I Saw a Wizard

This morning I saw a wizard. I knew he must be a wizard because he clearly didn’t know how to wear muggle clothes. He was in his late forties or early fifties and was wearing a khaki sport coat over a Hawaiian shirt. Now it was one of those ‘understated’ Hawaiian shirts with the dark background and ‘subtle’ orange seashells, but still. Down below he was donning navy blue shorts. They were probably running shorts but even if they were ‘dress’ shorts then they were those really cheap nylon-ish ones that you get from places like TJ Maxx. The biggest problem though, was that they rode about 4 inches above the knee. When coupled with the sport coat they gave the impression that the gentlemen simply wanted his viewers to know that he had actually put something on his lower half. He completed his ensemble with tennis shoes and white socks. On the whole it was one of the more remarkable fashion statements that I’ve observed recently. When I told Ben that the guy had turned down a hallway behind him, he suggested that he was probably going to flash someone. When I observed that he was coming back in our direction Ben asked if I intended to point my wand at him and yell “repairo”.

Tonight’s Dinner

Don’t you hate it when you find yourself in a situation when you’re offered a type of food you adore, but know that there won’t be enough of it. You just wish that you could have a huge pile of the stuff. No side dishes. No elaborations or distractions. Just you and all the (fill in the blank) you could ever want. I think that desire is what made the original Willie Wonka movie so alluring; whether we wanted a river of chocolate or berry-flavored wallpaper we could all identify with that gluttonous desire. That happens to me with raspberries, Aunt Becky’s apple pie, and almost any kind of shellfish. Tonight BB and I went to a seafood restaurant. I love and hate seafood restaurants for exactly the reasons implied. But tonight something amazing happened . . . I got a huge pile of crab meat. No exoskeleton, no metal devices for getting at a small bite of meat, no lemon scented wet wipe, just me and a huge pile of crab meat. Being a relatively simple, inarticulate fellow I struggle to find language adequate to convey my excitement. There was a pile of shrimp and scallops doused in garlic butter with parsley and capers as well, but it was the titanic pile-o-crab that caught my eye and imagination. Believe it or not, I couldn’t even comfortably finish it. Oh . . . I finished it . . . but I did so only because I’d been waiting my whole life to curse the unfinishable pile of crab. Not sure what else to say about it other than . . . it was a good day.


My Favorite Hat

Today I had to search high and low for the hat that I wanted. This was a very special hat. There were many nights over the past year when I looked at the 10 hats hanging in my room and was really excited about the trip(s) I’d taken the previous summer and the next trip I would take this summer. Some of those late night considerations came during times when I wasn’t altogether happy and they certainly brought some relief from whatever was causing me grief. When considering this year’s trip it was the Orioles hat that I most looked forward to. I would think to myself ‘You know . . . that orange brimmed one, with the white front, dark back and goofy Oriole logo on it. The one Eddie Murray used to wear when we was doing everything possible to keep the Brewers from winning the East in ’82. Or Ripken wore when he still played short. Or those guys named DeCinces, Lowenstein and Singleton wore when I was watching the Brewers while sitting on my Dad’s lap.’ That’s the one I wanted. It’s a classic hat from the great American game and, more importantly, my childhood. I didn’t want the new design. I didn’t want the retro-throwback-chic. I wanted the one the opponents used to wear when I was a kid. It was important enough to me that I (we actually) visited at least 8 separate vendors inside the park to find it. No one denied that they were still being produced but none had one either. It wasn’t until we walked into the Orioles/Ravens museum giftshop just outside the park that I found my treasure. Just one left in my size. . . it was a good day.