This is entry No. 248
To go until the Dano 250th Entry Celebration: 1

Where have I been? Where have I been? you ask? Actually, no one asked, so I've been nowhere. Yes, I'm a real nowhere man.

Bah! I've been doing nothing. And why do people always write "bah!"? Whenever I hear it � or read it, rather � I always think of that Saturday Night Live skit in which Chris Katan plays Monkey Boy and always says "Bah!" and cores the apple in his mouth in perfect monkey-like fashion, then proceeds to hump the leg of some other character. And so when I read diaries, I imagine the authors, after they say "Bah!", eating apples and humping their roommates' legs.

I've also been told recently that "doh" has made the Oxford English Dictionary. And to that I say, "Wo-hoo!"

I don't even know where I've been these past few days. After the concert, I think I washed my car on Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? One of those days I washed my car � it's now all shiny and black and even the tires shine. I love it when my tires shine. I also did laundry on that now-forgotten day, so it was a very cleansing day.

And on another day I went and drove down to Marine Park on the river in Red Bank and sat on a bench and read The Town And The City and listened to the clang of metal fasteners on the ropes of sailboats and flags bang against the masts and flagpoles. It was sunny and warm, but breezy, and on the way home I took the long way through the hilly farms of Middletown and then down along the Shore.

Then there was another day where I thought about mowing the lawn but didn't, and now it's getting really tall, but I might get to it this weekend. Or not.

Truth be told, other than my boring life at the moment, I've been afraid to post entries � you'll notice I'm creeping up on No. 250. I've noticed too. And I've hardly gone through my archives to find the Best of Dano which will comprise Entry 250. In culling my highlights, I've made myself happy and depressed, nostalgiac and wistfull. Or something. I wasn't nearly as funny as I'd hoped. But most of that comes from the fact that I've mostly just gone through the pre-D-Land days, the stuff from '98, '99 and early 2000. Once I get into last November and the true new entries, then maybe my fabulously humorous self will show through. If not, there will be some serious redirection with future entries. I want to be funny, dammit!

Today the mail depressed me. In it was a brochure from the Notre Dame Alumni Club inviting me on one of their high-class excursions. Only I really, really, really want to go on this one: 13 days in Argentina and Antarctica in January. If I can find $4000, I can go with next-to-steerage accomodations on the cruise from Argentina to Antarctica. it's something like seventh class. If I had $8000, I'd go first class, but let's not dream too much here. Damn! I so want to see penguins sliding down snowy ice banks, blue glaciers, the Casa Rosada in the three-day stop off in Buenos Aires, the islands and coastline of Antarctica. But it's not meant for Young Alums like me, more for the plaid-pantsed, blazer-bedecked, gray-haired grads with their names on buildings and research chairs around campus. Bah! (Proceeds to core apple with his teeth and hump the bedpost.)

The highlight of the last few days was getting back to the ballpark yesterday. I'd missed three games because I was forced into the office, but last night I was back in my press box perch. The Philly Phanatic was in town, too, which made for an entertaining game. But I must say, I've experienced little in this world weirder than carrying on a conversation with the Philly Phanatic. He doesn't talk to the fans, but in the press box, I'm sitting there chatting with this furry green thing with a horn for a nose � like some kind pot-bellied Muppet � and the voice is coming from his neck. He's asking me questions that do not correspond with the light-hearted look on his face. It was weird.

After the game, one of the guys in the front office asked if I wanted to go out to a bar with a few people after the game. There are hundreds of bars on the Shore I've never been to, so I said, "Sure," and followed him to this place in Lavalette called Used To Be's. Or maybe it's Used to Be, and everyone makes it possessive when they talk about it. Well, whatever, we get inside (you enter and pay cover by walking through the attached liqour store) and inside it's packed. It's packed and smoky like a club, with club music, but it's a bar. No dance floor, so that two women are grooving around in their little tiny space of floor between the wall and the bar. And it turns out that it wasn't some guys from the front office who were coming out, but some guys from the team, so when they walk in and see me there, they all greet me with a look of, "Uh oh, the reporter's here." But I assure them that when there's beer, it's all off the record.

But I didn't stay long anyway, being tired as I was and facing a 40-minute drive home � which is why I've never been to some of these Shore bars. I was there maybe 15 minutes with the ballplayers, then back in my shiny washed car and cruising through quiet Shore towns up Route 35 back home.

And my neck hurts today and I think it comes from lying in bed and talking on the phone, but I can't for the life of me understand why. I'll have to make sure I sit up next time.

In looking at recent a Google search that led someone to my diary, I found that I spelled "commercial" wrong, as that person did in his or her search, so they found me with "commericial." And I also just noticed that I just wrote "on" where I meant "one." I hate that. I also hate when I write "diary" too fast and it comes out "dairy." But it's funny when I accidentally write "Dairyland." It's like we're all part of some big processing plant. Sucks for the lactose intollerant, though.