The temperature warmed up to about 70 degrees yesterday. Spring may not be here, but you could feel it coming.
After a phone call from my gal in Scotland and watching my son swim I headed downtown to take a look at Huntington Park, the new home of the Columbus Clippers. It opens next month and is looking better than I thought.
It seats 10,000 and there's not a bad seat in the house. My one nit pick is that there does not appear to be a lot of covered seating.
Headed up to Half Price Books and sold a few things for lunch money then headed to Hayden Run Falls. Last summer we went and it was dry.
Not so yesterday.
No one was swimming in the pit though. Was not that warm!
I was doing a good job killing time before auditioning for a spot at the poetry tent of this year's Columbus Arts Festival. I got to the location early. There were no shows so I read early. Did well. Made someone cry, in a good way.
After all that it was time to get some food and relax a bit. I went down to the Short North Gallery Hop and got myself some pizza. It hit the spot. I was headed down to Jeni's on High Street and coming toward me was Ric Ocasek. He was tall, dressed in black with a white cloth wrapped loosely around his neck. It was 1983 all over again. The Cars were the first band I saw live and their music made high school suck less. I did not want to be a gawking dick so I said nothing. Really wanted to thank him though.
He was walking in front of his family, that included his wife Paulina Poritzkova, who looked natural and fabulous, and their teenage son, who looks a lot like his father. Ocasek was here to promote an exhibit of his work at a local art gallery. All I'll say is that his work is better than Mellencamp's.
There was a line out the door at Jeni's so I talked to a fellow poet, who was selling her jewelry in front of a wine shop. Ended up going inside and finding a decent bottle of kabinett. Went home, watched the Blue Jackets beat the crap out of the Red Wings. Rick Nash had the first unassisted hat trick since Rocket Richard in 1948. Steve Mason was awesome in net.
Then watched Vicky Christina Barcelona, which would have been a good film had it not had lazy voice over narration than continually brought the movie's momentum to a crashing halt.
Now it's a lazy Sunday of laundry, FA Cup soccer (go Everton!) and dinner out later.