Today is confession day.

1. I like Boston.

I wanted to hate Boston because of all the meatheads who come to Baltimore when the Red Sox are in town and act like jackasses because of a game. But after making my first visit there over the long weekend I discovered that not everyone there is a dickbreath. In fact, the vast majority of people were friendly and helpful and their accents were actually more charming than grating. Granted, I don’t think I saw anything every tourist doesn’t see (aside from running on local streets during a half marathon), and I’m sure I was in places where no local would be caught dead other than to fleece out-of-towners, but even so the people working there were a lot cooler to be around than the dipshits who work the tourist traps of Baltimore. The half marathon I ran was well organized and nicely mapped out and the city was a great host. I’m looking forward to going back.

2. I wear Wal-Mart clothes.

I’m not a very fancy lad, but I do have standards when it comes to clothing. Everything I buy is usually name-brand, although that’s mostly because of quality than status and almost always last seaon’s goods on clearance. I’d rather buy one shirt that lasts a year or two than three than last a few washings. And I’d never ever buy the crap they call clothes at Wal-Mart. Even the socks there suck. Or so I believed. I was there buying some other stuff and walked past a rack of men’s golf polo shirts that caught my eye. They were sharp looking and very cheap ($15 in a material that would cost at least $50 with a big label on it). I tried it on and it fit great felt good, features a collar that does not roll, and is pretty well constructed. It’s probably my favorite polo now. They had other colors and designs and I might go buy more.

3. I really am mellowing in my old age.

I’ve finally come to accept the fact that nothing matters. True, you have to instill character and values into your children and that’s very important, but little things just don’t matter. And everything outside of raising children just doesn’t matter. Lose a $20 bill? Doesn’t matter. Your favorite team loses a big game? Doesn’t matter. Got fired from your job? Doesn’t matter. Girl cheats on/dumps you? It just doesn’t matter. Even the stupid things my kids do, in the grand scheme of things, don’t matter. They’re dumb kids. They’re not supposed to know everything right off the bat. No matter what happens or however tightly wound we are in life, once we’re dead we’re not going to have any control over anything aside from maybe a few legal orders. And 100 years after we die we might be a picture on someone’s holodrive, but no one is going to really know what were about or what we affected in life. So there’s no sense in worrying about stupid shit now. It took me nearly 40 years, but I get it now.

Answering the call of nature before you wet your pants kind of matters though, so see ya.