the IMPOSIUM

so the catcher from the sandlot was on my plane this afternoon.  very exciting stuff.  very, very exciting stuff.  and i want to be able to tell you that he’s grown up well, leaving only a subtle reminder of the chubby, freckled backstop that co-starred in the great baseball flick.  but no, i will not tell you as much.  i am not a liar.  he looks the way you might imagine he would look.  insomuch as you can sit one row behind him on a full american airlines flight, one seat to the right and catch a sliver of his freckly cheek and think – no, KNOW – that you’re looking at this picture, only puberty and fifteen or so years in the future.

and as much as i wished to have a picture from today, one that says “see, here, here he is, as i saw him” i would have preferred, more than anything, to have been able to tell you that i called out “you’re killing me smalls” after the flight attendant told me i would have to wait a few minutes for the rest of my can of diet coke.  but alas, sadly, i did neither.

pee ess: despite what you may have heard, especially if you sat next to chris lee at lunch or study from ninety-three through ninety-seven, i have never once in my life looked like this.  never.  okay, maybe a little.