Tonight at sundown, it begins.
Despite what Hurricane Schwartz (Shwartz? Schwarz? you know, the weather nerd from channel 10) will tell you - i.e., that sundown is roughly around 8:23 pm - glorious Sol actually sets at roughly 7:05 pm tonight. That's when my bachelor party begins - with first pitch at Citizens Bank Park (alas, Shea Stadium is many, many miles away).
Judging solely by the fact that they're actually coming to a baseball game just to celebrate with me tells me how cool my friends - aka, the Bachelor Partiers - are. Three of them hate baseball, and two of them are Yankees fans. Yet they'll be there with me to witness the Phillies take on Barry Bonds and the Giants.
I must admit, I have no rooting interest in this affair; I have an intense dislike for the Phillies, and even without the Barry Bonds thing I think I'd have a vague, nebulous distaste for the Giants. As it is, I just don't like 'em. Never have. Make no mistake - I'll have one eye on the out-of-town scoreboard to see how the Mets are doing.
Then tomorrow we watch Yankees-Red Sox in the afternoon, go to dinner at Ruth Chris, and play poker through the night in our room at the Embassy Suites here in town. And that's as far as I know; given that I've charged Man-Chris with planning this party, there may be surprises yet (my one edict - no strippers. I'm just not a stripper kind of guy).
I'm so looking forward to seeing everyone! And admittedly, I'm looking forward to seeing Barry Bonds play. I haven't seen him play since I was a kid, and steroids or not, tonight could be history in the making.
So... I've had an idea for a blog post for a while - I've wondered what it would be like if you tried to make your everyday conversations sound like dialogue from flashbacks on "Lost." And I think it would go a little something like this...
Me: "Hey Person X, do you have a stapler I could borrow?"
Person X: "Sure, here you go."
Me: "Thanks. And remember - EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON."
Then there'd be a whoosh, and Person X would be on The Island, thinking about how that stapler he let me borrow was actually a metaphor for his intense personal flaws.
So there you go; that's how it would work.