The visit with my daughter went well. It was expensive. Only one bad point (wouldn't listen to me but I didn't need to push the point, either, so I think I owe her an apology).
The ride home was drizzly and annoying thanks to the wiper that stutter-shreeked across the glass. At one point I asked Chris if he spent a lot of time wondering how to change the world. He paused. "No," he said, "I spend a lot of time wondering how to not let the world change me."
Watched innings 4-8 of the second Sox game at a pizza parlor across the street from North Station. Three local guys created a scene straight out of Good Will Hunting. The word "juncture" was even used at one point which damn near caused me to snarf a slice of pepperoni.
A few minutes before my train was due to leave I headed back and found two guys bucketdrumming and asked one if either had seen Chris Little or Larry Wright. He said he'd not seen either in about two years. Oh well.
Inside the station I announced the 6-2 Sox in the ninth about as often as I suspected that people where I was standing couldn't hear my last announcement. Seems like everyone and their grandmother is a Sox fan these days. I'd complain but I'd be a hypocrite.
Listened to Radiohead's Kid A the entire way back, which amounted to about five or six times around. Rainy weather and commuter rails suits it just fine.