::alio!::

EGAD, I've been usurped!

off the draw:

So . . . Bitter . . . of course, if I had to strip off to get attention, and used my status as a hockey sister to get a job, then oh-so-casually mentioned that I used to date Andre Roy, then I wouldn't really be fighting off my distinction as a puck bunny, now would I? Sheesh. I'm still bitter, though. Check out her website here. Haha, even Rachelle might become interested in hockey!

Jen says sportBUNNY is a "Tarty McTart-Tart." I love that girl.

Check these out, if you have about fifteen minutes. It's nice to know that we're not alone in our distaste for what's going on.

the score:

WELCOME BACK, ANTON VOLCHENKOV! Nice to see the A-Train back on the ice.

*Ahem* Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to announce that, with our win tonight, we are now ahead of Toronto and are fourth in the Eastern Conference. I don't know how long that will last, but it's still nice -- for now.

Went to Sergeant's with Caity (skipping French class) and Stefan (skipping life). It definitely has more atmosphere than Rockwell's. More fans, too. Stressful game, though. Redden opened the scoring with a nice feed from Caity's boy, Havlat. Then Vermette got one on a nice give-and-go from Smolinski and Spezza. Unfortunately, Jokinen, the scariest-looking mofo on the ice tonight, also scored, but Philly -- lovely, LOVELY Philly -- came back at 19:59 from a beautiful setup of Bonk and Hossa to score.

The second period was a disaster. First it was Berglund, then Van Ryn (shorthanded), and we were tied for no reason. Then they pulled Prusek! I would like to put out a call to the city of Ottawa to give Super-K a nice big hug. He deserves it. He tried, but tonight was not his night. And this wasn't Lalime-calibre inconsistency -- it just wasn't his night. If he'd held out, I'm sure he could have won it for us, anyway. I mean, it wasn't Em's night, either. He let in a goal by Kolnik and looked pretty unsure of himself for the rest of the night. Stef said it was his "trial by fire," but I think Ottawa's defense really saved him tonight. Incidentally, I wonder who gets the win if both goalies play for equal time? Anyway, then Hossa, shorthanded (see why I love this boy?) deflected a Vermette shot from Chara and we were tied again. Thank god.

Caitlin stopped grumping at this point, but was still not smiling. Then -- from a Mike Fisher feed, her favourite boy knocked it past the stellar Luongo to win the game. Then she started to smile.

I can't say I had my full attention on the game. I'm sorry. I was in the midst of several conversations, and I was trying to drink beer and eat food without making my jersey messy [aside: should I wash it BEFORE Thursday, or after? Where's the mojo coming from? I think I'll wash it before]. I didn't notice too many mistakes, except for the too many men penalty, and a stupid move by Chara that got him put in the box. And the officiating wasn't bad. All the calls seemed to be pretty legit. So not a bad game, over all. I would rather the score was a little higher on our side and a little lower on theirs, but when you have Luongo in net, what can you expect, eh?

Anyway, my boy saved the game; Cait's boy won it. Stef's boy was portrayed by a four-eyed clone in the bar. That was weird. What more could you ask for?

The most amusing part of the evening happened during the second intermission. I rushed my way to the washroom to break the seal on two pints, a glass of milk, and a glass of water, and there was this dude slightly ahead of me, sauntering his way to the men's room. He was so busy sauntering and trying to check me out at the same time (because god knows how sexy I am with an enormous jersey covering me from neck to knees) that he walked into the door of the men's room. MWAHAHAHAH!

off the ice:

If you haven't seen it already, sign up for TSN.ca and watch it: Moore speaks. If you don't want to do that, get the skinny here.

I haven't decided if this is interesting or not. Neat that they explained the rules, though.

This dude is eligible for the 2005 draft, to be held in Ottawa. I wonder who'll get the next "Great One"?

in other news:

News we all want to hear . . . Of course, now that I've deleted KaZaA, I can't get it again without paying $1.99/m for it.

Ugh. I had this terrifying dream the other day that I found a huge lump in my left breast and that it hurt like hell. I woke up in a panic, and checked it out, but of course, there was nothing there. It still freaks me out, though. I don't know what I would've done if I'd woken up and there WAS one there. I mean, I may have issues with my melons because they're cumbersome, but I would flip if I lost one of them. The worst part of the dream was that I could actually feel the lump . . . *shudder*

I have to start my English essay at some point soon. It's due Wednesday. It's only three pages, though, so I'm not all that keen to get a head start. In fact, yesterday, when the goobermonster gave us the afternoon off because it was a nice day (that doesn't make him any less of a Nazi, BTW), I spent it cleaning parts of my room. I'll tackle my closet and chest of drawers when I'm REALLY procrastinating -- so expect them to be spotless come Sunday.

Red bra, white shirt.

off the draw:

Why is it that red bras don't show up underneath white shirts? Hmmmm?

I got an email from my friend Adri the other day. Sort of a whoops-I-forgot-to-tell-you-but-I'm-studying-in-Dakar kinda deal. That was a shock. Entertaining, though. Very Adri. I should write her back, but I'm compiling the right amount of vitriol to fling in her direction for not telling me she was going to Senegal in the first place . . .

Did you vote?

It's funny 'cuz it's true . . .

the score:

Went to Rockwell's. I took the Brits, and we met up with Stefan, Jon, and Matt. A good time was had by all, and sports, be it hockey or football, dominated the conversation. There weren't a lot of people in the restaurant. I don't think I like it as much as Sergeant's. There are no drunken old people yelling at the TV. Dave said he was expecting more of an atmosphere. I'll try to get them to another game during the playoffs, when they come back from NFLD.

Not the best game by Ottawa, but what can you do? They beat the best team in the league (so Marc, put that in your pipe and smoke it), and that's not a bad thing. There was a damper on the evening, however, as Jon continually put my pretty Super-K down. But he couldn't come up with a good reason for hating him. We had a good one for not liking Patty: he sucks. I think Pru would've done better tonight, however, if Redden hadn't made so many horrid gaffes as he did. He was terrible.

The goals tonight were pretty. Havlat's in the first was textbook. Hossa then tried to score and almost had it but missed, so I was able to show the Brits how to lip-read hockey swearing on TV. Alfredsson's was from the blueline almost and helped battle back from a tie. Basically, the whole game was a big frustrating ball of ties. Hossa's, an amazing goal, also broke a tie. That one seemed to have a lot of tension behind it, because it was getting late in the third when that happened. Then Tampa tied it again. They are persistent little buggers. But then Fisher scored on a nifty deflection, and broke that tie.

Prusek was pretty sharp tonight. It wasn't his best game by far, but we can't all be perfect. He had at least two goals that he prolly wants back, but one of them, after a pass-across the crease, he didn't have a chance on. Goalies never do on that move. It's essentially a fool-proof play.

Anyway, it was -- surprise -- tied again and we went into overtime. Knowing Ottawa's OT record, I was a little nervous, but then Sarah's favourite player (yes, that's Phillips), made a nice slap shot and bulged the mesh to win it. They were all so happy! They kept patting him on the back and laughing. It did my heart good.

What also did my heart good was seeing the hundred or so Ottawa loyal in Tampa Bay. I think many of them were winners of the Hockey Night in Florida contest that raged in Ottawa for about two months this winter. If I'm right, that means we'll see them at the Panthers game on Wednesday . . .

off the ice:

So how many teams from Canada are making the playoffs? This many. And the funny thing is that only Calgary has a Canadian captain. Naslund, Sundin, and Alfredsson are Swedish, and Koivu's Finnish. So Iginla's all alone.

Alfie's cut a deal: $32.5 million for five years, plus three one-year options after that. He'll be here for the rest of his career. WEEHOO!

in other news:

So they found Cecilia's body yesterday. I don't know if it would have been better to have never found her at all, and still had that faint hope, or to have identified her by her dental records, and know that you've lost your little girl?

Shit's random these days. I can't deal. The Brits are in my house. They both talk a lot, so I keep having to remember how to hold four simultaneous conversations. It gets complicated, especially when each of them is working on two or three threads at the same time. But it's fun. It's been too long since the last time they were here. They're going to NFLD for a week next week, and then they'll be back for another week. So just when I've stopped thinking in British (this happens whenever I spend a large amount of time around someone with an accent), they'll come back and screw me over -- again. Gotta love 'em.

They want me to come and stay with them for a while, and I'm seriously thinking about it. Henna can get me a job at her university, part-time, and then I can just fanny about the country for a while. I would love to do it. I'd have to set up a work visa and everything, but because I know people who live there, and I would be staying with them, it wouldn't be so difficult. If I decide to go, it'll be next summer. Probably not for the whole summer -- I couldn't miss the playoffs, especially considering where I hope to be studying -- but maybe the second week of June until late August. And my daddy would probably buy me the plane ticket as a graduation present.

It would mean most likely quitting my present job with the goobermonster (I don't think three months' vacation would qualify me as a hard worker!), but, dependant on me getting my graduate funding and whathaveyou, I will likely have a TA-ship waiting for me when I come back, so employment shouldn't be a problem.

I know it seems like an odd time to go gallivanting abroad, with everyone graduating and moving off to far places to be grown-ups (what a depressing thought! I refuse to be a grown-up. I have added the digits of my age together, and come to the conclusion that I am actually only FOUR). But I also think that it's something I should really do. I didn't go away from home to go to university, and I'll also be staying in Ottawa to do my MA (if all goes well). With the exception of a trip to Japan, a foray back to Lotusland (BC), and my yearly birthday pilgrimage, I don't really go anywhere. My mother and I are pushing my father to take us to Hawaii to see the volcanoes, or Tuscany, to pick up hot Italians, but those are just ephemeral dreams.

Aside from the fact that I used to live there, I haven't been to the UK in nineteen years. I think it's time to go back, you know? I need to be able to say, yeah, I did this. That's important.

Of course, this is all dependent on whether or not the funding application I make up and send in October gets accepted. And whether Carleton wants me to do my degree there. Not really dependent on the OSHC. I love how you can get funding before you've even applied to grad school. But there you have it. It's just something I'm thinking about.

Funny story. In Sex today, Stef gave me the birthday present he and Jon got for me. As expected, it's a Marian Hossa action figure. *insert extra-girlie squeal here* I was exclaiming over the detail of the thing, and Stef was telling me about the difficulty he and Jon had in obtaining it, and he told me about the different kinds. He said that mine was about $25 or so, and there was one where he's wearing a red jersey that's about $75. THEN he told me that there was also a rare white jersey set where the manufacturers fucked up and gave him one red arm and one white one. He said those were worth between $100 and $200. I was examining my little figure and I said, "Oh, you mean like this one?" HAHAHA, I have a rare figure. So what Stef recommended is that I see what I can get for an unopened one, then sell it on eBay and buy the limited edition red one. It's brilliant. He also suggested, Marc, that you might know how to value the bloody thing. Anyway, the whole scenario is hilarious. Stefan was very surprised. I'm so pleased. Even if I don't sell it, I have a mini-HOSSA! AHAHAHAH.

He would fire me in a second if he read this.

off the draw:

This is my favourite picture of the year. It's even better than the one of Hossa and Havlat in Santa hats. This is from the Habs game on Thursday. It's nifty.

HAHA! I TOLD you Old Navy was the devil!

the score:

Didn't really pay too much attention tonight. I was too hyped up. I went to Caity's, with Sarah, and we were talking a lot as the game went by. Perhaps if we'd paid more attention, then they would have done better. But beer, you know?

However, fabulous play by my three favourite players: Prusek (Super-K!), Hossa (Fero) and Phillips (Philly). They were all amazing, and Philly scored after Ray scored, so all was brilliant. I love Philly. I decided tonight that he was to be Sarah's favourite player, because he and she have the same birthday. He's just six years older, is all. Anyway, and Pru made all the important saves. I was PRAYING that he would start tonight. PRAYING. And then Patty fell over himself and Super-K was in the net and alluvasudden I knew the game wouldn't end with Toronto kicking our asses. And Hossa! Sure, he didn't score, but did you see him at the end of the third and all through OT? He was anywhere and everywhere. And he looked really hot while he did it. *sigh*

Sorry, it's the beer talking. Everything else I've written here tonight was in a rational state. This isn't. Dave and Henna are here, and I got birthday presents today from people and everything is FABULOUS. WE DIDN'T LOSE!

off the ice:

WHY ARE WE STILL FIFTH? HOW COULD BOSTON WIN TONIGHT? THEY SUCK!

in other news:

Drew wasn't in class yesterday, so I wore my jersey in vain . . .

I also had THE most frustrating afternoon at work yesterday. On Fridays I only work in the afternoon, from 2:00 to 4:30. When I got there, Susanne was in, and so I didn't have a desk for the first hour, which is especially annoying, as I have a shitload of files to catch up on, wills and family law crap, etc. . . . And there's an accounting problem that I walked in on half-way through, and everyone was running around, asking questions I didn't know the answers to.

Then the goobermonster started to rant.

We have this client whose wife ran off with this woman she met on the internet. Having met her husband, I don't really blame her. But her new girlfriend is evil, and so is she. The wife went to Portugal (they're Portuguese) to meet this woman, who is Brazillian, taking her daughters, and got kicked out of her mother's house, because her mother didn't approve of the lesbian relationship. So they moved in with a bad crowd. The oldest daughter called home to daddy, asking him to come get them. He came, and the wife prevented access to the children, sometimes even locking them in the apartment while she went out with her girlfriend. The case is a little more complex than this, but it was about this part of it that the goobermonster began to expectorate. Apparently, according to him, this was a house full of "queers," and there had been involvement with the Children's Aid Society because -- so he said -- being exposed to a "house full of queers" is tantamount to child abuse, and the children should be put in protective custody, or in the custody of the father.

I was standing next to him at the time, thinking don't deck him, don't deck him, but Jen was a safe distance away and said something like, "I know we have different opinions, but I don't see being exposed to gay people as abuse." And off the goobermonster went again.

Then we got a call from the solicitor for the wife. I can't deal with this woman -- she stresses me out, because she's always so flustered. So the two laywers talked for sometime, their voices getting increasingly louder and higher as the conversation went on. It eventually degenerated into name-calling, and then one of them hung up. The goobermonster came tearing out of his office, ranting about "lady lawyers" and how useless they were and how they should just stay at home, because that was all they were good for.

Then he left. Jen and I thought we had never been more offended in our lives.

But then he came back. As Jen and I were leaving for the day, the goobermonster brought up hockey. I had previously told him my plan for my master's degree, which I now regret, because he only laughs at it. He laughs whenever I bring up anthropology in general, and always tries to argue anthropology with me, trying to make it seem that he knows more about it than I do. Anyway, he asked me what I was going to do after my degrees were done. I told him that by then, I figured I would have enough knowledge about players and administration and everything to maybe get a job in the league, like as a scout. He laughed uproariously. "You? A SCOUT? Don't you have to be a hockey player to be a scout?" I pointed out that, no, that wasn't necessary; you just had to have an eye for a good player. He then said something to the effect that I did have an eye for a good player -- a good-looking player -- and that I should just marry a player and get it over with, because that was the only reason I was doing this whole thing. Then, all patronizing-like, he leaned in and said, "I think you should rethink THAT whole career move."

Well FUCK YOU. Fuck you for not only being the complete antithesis of encouraging, but also for going out of your way to imply that there was no way in hell that I, as a woman, would know anything about what I was doing, and might actually be good enough at it to do it for a career. Fuck.

I'm sorry, I know I complain about the goobermonster a lot. If he weren't such a fascist who was completely opposed to constructive criticism, I might be a happier employee. But he's a total nazi. I disagree with everything he stands for, and his approach to the failings and foibles of mankind, along with many of its strengths, leaves me feeling ill. It scares me that people like him are in charge. It really scares me.

I know, I could just quit. But where can I possibly find a job that pays me 12$/h, and is close to my house so that I can go to school and work at the same time? In fact, where am I going to find a job, period? I've had friends who have been looking for work in this city for six months and have found NOTHING. Not even the McJobs are hiring. So I'm stuck. Unless he reads this and fires me. Which could happen.

My life in a puddle.

off the draw:

If you ever thought Canadian gun laws were over the top . . .

Gotta love living in the most corrupt city in the country. The budget is due, and everyone is out for himself. In order to cut down on electricity costs in the wake of the great blackout (caused by the Americans, I might add), they're turning off the lights in all the city parks at night. But they're also taking a significant chunk of money from the city's police force, while at the same time advocating more policing on the streets . . . let me be one of the million people in this city saying, "HUH?"

the score:

I got to see a lotta neat stuff in my abbreviated dose of hockey tonight. I figure the boys' success tonight had some small thing to do with the fact that there were TWO -- count 'em, TWO -- full regalia'ed Sens fans in my Comics and Culture class tonight. Weehoo. By two, I mean myself in my Alfie shirt and this guy Brendan in his jersey, being supportive of a rough-and-tumble sport in a class full of twenty intellectuals who have no idea what the attraction is. Weehoo.

On the way home, I listened to the analysts and the story of the 10-21-11 line, responsible for all the goals and assists up to that point. Nifty. The shots were pretty even in this game, so that must mean that Theo was really shitty. And he was. He missed a lazy pass from Neil to Vanner to Spezza that looked like they were teaching littl'uns how to play the game. He looked like Lalime on a bad day. The boos were deafening.

But when Lalime is good, boy, is he good. Here's hoping him being an idiot was a wakeup call, and that perhaps he'll have TWO good games . . . in a row? Anyway, he was brilliant tonight. Very few of his saves that I saw were routine, and all of them were unbelievable. Like you can't believe he stopped them. It was like instinct to him. Hell, he took one in the head from Ryder and still caught it in his glove. His rebounds went where they should. His puckhandling was solid. He was Patty again. You could see it in the smile on his face. I liked how, after the game was over, he beckoned to the rest of his teammates, like he was saying, "that's right, come on, come on over here and feel the love." Neat.

Have I ever mentioned to you how much I respect Chris Phillips as a defenseman? I'm sure I've implied it, but let's have us a little Philly love-in. He's just so CONSISTENT. But because he's just consistent, people tend to forget that he's positively enormous, and he can use that really effectively. He does this thing that's unique to him. He'll take his man, stick out the left arm, swing around in front of him, and put his blades down so the opponent is pushing against dead weight. Then, when he's got him slowed down enough, he'll just push them over. It's great. He did that tonight. Trademark Philly. I love it.

off the ice:

I hear Roberto Luongo broke a league historical record for saves made tonight. I think it was only a matter of time -- that guy kisses more rubber each day than the Michelin Man.

People wonder why Patty wasn't traded. I think there would be a mutiny if he was. The boys adore him.

in other news:

It rained all day, and then it was foggy. Fog and snow make things look really surreal, but they also hide the giant puddle that is Ottawa. There are even ducks paddling around. At least it's warm.

I'm miffed. My favourite pair of jeans was wearing thin in one spot. Then, tonight, when I leapt into my car -- they ripped. Boo. I love these jeans.

Class was good, though. We watched Spirited Away, which was really neat.

Other than that, though, I feel like a huge weight is off my shoulders. I wrote my last major paper last night. I finished it at about 12:30 this morning. It was on jumbo, giant, and colossal squid. I am now officially fascinated with large cephalopods. What a nerd am I, eh? But now I only have three assignments left before exams: a mini essay for History of the English Language, an OED assignment for HEL, and my sex portfolio, which I have a month to put together.

AND

Henna and her husband are coming THIS SATURDAY! I hadn't realized it was so soon. I'm stoked. It's rad. Maybe I can persuade them to watch the Leafs game with me. They don't understand anything but football (they're English), so it'll be interesting.

I'm going to wear my jersey to class tomorrow. I decided that this morning. If they won, I was going to show my support for the upcoming Toronto game. It's important that I do it tomorrow, because Drew, my arch-nemesis, is in that class, and he's got the whole deal: the hat, the jersey . . . everything. All Leafs. All the time. We have an uneasy truce because we think we're the only two actual anthro majors in the class, so we have to graduate together, but other than that, we're actually mortal enemies. I want to show him that he's not the only one with a fancy shirt. In fact, mine's fancier, because his has no name on it. Pfft! That's such a "Leaf Nation" mentality. PEE ESS: did you know there's now a magazine specifically for Leafs fans? What's it called? Of course -- Leaf Nation.

Good night, all.

"bored now"

Rachelle sent this to me:

x. What is your secret guaranteed weeping movie?
Steel Magnolias. I can't watch it anymore.
x. If you could have plastic surgery, what would you have done?
Maybe a few nips and tucks . . .
x. Do you have a completely irrational fear?
Nothing irrational: just heights, deep water, and scutigera coleoptrata
x. What is the little physical habit that gives away your insecure moment?
I blush. Even when I'm not insecure.
x. Are you a pyromaniac?
Nah. Been there. Done that.
x. Do you have too many love interests?
One interest, no prospects.
x. Do you know anyone famous?
I met Mario Bernardi once . . .
x. Describe your bed:
Blue and comfy, but not very big.
x. Spontaneous or plan?
I like to fly by the seat of my pants -- as long as I know about it ahead of time.
x. Do you know how to play poker?
Not very well.
x. What do you carry with you at all times?
Glasses, Lactaid. ID.
x. What do you miss most about being little?
Blithely leaving the management of the world to others.
x. Are you happy with your given name?
Yep.
x. How much money would it take to get you to give up the Internet for one year?
Enough to pay for all my postgrad education, and I'd do it.
x. Do you like yourself and believe in yourself?
Mostly, yes.
x. Do transient, homeless, or starving people bother you?
If they harass me, then yes. But anyone who harasses me bothers me.
x. Do you consider yourself to be a nice person?
Everyone else does, more or less.
x. Do you spend more time with your boyfriend or your friends?
Friends.
x. What's one thing you wish you could do but can't?
SKATE. But I'm working on it.
x. What is your ideal marriage location?
I'll let you know when I've seen all there is to see.
x. Which musical instrument do you wish you could play?
Electric guitar.
x. Favorite fabric?
Cotton.
x. Something you love and hate?
Hockey.
x. What kind of bedding do you use?
Cotton.
x. Do you tell your friends about your sex life?
If I HAD one . . .
x. What's the one language you want to learn?
Slovak?
x. What do you order at a bar?
Whiskey Sour.
x. Have you ever pierced your body parts?
Ears and navel only. I'm thinking about the eyebrow.
x. Do you have tattoos?
Not at present.
x. Would you ever admit to having done plastic surgery any kind if confronted?
Why not?
x. Do you drive stick?
Not yet.
x. What's one trait you hate in a person?
Insincerity.
x. What kind of watch(es) do you wear?
Timex. Takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'.
x. Most frivolous purchase?
My skates?
x. Do you consider yourself materialistic?
I would be even more so if I weren't broke.
x. What do you cook the best?
I make a wicked spaghetti sauce.
x. Favorite writing instrument?
Something rolly that glides well and isn't super fine. Papermate ballpoints are good.
x. Do you prefer to stand out or blend in?
Depends on the situation, but mostly stand out.
x. Do you have anything monogrammed?
Just a few sweaters from high school, and my Hossa jersey, but that's not my name.
x. What kind of books do you like to read?
Pretty much everything.
x. If you won the lottery, what would you do?
Buy season tickets, and then go shopping.
x. What's one thing you're a sore loser at?
Hmm . . . I'm not very competitive, so I guess I just hate losing arguments.
x. If you don't like a person, how do you show it?
I try to avoid having to deal with them, because then I might say something rude.
x. Do you cry in front of friends?
I think I've maybe only cried in front of Cait or Lisa, and even then I'm not sure.
x. What kind of first impression do you think you give to people?
I'm really shy, so people get the impression I'm a snob.
x. What's one thing you like to do alone?
Daydream. People talking to you really fucks it up.
x. Are you a giver or a taker?
I'm a giver.
x. When's the last time you cried?
When I wrote that blog about my Granddad.
x. Favorite communication method?
Email. The telephone is the devil.
x. How many drinks before you're tipsy?
Six or seven, depending on my state of health and how much I've eaten.
x. Favorite kind of porn?
Literary. I like to come up with my own images. Trashy romance novels are hilarious.
x. Do you ever have to beg?
Only to get the car.
x. How often do you have sex?
Oh god, not nearly as often as I'd like.
x. Have you ever done any illegal drugs?
Who hasn't?
x. Do you think you're cute?
Sometimes.
x. Do you have problems changing clothes in front of friends?
Nah. Boy or girl, it's not like they're seeing anything they've never seen before.
x. What's the most painful experience you've ever had?
I prolly blanked it out.

What do you have to say??

Carleton: Where the "K" Stands for "Quality."

off the draw:

GO

CROWS

GO!

MWAHAHAHA!

the score:

Let's look at the stats for a minute, shall we? Before tonight's game, this season, the Sens were 3-1-1 against Boston. Of that 3-1-1, Patty was the 0-1-1 part, and Super-K was the 3-0-0. Unfortunately, Super-K's having back problems, and so we have Patty.

. . . Aaaaand, we lose the first faceoff. Surprised? I'm not.

This leads to Green, as equally annoying a Bruin as he was a Leaf, walking in and scoring, because Patty played the puck like he was at miniputt and basically scored on himself.

Thus followed an amazing series of utter fuckups by Ottawa. AmAZing. Patty bailed 'em out many, many times. I'm glad he's so flexible, but he's going to be sore tomorrow, that's for sure. Those acrobatics can't come without a cost. It was neat to see, though. It's like Patty mentally kicked himself in the butt for being a goob, and was stellar for the rest of the period.

The second opened with much of the same -- in the Ottawa zone. Nice offensive chances from Smoke, Reds, and Bonzai, but Raycroft -- in the running for the Calder this year against the Habs' Ryder -- was solid.

Then Reds makes a big mistake -- his first of about four tonight -- by jumping up on the play shorthanded, pinching at the wrong moment, and then failing to get back in time. Samsonov scored, and Patty didn't have a chance. It wasn't just Redden's fault, however. deVries was all over the wrong place, and that left Van Allen to cover the slot. He's not a defenceman.

There were some more scary moments, but Patty was good. One in particular I remember: Patty was actually out of position, but Chara used his long reach and illegal stick to scoop the puck away before it hit the goal line, saving his team a 3-0 situation.

A lot of "almosts" characterized the third, but, as Brandy says, "almost doesn't count." And it didn't. BUT THEN. Bonk passed to Alfredsson, who took a shot that was blocked, but Havlat got the rebound and DING! Ottawa was finally on the board and back in the game. The goal was briefly under review, but I don't know why. It was pretty cut and dried.

More of Boston capitalizing on Ottawa mistakes, but Patty bailing them out, yahda, yahda, yahda . . . BUT THEN. Patty should never be allowed to handle the puck. He is TERRIBLE at it. He came waaaaaay out of the net, decided to bat the biscuit out, but it was rolling when he did so, and so he got almost no wood on it at all, ended up passing it directly to Murray, who scooped it over the diving Lalime to make it 3-1. The Bruins really liked the way that two-goal cushion felt, and they were determined to keep it up.

Seconds later, however, Spezza took advantage of a nifty play by Schaefer and Havlat to pot another, and it was 3-2. The television camera cut to a shot of the lone Sens fan in the audience, on his feet, yelling, clapping, sticking it to the black-and-gold bleeding fans around him. Poor sucker.

More scary moments, particularly a bizarrely bad move by Redden, but again Patty made the save. Alas, Van Allen got a penalty for holding the stick (whatever beefs I have with tonight's game, the officiating wasn't one of them. Kerry Fraser was on the ice, and if he missed a call for one team, he made sure he evened it up for the other team -- but he didn't miss much), and Boynton scored a few seconds after the Boston power play was over. Again with the two-goal cushion.

With less than a minute to go in regulation, Patty headed for the bench. [As an aside, does this ever work? Does anybody ever score with the extra attacker? I only ever see the empty net goals when this goes on.] Tonight, they were lucky. They managed to keep the puck pretty much in the Boston zone, but it did no good. They lost. They were terrible.

Aside from Patty's utter idiocy on the first goal and the third, he had a pretty good game, making over thirty, sometimes absolutely mind-blowingly spectacular, saves. He didn't have a chance on the second and fourth goals against him. The overall shitty play of the rest of the team ensured that. And for all the bellyaching over Alfie being out for three games, you'd figure he'd make a huge comeback. Shit, I didn't even notice he was there half the time.

Actually, I can't make that sweeping generalization. One player had a good game, and that player would be Josh Langfeld. He's so amazingly irritating on the forecheck, and I didn't see him make any mistakes tonight. He gets a gold star.

I almost feel like it's something *I'm* doing wrong, you know? Like I'm not sending enough positive chi over in their direction. But superstition aside, I have absolutely no control over their shittiness. They're not going to win the Cup this year; I knew that from the start. But they could at least make it look like they're trying.

off the ice:

I always thought that "Hoss" was a stupid nickname for Marian Hossa. I like his Slovak one better.

Will Moore recover?

More bruises to the image of the NHL . . .

. . . aaaaaand another one. (although what can you expect from a Leaf?)

in other news:

My new favourite fun game . . .

My mail today was amusingly incongruous: a Victoria's Secret Catalogue and The Hockey News.

Jen told me today that the goobermonster has a reputation across the city as being extremely difficult to work with. And we thought it was just us!

It's unbelievable what you find on the internet. Whilst taking notes for my porn essay, I noticed one Christian Fundamentalist spouting off about the fact that internet porn was all about bestiality, incest, and necrophilia. I scoffed, thinking, "how much necrophilia can there truly be on the internet?" So I googled it. You would be shocked. I was shocked, and horribly fascinated at the same time. I believe you can do whatever you want, sexually, as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult. Being dead does not, in my books, qualify as aquiescence. So, yes, I think necrophilia is very, very wrong. There were people on these sites who encouraged people to lose their virginity to corpses! They were listing ways of getting around federal and state laws! WHAT! THE! HELL? I didn't even dare look up bestiality sites. I thought I was pretty jaded, but there's only so much I can take in one day.

Then I went on to this other site, a Christian site again, spewing vitriol about the dangers of porn. Amusingly enough, the pro-porn sites I've visited have had multiple sources to back up their claims. All the anti-porn sites I've visited have two: the Bible and this dude called Dr. Cline. Anyway, this other site appeared to me to be just as disturbing as the necrophilia. Basically, the guy was saying that if you look at porn once, you're fucked, and you'll be addicted for life. Addiction will only lead to acting out your twisted sexual fantasies on other people. THEN, he goes on: "Sin not only enslaves us, but it distances us from God." Why should we care? Because "we have been created by God to have our intimacy needs met most deeply by God himself." WTF? What is this, deiphilia? Some inverted incubus/succubus dealie? Sheesh. I'd rather not be screwed by God, thanks very much.

You know what? Fuck this "God" guy. It's His hand behind the Crusades. The persecution of the Jews. 9/11. Iraq. Afghanistan. I'm totally disenfranchised with Western religion. It's all bullshit. They're all fighting for their particular deity, but it's all the SAME ONE!

Being on the animistic side of religious, I'm feeling distinctly anti-Christian right about now, especially with the whole nonsense about gay marriage being anti-Christian. What about David and -- Johnathan, was it? They were so gay, and David got to be king! Sorry, I don't mean to be offensive, or anything, I just don't appreciate having this whole God thing thrown in my face every time I turn around. I hate to break it to you, folks, but He doesn't control everything. If He did, then we'd be in a lotta trouble right now.

So, yeah, let's all blow up nuns.

Being "Bertuzzied" has entered into the general lexicon.

off the top:

Longest. Post. Ever. I apologize. I've been in front of my computer pretty much all day. The picture of the day is actually a cartoon I drew tonight, whilst sitting in front of my computer. It's not very good, and it's not very funny, but I didn't have anything else to put up tonight, so you can suck it.

People have been moderately well-behaved this week. Congratulations!

Except for Domi. Apparently, he severely insulted Bill McCreary, and so McCreary's daughter tried to return a stick he gave her, because he was such an ass. He apologized, and gave her another stick, but he's still an ass. This cartoon is an old one, but he hasn't changed much . . .

Toronto fights back. "Take that, Bob Chiarelli!"

Ravens Rule! GO CROWS GO!

the score:

There was no one for me to go to Sergeant's with, so I ended up listening to the TEAM 1200 while taking notes for my porn essay and preventing my mice from killing each other. But you know, I've watched this team so carefully and so often that I can see them in my mind as I listen to them. So it's not so bad.

The first period started badly. Major brainfarts on the part of Ottawa. This continued, with Redden and Hossa being the biggest culprits. Everyone tried to give the puck away at least twice in the first twenty minutes. Redden and Hossa made up for it later, though, as Redden tried to get it away from the corner, and ended up passing it to Hossa, who lost it, then stole it back and scored. Chara got the other assist. Hossa said in an interview between periods that he's just been lucky against Carolina. I think it's because he's just amazing. He has thirty-four goals on the season.

Despite the giveaways and the attempts to be fancy on the part of his team, Patty was solid, and the one shot he missed hit the post -- CLINK! Even Ray had a good period, taking the puck all the way across the ice to the net.

The second period started poorly, as well. Despite having taken 63% of the faceoffs in the first, Ottawa lost a crucial one and Sean Hill, from Brind'Amour, scored off the draw. This is why Carolina has the second-best faceoff percentage in the league, and Ottawa is 26th.

Then Ottawa decided to show why they were the highest-scoring team in the league. Neil got clipped pretty hard with a stick and drew a double minor. Ottawa killed the first one off all by themselves, but the second was a little better -- and by a little, I mean Ottawa had ONE shot on goal. Right afterwards, it was Pothier to Havlat to Spezza -- the receiver of a load of new sticks today -- who . . . SCORED! His twentieth of the season and his first in SEVENTEEN GAMES. I wish I could have seen the smile on his face.

deVries took a penalty for cross-checking, which Ottawa killed, then Spezza drew one for slashing. {as an aside, it's interesting that "tricky-dicky-do" can count as a technical term when discussing hockey}. Lalime made a nice save on a shorthanded chance, and then that started an exciting rush back the other way.

Haha, Reds ran into the back of the net . . . [because I'm at my computer, doing research, whilst listening to the game, my colour commentary is going to be a little sporadic]

Fucker. Leafs are winning 3-0. Whoops, now it's only 3-2 over the Avs. Go Avs go. Shit, now it's 4-2. Final: 5-2.

Bad refs. Baaaad refs. High sticks, face-washes . . . nothing. Not a single call. GRR. They called only offsides tonight. Even questionable offsides. They didn't call goalie interference on Carolina's second goal. They didn't call it when Spezza got smoked away from play. This is ridiculous. They were looking right at them!

I hate overtime . . .

Thank god Lalime was good tonight. Hossa totally hooked up on a rush. Refs hadn't made call since 15:16 of the second period. AAUGH!! Annnnnnd we lose.

Having a good game tonight was Brian Pothier. I can't believe there were rumours that he was on the trade block. He's fabulous, patient, strong . . . just a brilliant defenseman who's not afraid to jump up on the play. Also Spezza was red-hot tonight. Scoring has done wonders for his confidence.

Everybody's favourite Latvian also had a good night. The highest paid player in the ECHL brings in a yearly paycheque big enough to BUY the team. HAHAHAHA. Razor sharp tonight, positively stoning brilliant offensive chances by Spezza, Havlat, and Smolinski.

Do I need to explain my feelings on the part of the referees? The only reason the 'Canes won tonight was because of the sheer stupidity of the officials. I wish there were still three of them on the ice so that you could get the organist to play "Three Blind Mice." This game was positively ludicrous. Hell, I didn't see it, but I still heard the boos after missed calls, and the disbelieving voices of Gord and Dean as they watched the refs look right at the infractions and then turn the other cheek. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Why is the league examining the players' habits? They should be looking at the dudes in the striped shirts. THEY are what is wrong with the game. GOD, it makes me so angry that the boys can't even PLAY nowadays. They're not cheating, because they can get away with it. The officiating is ruining the game, not the players, not even Bertuzzi. It's the officials.

Goddamnit.

off the ice:

Good news on the player front:

Varada skates with the team and Volchenkov is cleared for contact.

Chara takes on faceoffs. Well, if he puts as much dedication into learning this as he does his schooling and shots on net, he'll be at 70% before you know it.

Redden's 16th goal on Thursday now puts him in the lead for goals by a defenseman. Looks like Chara will have some competition for the Norris trophy, after all . . .

in other news:

I'm looking at my comic strips that I scanned in the day before yesterday. I really scanned them in a hurry, and some of the lines and text are cut off at the top. And I'm noticing all the things I forgot to colour in my haste. And my errors. I hope it's actually amusing . . . I'm making them web-ready, so, Stefan-dependant, you should get to see them soon.

Speaking of posting, mail is a mixed blessing. The last time I got mail was Wednesday, I think. One package was a birthday present from Chel {It was funny. She gave me hockey!}, a few were bills and the like, and another was my semiannual alumni newsletter from my high school. It's an odd little missive, usually, because most of it is celebration of its Life members (of which I am one) and then mention of those LCI alum who have died. And then they ask for money for one thing or another. This time, they're renovating the Aud. I'll pay for that. It hasn't been painted in forty years, and it's a beautiful room. But there was also this announcement that my homeroom and Spanish teacher, Leticia Trevino, had died. I didn't even know she was sick. Weird. I'm not really upset or anything, because we weren't friends, or anything, but it's just weird to consider that someone you know, someone you've interacted with, is not there anymore. Hm.

Speaking of not being there anymore, it looks like we'll be moving offices sometime soon. The Goobermonster has been fighting with the landlady for a few months. Then he bluffed, and she called it. The real estate agents brought this psychiatrist couple in to show them the suite yesterday, which was weird. They sounded like they'd pretty much decided to rent it.

Here's the thing, though. The Goobermonster is going to procrastinate and complain, and so in the end, we're going to be evicted, and we won't have a place to go. He won't let Jen and I look for a place until he's made up his mind. And if he moves, it has to be in this general area, or I'm hooped. He wants to get a place somewhere in his neighbourhood, but that's about a fifteen minute drive from my place. There's no way in hell. And Jen couldn't get there, at all. If he went downtown, it would be good for Jen, but it's just not plausible for me to go to school in the south end and then make it to the downtown core for work. So, unless he's moving to a place near here, I'm probably going to be out of a job in September. So if you know any office spaces in the Island Park/Hampton Park/Mechanicsville/Hintonburg/Westboro Area, let me know. I just can't commute.

Speaking of commuting, there's this girl in my comics and culture class who lives in VERMONT. Yes, the STATE. Her husband is a landscape architect there, and she drives up here for two days a week to go to class. INSANE.

Speaking of insane . . .

Here was the conversation I heard yesterday morning at about eight:

DAD: Chris, get up.
CHRIS: Ungh.
DAD: Chris, get up.
CHRIS: Uh, ungh.
DAD: Chris, really, get up.
CHRIS: Ug. Okay, okay . . .
DAD: No, Chris. Get up.
CHRIS: . . .
DAD: CHRIS!
CHRIS: Uh, I'm up, I'm . . .
DAD: Chris, what time is it?
CHRIS: JUNE! It's June.
DAD: Chris, get up. You have to go to work.
CHRIS: Si, si . . . SI!
DAD: CHRIS, get up!
CHRIS: You know, Argentinian trade policy is really our best precedent these days in consideration of foreign affairs . . . [at this point, Chris is sick all over his bed.]

Chris had a NPSIA (Norman Paterson School of International Affairs) dance the night before, downtown . . . which morphed into a visit to a strip bar . . . lots of alcohol was involved. Chris was still drunk when I talked to him this morning. He lectured me about cheese at one point . . . Apparently, he sobered up around noon, sitting in his cubicle. *sigh* Oh, Chris . . .

Didja like my segues?

That's more like it!

off the top:

Happy Birthday to Zdeno Chara! I'd hate to have to pick him up to give him his birthday bumps . . .

Did you notice how clean and clear the logos stood out on the ice tonight? My guess is that they repainted. I think they had an event there that necessitated draining it, so they had to redo it. Looks great.

the score:

I had a really good class tonight, so I didn't really regret not seeing the first two periods. I missed the two goals by Fisher and Redden, but other than that, what I saw in the third was an apt representation of the other two.

It was GREAT.

I saw this thing in the paper the other day . . . I can't remember what it was about, but there was this quotation that stuck with me: " . . . when Chris Phillips becomes Chris Phillips . . ." in regards to the playoffs. They're right, you know: Philly, a remarkably consistent player in the regular season, presses the nitrous button in the postseason. I think he pushed it a little earlier this year. Tonight, Chris Phillips was Chris Phillips. Wade Redden was Wade Redden. Zdeno Chara was Zdeno Chara. Although that might've been because it was his birthday. But every other player on the ice tonight became the beautiful shiny version of themselves that they should ideally be displaying all the time. Shit, Patrick Lalime was Patrick Lalime tonight, if you know what I'm saying. Did you see that save on Hejduk? Total instinct. Amazing.

[as an aside here, someone made a comment to me about a week ago about my inconsistencies regarding poor patty. he said, "you rip him up and down, but when he has a good game, you jump on the bandwagon!" or something like that. let me clarify my position. personally, I do not believe that patty is the goalie to take us through the playoffs. if he does, hell, I'll ask him to marry me, but something tells me we're not bringing the cup home this year. now, I don't know if prusek could do a better job, but I'm saying we should check it out. of course, martin didn't have a good game last time he played. patrick had the game of his life. despite what I might have to say about patty, I do love him, but it's tough love.]

Imagine my surprise tonight when I saw Worrell check Neil from behind, then give him an extra shove when he was down. For no reason. How odd that an AVALANCHE player would be the first to pull a Bertuzzi. Also odd is that both Neil and Worrell got offsetting minors for the move. Hm.

Greatest part: seeing the huge grin on Patty's face right after the buzzer, and then watching the [more heartfelt than to date] congratulations of his colleagues. Rob Ray's was the best. He yelled, "FUCK!" and then punched Patty in the forehead. He was smiling, so I think it was meant to be a sort of "good-on-you-pal" move. Hm.

off the ice:

Reds got the C again tonight. I hope Alfie recovers soon. I'm still pretty ambivalent about my feelings towards Redden, so I don't like having to think of him in a position of authority. I know he'll be the captain if Alfie goes somewhere [unlikely], but I don't want to have to think about it until then.

in other news:

I disapprove of snow in March. I shouldn't complain, though. I'm from Dartmouth. It snows in June there on a regular basis. But I'm annoyed that it's snowing now.

Skipped geology today to colour. I'm such twerp. But it's done. OH, is it DONE.* Yep. I'm also crazy. I haven't slept much in about a week and a half. My neck hurts quite a bit, and my hand is a permanent twisted ball of pain. God bless Excedrin smuggled in from RI. It has CAFFEINE! I've also stared at bright white paper and leeeedle black lines for forty-eight hours. I can no longer see.

Anyway, I've scanned in the strips, so, when I recover from school (gimme another two weeks), I'll make them web-ready and put them up for you to see.

*So I worked FRANTICALLY to get this finished. FRANTICALLY. Colouring up to the last minute. Getting increasingly frustrated at my orange and black pencils, which kept breaking on me (they were the colours I was using the most, so this happened a lot), running back and forth trying to scan and colour at the same time, gluing, binding . . . I held the finished product in my hands at 6:18 PM tonight. My class started at 6:00. My father drove me to school, and I placed my baby into Thurtle's hands at precisely 6:37 PM. I haven't actually *looked* at it. How odd that feels.

Anyway, then it turns out that there were two different due dates on different versions of the syllabus. Three of us handed in our projects tonight. The rest will hand them in next week. The only reason we handed ours in tonight is because all three of us missed last class, when we discussed extending the deadline.

[Let us pause for a moment and consider the rising sense of AUGH in Alison's mind.]

Actually, it's not so bad. If I hadn't had this artificial deadline to work towards, I would find myself with THREE papers due next week. Hm. And, interestingly enough, everything we were discussing tonight about how the post-postmodern comic represents reality was EXACTLY what I'd done with my comic. I was a genius without even knowing. Foreshadowing . . .?

That reminds me: Say you have a narrative. Something happens in the narrative, say, someone dies. Then, later on in the narrative, you have a flashback. In the flashback, there is foreshadowing to the death. Does it still count as foreshadowing, even if it happened after the event? This has been bothering me for a few days now. Either I'm too intellectual for my own good, or I need more sleep. Answers would be appreciated.

Got a call from Sam tonight, in an appeal for tarty clothes to wear to a club. To my dismay, I came to the realization that I don't actually own anything slutty. Nothing. I feel old.

Actually, I feel exhausted. I don't know why I let this get so long. My hands!

Well, that was embarassing.

off the top:

Oh, baby: undefeated two years running! What the fuck's a GeeGee?

Best line of the day: "He ran into my butt." Unfortunately, Smoke also had a collision with Bondra in the first period, and that left Bonzai with a sore neck.

Check out the flex on A-Train's STICK! -->

the score:

The first loss ever in Minnie was a heartbreaker -- for me.

The Wild got a lucky break on an unfortunate 5-on-3 and just carried on from there. Chouinard scored on the two-man advantage and then Wallin scored on the one-man advantage. Minnesota was 3 for 52 on their last fifty-two power plays. So much for that. Daigle -- surprise, surprise -- was a scary force all night, using his speed to get around even the likes of Hossa. Not a good thing.

Hossa did have a good game, however, scoring on the power play after a slashing call drawn by Vanner. Old Shaunie had a nifty tussle, too. No punches were thrown, but he ended up on top. Neil dusted off his knuckles as well, cleanly winning a fight that left both participants bloody. At the end, as he was headed towards the dressing room, he performed his trademark crowd-rousing gesture -- but he aimed it at his team.

Things that make me nervous: seeing Havlat limp to the dressing room before the end of the first, and proceed to wince every time he sits on the bench from then on. Better not be a groin injury. If he goes the way of Hasek, we're screwed.

Other boys who had a good game would be Pothier and Phillips, who were both seen to be single-handedly fending off two forwards at separate points in the game. Phillips fell through later, however, on the first Gaborik goal, as Marian totally out-waited him and potted it. Pothier, on the other hand, had some beautifully powerful offensive chances with Langfeld, but was unfortunately unsuccessful. Smolinski scored his first goal in seven games, but his young protogee is still scoreless, now in sixteen games. Chara showed that his shot is still clocked at around 100 km/h, when he felled Henry with a bullet from the point. I don't think Henry is coming back to play for the Wild any time soon.

On the second Gaborik goal, it was just an issue of Patty not being tall enough. You'd think 6'3" was a reasonable height, but I guess we all have to be Zdeno Charas in this league. The distance between Lalime's outstretched toe and the post was about six inches, so that would probably have covered it.

Question to theologists and Catholics everywhere: does hockey have a patron saint? We need one.

off the ice:

My father is crazy. If you'll remember, it was he who gave me that ridiculous Sens rug for my room. He's topped himself, however. Whilst looking around in a bedding store one day, close to my birthday, he spied a treasure, which he subsequently purchased for me and presented to me the day I got back from Providence. It's a Senators BEACH TOWEL. It's bright red, and features a full-sized hockey player on the front. This anonymous player bears a remarkable resemblance to Jarome Iginla. I'm not sure how I feel about lying down on this thing . . .

in other news:

So, the midterm wasn't as hellish as I'd predicted. I only had to do a semi-rectal pluck for one of the questions, and I'll get part marks for it. Two classes I'm taking this year have decided to give us TWO midterms plus a final. What's with that? I checked my exam schedule. It was only posted for three classes, which tells me that the other two are take-homes. In a way, that's good, but in another, more accurate way, it's really not. The two takehome midterms I did for these classes kicked my brain's ass. Shite [that's the Jersey girl in me talking -- and that's the ISLE of Jersey, btw . . .].

Oh, the comic strip . . . It's due Thursday night. I've got the plot done, and the rough worked out. I just have five more to draw, and then comes the part where I tidy it up and colour inside the lines. Then I have to bind it. I'm praying against all hope that I can get this done by tomorrow night. I don't want to have to miss *another* one of my classes in order to catch up in this one . . .

God Hates Shrimp

off the top:

So, I posted the results of last night's game today, as I was staying over at Alice's, and now I'm posting again. What a nerd am I. If you have no idea what the picture of the day is all about, go to the archives and read the last blog . . .

Holy motherfucker this is amusing. Thanks to the random link on Lindsay's page to hook me up with that gem.

the score:

I was surprised -- and delighted -- to find out that Super-K was starting tonight. Alas, Martin did not have a good night. The ice -- the best in the league -- was just too good tonight. The Senators couldn't deal with the physics of it. There was no friction, and that messed with them.

It was a very physical game, with hard checks and lots of bumping around, but no fights, which impressed me. I think all the goons are playing it safe until the Bertuzzi mess blows over. Even the non-fighters stepped up to the body challenge tonight, and you saw hard, clean checks from the likes of Hossa, Phillips, Fisher, and Schaefer. Surprise, surprise, no calls on anything that should have been, like a blatant trip to Hossa that sent him ass-over-teakettle to the ice. At least Havlat, from Spezza and Redden, knocked one past Conklin, sending Ottawa into the second period leading the game.

Prusek began the second period by showing the world how improved he is on his wraparounds in his sophomore year. He also had the best seats in the house to see glittering defensive moves by Simpson and Pothier.

Unfortunately, after this, everything went to hell. The Senators, barely keeping their play under some semblance of control, got a penalty for too many men, served by Neil. Dvorak scored on the resulting power play. Then, about thirty seconds later, Moreau scored. You could see it was taking its toll on Super-K. Smolinski made a few hearts beat a little faster on a breakaway that looked like a sure thing, but he was totally robbed by Conklin, and it came to naught. Spezza showed amazing puck control and skating ability shortly thereafter, passing to de Vries (the only player in NHL history to have lower-case letters on his jersey, by the way), but he couldn't get it through traffic.

Back went play to the other end, where Prusek made some nice saves, one without ever knowing where the puck was. Then Simpson got a penalty for holding, and Torres took a pass from one of his Czech linemates (Nedved and Dvorak -- Torres was instructed to learn Czech in order to communicate better with them -- perhaps it worked) and shot it at Prusek. It looked like he had it, but when he moved his pads together to squeeze it, his skate knocked it over the line. Poor Prusek had no notion what was going on. After the goal, still on his knees, he leaned forward and peeked between his legs, just to try and figure out what the hell happened. That was it for him. You could see he was destroyed.

Super-K didn't return for the third. He wasn't even on the bench. Supposedly, he was suffering from a sore back, but I suspect not. This was his big chance to show everyone he could face two good teams two nights in a row, and he totally blew it. I think he just couldn't face the crowd after his humiliating performance.

Luckily, Patty, on a rare occasion, is pretty darned good, and he showed some of that in the third. He lost his mask in one melee and the puck came dangerously close to both the goal line and his bare face, but he made the save with his paddle while lying on his back. Pretty nice.

Poor Hossa. He really tried tonight, and he had some nice chances throughout the game. In the third, he patiently waited in the middle of the defensive zone, just watching the passing game of two Oilers. Then he stepped in, and, pretty-as-you-please, stole the puck and worked his way up the left side. He ended up hitting the crossbar. In the dying seconds, he threw the puck, again and again, towards the net, but to no avail.

Whatever happened to the team that cared?

off the ice:

Did you know Alfie's mother is a HAIRDRESSER? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh, the irony . . .

Ray Scampinella, a veteran linesman, is retiring. This is bad news. There are only a few old guys left, and the rookies all suck.

I don't think I blink enough when I watch hockey. My eyes get really dry. I'm such a dweeb.

in other news:

Aw, crap, it's snowing again . . .

I'm planning a redesign. I wasn't going to start working on it until the summer, but the thoughts I was thinking made it imperative for me to procrastinate this afternoon and begin construction. It's "one hundred kinds of slick," as Stef says. Still hockey, but good. And I'm going to rearrange my links. I'm irritated with them. I'm also going to teach myself flash this summer, did I tell you?

Holy crap, I've done nothing this afternoon. I need to study for a midterm and write a comic strip, and do all sorts of school-related things, and I've totally wasted the afternoon. GRR! How stupid am I?

It's like the whole 8 weiners, 12 buns conundrum.

off the top:

Two funny Bertuzzi comics: one from The Blueline, and another from The Instigator. They're funny cuz they're true . . .

I am now the proud owner of a hockey stick. Well, right now it's more like a Post-It note with a bad approximation of a hockey stick on it stuck haphazardly to a puck and a roll of hockey tape, but it's the thought that counts, right?

the score:

Went to Alice's to watch the HNIC double-header. It was sort of an it-was-our-birthday-last-week-so-let's-watch-hockey-eat-junkfood-and-get-shitfaced kind of charade. You know how those things are. Her birthday was on the 6th, but she's a year behind me. She's also a Canucks fan. Tsk, tsk . . .

I missed the first part of the Leafs-Habs game. But obviously, I couldn't give a flying fuck. Besides, I saw the next two periods, where Toronto LOST, so all was right in the world once more.

All of Alice's roommates are Leafs fans, so much of the evening was spent in trash-talking as we got trashed. Because alcohol was involved, I can't really recount for you the plays. My jersey was confiscated and hidden for the first game, but I found it for the second, so all was good. I remember being annoyed at Fisher's goal being disallowed for goalie interference, even though that call was questionable. And I watched Spezza do a pirouette in the faceoff circle that cost him the faceoff. What a dork. One of Alice's roommates, Eric, actually played with him back in junior days in TO. Obviously, Spezza kicked his ass, and that's why Eric was sitting on the couch, drinking cheap beer, and Jason was on the ice, on TV. But that's how it is.

It was battle of the backups last night, with Super-K going against Johan Hedberg, but my goalie won out. He was rock solid, whilst Hedberg looked like he'd rather Cloutier was playing . . .

off the ice:

*Ahhh* . . . that's the feeling of the Force balancing out. Until Thursday's bout against Calgary, I hadn't watched hockey in over a week, and I was feeling a little off my game. Now it's all good.

in other news:

Here's what annoys me: I am always scrupulously careful to use exactly the same amount of conditioner as I use shampoo, even though I always want to use more, becuase my hair's so damned thick and it doesn't always get all the way through . . . anyway, much to my dismay, I discovered that I'm out of conditioner! Why? Because the shampoo comes in bottles of 355 mL, but the conditioner bottle only contains 300 mL. What. The. Fuck?

For those of you who care (haha, that would be none of you!), my essay is done, and it was pretty good. The midterm is written. So, this weekend, in the midst of my fantastical social schedule, I have had to study for a midterm on Middle English and the Renaissance, ink a comic book, and write an essay on porn. How did that work out for me? I'll keep you posted. I'm still pretty distracted with schoolwork and the like. The only reason this particular post is as long as it is is because I've been adding to it over a few days. It may look like I've got a lot of time on my hands, but it's all a carefully constructed facade . . . talk to me again in about two weeks, and I should be more of a conversationalist by then.

On the conversion-of-the-entire-universe-to-the-internet front, my cousin, Lindsay, as notorious for not responding to emails as she is for her abysmal spelling, has begun a weblog. Do check it out. I'm rather entertained. That picture on her page is of her van, which she drove all the way across the country, with one hand. Interesting girl.

On Friday, I went with Caity and Sarah to Empire Grill, which is in the market, across from the Blue Cactus. We went as a post-birthday celebration type deal. It was nice. We got this huge booth to ourselves and each of us consumed some form of killer dessert. I suppose Sarah's was mildly more healthy than Cait's or mine, but they were pretty intense. Lots of sugar. We had a nice Reisling to go with it. We picked it because, at 24$, it was the cheapest thing on the menu, but it was good. Because I was the one who ordered it, I got to do the whole looking-at-the-label-then-tasting-the-wine-and-keeping-the-cork shebang. Like I know what I'm doing . . . I looked at the label, to make sure he hadn't fucked up and brought us a red, or something like that. Then I tasted it. This I know how to do. Swirl the glass. Sniff it. If it smells like ammonia, it's corky, and should be sent back. If it smells like wine, it's good. Take a sip. Let it sit on your tongue. If it tastes bitter or corky, send it back. Luckily, this was a good bottle. But then the guy left the cork behind. Even long after he'd removed the empty bottle and the plates and everything else, the cork remained. What am I supposed to do with the cork? Keep it as a souvenir? I dunno. Because it was our birthday, though, we got free desserts, and that's always a bonus. We then went to Minglewood's for nostalgia's sake. We stayed about forty-five minutes and had two drinks. We discovered that we had definitely outgrown the place. There was no one over nineteen in the whole building, and they were all drunken, smelly, dancing like hoes, and yelling about March Break. I think I got home about 12:30, was in bed by 12:45, and was asleep by 1:00, which gave me eight uninterrupted hours until I woke up at 9:00. I am so old!

Haha, Sam and Jay came by yesterday. They were on a date, and I was working on my comic strip, so they didn't stay long, but they gave me a SUPERMAN TSHIRT! YEEHAW. My collection is growing. I now have Superman, Batman, and Spiderman. My next goal is the Flash or the Green Lantern. If you know where I can get those, lemme know. They're not as popular.

And she's on the mend!

off the top:

Shoutout to Carley: I'm glad you're getting better. Holy god . . .

the score:

Bonk is back in town, using his faceoff prowess! Goodness, but he looked pale!

Damn that Kiprusoff. He's just far too good for his own good. At present, he's the best goalie in the league, both in GAA and S%. And Martin put Patty, who's below the league average, out tonight why? I will say that Patty was pretty good on some saves. Shit, he tried to make one with his ass at one point. The ones he missed were because his defense sucked tonight. They weren't even around in the first period, which was a period of holy turnovers, Batman. Made me very nervous. Neil and Oliwa fought in the first five minutes. Apparently, Oliwa does that almost every game. He needed a new jersey by the end of it, and Neil needed a bandaid for his hand. Nilson scored somewhere in the first, on a power play. Three days off seemed to do wonders for Ottawa's energy, especially that of the speedsters. Havlat and Hossa were running around all over the place tonight.

The officiating was a little sketchy tonight. I think if it had been more consistent, then the score would have been different. Neil took an open two-hander to his hand and no penalty was called, while Reds tapped the wrist of a Flame and got two minutes. Then there was that tackle in the Flames zone, where both Bonk and Hossa were completely pinned for about fifteen seconds, away from play, and nothing happened. The sketchiest call of all time, however, came in the second period. Hossa, on a breakaway, got hooked all the way down the ice. He couldn't get a proper shot away, but he was in full possession all the way down. As fast as he is, he tried to stop, but couldn't, and gently ran into Kiprusoff. He gets called for goalie interference, and when he politely protests, he gets another two for unsportsmanlike. Unbelievable. I saw him talking to the ref. He wasn't yelling or anything. Weird. But Ottawa managed to kill off that entire four minutes without allowing a single shot on goal. Hm. Didn't help, though. Although Hossa managed to tie the game earlier, Oliwa took advantage of a mess at the net and potted another one. Lalime had a brief period where he thought he was a really fat defenseman, and so he was wayyyyy outta position. Greg Millen said he was like "an octopus trying to handle a beach chair." Whatever that means.

Havlat stepped up more towards the end of the game, netting Ottawa's second goal early in the third, unassisted. There was some beautiful defense by Pothier, but to no avail. I saw Nieminen go on the breakaway. This is what I said: "oh shit oh shit don't you dare no no no -- fuck." Three to two for Calgary. Then Bonk decided he wanted more people than Hossa to shoot at his broken foot (he said he was trying to jump out of the way for Marian's goal in the second), and so started working on his defense, which was amazing. It helped, because Redden decided to give the puck away, real slow-like, directly in front of his net. Patty made the save, but Reds was not pleased. That's when he got his slashing penalty. As if he didn't feel bad enough already.

With a few seconds left, Patty was pulled, and, as usually happens, Nilson got a an EN after falling on his face. Meh. Boo.

I made up my own stars tonight. Third: Bonk. Way to come back two weeks early after missing fourteen games and not look like you missed a single one. Second: Pothier. Brilliant defensive moves that made use of his freaking hugeness. First: Hossa. I swear he had ants in his pants. He was very jumpy. And by jumpy I mean jumping into all the important plays. Special mention goes to Super-K. I know, he didn't play, but he just looks so cute sitting there with his little baseball cap on . . . I will pinch his cheeks someday . . .

off the ice:

HAHA, Toronto lost to Pittsburgh tonight, 3-2. I can't laugh too much, though. Ottawa never wins against the Pens.

I'm still chortling over the Lalime/Prusek statement. And I'm still utterly shocked about the Bertuzzi/Moore incident.

Jon gave me a picture today. I've put it as the picture of the day. I can't look at it without laughing. I just can't deal with it . . . I think the reason he looks so grumpy is because he has to wear that dumbass tootsie-pop helmet.

I hate to break it to you, sportsfans, but I'm not going to win season tickets for next year. I realized after I mailed it that I'd fucked up the entry form. Sorry, folks. I did subscribe to The Hockey News today, though. It cost me 50$ for a year, but I get a free keychain. And I did enter to win a signed Hossa jersey, so all is not lost.

in other news:

Is my essay done? Not a chance. But I think it'll all work out in the end. I think I'm going to do as much as I can tonight, then skip my class tomorrow to finish it off and get some studying done, then head in for the seminar and the midterm. Cross your fingers, folks. I can't believe I'm so unprepared.

Got a call from my friend Henna today. She lives in England with her husband, and she's the closest thing I have to a sister. They're coming to visit in the middle of April. Anyway, turns out she had a miscarriage, and when they were scanning her to see if she was okay, they found a tumor. This is her *fourth* bout with cancer. Now, apparently, she has lost all her beautiful long black hair and is completely bald. If she didn't have Dave, I don't know what she would do. Her life has been one drama after another. She's Indian, and so her parents kidnapped her to drag her back to India to be married when she was eighteen or so. Her brothers helped. Then her parents died, and her brothers won't speak to her, because she married a white guy, who was English. And then there's the cancer. I haven't seen her in so long, not these past two years. I don't know how she's going to look. I must say I'm a little apprehensive.

Bertuzzi Wears Pink Panties?

off the top:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LISA JOG!

the score:

Trade deadlines fuck with me. One minute, you have all these guys who have been around for years, and suddenly, you have all these new guys, and everyone walks around like nothing happened. It's bizarre. Personally, I think we kind of got the short end of the stick in this year's wheeling and dealing. We lost Rachunek, who, although rather inconsistent at times, and something of a nancy boy, and Giroux, a hard-hitting prospect with a scoring touch, for this DeVries dude. He'd better pan out. Then we get rid of the Sheriff for a draft pick! Please. I pray to whatever gods exist that Volchenkov and Varada and Bonk get their asses back into the lineup soon, or the law will be broken, and no one will be around to set things right . . .

I'm feeling a strong sense of vindication right now. I WAS RIGHT, GODDAMN IT!

off the ice:

What did I tell you about hockey players being immature? Moore hits Naslund. Naslund says, "oh, poor me, I'm such a big, poofy star. Woe is me, blah blah freaking blah." Bertuzzi, the panty-wearer, takes his captain's grizzling to heart and, although not normally a fighter, BEANS poor little Moore and nearly kills him. Boys are stupid.

in other news:

Apparently, Sympatico is having difficulties with their POP server. BOO HOO. FIX IT NOW.

grrr . . .

I'd be more voluble in my complaints but I have a shitload of essay to right tonight, so --

Let's Make a Deal!

off the top:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SARAH WAN AND CHRIS PHILLIPS!

the score:

I guess we didn't get whatsisface from Minnesota after all. Instead, we got DeVries for Rachunek and Giroux. I'm kinda sad. I liked Rachunek, for all his inconsistencies, and Giroux was definitely promising.

off the ice:

Bonzai never made it to the team hotel in Washington. Rumour has it he was kidnapped. The reality is that his wife and kids just picked him up from the airport and took him home.

in other news:

Yes, I am here, safe and sound, after spending six hours in the Philly airport. That place is huge. It took me an hour to mosey from terminal A to terminal F. Yeah, I was going really slowly, and I stopped a lot, but still. They also have these neat bathrooms there, where each stall is huge and contains a toilet, sink, mirror, shelves, a changing table, paper towels, and a garbage can. Quite handy. The ticket agent in Providence told me that they had "nice rocking chairs" to sit in. I was like, "okay, crazy lady," but she was right! There are these white rocking chairs all over the place. Bizarre.

I have a problem. My email is broken. I don't know what happened to it, but it keeps prompting me for the sympatico password, which I give it, and then it says the password was rejected. So I can't access my email. This is a problem. I emailed myself an assignment I did in Providence, and now I can't get to it. When this happened last time, all I had to do was just uninstall Access Manager and reinstall it. However, I now have a router, and no longer have access to the Access Manager. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

It's a balmy day in Providence

. . . With heavy flurries, strong winds, and a high of -2. If I get out of here alive, I will be happy.

Lot of cramming this weekend, as I frantically tried to catch up with all the people I knew from before, and trying to get to know people I'd just met. Fortunately, I managed to see all the people I wanted to: we went outlet shopping with Liz, I went to a neat antique store with Ellen . . . We even had a drink with Arden at Meeting Street. And it went well, no less. I didn't get to see a lot of Allan, but I don't think you can ever see too much of him. He's crazy, and I love him to bits. I also got to spend some time with Lisa's new roommate, Sam, who's possibly the niftiest person this side of 60. And, of course, Lisa's boyfriend, Nate, and I became much closer, especially when I caught him using my toothbrush . . .

I finally saw a rowing practise, at an ungodly, rainy hour Saturday morning. I was garbed in this huge orange "survival suit" and sat in a launch which was wakeless, which essentially meant it had no sides, and we puttered up and down the freezing cold river and yelled at thirty spandex clad young men. Then we watched them work out for an hour. Half-naked. I'm sure Jen and Chel would have peed themselves if they were there. As for me? Meh.

I'm really irked that I missed Friday's game. What a game to miss! But Arden hooked me up with TSN.ca, and showed me this super highlight reel. Patty fought! AND DIDN'T LOSE! I wish it had at least been broadcasting at home, so I could have taped it. But no. I bet the TV folks were just kicking themselves for blacking out that one. But Saturday's game went well, and hopefully, tonight's will do the same. I'm sure Bonsai will shine against his old team. Of course, don't listen to me. Remember my predictions for the Philly game.

I actually get to go to Philly today, which is moderately exciting. I have to spend close to four hours there. Not so exciting. And, apparently, I DO NOT want to leave the airport, so I hope the place is entertaining.

I'm twenty-two today. I don't know how I feel about that. I'm in denial. A bonus today, though, is that Thayer Street has so much to offer me: I get free ice cream at Ben and Jerry's, and a free cookie from Meeting Street. The cookie is literally the size of my ass. It's amazing. It will be my sustenance on the plane home.

So, if all goes well today, and I'm not snowed under or over, I will be wheeling into Bytown at around twenty to twelve tonight. Cheer for my boys tonight. I have to go have a shower and then work on cramming my new bras into the ever-decreasing space inside my suitcase. Later!

Zoodle Smuggler.

I got up at 0430 this morning. Now I truly know why it's called an "ungodly" hour. It was way harsh. I managed to fit everything, including presents for Lisa, into my suitcase, and it doesn't appear that I have forgotten a damned thing.

My flight was overbooked this morning, so they switched me from US Air through Philly to Air Canada through Toronto. This meant that I was only ten minutes later getting into Providence than I would have been originally, and I got a free ticket out of it from US Air. So no big deal, and I can fly anywhere free next time.

Toronto Customs was, as usual, a complete zoo. Twenty minutes before my boarding time, I was still about 150 people behind the desk. Luckily, they let some of us go via the express route, so I got through okay. If you've ever flown to the States through Toronto, you know that you have to walk for ages to get to your gate, which is lettered A through U. I was gate S today, which meant I had little more than five minutes to travel the equivalent of about a kilometre (they have signs telling you how far you have yet to go). I made it there at 0900 on the dot, which was when they were supposed to start boarding, but, despite the fact that there were only four of us on the plane to Providence, they didn't get us on there until about 0915 or so. I had time to call my mother, go to the bathroom, get a drink . . .

In the end, though, I touched down in Providence earlier than I'd expected, and Lisa and her friend Terence picked me up, which was awesome, because it meant I didn't have to shell out nine bucks for the slowest shuttle known to man, which drives especially slowly through the slums of Rhode Island. We got to Brown in about fifteen minutes, and then raced to make Lisa's noon lecture. I felt kind of obvious sitting there, in a class of about five, reading a comic book, but it turns out they were all expecting me, so I didn't have to be intelligent. I even made a correction to Lisa's notes when she was in the washroom, so I'm not completely stupid, although I couldn't have told you what that class was about to save my life.

We went to the crazy pizza place, where they make things like nacho and black bean pizza (very good, surprisingly) on Thayer (everything is on Thayer on the Hill) for lunch, and tried to figure out what we were going to do for the rest of the weekend. Basically, it all revolves around certain places we have to go to eat on certain days. We want to do a brunch with Nate, Lisa's boyfriend, we have to go to this great sushi place for dinner at some point (you can byob there -- it's great!), attend the sacred Spike's (all they serve is hotdogs), go to Ben & Jerry's on Monday, so I can get free ice cream, and then to the Meeting Street Cafe (k, so it's not on Thayer, but it's a block off Thayer) so I can get a free Meeting Street Cookie (the size of my ass) on my birthday. Other than that, we're just going to schedule around how lazy we are.

It's only about 1615 now, but Lisa's at crew practise. I elected not to go. I'll go on Saturday. Anything to avoid seeing Arden as much as I possibly can. I have until 1900 to not fall asleep. I'm sure I can think of things to do between now and then . . .

I've been reading far too many comic books recently. It's not my fault. I have to, for this class I'm taking. I have a handful of them, totally destroyed by me by now (so no reselling them on eBay, Stef). But they're not just your average XMen piece of crap. They're pretty heavy, both literally and metaphysically. They really get me thinking. I might, sometime, in the next few days, write myself a manifesto. I don't know. Maybe.

I don't really like flying all that much. I hate being crammed into an overcrowded and uncomfortable space and being forced to sit still for long periods of time. I hate the assault on the senses: the recycled air going through your nose and leaving a metallic tang on your tongue, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the deafening engine noise, and the sickening lurch of turbulence.

But it has its redeeming qualities. Let me elaborate. Professor Thurtle talked to my Intro to Cultural Studies class about the Spectacle, and how it's now all about the packaging, and there's very little left in our society that's truly Real, that's truly an Experience -- something you simply have no words, no packaging, to describe. I have one, though. Flying is a commercial endeavour. You have to purchase the ticket, pay a billion dollars in fees, and trundle your way off to the airport, to sit in wide open spaces and wait for a machine to be ready for you. In the meantime, you are bombarded by ads, muzak, etc. But there's this one moment. The plane taxis down the runway. It's next in line to take off. Then engines rev, and you're going at warp speed. The front wheels leave the ground. The rear wheels jump, touch down again, then clear the tarmac -- and holy shit, you're flying. You've just said fuck you to gravity. There's this awe, this wonderment, at the fact you just broke a natural law. I can't describe to anyone what I feel in that moment, and that tells me that that moment is Real.

That's why I love takeoffs the best.

Happy Trails to Me

off the top:

Sorry for the depressing post the other day. It was very cathartic for me, though.

Today's picture is of a building at Brown University (where I will be) that makes me laugh every time I see it. It's so blatantly faux-Greco-Romanic architecture, with its oversized doric columns and preposterous roof. It just doesn't match with the rest of the buildings. And the other side looks nothing like it. The other side totally blends in with the rest of the university. Ah, New England . . .

Observation: the nice thing about wearing an oversized hockey jersey to a sports bar is no one stares at your chest instead of looking you in the eye, and no one makes comments about your ass . . .

the score:

Okay, so this was another typical stupid booooooooooooorrrrrrrrring Ottawa-Buffalo game. I was at a meAting (seriously, that's how it's spelled -- long story) with Minda and Stef and Caity, and the conversation, mostly reminiscences about the past, was far more entertaining, so my note-taking suffered. I was also made fun of for taking notes on my witchy little pieces of paper, so I was suitably chastened. All I know is Alfie scored, and Hossa scored, and he looked really happy. Then I had to defend his honour on a point made by Stefan, so I was distracted from play yet again. Then Hossa almost scored, and looked really angry. Damn, he's sexy when he's angry. Er --

Basically, it wasn't very interesting, and Ottawa lost, and it was all Patty's fault. So much for the playoff form he had two games ago. This man has consistently been inconsistent the entire time. Next year, after he loses the Cup for the Senators, give him to Anaheim for a first round pick in the future, push Pru up to number one, and give Em the backup job. It's THAT simple . . .

off the ice:

Grr, I'm miffed that I'm missing the return of Havlat in the Philly game on Friday. Hockey's not really big in Providence. They like basketball. If ever the subtleties of a sport eluded me, that would be it . . .

Hear, hear! This is good news!

I didn't realize Jacques Martin was a bachelor. I shall have to do something about that when I meet him . . .

in other news:

Why, yes, I am retarded!

So, the weather this past week in Ottawa has been unseasonably warm, which means that most of the snow is all gone. It's now slush. And rivers. Lots and lots of rivers.

I walked to school this afternoon, like I do every afternoon, rain or shine. Today, it was blissful shine, and I was revelling in the sheer glory of the day. As I walked through Hampton Park, it was a little sketchy going, but more or less okay. I resolved to check out my path carefully, so as not to get myself wet. I walked up Island Park, hopping daintily (for me) over various puddles and streams. Down Carling, to the path that leads to the Farm. I checked it out, and it looked pretty snowy still. Alison was not wearing her glasses today, children. The snow was a facade for an underlying icky sludge-slush combination. I managed, through sheer agility and balance, to get through that part with only a little bit of damp getting through my sneaks. Then, however, I ran smack-dab into a ten-metre rushing river of ice-cold, ankle-deep water. There was some slush in there. I think the river was trying to masquerade as snow. It failed. So I slogged through that. Yes, I got very wet. Yes, it was very cold. This path leads to a road, and, in order to get off the path, you have to climb over a snow bank. The snowbank, thankfully, was still there. But wait, ladies and gentlemen! This was no ordinary snowbank. The snow, over time, had melted and refrozen, giving the snowbank a shell of ice-like stuff, which contributed to my false impression of its solidity. I was so wrong. Inside, from top to bottom, was more slush. Luckily, I was so cold and wet by this point that I almost didn't mind the searing cold that sucked the blood out of my calves. No problem.

The road, blessedly, was dry. And I was still, surprisingly, in a very good mood. See, the Farm is right now a huge lake. Water, water, everywhere, and, fascinated as I am by running water of all kinds, I was absolutely mesmerized by various streams, the bubbling of the drainage grates, the huge puddle that crossed the entire road and caused every car going though it to hydroplane . . . It was all just so pretty. I continued to mosey along, appreciating the weather and admiring the ducks in their makeshift pond. I crossed Prince of Wales and continued on down to the Locks. I opted to take the paved road, rather than the path through the field, because I had become smarter since I started out. As I approached the lock, however, my heart sank. Stretching ahead of me for some fifteen feet, and the only way to get to the lock, was a mire of slush and water about six inches deep. I said, "fuck it, I'm already wet," and made my way through, making it to class in good time, and, remarkably, still in relatively good spirits, despite the shivering the blue lips and the squelching . . .

I took the train home.

Okay, I'm getting up super-duper early tomorrow morning to spend most of my day on a plane. I will be at Lisa's in Rhode Island until Monday, and then I get home at around midnight. If you need to contact me between now and then, please use my hotmail address, as I can't access my sympatico account away from home. Or you could just post here, and I'll get back to you.

I may post while I'm away, if something interesting happens and I have time to tell you about it. In which case I have to email it to Stefan for him to put up, as Lisa's computer is sketchy at the best of times. I'm leaving Stef in charge of my little page for five whole days. He's only responsible for updating the scoreboard at top right, but you never know what he might be up do at any given moment. So consider this your good and sufficient warning: I am not responsible for any shenanigans that go on while I'm away.