I was hungry–enthusiastic–to move to an American city with a fully-functioning public transit system, and Cleveland seemed to have potential. In moving here, we sought to rent a place near easy bus or train connections, and I immediately signed up for a monthly transit pass. Even an awkwardly uncomfortable encounter on my very first day riding the bus home with a fellow needing to deliver a racially-charged, drunken rant, did not discourage me. I commuted with the bus, more or less, uninterrupted for 10 months, but it wore me down. And it is with some regret that I say I have adopted a new primary commuting mode for the non-snowy months: a scooter.Continue reading “Scooter: When public transit can only take you so far…”
I’ve only been to two professional baseball games in my life, the second of which was only recently to see the Cleveland Indians at Jacobs Field (technically now called Progressive Field, but it will always be ‘the Jake’ to me.)
The other came years ago in Arizona, observing the Diamondbacks in their air conditioned stadium on the surface of the sun.
Baseball is called an American past-time, and it is: watching a ball game is part of this country’s recreational DNA.
But my relationship with baseball, and professional sports in general, is complicated.Continue reading “Peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and a complicated relationship with sports”