So Tired.

Of: Kids not respecting the game.

Something I've always liked about the sort of long-toothed baseball guys, frowning down at certain of the upstarts: They don't respect the game, they say. Meaning: Kids don't know what matters about the game, don't know how to put a knee down, don't know when or why to put a glove in the dirt. Meaning: Kids think they're bigger than the game.

There is the occasional child in my office mewling and keening on about how desperately s/he wants to go to grad school, about how badly s/he wants to be a poet. Not near enough hand-wringing about poetry itself, though, friends and fans of the game. What irks me, finally: kids want to be poets, don't give any damn at all about wanting to know poetry.

Most irksome: Remember well my own laziness at that age, know well the selfsame egomaniacal laziness lurking at the edges of my life right even now today.

Not everybody who stops by is keening and mewling in irksome ways. But enough are. Enough are.

Weather News: Cold and gray out there off and on all day. Hard to say what it'll be tomorrow. Right now, it's dark. We'll know more, I bet, when it isn't. Finch News: Finches front left look right about ready to fledge. Finches front right still actually eggs. Hard to reckon the finch calendar. Seems like there are at least two good answers.