Jay Stowe

Last month, I ended my letter with the words “Go Reds.” Well, we know how that turned out. I managed to snag standing-room-only tickets to the final game of the National League Division Series and even though the Reds post-season was cut short by the Phillies stellar pitching, fans leaving Great American Ball Park that night did not seem dejected.

The leaves were turning a sickly sort of brown as we went to press. After three months without a drop of rain—capped by that maddening no-hitter Roy Halladay pitched against the Reds in the first game of the National League Division Series—it’s looking like our autumn will be nasty, brutish, and short.

It shocks me more than a little bit to realize that a quarter century has passed since I set off for college. It was a big deal then and—for reasons tied up with vanity and my inability to grasp how fast time truly does fly—is an even bigger deal now.

As a kid in the ’70s, I never had much faith in ghost stories. I tended to get hung up on the logistics or pick apart the logic. Like: Why would a ghost break all the china? Was he in a snit? Or: So a ghost knows how to flip a light switch on and off—big deal.

Are you having fun yet? Don’t answer that. We know you are, because we know we are.

When I was in high school and college, there was a drinking game called Thumper that, I must confess, I rather enjoyed. As drinking games go, it was pretty physical, requiring quick wits more than dexterity.

Do pets dream? I think so. My only evidence of this would be the yelps and muffled barks our dog Gillian makes in her sleep every night. One moment she’s lying in the corner of our room, still as a bone. The next she appears to be in hot pursuit of some varmint or other, her paws flinching and guttural noises emanating from her voice box.

As I write this, I am hoping with every fiber of my being that my back doesn’t suddenly seize up. Not because writing the letter from the editor is such an onerous, spine-twisting task. No, the reason is that I’ve already shoveled two driveways today—and for someone whose idea of intense exercise is a round of golf and a nice hot bath, two driveways in one day is more than enough.

For a mid-sized city not located terribly close to either coast, Cincinnati has a magnetic quality that is greatly under-estimated by the outside world.