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From
MICHAEL LOO@1:123/140 to
ALL on Tuesday, April 02, 2019 08:58:40
We left Lilli in the morning after breakfast, which
seems to have had no natural ingredients: the synthetic
ham (slices of chopped and formed smoked gristle loaf)
tasted better than the synthetic eggs (looking like the
fried eggs you used to give to little girls in their play-at-being-a-housewife-to-be toy sets along with the
little frying pans and cardboard stove mockups - and
tasting probably about the same). The OJ was sweetly rancid,
and Shamrock Farms chocolate milk (I was on a chocolate milk
kick owing to my recent conversation with Nancy) tasted
worse than its 1950s grandparent, the milk being lowfat and
the cocoa being severely substandard.
Off to Goodyear Ballpark to see the Reds and the Indians;
this was a substantial slugfest, with the losing Reds having
two players Jose Iglesias and Jesse Winker hit two homers
each. The final was 8 to 5 in favor of the home Indians over
the home Reds (this park is the training headquarters of both).
We saw a pitcher named Mike Lorentzen get a hit and score a
run, whereupon he was promoted to center field, rather amusing.
On the Indians side, someone called Plawecki hit a homer, a
triple, and a double (no single, so no cycle).
Only one hit batsman in this game.
At some point a ball landed in someone's beer, which drenched
both Swisher and me; the ball jumped out of its splash bath,
and some stranger picked it up and away it went.
It was Fan Appreciation Day, and they celebrated by lobbing
baseballs toward the outstretched gloves of youngster fans.
One was tossed into the stands right in front of us, and it
bounced off some kid's glove, and a guy picked it up and
gave it to him, to little or no thanks. I didn't catch the
interaction, but he ended up saying "You little brat, I ought
to take that ball back." The mother, sitting nearby, didn't
defend her son but just smiled, so I figure the admonition
was warranted.
There's this weird custom where they shoot t-shirts into the
stands using air cannons. One was shot at some butterfingers
behind me and ended up under my seat, where I picked it up and
gave it to a cutish lady who turned out to be butterfingers's
wife. Not that I don't have enough t-shirts.
On the way back, I-10 was closed going into town, so we
detoured north and tried to find that Otro Cafe on 7th, to no
avail. It turns out we went up the wrong 7th, there being an
Avenue and a Street, both going north-south about a mile apart,
but that didn't become apparent until we were long past. So we
turned straight to the hotel, which was pretty easy to find.
The Hampton Phoenix Airport North gave us an upgraded room,
about the square footage of the TownePlace Suites 1-bedroom
"suites", It was fine for the purpose, which most acutely was
to find a place to eat. The Internet showed a fairly well
reviewed nearby barbecue that was still open, so soon we were
at Honey Bear, where the smells were smoky and the store clean
if a bit plain. I asked for a half pound of brisket extra fatty,
which after a longish pause came dried up and old, not much fat,
with a few moldy bits. This was heavily sauced, for which I was
thankful, as it got the food down, there being no point fussing,
as clearly they were running down on food. A side of collards was
quite tasty, as collards live a long time at room temperature.
Swisher ordered pulled pork in a cup, which came instead as a
sandwich. He asked for beans and collards; what we didn't know
at ordering time was that the sides are big enough for two. The
beans were very sweet and uninspired, though edible by him; the
second order of collards was of a muchness, so we took it back to
the hotel and forgot them next day.
Most of the drink machine spigots weren't working; the two that
did were orange and RC, so we got one of each. RC is like weak
Pepsi. I didn't try the orange.
It was food and drink, and we didn't die from it, what can I say.
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