My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Exalted Highness Duchess Rosalind the Nimble of Throcking by Hampton Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I have not yet read Harry Potter VII. I am not sure whether that is a mark of pride or shame, but I trust they will not all self-destruct before I get around to it.

We went to the local Borders on release night to get some snapshots of my costumed stepdaughter doing face-painting. Such a festival. Dress robes, shirts with "Property of Muggle University", a spelling bee ("no, I'm sorry, A-s-h-c-a-b-a-n is not correct"), and my favorite, a gray-haired grandmotherly woman carrying a large flowerpot with a plush Mandrake peeking out of the top. I felt sorry for anyone who had said to himself, "Hmm, I'm in the mood for a quiet cappuchino down at Borders' coffeeshop this evening."

I was hoping for this result. (Warning: the quiz is pretty "R" rated.)


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Baseball is the greatest sport, except for maybe curling. (Please take any arguments outside. No one here is listening.)

It is the conviction of this author that nothing in baseball matches the beauty of a marvelously executed defensive play. Unfortunately, televised baseball doesn't give us much chance to see the choreography of defense, but it does give us the chance to watch the game (1) cheaply, (2) in air-conditioned comfort on a soft couch, and (3) in proximity to a bathroom without a long line. Such are the compromises of daily life, and it behooves us to make them and stop whining.

Modern media, that slave of a society that seeks the spectacular rather than the excellent, shows us one arching home run after another on the nightly sports report. Can anyone find that really interesting? I am, however, no snob. The love of a gracefully turned double play aside, nothing beats a quirky inside-the-park home run for sheer enjoyment. (By definition, all inside the park homers are quirky. How many happen in a season, really, unless the team plays in a stadium the size of Cook County and the opposing outfielders were recruited on the set of the Wizard of Oz?)

This year was notable for the excitement of the first inside-the-park homer in the history of the All-Star game. That brought up discussion by the commentators of another, hit earlier this year by the extremely improbable Prince Fielder. At first, I thought they were kidding. I've admired Fielder's play and have vivid and fond memories of his similarly well-nourished father, Cecil, who gave joy to thousands of Tiger fans while he was in Detroit. But the thought of Prince legging it fleetly around the basepaths boggles the imagination.

To my delight, it's for real.

. . . remember that it's not always what it's cracked up to be.

Photo credit: Mike Fine

Gee, officer, maybe I need to get my eyes checked.