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- Daylight savings time arrives in Boston, just in time for one final snowstorm! As the sneaker factory powers up for another week of soul-crushing misery, let’s offer a quick recap of some of the weekend’s inconsequentia, just in case you weren’t around.

- Grapefruit league baseball has been underway for a few days now, offering us a kind of baseball methodone in preparation for the opening of the real season. I love seeing some of these kids, who will probably never play in the bigs, give it their all. Hell, some of them are hitting better than the guys who’re going to start. Also, seeing Papelbon pitch in the 4th inning is just…weird. Julio Lugo looks like he wants to beat you up in an alley and take your liver. Ortiz is off clowning around with the WBC, which I am convinced is conducted solely for tradition’s sake. I tried to watch the PR-DR game, specifically for Papi and Mr. Relevant himself, Pedro Martinez, but found that I was being distracted by shiny things.

- I was home feeling ill most of this weekend, having finally succumbed to the germs of doom that pass around my office like a hand towel at a Tim Lincecum press conference. We have one of those itinerant “sad old ladies” who shows up practically bleeding out of her eyes, so that everyone will say JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU LOOK LIKE AN HR GIGER PAINTING GET AWAY FROM ME which is about all anyone says to her all year. Because nobody is interested in show poodles. I’m pretty sure she managed to spread her plague filth onto me. Hooray.

Anyway, while I was trying to enjoy The Running Man on cable at 11:45 a.m. on Sunday, wearing PJs and drinking Theraflu, the fire alarm goes off. Not the smoke detector in our condo, nor the CO2 alarm…but the fire alarm for the whole complex. Great. Every safety film I’ve ever watched goes flashing through my head - grab your keys and wallet and bolt. DON’T CHANGE YOUR CLOTHES YOU WILL BURN UP.

Ehhhh. I don’t smell any smoke. I put on shorts and shoes, and made sure to turn off the stove and the tv, got my cell phone, locked the door and went outside. It was like a junior high fire drill.

Everyone milling around, looking uncomfortable, a few disinterested firemen lazily checking things, then driving away without saying anything, with the alarm still ringing. The condo guy had to crawl out from whatever cave he’d been hiding in and shut the damn thing down. Of course, by that time, I’d already gone to the bar, having been told both by the Gods and by Barry, that it was the right thing to do.

The soon-to-be-Mrs. H and I struggled for a good portion of the weekend with the concept of “Her mom’s paying for the wedding and she’s going to get her way”. We were lucky enough to get the venue we wanted, the caterers and the music, but we’ve decided, after much sturm und drang, that we’re going to not pick the Battle of the Invitation. We wanted a “green” invitation: either paperless invitations, or at least tree-free paper, something like that. Mom, however, is not having any of it. Traditional, twelve-pieces-of-paper-in-the-envelope, tissue paper, raised lettering, stamped return envelope, an extra non-renewable shrub enclosed which ignites itself in a celebratory burst of flame. The usual.

Oh yeah, can we talk about our latest discovery, the AMC show “Breaking Bad“? Holy shit this is good TV. (Hint: If you think “The Bachelor” is good TV, you are wrong.) One of the most innovative and difficult shows to watch I have ever seen. It made me uncomfortable to the point where I had trouble sleeping after watching 4 episodes in a row. But that’s what good TV does - it gets in your head and makes you think. I’m pissed that they kicked Season 1 off On Demand the very day we discovered it, but I’ll just  Netflix it. I advise you to do the same!

Better weather ahead, Fredders. See you when the sun comes out!