Baked goods, bads, and morally ambiguouses.

Today sigerson and I went to several places to try to find a bridesmaid's dress that would look good on me. I had several styles picked out, a good idea of what I wanted, and a very relaxed, fashion-conscious sister.

It was hell.

I intend to cleanse the bridal salons of Newbury Street with fire. Who's with me?

Dear Red Sox Nation:

I love you. I am one of you. I intend to go on celebrating this year's World Series win as long as I can, and I hope you do too, in as many ways as you like.

However, for the love of all that is holy, stop writing shitty poetry about it.

I mean, this crap is like William McGonagall reborn. One thing I never dreamed when I got into the newspaper business (even in such a tangential manner as I am now) is how much lousy poetry is out there -- and how desperate we can sometimes get for filler material.

Maybe if I sleep with Beowulf under my pillow, some of the pain will ease.