It was a bit of a dull weekend; the period from the end of the NBA Finals to the first game of the college football season is usually nine lost weeks for me, but it does give me an opportunity to things I wouldn't normally do, like see a movie.

On Saturday, I had the house to myself, so I decided to work out the "George Foreman Grill" (ie., the single man's best friend). The task for the Iron Chef: Dodger Dogs !!! People who go to Chavez Ravine now have to settle for boiled, mushy wieners, which, if you're lucky, will have grill marks on them. I didn't take the time to steam them, but I did get the grilling part right, and boy did it bring back memories...of when I was a wee lad, and I'd go to two or three games a year with my father. Before the game, he'd leave me alone to fill out my scorecard, and he'd go to the concession stand to buy me two Dodger Dogs, nothing on them. I would finish them by the end of the second inning, and it always seemed that he would have an extra dog on hand, that he would split in two and share with me. Then we would watch the remainder of the game together, son and father, honor-bound to sit there til the bitter end. I guess with memories like that, a person doesn't die in any real sense....