Ray Bradbury passed away today. Since I formed my love of books around various types of fantasy rather than science fiction, Bradbury is one of those authors I’m always ashamed to admit I’ve under-read. I’ve been trying to skew the ratio over the last several years, but I’ve been reading more contemporary fiction as opposed to the stuff that’s considered classic. Bradbury is someone I read a little of a long time ago, and he’s one of the authors whose books I’ve been meaning to dig up again. Seeing the contemporary authors I admire heap praise on him only makes me want to read his stuff more than I did before, and reminds me that I’ve been an absolutely terrible reader this year in general.
On a personal note, I played tennis tonight and frustrated myself by being fat. My technique is still good. My aim and control is coming back. Still, at least half the points I lose are out of sheer inability to run a ball down because my body can’t keep up with what my brain wants it to do. The weight loss continues, but the reminders that I still have a long way to go piss me off.
The L.A. Kings apparently played an excellent two periods of hockey tonight, and then ran out of gas just as my tennis partner and I got home to watch the last of the game. Thus, the Stanley Cup winner remains undecided, and the series goes back to New Jersey for a fifth game. It would have been nice for the cup to be won at one of the few times I’m around to watch, but I can live with it.