I got Aimee tickets to see her beloved Red Sox play in Anaheim for her birthday this summer, and game day was yesterday. We knew it would take awhile to travel the 39 miles to the stadium at rush hour, though I’m not sure we thought it would take nearly two and a half hours. But it did, and as we left the house at 5:05, we got to the stadium as the first inning was coming to an end. It ended up another disappointing night for Sox fans, but it was a fun night at the ball field. The temperature was extremely pleasant, and we enjoyed watching the game and the crowd while enjoying our Pyramid Hefeweizen and contemplating whether to get the only-in-California fresh fruit cup being hawked in the stands. We left a little early, fearing the worst for the commute home, but of course, after filling up on Anaheim-priced gas (it’s scary when $3.01 a gallon seems like a real bargain), we zipped up the 5 to the 101 again and were home in 35 minutes. I don’t think we’ll be doing that any time soon, but it was fun to do once.

Earlier in the day, I made my first trip to the Warner Bros. lot, where some colleagues and I went DVD shopping at the company store. We parked across from what looked like a New York City Chinese restaurant, and walked down a street of Brooklyn-esque brownstones to get to the store, which was somewhat disorienting. We walked past the massive soundstage where a casino interior was being built for Ocean’s 13, past people lugging air-conditioning hoses and giant lights and other equipment. I tried to slow down and look at the list on each wall of films, dating back to the 1920s, filmed in each soundstage, but I was with two fairly jaded guys with only DVDs on their minds, so we sped along with little time to look around. We’ll have to go on the full tour to see it at a slower pace. I got a box-set of Astaire/Rogers films for half-price, and sampled the Warner Bros. Jamba Juice location, which, I have to say, pales in comparison with real Jambas like the West Hollywood or Melrose locations – they’re missing some of the subtle touches that go beyond the drink itself. Maybe I’ve had one too many Razmatazzes, though.