Hat and tickets? Check.

I'm sure this morning's sunrise was beautiful. Rose and ambers peeking over a stretch of indigo mountains, brick buildings glowing copper in the halflights, speckled with golden window reflections.

But, for the first time in a few days, I happily missed this demonstration of nature's beauty and rejuvenation. I was curled up beneath sheets and a comforter, for all intensive purposes completely dead to the world.

I've nothing against sunrises, beyond a really lousy sense of timing. And I marveled at the North Shore dawn on Wednesday. I smiled through bleary eyes at the Vermont version yesterday. But there was no way in hell you were going to find me taking in another sunrise today.

Amazing how 8 a.m. can feel like noon in an improper context.

My brother's 22nd birthday is today. I have no idea how the baby of the family suddenly reached his second palindrome year. I've recalled here my memories of his birth before (see here if you're curious), so I'll refrain from doing so again, as 22-year-old memories don't tend to change a hell of a lot. But I will say I'm wishing him a very happy start of his birthday.

"Start" because I'll be able to wish him a happy birthday evening in person, as we stand in Fenway and clamor for home run balls from Ortiz. Look for me - I'll be the one on top of the Monster with a Red Sox hat on. Can't miss me.

I laugh as I write that, considering that I said something along similar lines before heading to the park last October and then received calls during the rally from NESN viewers (and family member) commenting on my decision to put on a jacket midway through the event.

Here's to hoping Wells is able to lower his ERA.