I don’t believe in trouble
I don’t believe in pain
I don’t believe there’s nothing left
But running here again
I don’t believe in promise
I don’t believe in chance
I don’t believe you can resist
The things that make no sense
I just realized – since I’m feeling like death I should have stayed home – after all, even Death Takes a Holiday.
Uggggggghhhhh. Let’s hear it for the beloved Coca Cola Company! If I weren’t feeling like Death Warmed Over, I’d be singing their praises quite loudly. As it is, I’m trying to pump myself full of their lovely read product, M&Ms and the Run Lola Run soundtrack.
Down the street from where I work (in the opposite direction from Harriet’s, Harri-et. Crap, here we go again), there is a velcro outlet. No lie – a store devoted to velcro. As I was wandering zombie-like past it this morning, I happened to notice their sign for the first time. “Velcro cutting and punching” it says. “Velcro punching”? Is that like cow punching? Or perhaps they hire Italian guys who beat up on big hanging slabs of velcro in the freezer.
I’d hate to be the new guy there. I imagine the guys with seniority get to punch the soft side of the velcro. It doesn’t seem quite fair. I mean, they’ve been punching the scratchy side of the velcro for this long, why can’t they do it for awhile more? Stop picking on us new guys!
Man, our drink guy had better get here soon.
What a night of skating! I’ve almost learned how to do a hockey stop now (muy importante), and at the very least I’m rockin’ on my snowplows. I only smashed into one and a half people on the ice and only had one near miss with the coach.
I’ve discovered one thing about my skating and puckhandling skills – I’m really good at keeping my head up. This is good in theory, but considering I don’t have the skills to avoid collisions, all it means is I get to see what’s getting ready to happen and have lots of time to dread the impact. Maybe I’ll start working on looking down until I’m more skilled. That way I won’t know what’s getting ready to happen to me.
Well, almost finished with my heaping helping of pasta, so it’s off to the showers, then to bed. Just think – if I went to bed right now, I could almost get four and a half hours of sleep. Ugh. Let’s hear it for mid-afternoon naps!
Ohhhhhhhh
The good ol’ hockey game
It’s the best game you can name
And the best game you can name
Is the good ol’ hockey game.
Blog is evil! Or at least blogs on people’s sites who have photos. I’m going to have to get all of my links going on this page so that future visitors will wander away into photo hell…
Elbow room…elbow room… got ta got ta get us some elbow room…
You know, there’s an indescript clothing store near the office named “Harriet’s”. It’s one of those scary stores that offers both men’s and women’s clothes, but don’t tell you which is which. I just know I’ll go in there and wind up picking up an adorable little blouse or something. Maybe lace and frills will become manly one of these days.
Anyway, when I see their sign, my mind automatically kicks into…
“Harriet!
Harri-et
Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis…”
Kermit’s singing in my ear now, and he’s overriding Mike Myers. After all, someday we’ll find it – the Rainbow Connection.
I think I’m going to be dangerous to the blogger servers. My mind is just too twirly. I’m not sure if that’s what I’m thinking exactly, but it sounds funny.
Anyway, I forgot the other cool thing about the hockey clinic – free jersey! The funny thing is, it’s a black jersey. When you factor in my black pants, skates and gloves, I’m like this little dark spot on the ice that keeps picking itself back up. I’ve become the Johnny Cash of Hockey. Hopefully I’ll eventually skate better than Johnny.
But I checked that man in Reno… just to watch him die…
The more I think about it, I feel surprisingly good. After all, I started up in an ice hockey clinic last night (2 hours per night for 5 days straight) and my body wasn’t very appreciative of me by the time I finally got to bed. It’s a pretty cool clinic though – they teach “powerskating” to us. If they just had a “powerstopping” coach, I’d be set. Maybe if I start knocking down the coaches they’ll teach me to stop…
Things aren’t completely horrible I suppose. After all, I have a big steaming tupperware box of pasta in front of me. Mmmmmm…. pasta. I can feel the carbos coursing through my body. Almost gives me enough energy to work on more of the web site. Or do the work I’m paid for here at my job. Something like that.