Fine, I will go to the grocery store

I know it’s been a long time since we’ve had fresh produce in the house. Or bread. Or meat/cheese/cereal/caloric sustenance. But mostly I am finally, after many hungry months, capitulating to this grocery store visit because I am out of sugarless gum. And Christian’s Pizza is right next to Giant so before shopping I can finish a good book while I eat my gourmet slice of artichoke olive tortellini sun-dried tomato broccoli pine nut whatever. I started George Plimpton’s The Curious Case of Sidd Finch last night. It’s quirky, yes, but in an old school, charming way. It’s about a Buddhist monk who is recruited by the New York Mets for his 168 mph fastball. The book is great research for the new gig I got editing a former professor’s sports novel. I have been finding that when you ignore every loathsome personal memory you have about sports (being forced to play them in the rain, being on the losing-est team in the league, being on a team with popular bitchy girls who hate you), sports writing can be pretty entertaining.