The news these days is really fucking shit, isn’t it? I can hardly bear to think about it, much less write about it (although, if you haven’t yet, you should read the remarkable article about Specialist Sabrina Harman and Abu Ghraib by Philip Gourevitch and Errol Morris – and wonder for a moment about just how lucky we are to have such remarkable journalists as the two of them writing this stuff).
But, in the midst of the horror and the tragedy, one of my favorite and most simple pleasures is returning today: it is opening day for the major league baseball season, and among my favorite things is to read the previous day’s box scores over breakfast. It doesn’t matter if my team (the Baltimore Orioles) are winning or losing, which is good because they are gonna suck elephant balls this year; I can’t even describe what it is that I so love about it. But it is one of the small and true joys of my life, and I’m glad to have it back.
So today, I’m going to try to start this week thinking on the simple joys, the things we all rely upon, that add happiness to our lives without our being able to entirely explain why. The Sexy red velvet cupcakes, the brioche french toast, and Wicked hot chocolate. The greatest sandwich in the world (Pastrami on club bread, extra lean).
And to be thankful that I am so very fortunate to live in a world with so many wonderful things.