James Dean, it was fifty years ago today.

Fifty years ago today, James Dean died in a car crash just a few miles outside of Paso Robles.

On a more serious note...

Red Sox versus Yankees, Sox are a game down entering the final weekend; they're tied with the Indians for the wild-card spot.

We're in the third inning and the good guys (Boston) are leading 2-1. Giambi swung and missed at a David Wells pitch--strike three. If you've ever wondered what's the true performance enhancing drug, steroids or beer? Based on that last confrontation, I guess one could argue the latter.

Two hours later.

In case you were wondering, the Red Sox won. They won pretty much because the Yankees folded in the sixth inning. Maybe it's me, perhaps I've been jaded by recent occurances, personal and otherwise, but this year's rendition of the Red Sox/Yankee drive towards October seems to be on autot-pilot. Mild.

Actually, I think it may be me. For the sake of this blog, for the sake of documentation: Liz and I broke up a week and a half ago. I don't feel like going into the specifics here, just yet. She and I are e-mailing, having coffee together, and otherwise taking steps towards salvaging a friendship.

Seems as though I've become particullarly adept at losing the romance while keeping the friendship. Wish it weren't so, but it's better than losing romance and gaining an enemy.