in my vicinity? I saw cats all around me, and so came I to know animals of infinte grace, whose eyes appeared wise. I saw their tails and their whiskers. I felt their silken fur beneath my caresses. I knew their claws when they climbed, or when my foolishness possessed them to inflict me with a scratch. All these things, I could now imagine any creature under the sun possessing. But what about feathers? What about scales? What about animals ten times the size of a cat, or 100 times smaller? How could I know such things existed without seeing them? When I saw dogs, I had some notion of relativity. They were larger than cats, and seemingly less solitary. Their noses were longer. Their eyes appeared plaintive, not wise.

So, out of that relativity I came, imagining many creatures whose features were neither feline nor canine, but both.

I suspect all our imaginitive powers inher from that first comparison. Difference suggests possibility: the possibility that between two extremes, there exist countless combinations. And when we see a cat alongside a dog, we naturally wonder if such an animal lives in which each of these others is present in some measure. How bizarre! Yet how worthwhile to envision life’s experiments! We love to question whether so many seemingly contradictory elements can work in concert. Can a cat run as quickly on legs more suited to a dog? Can a fish fly, or a bird seek its prey underwater? Nature is the grandest imagination of all.

But clearly, our own imagination requires some point of reference from which to begin. Without an object to ponder, one cannot imagine a reconfiguration. And isn’t a reconfiguration really what imagination is all about? We consider the way things are, and then we consider how they might be if we changed the particulars. We are left with a product in which only the arrangement has changed, though the substance has remained.

Thus, imagination sustains itself on reality. But I do believe there is such a thing as overfeeding one’s mind. When, after too long a season in the real world, we look about ourselves and can imagine nothing more than what we already see, then we have lost our capacity to believe in things unseen. For example, the man who spends his life observing big cats in central Africa, might struggle and fail to imagine a cat whose color is violet. Such a notion is simply unrealistic because his concept of cats is so fixed in what he has seen in the real world. And supposing he does see such a rare and untenable specimen, his time in the field must always compel him to call the creature a trick. Knowledge always counsels against a belief in the fantastical.

Likewise, he who reads a newspaper everyday, is too keenly aware of the state of world affairs. He has less of a mind to imagine Palestine and Israel ever declaring peace. He lacks vision to conceive of a time when government will meet the needs of its people unconditionally. He can think of the world only in terms of its page one headlines, or its book reviews, or its classifeids.

So, as I was working on my story, I realized that I am in danger of becoming that man. I have seen the world both splendid and lackluster. I have measured it against itself, and come to know what is possible only by what is probable. I fear I am becoming less apt to accept things which I have not already seen. And when I sit down to imagine incredible things, I imagine things not so incredible as well-documented in the pages of encyclopedias.

What is the key to retaining one’s imagination? Once upon a time, I believed that to stay imaginative required a willful sort of ignorance. But ignorance is a negative word. Rather, I thought it needed a kind of innocent naivete; a mind fed only on the sparest diet of facts and figures, and only so much as it needed to begin reconfiguring what it had seen. In that time, whileI lacked reference to the many glorious and tangible delights of the real world, I suffered gladly for the greater pleasure of imagining things that did not exist.

Knowledge, as ever, is a benediction even as it is a curse. One learns what one needs to live in the real world, but at what price? To imagine is humankinds greatest commonwealth. I, for one, would gladly forego knowledge if it meant I could recapture even an iota of the absurdities that once filled my head and my life!

Picture with President Obama

Hello, Friends,

Here is a picture snapped at a White House Reception for Members of Congress, hosted by President and First Lady Obama on May 20th, 2009.

 

An Indian Wedding

So many, last week, were my occasions for wonder, that a post about my hike in Dillon alone will not suffice. I have more to tell of my time in Boulder!

On the 4th of July–that day when most contented themselves in homage to our National Independence, to watch electric flowers explode on the horizon–my partner and I had plans of an altogether different nature. And of these plans, I had known for some weeks. Still, I was not a little disheartened that I should be made to give up fireworks for an Indian Wedding. But that was exactly what I would do, and my faint-hearted resentment soon gave place to anticipation.

My partner being ever a great admirer of Eastern culture, and twice a voyager to the country of India, thought well of placing an Indian Wedding on his shortlist of things to do or see in this lifetime. And why not? Indian weddings are famed for the grandeur of their designs and the felicity of their executions. It is, for example, not uncommon that parents spend their entire life savings upon the ceremonies and parties, which may last as many as three days in succession. All that is best in form and function, has its place at an Indian Wedding. The ornamentation is divinely intricate, yet magnificent of scale. A thing as unassuming as a Wedding Invitation receives the treatment of a fine tome in which the pages are gilt and bound in cloth. Such an invitation may then receive inlays of Swarovski crystals, amidst arabesque images of florals and paisleys.

Such was the case at this wedding, where also, upon entering the ballroom at the Ritz Carlton in Denver, we were greeted with luminescent ice sculptures in the fashion of peacocks, whose translucent plumage glowed cerrulean by the grace of some few well-placed spotlights. The centerpieces at each table were the forms of candelabra, from which crystals shivered in profusion. These latter had come the long way from India herself, the better to realize the themes at hand. Women dashed to and fro in a procession of otherworldly garments in which were to be admired the finest and most decadent details. Again, one saw the painstaking inlays of jewels and embroideries of gold thread. It was no less a vision that what Cindarella must have beheld in the court of her prince. And one could not help but give pause to consider the lovely dresses that might always surround us were it not that lackluster vogues now consume the time of our lives. It takes no less than an Indian Wedding to show what is possible, and what is delicious to the eyes.

The bride and groom literally held court from the head of the stage, where they were arrayed as if images of royalty, upon two golden thrones. They listened intently to a chorus of those whose charge it was to toast their newfound happiness. And then there were dancers! Dancers brought forth, to express in motion what the bride and groom no doubt felt in their hearts, which was unabashed joy. And again, one saw what is luxurious in the adornments of their costumes, in the expressions of their faces.

A hundred little details consumed me, that might have delighted everyone or me alone. Rose petals by the thousands were strewn across the floor. The wedding cake, three tiers high, matched perfectly the hue of the bride’s dress. It was the blush color of romance, ringed with braids of tiny, edible pearls, and topped with a golden crown. Delicate votive candles shined out from multi-colored vessels. Tapestries of surpassingly beatiful patterns in silver, hung each wall.

To say that the proceedings were lavish would short them unfairly. I might go on forever, but suffice it to say, I wished that all weddings could be so awe-inspiring. Indeed, such occasions remind us that ceremony is beautiful, and that people have created their own forms of sublimity and majesty. I like to think that love is both simple and excessive, and the wedding captured both in a seamless and silken pageantry I won’t ever forget.

Nature’s Art

Dear, Friends,

I’d like to share a short post on a wonderful experience I had this past week in Boulder.

Of course, as usual, my time back in Colorado was a treat. I do so miss it when I’m away, and when I’m back in town, it seems my experiences are always, rather appropriately, exceptional. So it was about the middle of the week, my partner and I ventured to beautiful Summit County. In the town of Dillon, we along with some fifteen others, met famed nature photographer John Fielder, whose charge it was that day to lead us on a hike through, quite possibly, the most gorgeous tract of country I’ve ever yet lain eyes upon.

The trail passed through a brilliant meadow of columbines and other wildflowers, and through forests thick with aspens. Everywhere I set my foot was the softness of velvet, and the air shimmered with all the hues of daylight.

I was astounded that such a place could exist. It was very much like a scene out of a fairy tale.

Much as I tried to find some evidence of human presence–perhaps a crumpled paper, or a shred of metal out of place–I found nothing to that effect. The place was utterly idyllic and untouched. Yet a beautiful order reigned there, as if Nature herself had mowed the grasses with delicate finesse, and fashioned the trees into perfectly balanced stands. Surely, it showed the self-same beauty that humans aspire to in all their artistic endeavors.

It reminded me that Nature is always beautiful. No matter its configuration, it appears well in-balance, and supremely elegant. Our human architecture may be dazzling, at times, but let us judge also of its failures: the noisy, dirt-ridden cities; the cracked pavements; the car exhaust; the smells of steel and concrete. Nature is always in good taste, but in our fumbling to recreate her majesty, too often we find ourselves frustrated. In Nature, things exist wholly beautiful. In civilization, we draw up beauty alongside ugliness, and this is the price of pretended apotheosis.

Yes, I was surprised at how “tidy” Nature appeared in that little-known tract, yet immediately, it made sense. Why should Nature not be well-proportioned? Why should the elements of her design not be executed flawlessly? Whence this notion of Nature unkempt and slovenly, for surely she is not.  In her minutest details, there are the very models of our most felicitous accomplishments. They are order and chaos, by alchemy, perfected.

News, All Sorts

Ah, Monday. How very refreshing. Most especially so after the events of Sunday’s PrideFest, at which my partner and I managed both feats of marching and socializing! And I have the sunburn to prove it. That parade seems to grow in length every year, and the crowds were as many leagues deep as I’ve seen them. I touted a sign in my partner’s name, and some 25 volunteers handed out candy and blew bubbles. All, as such, helped us as we undertook the very first steps of my partner’s new campaign for 2010. Indeed, an election to the office of Representative lasts barely as long as the campaign trail that leads to it! Some Members are just happless enough to have been elected to a contested seat, and the attack ads asperse them already. Some are elected, and begin campaigning immediately for the next election two years down the road!

Anyway, what I really wanted to post are a few details from last week, when I was in DC. Of couse, we attended the Congressional Luau on Thursday, but let me first narrate the wild tale of what happened an hour before our beloved picnic at the White House.

As many know, the LGBT community is in an uproar over President Obama’s seeming lack of regard for our civil rights issues. His administration has done little thus far to curb the military layoffs consequent upon a policy called “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, which allows for the dismissal of gays and lesbians from any branch of armed services, based solely upon their sexuality. Then there is the Defense of Marriage Act, which renders non-transferable any marriage certificate obtained in a state that allows same-sex marriage, to a state that does not. In other words, couples having been married in Iowa, will discover their marriage means nothing in Nebraska. The Obama administration, several weeks ago, condoned this Act, in a press release that adopted untoward terminology in the description of same-sex relationships. Needless to say, all of this has incensed the community to no end, and many are making public, their dissatisfaction.

Rewind to last Thursday, my partner and I had arranged to attend the DNC fundraiser hosted by Joe Biden, which would raise money for the Democratic Party, from LGBT donors. As we arrived, protesters from the other side of the street, derided us for being hypocritical” Shame on you, supporting Obama when he doesn’t care about you!” In all honesty, I saw reason in what they were saying, and I myself am quite saddened that Obama has yet to make good on several key campaign promises. What I did not agree to, was punishing the entire Democratic party for one man’s actions. If we do not support Democrats, we’ll end up with Republicans, and they may ennact even worse legislaton at the expense of the LGBT community. I certainly feel safer with Democrats, and know that Mr. Obama will, in time, attend to our civil rights. In the meantime, I cannot help but feel that many political activists are refusing to see the entirety of this issue. Rarely if ever, does a bill come to pass that affects only one group of people. Likewise, to protest the DNC’s fundraising will hurt us more than help us in our quest for civil rights.

So not to linger on this unfortunate issue, let me get to the picnic.

We arrived just shortly after it had begun! We were led through the White House by numerous staff, each of whom greeted us wit, “Aloha!” How very authentic. At last, we reached the front lawns, and beheld some 250 banquet tables arranged in a large circle, with grill stations and bars in each of the 4 directions. Memberers of Congress and their families were in attendance, as well as White House staff. The menu was not altogether vegan-friendly, with features primarily of meat and vegetables doused in butter. I did find a sadly neglected bowl of greens, and ate them with vinegar dressing, but I was left with my stomach growling!

The event itself was lovely. President Obama and the First Lady made appearances, and Rahm Emanuel had the unenviable luck to be chosen for the dunking tank, where many members of Congress were all t0o-eager to give him a plunge!

Owing to our attendance of the DNC event, my partner and I were woefully overdressed in suits and ties, thoug a lei helped mitigate our formality. But other partiers were decked out in hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. Spring was everywhere, and I had the best time sharing stories and experiences with fellow Congressional Spouses and Members.

It was awe-inspiring to stand mere steps from the front facade of the White House, that I might easily have reached out and touched the storied building with my hand, or passed even into its vestibule. So also, I could barely believe myself and the reality of my being there, when I walked right up to the famed White House fountain, which is ever present in news coverage and whenver DC is the talk of the hour.

Now that’s one way to spend a Thursday!

Solemnity

I was heartbroken yesterday when I read the news of Michael Jackson’s passing. I haven’t words to describe the heaviness I feel, or the bitterness of my thoughts. And I am confused. Confused that our lives are this fragile. That we can be here, then not be here.

For nearly ten years, I’ve been able to share my sister’s passion for this man who has seemed to me to be a saint in every way. His artistry was without compare; his brilliance, unsurpassed. And as a human being, I think I’ve only ever known one or two who’s depth of generosity and caring might equal his own. It is a wretched thought, the world without Michael Jackson in it. And like too many whose lives are senselessly cut short, I can’t even begin to understand why such things always seem to befall those who deserve life, to live it without suffering, and to be loved for the love they give unselfishly.

I hope his lessons are not lost on a people who too easily forget the difference an individual can make. I hope people now realize how rarely a person comes along who gives of himself boundlessly, and asks nothing in return. Michael was more than a great artist. He was a giant of humanity, and a model for all people. He was a hero.

Tours

Hello, Friends,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in so many days! I spent the weekend and Monday in Boulder, and was having such fun. I couldn’t possibly have willed my feelings into words, not even by contortions. It was one of those pleasant recesses we so often idolize, when time passes without notice. I was all on my own and quite frivolous, but now I must be ashamed, for no serious thoughts emerged from these gambols.  Not that gravity should ever inher from levity, but it would make my antics so much easier to defend! Are we not, after all, taught that productivity is best? Alas, things being what they were, one might accuse me of anything else. I was not productive!

So let’s get to last week that I might feel less slothful! Something quite exciting occured, yet all these many months later, long after it should already have happened. I gave my first tour of the US Capitol! Part of my delay had to do with a lack of confidence. In truth, The Capitol is a large and many-splendored building. It is replete with historical artifacts, as well as with living specimens of our modern Democracy. I watched for some time, all the professional tour guides, who are known by their red blazers and their seeming of authority, and I could not help but feel that my two-day training had been inadequate. I could recite so many facts, but had really only been in the visitor’s center 2 or 3 times. So I set about studying my notes, and reviewing the slides that my teachers had provided. I spent a month commiting facts and figures to memory. I visited the Capitol no less than five times, and spent many hours before statues and paintings. I decided during those times, upon the things that most interested me in the Capitol’s art and architecture. These would be the aspects of focus whenever I shared my enthusiasm with tourists. So it happened, I received a note from my partner’s office, informing me that constituents were en route and excited to receive a tour. I was the man for the job! And after several months, I really did feel more confident, though I suffered to remain still very slightly unsure. 

The day came, and my tourists were three: a husband and wife, and their son who had lately entered the 7th grade. I spent in excess of an hour taking them around and showing them the sights. My teachers encouraged no more than 30 minutes for the length of a tour, so I’ll no doubt have to trim down what I say. But so much is thrilling that must be noted, and so I don’t feel all that terrible about my extravagance. My only wish is that I could have known the things to say that would stop the 7th grader from yawning! History is never quite as exciting for the young, is it?

On Monday of this week, I was forwarded a ”thank you” note from the tourists, who said that their time in the Capitol was a highlight of their week in DC. Well, then! I was quite pleased, and am now fully confident that I can make people happy, even as I dispense endless facts about a 200 year-old building!

As Fate would have it, I finished my week in DC giving a tour of the White House. This being my first, I was quite delighted with the experience. White House tours book up nearly four months in advance. If a tourist is particularly keen on visiting the President’s home, he or she must be absurdly organized in contacting their Representative’s office. The family I took, had attempted to go through official channels to line up a tour, but they had been unsuccessful. The next step would be to bypass the process, and arrange accompaniment either by myself or by my partner. This was done, but little did I know with what privelege I might walk right up to the gates of the imposing residence, show my spouse ID, and gain entry, though a line 100 persons long might be in waiting. Indeed, this particular day, the line of confirmed tourists was just as long, and it would have been torture to wait for admission. Bear in mind, these were the fortunate individuals who had arranged their tours months before. These were the lucky ones! Their prize would eventually be a tour of the White House, but they would have to wait.

I felt more than slightly puffed up as I directed the family at once to the gates, and smiled at the thought that I had spared them the line. So I say, if any of my friends who are also my readers, wish for a no-strings-attached White House tour, I would happily oblige. We’ll get you in fast, without any of the delay! It’s one of the benefits of being a Congressional Spouse that I can bypass so many lines!

Tomorrow is the White House picnic! I’ve looked forward to it for months, and I’ll be able to share the story. I wonder if I should deck out in Hawaiian vestments in honor of the theme, which is Luau!  Until tomorrow night, my friends…

The Princess and The Pea

But to sleep as I did when I, with the world, was younger, ah, that would be sweet!

I woke at 4am last night, unable to get back whence I came, and was up until the break of day. Surely these restless nights form an index to my one, abiding problem with a new life in Washington: the unmitigated hours spent in cross-country flight, the breakdown of our schedules, the surrender of normality, the strangeness of midnights that start us awake from the seeming of peacefulness. I am at a loss how otherwise to address these broken cycles, but by the use of sleep aids, but I refuse! I refuse to employ artificial means to the solution of a problem that is, itself, artificial.    

When you think about it, much of what we, as humans, do, is painfully unnatural. The hours we keep are merely one among a thousand such infringements against natural law. Though the world does not turn off at the close of a business day, yet we make it nearly impossible on ourselves to get anything done at night. We schedule the opening and closing of stores, of banks, of doctor offices, such that the sleepless among us are without recourse. They are adrift between the hours of 12 and 6, and when light returns to the world, they pay an anguished balance for their unspent slumber. So, too, we relegate to nighttime all the unsavory engagements that our society frowns upon: midnight casts with morals crepuscular as their black-domed theaters.  

And yet, our senses remain so untarnished as to cry out in agony when our abuse of them comes to be unbearable. It occurs to us only when we are in pain, that the way we live may not be healthy. Where does this pain originate? When will it stop? Is it a sign? In the early parts of our lives, we are at liberty to make mistakes and to bounce back from our upsets. But as the years progress, diseases take their toll more potently, and we are left with the aftershocks reverberating out of time. It is a damn good argument to get ourselves in shape while we still have time, before problems become conditions.

With a new schedule demanding weekly cross-country travel, I am reminded how crucially important it is to take care of ourselves. Right now, I’m suffering a sleepless night here and there, but what of next year, when habit becomes lifestyle? I must attend to these problems now before I am forced to take medicine!

Rules Are Meant To…

Last night, mere minutes after arriving back home in DC, I was summoned by my partner to a special “midnight” meeting of the Rules Committee. He enticed me with the promise of very spirited debate between Members. And being one who loves to watch fireworks go off, I wasn’t about to miss it! 

Rather than delve too deeply into the finer points of legislative process, I will say only that the House as a whole consists of 435 members, of which my partner is one. Each member is assigned to a Committee, and most serve on two to three. The logic behind Committees is self-evident: that is, how does a body consisting of so few take account of the innumerable bills that come up for debate in the course of one legislative session? It would be impossible, but for the fact that the Speaker of The House, at the beginning of the life cycle of any bill, assigns it to its relevant Committees. If, for example, a bill relates to the expenditure of government money, she routs it to the “Appropriations Committee”. If a bill pertains to the war in Iraq, it is channeled to the ”Armed Services Committee”. And in the case of my partner, he sits on the “Education and Labor” and “Rules” Committees. 

Rules is an exceptional Committee assignment for a Freshman Member. Because it holds such sway over the parameters of how a bill is discussed, it was once an “Exclusive Committee”, meaning that its membership required  the participation of its Members to the exclusion of any other committees. Happily, it is no longer so possessive of its Members, and they are at liberty to serve on, at most, one other committee.  

Rules  is the final stop for any bill before it arrives on the House floor. And the jurisdiction of the Rules Committee is to determine, quite literally, the “rules” under which the bill may be discussed once it comes before the Committee of The Whole. Will members of the House be permitted to submit amendments? If so, how many? How long can these amendments be discussed? So on and so forth.

Last night, Rules met to discuss an upcoming Appropriations Bill. Unique to this discussion, however, was the proposal that the bill be permitted to come up for a vote with what is called a “closed” rule. In other words, only a finite number of amendments would be permitted, and most of these to originate with the Democrats. In the history of Appropriations bills, this particular proposal is almost unprecedented. Discussion is always permitted, and members on the House floor are never limited in the number of amendments they can offer. This is especially vexing for the Republican members, who had no doubt counted upon introducing as many changes as they saw fit. My most elementary understanding of the logic behind the proposal, is that the Republicans requested an unusually high number of amendments.  Thus, the Democrats, who are currently a majority, sought to limit discussion, which could prolong passage of the bill.

My partner wasn’t lying when he promised impassioned arguments on both sides of the aisle. The Republicans consist of less than half the Committee (in which the majority always makes up two times the minority plus 1; this is done to ensure that the majority is able to overcome minority opposition if the need arises, and it often does!)

I could go into details over what precisely was said, but there is no need to get excessive. Instead, I’d like to make an amusing observation that the culture of Washington is somewhat old-fashioned. The manner of address between members is exceedingly formal and fraught with ceremony. My partner is referred to as, “The Gentleman from Colorado.” And this format is used for all men in the Congress. All women Members are referred to as “The Gentlelady”. These rules of engagement are supremely amusing to witness, if for no other reason than that they often provide a counterpoint to the way a member actually feels. Though a Democrat is bound to thank a Republican for speaking, it is done all in the spirit of civility, and for no other reason besides.  ”I would like to thank my friend, the Gentlelady from X, for yielding. But I must respectfully disagree on the grounds that…”

Translation: “Are you a madwoman?!”

It is easy to imagine how laugh-out-loud funny it can be, when the debate reaches a fever pitch, as it did last night, and members are at the very verge of screaming, but still they adopt the niceties of social etiquette and refer to one another as Gentlemen and Gentleladies. If anything attests the absurdity of all that we do as civilized animals, it is that we attempt to subvert our strongest feelings and paint them over with the appearance of composure.

Congressional Baseball

Greetings, friends, on my final day in Boulder! Now are the dreaded penultimate moments before tomorrow’s long flight back to DC. Happily, I was able to convince all concerned parties that my presence in DC might be put off just a day longer than scheduled, that I might take for myself a much-needed breather in my hometown without consequence to others. So here I am!

But, really, my trip Eastward won’t be so very arduous this time on account of an event to which I’ve looked forward for some time.

The Congressional Baseball Game now set for this coming Wednesday evening, is a tradition among members of the House and the Senate. Each year, athletically-inclined Representatives sign up to play according to their party affiliations, and as a benefit to the Boys and Girls Club of America (an after-school program geared to keep kids occupied and out of harm’s way). Aptly so, my partner is playing with his fellow Democrats, whose year it is to win after a long stretch of Republican victories.

For two months, during our weeks in Washington, my partner has risen with the sun at the nethermost start of his day, and participated in practice sessions that last an hour. The first day he came back from practice, I asked how he might judge the team’s abilities, and he surprised me, though in retrospect, I should have nodded without wonder. Of course Congresspeople are sporting! And not simply in a judicial sort of way. In fact, my partner, who is quite a hand at baseball in his own right, had only the greatest encomium to speak on behalf of his teammates. He accounted to their skills, noting that members are naturally overachievers, and so it comes as no surprise they should demonstrate acumen in sports, as well.

On Wednesday night, I’ll witness the game in-person, and I’m very excited. I was never much for professional sports, until my partner took the time to explain the rules, and now I can’t get enough. I’m especially fond of America’s pastime. It’s such a complex game.