Last night, I wrote some drivel about how I was all excited to watch the Boston Marathon on TELEVISION this year. We have a free preview of the Universal Sports network this month and I loaded up the DVR with Boston, Rotterdam and London.
It all seems very inappropriate now. Actually, anything I write today is going to seem inappropriate, fake, hollow and attention-seeking so I’ll apologize in advance for hitting publish at all.
I wasn’t there. This isn’t about me. But like many of you, I watched the tragedy unfold, sent a few frantic texts, exchanged grief-stricken remarks with Facebook friends and then just kind of sat and stared for a while.
Patton Oswalt said it best: “Boston. Fucking horrible.” (He went on to say something quite poignant, you should click on that link.) But I can’t imagine any of you want to read another blog post about all that, so at the risk of seeming insensitive, I’ll just tell you about how I played with the baby and then ducked out for a run, two things I can always count on to heal me when shit gets real.
The weather has been fantastic here (aside from near-constant 30 mph winds) and we’ve been spending every possible moment outside. The baby FUCKING LOVES outside. And she runs everywhere. Of course, she stops every five feet or so to examine a tree or a dandelion or some mud or a stick, but she can still do some serious mileage on those fat little baby legs.
One day she’ll be old enough to know about the shitty things that happen in this world, but today I’m thankful she’s too young to be afraid of anything but the vacuum.