My voice has gone silent this week because yesterday I bought a new Mac Powerbook at the Apple Store in Farmington (we are not hip enough to rate on in this area). I spent the better part of the evening and into the wee hours last night transferring files from my old Mac to the new, then installing Leopard to the new computer (Since it just came out it is not yet pre-installed, so I had to do it myself). Needless to say it worked flawlessly, though the transfer took forever. So far I have but one criticism of the new system. Formerly you could put a folder in the dock and navigate through it’s subfolders by right clicking. Not any more, which is a distinct minus. For the most part, though, it’s very cool and quite a bit faster than the old model.
Other than the fact that the Red Sox appear to be closing in on a World Series victory, I know nothing about recent doings in the world, so no comment from me. Speaking of the Red Sox though, I must say again that I find their recent success somewhat disorienting. My boyhood hero was Ted Williams (I didn’t know he was a Republican) and even after he left the team I would lie in bed with a transistor radio under my pillow, listening to Curt Gowdy and Ned Martin. Those were the true years of exile: 1960 to 1966, when a full house at Fenway was as scarce as a comet. At times attendance dipped below a thousand. Victory was sweet not despite, but because it was so infrequent.
I still can’t get my head around it, though I am adapting. Try as I might, I am finding it hard to summon any sense of certainty that they’ll find a way to blow it.
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