Pig roasts and hockey and leisure time reading -- I'm finally starting to enjoy my vacation and it's over on Tuesday. Superstar is no longer MIA, and though I know it's temporary it's good to see him still being ridiculous. That's the only way I know it's him and not some cheap domestic imitation, like the kind that give you really bad hangovers.
Saturday night I'm mulling over what to wear when I'm suddenly informed we are going to a pig roast. Coincidentally, I always know how to dress for farm functions and feel pretty comfortable covered in dirt, which is a little known fact about me. If you want details, ask me about the time I flipped a sheep or milked cows, or even better, how I earned my cowgirl stripes (I have many). Those are always good stories. Jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, boots, and I'm off.
While the main vice welcomed at a pig roast appears to be gluttony, other defects such as drunken impulse buying are also encouraged, as evidenced by the large number of arts and crafts and junk dealers in attendance. Nomadic grazing is the tendency, as, after stuffing yourself with four or five rib racks, you will inevitably leave your table to stroll through the grounds, thus discovering even more food as you wander. Such functions seem to rely on "carnivore guilt," or that feeling that after eating half a hog, you really need to eat some non-meat product, even if it consists primarily of starch or sugar in various processed forms. And of course a pig roast wouldn't be complete without numerous trophies displayed with spotlights in front of the "restaurants," declaring them #1 best sauce or #1 best ribs or #1 best source of acid reflux, live country music, and fireworks spewing from the french fry stand (that one was for Pittsburgh). Well, we just ate way too much. Thank goodness we went skating the next day.
Tonight was the Piranhas' final pickup game of the summer, and we had a good turnout of gals and guys and people who take pickup way too seriously. Two goalies too, so even hockey snobs were inclined to play (though I won't mention any names). I am playing and skating better, although for some bizarre reason I often fail to admit that, I suspect because I subconsciously think I should be an expert after seven months and therefore if I'm falling short of that mark, then I couldn't possibly have looked very good tonight. Ok, so that is totally unrealistic and I realize that, however, I'm afraid only a lobotomy is going to cure me of this little psychological quirk. Superstar was, well, a superstar, and as hockey-deprived as he was you would've thought he was the only one out there. He's also an after-game car coach, which I don't mind at all, but if he's that keen on giving pointers I know a good place on the west coast that needs a hockey coach... (Hey it was worth a try.) Speaking of tips, Coach nearly killed one of our players tonight with a slap shot from the blue line; I have this feeling everyone is going to be very attentive at practice next Sunday. The most practical thoughts come at the most inconvenient times when you are running in your skates to find the first aid kit, such as "I don't have health insurance until Tuesday..." Luckily the rest of the game was bloodless, and Coach's big sister wrote to me later: "I'm sure she'll be fine. Couple of stitches and she'll be good as new." Spoken like a true hockey player.
I'd just like to mention in closing that Bizzy brought me the best t-shirt from Toronto and the Hockey Hall of Fame! Thanks, Biz. I admire you for braving terrible Canada to get that for me.
Saturday night I'm mulling over what to wear when I'm suddenly informed we are going to a pig roast. Coincidentally, I always know how to dress for farm functions and feel pretty comfortable covered in dirt, which is a little known fact about me. If you want details, ask me about the time I flipped a sheep or milked cows, or even better, how I earned my cowgirl stripes (I have many). Those are always good stories. Jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, boots, and I'm off.
While the main vice welcomed at a pig roast appears to be gluttony, other defects such as drunken impulse buying are also encouraged, as evidenced by the large number of arts and crafts and junk dealers in attendance. Nomadic grazing is the tendency, as, after stuffing yourself with four or five rib racks, you will inevitably leave your table to stroll through the grounds, thus discovering even more food as you wander. Such functions seem to rely on "carnivore guilt," or that feeling that after eating half a hog, you really need to eat some non-meat product, even if it consists primarily of starch or sugar in various processed forms. And of course a pig roast wouldn't be complete without numerous trophies displayed with spotlights in front of the "restaurants," declaring them #1 best sauce or #1 best ribs or #1 best source of acid reflux, live country music, and fireworks spewing from the french fry stand (that one was for Pittsburgh). Well, we just ate way too much. Thank goodness we went skating the next day.
Tonight was the Piranhas' final pickup game of the summer, and we had a good turnout of gals and guys and people who take pickup way too seriously. Two goalies too, so even hockey snobs were inclined to play (though I won't mention any names). I am playing and skating better, although for some bizarre reason I often fail to admit that, I suspect because I subconsciously think I should be an expert after seven months and therefore if I'm falling short of that mark, then I couldn't possibly have looked very good tonight. Ok, so that is totally unrealistic and I realize that, however, I'm afraid only a lobotomy is going to cure me of this little psychological quirk. Superstar was, well, a superstar, and as hockey-deprived as he was you would've thought he was the only one out there. He's also an after-game car coach, which I don't mind at all, but if he's that keen on giving pointers I know a good place on the west coast that needs a hockey coach... (Hey it was worth a try.) Speaking of tips, Coach nearly killed one of our players tonight with a slap shot from the blue line; I have this feeling everyone is going to be very attentive at practice next Sunday. The most practical thoughts come at the most inconvenient times when you are running in your skates to find the first aid kit, such as "I don't have health insurance until Tuesday..." Luckily the rest of the game was bloodless, and Coach's big sister wrote to me later: "I'm sure she'll be fine. Couple of stitches and she'll be good as new." Spoken like a true hockey player.
I'd just like to mention in closing that Bizzy brought me the best t-shirt from Toronto and the Hockey Hall of Fame! Thanks, Biz. I admire you for braving terrible Canada to get that for me.
 |  | Thanks Droo, you made my day. |
One entry found for brokenhearted.
Main Entry: bro·ken·heart·ed
Pronunciation: -'här-t&d
Function: adjective
Date: 1526
: overcome by grief or despair
Main Entry: bro·ken·heart·ed
Pronunciation: -'här-t&d
Function: adjective
Date: 1526
: overcome by grief or despair
"If she wins the face off, where do you go?"
"I don't know."
"If she loses the face off, what do you do?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know anything?"
"Well I have this masters degree that proves I know something; I'm just not sure how to apply it to hockey."
It's one of those days. You're on top of someone the entire scrimmage and then the whistle blows and you get yelled at for following the wrong person around. "But you just told me to stay on her." "No, you're supposed to follow the person at the point." "So do I follow her or her?" "HER." Pointing with his stick. "Do you understand?" "Yes." "Are you sure?" "Sure I'm sure." His face is flushed pink and he's mad. I stare at the back of his sweatshirt that's soaked from an earlier fall.
She skates all over the freaking place. You just said I can't go past the top of the circle, but she's all over the place. I suppose if she skates off a cliff I should go too? Breathe a sigh of frustration. The good thing is the new opposing left winger is just as confused as me, and to top it off she's got a skate in every corner. Face off again. Signal the other coach over and ask why I'm going for right D instead of left D. "That's where me playing goalie for years doesn't help me in this situation. I don't know anything about this structure." Great.
"Where do I go if she wins the face off?"
"You just go wherever the puck goes."
Now I want to go wherever he goes and pummel the snot out of him. But I don't. Skate around for 30 seconds before he blows the whistle again. Face off. Stop. "You need to start moving as soon as my arm goes down to drop the puck." "Moving where?" "Anywhere." "Even if I don't know which way it's going to go?" "Believe me, you need to start moving, because the puck moves a lot faster than you." Get laughed at. Oh now I am going to hit you in the shins.
Hockey makes you think violent thoughts, but most of the time you just end up getting bypassed by someone who skates a lot better than you. So in that respect, it becomes a pretty mild sport, with the most exciting moments occurring when you finally get the puck and then stumble over your own skates and fall in a heap. Why do I do this? It must be because of how cool I look when I put my sunglasses on after practice.
"I don't know."
"If she loses the face off, what do you do?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know anything?"
"Well I have this masters degree that proves I know something; I'm just not sure how to apply it to hockey."
It's one of those days. You're on top of someone the entire scrimmage and then the whistle blows and you get yelled at for following the wrong person around. "But you just told me to stay on her." "No, you're supposed to follow the person at the point." "So do I follow her or her?" "HER." Pointing with his stick. "Do you understand?" "Yes." "Are you sure?" "Sure I'm sure." His face is flushed pink and he's mad. I stare at the back of his sweatshirt that's soaked from an earlier fall.
She skates all over the freaking place. You just said I can't go past the top of the circle, but she's all over the place. I suppose if she skates off a cliff I should go too? Breathe a sigh of frustration. The good thing is the new opposing left winger is just as confused as me, and to top it off she's got a skate in every corner. Face off again. Signal the other coach over and ask why I'm going for right D instead of left D. "That's where me playing goalie for years doesn't help me in this situation. I don't know anything about this structure." Great.
"Where do I go if she wins the face off?"
"You just go wherever the puck goes."
Now I want to go wherever he goes and pummel the snot out of him. But I don't. Skate around for 30 seconds before he blows the whistle again. Face off. Stop. "You need to start moving as soon as my arm goes down to drop the puck." "Moving where?" "Anywhere." "Even if I don't know which way it's going to go?" "Believe me, you need to start moving, because the puck moves a lot faster than you." Get laughed at. Oh now I am going to hit you in the shins.
Hockey makes you think violent thoughts, but most of the time you just end up getting bypassed by someone who skates a lot better than you. So in that respect, it becomes a pretty mild sport, with the most exciting moments occurring when you finally get the puck and then stumble over your own skates and fall in a heap. Why do I do this? It must be because of how cool I look when I put my sunglasses on after practice.
|
It seems to me that "maybe" It pretty much always means "no" So don't tell me you might just let it go And often times we're lazy It seems to stand in my way Cause no one, no not no one Likes to be let down - Jack Johnson, Flake |  |  |
Pulp Fairytales
by J. Mignone
Once upon time in a land not too far away from here, a patient maiden named Princess Onemorechance was trying to find her man, Prince Mustsavethekingdom. She had sent numerous letters via pigeon and messenger boy, and, after ensuring that neither the pigeons nor messenger boys were being eaten by dragons enroute, became convinced that her man was just too busy saving the kingdom again. She consulted her close friends.
"Oh he's getting your messages," said Maiden Itoldyouso, "it's just that you know, making sure the drawbridge is well oiled is more important than you."
Maiden Getanewone agreed. "It's not like he can't send the troops to battle and then take two seconds out of his busy day to pen you a one-liner and send it back. He just doesn't care enough."
"Well I don't know," said Princess Onemorechance, "I think he just doesn't understand that he doesn't have to save the kingdom in solitude. I'm going to give him one more chance."
That evening, the princess baked a minced meat pie and carried it all the way to Prince Mustsavethekingdom's castle. The drawbridge was up and there were no guards in sight.
"Helloooooo!" she yelled from the edge of the moat. She waited for a while, then set the pie down and started throwing rocks at the nearest window. "Are you there?!"
From the topmost window, a small figure peered out. "What are you doing down there?" said Prince Mustsavethekingdom. Princess Onemorechance picked up the pie and showed it to him. He disappeared from the window and the drawbridge started to lower. Princess Onemorechance rolled her eyes, lifted her skirt slightly with her free hand, and walked into the castle.
When she got inside, Prince Mustsavethekingdom was running from table to table with no tunic on, half-shaved, and wearing tights with holes in embarrassing places. "I was sure you had been killed by mercenaries this time," Princess Onemorechance said to him. "Here, I made you a pie."
"Oh thanks," he said, grabbing it and throwing it over his shoulder. Princess Onemorechance tried to look around him to see where it landed, but it must have sunk into the huge pile of papers on the stone floor.
"Look," she said, "I was wondering-"
"Man, I have just been so busy," Prince Mustsavethekingdom interrupted, "I've been waiting for that new shipment of armor all day, and it still hasn't arrived, and I had to follow up on two sieges we planned today on the western coast, and I'm still negotiating that territory deal with King Haventgotallday, and I'm drafting seven new laws that are to go into effect at midnight tonight, and then you know there's always this kingdom I have to save. How was your day by the way?"
"Well today I-"
"Uh huh, really," he said, cutting her off. "Oh and I have to hold council at two different castles tomorrow and I haven't even started preparing for that." Princess Onemorechance suddenly decided that her day was probably irrelevant and let it drop.
"I know you are busy," she said, "but sometimes I just want to sit by you and read while you save the kingdom."
Prince Mustsavethekingdom stalled for a moment, then walked to the window and opened the shutter, letting a gust of wind blow through his long hair. He pointed to the moon.
"But I have wars to fight and laws to write and fortunes to reap -- so you have to go now, to your tower, and be safe while I concentrate on saving the kingdom."
Princess Onemorechance slammed the shutters closed. Prince Mustsavethekingdom put his arm down and looked at her glumly. "Really," she answered, "and how am I interfering with the saving of the kingdom by sitting here?"
"Well, uh...."
"All those wonderful deeds you're doing, and people you're helping, and empires you're building -- what do you think those consist of? People locked away in towers by themselves? They're made up of happy people who want love and friendship and companionship, just the same as you and me. You can't create kingdoms by pushing people away. And anyhow, all I want do is sit here while you save the kingdom so I can read my murder mystery."
"Oh," he said.
The next day, Prince Mustsavethekingdom was battling dragons and writing laws and ruling armies, and Princess Onemorechance was on the fourth chapter of "Who Killed King Uberbusy?" Sometimes she went out for groceries and sometimes there was good lovin', but the kingdom was still being saved.
To be continued...
by J. Mignone
Once upon time in a land not too far away from here, a patient maiden named Princess Onemorechance was trying to find her man, Prince Mustsavethekingdom. She had sent numerous letters via pigeon and messenger boy, and, after ensuring that neither the pigeons nor messenger boys were being eaten by dragons enroute, became convinced that her man was just too busy saving the kingdom again. She consulted her close friends.
"Oh he's getting your messages," said Maiden Itoldyouso, "it's just that you know, making sure the drawbridge is well oiled is more important than you."
Maiden Getanewone agreed. "It's not like he can't send the troops to battle and then take two seconds out of his busy day to pen you a one-liner and send it back. He just doesn't care enough."
"Well I don't know," said Princess Onemorechance, "I think he just doesn't understand that he doesn't have to save the kingdom in solitude. I'm going to give him one more chance."
That evening, the princess baked a minced meat pie and carried it all the way to Prince Mustsavethekingdom's castle. The drawbridge was up and there were no guards in sight.
"Helloooooo!" she yelled from the edge of the moat. She waited for a while, then set the pie down and started throwing rocks at the nearest window. "Are you there?!"
From the topmost window, a small figure peered out. "What are you doing down there?" said Prince Mustsavethekingdom. Princess Onemorechance picked up the pie and showed it to him. He disappeared from the window and the drawbridge started to lower. Princess Onemorechance rolled her eyes, lifted her skirt slightly with her free hand, and walked into the castle.
When she got inside, Prince Mustsavethekingdom was running from table to table with no tunic on, half-shaved, and wearing tights with holes in embarrassing places. "I was sure you had been killed by mercenaries this time," Princess Onemorechance said to him. "Here, I made you a pie."
"Oh thanks," he said, grabbing it and throwing it over his shoulder. Princess Onemorechance tried to look around him to see where it landed, but it must have sunk into the huge pile of papers on the stone floor.
"Look," she said, "I was wondering-"
"Man, I have just been so busy," Prince Mustsavethekingdom interrupted, "I've been waiting for that new shipment of armor all day, and it still hasn't arrived, and I had to follow up on two sieges we planned today on the western coast, and I'm still negotiating that territory deal with King Haventgotallday, and I'm drafting seven new laws that are to go into effect at midnight tonight, and then you know there's always this kingdom I have to save. How was your day by the way?"
"Well today I-"
"Uh huh, really," he said, cutting her off. "Oh and I have to hold council at two different castles tomorrow and I haven't even started preparing for that." Princess Onemorechance suddenly decided that her day was probably irrelevant and let it drop.
"I know you are busy," she said, "but sometimes I just want to sit by you and read while you save the kingdom."
Prince Mustsavethekingdom stalled for a moment, then walked to the window and opened the shutter, letting a gust of wind blow through his long hair. He pointed to the moon.
"But I have wars to fight and laws to write and fortunes to reap -- so you have to go now, to your tower, and be safe while I concentrate on saving the kingdom."
Princess Onemorechance slammed the shutters closed. Prince Mustsavethekingdom put his arm down and looked at her glumly. "Really," she answered, "and how am I interfering with the saving of the kingdom by sitting here?"
"Well, uh...."
"All those wonderful deeds you're doing, and people you're helping, and empires you're building -- what do you think those consist of? People locked away in towers by themselves? They're made up of happy people who want love and friendship and companionship, just the same as you and me. You can't create kingdoms by pushing people away. And anyhow, all I want do is sit here while you save the kingdom so I can read my murder mystery."
"Oh," he said.
The next day, Prince Mustsavethekingdom was battling dragons and writing laws and ruling armies, and Princess Onemorechance was on the fourth chapter of "Who Killed King Uberbusy?" Sometimes she went out for groceries and sometimes there was good lovin', but the kingdom was still being saved.
To be continued...
Hockey, like horses, is an art. I only wish I were a better artist. Below are some images I created for a book of haikus I started but never finished. I didn't know what to do with them, so I thought I'd share them here.
 |  |  |  |  |
| Rejected. Again. |  |
When lost in Manhattan, remain calm while consulting your Hertz rent-a-car map of the city. They don't mark all the streets, but if you keep turning left you'll eventually get to where you want to go. In Pittsburgh for a day, then six hours to NYC, sleep poorly, then to JFK and back twice, up the BQE, over the Brooklyn Bridge, through Manhattan (with some detours), into the Holland Tunnel and then another six hours back to Pittsburgh. Enroute, I discovered there are five rules to honking in New York:
Stop Honking, It Doesn't Help
Well they don't even know. You can also drive wherever you want, as long as your car will fit through the space. Lanes are pretty irrelevant and they don't bother painting them much anyway. The practice was useful since I returned to Pittsburgh on "residence hall move-in day" and had to honk and cut off at least five people from campus all the way to the Liberty Bridge.
Are we done yet? I just want to sleep.
- Honk when the light turns green. It doesn't matter if you are 30 cars back from the intersection -- honk anyway.
- Honk when someone makes an illegal maneuver that you feel could be slowing you down.
- Honk when you are about to make an illegal maneuver that will help you get ahead of other cars. It is ok to run red lights and cut other people off as long as you are honking in the process.
- Honk in answer to someone else's honking. It is more effective in stereo.
- Honk whenever you feel like it, if none of the above are convenient.
Well they don't even know. You can also drive wherever you want, as long as your car will fit through the space. Lanes are pretty irrelevant and they don't bother painting them much anyway. The practice was useful since I returned to Pittsburgh on "residence hall move-in day" and had to honk and cut off at least five people from campus all the way to the Liberty Bridge.
Are we done yet? I just want to sleep.
Hello Pittsburgh. You sure got hot while I was gone. I left my sunblock in California but I brought the saddle with me. Disappointingly, the cleaning gnomes did not visit my apartment while I was away, even though I left them quite a tempting mess to tackle. Buddy didn't make it back with me either, but perhaps there is another dog out there for me, just waiting to make me sneeze. It's good to see you again Superstar; if I can survive the last four days of my masters program, I know you can make it through next week. Let's go to Erie. By then, you will have earned it.
I'm back in the saddle and as sore as a city tourist at a dude ranch. The only difference is I haven't been riding in a Hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, and Tevas. My custom chaps don't feel so custom anymore, or at least they must have been customized for my eviler, more active twin. I popped a little Quarter Horse/Arab cross over some fences today and felt like the growth-spurt kid at the horse show whose parents are too cheap to buy her a bigger horse. To top it off, I was convinced that I was sliding all over the place and burying every distance. Thank goodness animals can forgive and forget too. Despite this, my trainer made a point of complimenting my riding in front of two teenagers who for some reason or another, still look up to me as second in command. "Jess doesn't like flatwork either but she's a much better rider than you because of it." *Teeth gritting, looking away, smiling sheepishly* Apparently everyone had been closing their eyes when I was jumping around five minutes earlier. Either that or they were too polite to say anything.
My favorite Sharks fan stopped by the barn today and gave me a ride in her Mercedes to Atherton to see the new filly. The foal was cute but I was more enamored of a rescued Italian Greyhound the family had at the house. I'd like to find a way to take him back to Pittsburgh with me. Sure, he has virtually no hair, and he's rather emaciated looking, but if I can survive a Pittsburgh winter, I figure, so can he. He just needs some pink thermals to match mine and we'll be set.
My favorite Sharks fan stopped by the barn today and gave me a ride in her Mercedes to Atherton to see the new filly. The foal was cute but I was more enamored of a rescued Italian Greyhound the family had at the house. I'd like to find a way to take him back to Pittsburgh with me. Sure, he has virtually no hair, and he's rather emaciated looking, but if I can survive a Pittsburgh winter, I figure, so can he. He just needs some pink thermals to match mine and we'll be set.
B's wedding was lovely. And the bouquet is mine, with only minimal stiff arming of other people. I'm always intrigued by unique weddings. At B's they had a jumpy house for the kids (and later, the adults) shaped like a Hummer, a vote for the ugliest wedding dress from a selection of catalog dresses B's coworkers collected, an embarrassing Powerpoint presentation of the couple growing up ("B, the First 30+ Years"), and Meyer Spruce wedding favors. The note on the little tree said:
Thank you for being here to share
in our special day. In the spirit
of love and new beginnings, we
hope that you will take this seedling
and plant it in a special place.
We even got planting suggestions on the back. The big house in the Santa Cruz mountains is much further along than when I saw it two years ago. Maybe by the time the two of them have college-aged children, it will be finished. Hey, it's always important to think positively.
In other fascinating news, C quit her job at Intel and is moving to Vegas with her husband to take a marketing position at Harrah's. That's it, she's just up and leaving, the barn, high tech, and California. I asked her if she'd be on at 8 p.m. Tuesdays with a big pink feather on her head but she said it's a different kind of marketing job. Congrats C, that is amazing and inspiring, and good luck to you in sparkling Las Vegas. I hope you find a good place to ride horses, and we'll be sure to come and visit when the Budweiser Grand Prix comes to town.
We even got planting suggestions on the back. The big house in the Santa Cruz mountains is much further along than when I saw it two years ago. Maybe by the time the two of them have college-aged children, it will be finished. Hey, it's always important to think positively.
In other fascinating news, C quit her job at Intel and is moving to Vegas with her husband to take a marketing position at Harrah's. That's it, she's just up and leaving, the barn, high tech, and California. I asked her if she'd be on at 8 p.m. Tuesdays with a big pink feather on her head but she said it's a different kind of marketing job. Congrats C, that is amazing and inspiring, and good luck to you in sparkling Las Vegas. I hope you find a good place to ride horses, and we'll be sure to come and visit when the Budweiser Grand Prix comes to town.
Today, I gradu-matate. School's out forever, or so it seems, like those grade school days when the summer seemed vast and hot and romantic. And right now it's California or bust; Pittsburgh be sure to miss me while I'm gone.
My masters project presentation to General Motors is done. And now, for a short while, I sleep.
