Making It Up As I Go Along #418

The Art of Movies
Movies make life interesting. At least they can. When life is about collecting flyers from the mailbox and making sure your lawn is at peak health, I think it’s safe to say a little fantasy is needed in your life.

And to speak of fantasy, isn’t necessarily to talk about the two most common elements of the term (Science Fiction and porn). Watching Tom Hanks living life as a deserted island castaway is just as much fantasy. You escape the real world and enter a pretend reality.

The problem with movies, like any other form of artistic expression, is that there is a lot of garbage out there. Music has it’s commercial fluff... worthless, forgettable, and financially successful. Fawned after expressionist paintings have turned out to be actually created by apes. TV sitcoms churn out predictable stupidity accompanied by a laugh track. And even Sarah Palin can be called an author.

Movies have their fair share of worthlessness as well. In fact, in artistic pursuits, the movie industry may have the highest ration of the forgettable vs. the masterpiece.

Few industries can boast the level of self delusional grandeur that the movie industry can. I remember watching Richard Gere, all straight faced at the Academy Awards, giving a speech proclaiming that he and his movie star brethren have the power to force China to change it’s ways and allow freedom.

But to say all movie stars are just as insignificant and silly as Richard Gere would be wrong. I recently listened to an interview with Cloris Leachman, an 84 year old actress who may be best known for work in the TV shows, The Facts of Life and The Mary Tyler Moore Show. She told a story of the end of her friendship with Marlon Brando. She said how he was meeting her husband and her for a meal and that she and Brando were the first two to arrive at the restaurant. Brando looked at her in a why that she describes as “having no right to look at me that way”. She cried, became angry with him, and never spoke with him again. She said it was not a sexual look. And she was unable to fully describe it.

The story has stuck with me. Not so much from the point of view of Leachman being an overly sensitive drama queen. She didn’t appear to be that way in the interview. What got to me was the idea of the way a person can look at another and bring out such emotion. The feeling I got was that Marlon Brando was capable of looking into a person’s soul. Such abilities would make a great actor. To be able to see a person so intimately would enable you to get lost within a character. Suddenly, you aren’t acting... you’re being that person. And in this superficial world, such qualities as this can’t help but be admired and watched with great facination.

I’ve often heard people talk about movies with such low expectations. Too often I’ve heard people say “I don’t want to have to think, I’m going for a good time and just want to be entertained.” For them, movies have no substance. And because of them, such movies as Sister Act 2, Rocky 4, and anything starring Eddie Murphy after 1996 have been created. Unoriginal, overly simplistic, lazy film making to feed to the masses why “don’t want to have to think” when they go to the movies.

I liked my movies spoon fed to me for many a year. I liked watching something that followed a particular path. You knew, since that guy was the villain, he’ll be killed at the end of the movie while the hero will stand there, blood soaked from shoulder gun wounds... a half naked girl wrapped to him for protection... and a wonderfully witty one liner will be said to put the final touches on the scene.

For some movies, this is a more acceptable thing. Sean Connery as James Bond, is free to make a little quip about how the now deceased villain “lost his head” or “is just dead (tired)”.

The problem is too many movies try to make the entire dialogue of the film a set up towards witty one liners. The one liners are too forced because the film maker wants to be the next one to create a Terminator style “I’ll be Back”. Something so famous, that it seeps into our culture.

I remember watching the western, Young Guns, in 1988 and thinking that was the best western movie I’d ever seen. They shot the place up. They cracked jokes as they did it. What wasn’t to like?

Then, in 1990, came Young Guns 2. And Young Guns was topped in my books. Better jokes. Better set ups for the shoot outs. Jon Bon Jovi music. I was in western heaven.

In 1992, I remember me, my girlfriend, and another couple renting Unforgiven. I don’t even remember if the movie was in cinemas in St. John’s. I just know I didn’t see it until we rented it one Saturday night.

I went in to Unforgiven, hoping for another Young Guns 2. I think all four of us did. I came out of that movie... awakened.

I remember, at the time, being the only one of the four of us who liked the movie. Looking back, I’m a little surprised I did. Hoping for bright sun shining down on a small western town... with guns blazing and jokes flying. What we got was slow paced action. Dialogue. A hero who was once a villain and totally conflicted by his past. Rain and mud and darkness. Unforgiven was everything Young Guns 2 was not... and it amazed me.

For me, Unforgiven is one of the greatest movies of all time. Not only because it’s a great movie. But because it is the movie that changed the way I looked at movies. In moments that change our worlds... we have the assassination of JFK and September 11th for the political/ life changing moments. We have the Henderson goal of 1972 or the Gretzky to Lemieux goal of 1987 for sports. And I have Unforgiven for movies.

Of course, there were hints of my movie breakout prior to 1992. The first time I had girls, as well as boys, invited to my house would have been around 1985 or 1986. And my sister made us rent and watch Monty Python’s The Life of Brian.

I remember panic in the first five minutes of the movie. Panic at the thought that I have girls in my house... me wanting to look cool... and we’re watching an obvious man dressed up like a woman, greeting the three wise men as they come baring gifts for her new born son. It was low budget looking. No Hollywood magic... spoken in strange accents... and I was terrified that people would leave my house proclaiming I was a moron for making us watch such a movie.

After those first five minutes, I settled in to what is one of the funniest movies of all time. And became a Monty Python fan for life.

And around the same time as I was praising the Young Gun movies, I happened to watch Raising Arizona on TV one night. And I was captivated by the originality... the bizarreness, and even the yodeling throughout. Another of those movies I never heard of before watching it... and that changed the way I looked at movies afterwards.

But Unforgiven was the big one. Even though Life of Brian and Raising Arizona gave me hints of my desire to turn away from the mainstream Hollywood blockbusters, it was Unforgiven that blasted me through the door.

And ever since, I’ve cursed the dogs who play basketball, chimps who play baseball, and mall cops who bumble their way to saving the day. I wish there was a ban on anyone watching Sex in the City 2 (a movie that is sure to make western society at least 20 points stupider when it comes to IQ). And I’m thankful for that day when we rented a western that turned out not to be the next Young Guns 2.


MONDAY...
— Quiet house day. A walk around the pond with the camera. It’s sunny and hot... in the 30s. Nice.

TUESDAY...
— Back to that blasted dayshift again. Hot hot. 38 with humidity today. Liking it. Half the shift at CAFIS... boring. Half at AFIS... much better.
— Meant to get money from the bank and some groceries after work... but left my wallet at work. So, it’s an evening at home with Star Trek on Blue Ray. Fun stuff.

WEDNESDAY...
— Hotter still. Humidity gets it up to 42 by this afternoon. I’m a bit off in the morning. Something I ate the night before or tired or the humidity... or combo of it all. By the afternoon I’m alright. Physio is tough though. Sweat pouring off me by the time I hit the bike. Even with AC, the humidity just gets you.

THURSDAY...
— Got the bike back all tuned up and ready to go. Cost me some as a few parts needed replacing, but should be good. I guess no more bike left on the back deck in the summer... the elements didn’t do it kind.

FRIDAY...
— Amazon order shows up today. Two baseball books and a Blue Ray. Bullpen Gospels, Satchel Paige bio, and the movie... Run Lola Run.

SATURDAY...
— Nice night out but long. We wanted a good place to sit for the UFC so we got there at 8:30. But the fights weren’t over until 12:45. Too long a time sitting there. But still fun.
— Happy to hear Halladay threw a perfect game tonight. One of my favourites.

Making It Up As I Go Along #417

Discovered
Animals undiscovered in the deep.
Each venture followed by TV crews.
Scientists giddy with new discoveries.
Found on the last day of the voyage.
A little red squid or a fish with a lump.
Unknown before, unseen, moved to a plastic bucket
And gawked at.

We keep discovering more.
When you’d think we must have seen it all.
Something new pops up.
A tiny ant atop a tree.
It’s universe a mix of leaves, twigs, and trunks.
The earth below and the seas beyond
Unknown.

Are there animals we’ve yet to discover
That have themselves, already discovered us?
A shy fish in the depths.
Seeing the coming cameras and nets.
And skirting away from the twine
Away from the lights.
Hanging on the edge of blackness
Watching.

Could there be desert spiders?
Whose daily lives have nothing to do with us?
Yet once every few spider generations,
People wander through.
And the spider huddles under a rock
Or within a sandy hole.
Peaking out, puzzled by the odd creatures
Appearing for the first time.

Or creatures who dup us.
We know they’re there and they don’t hide away.
But they don’t let us in.
Dolphins scoot up to say hello.
Playing in the wakes of ships.
Chirping at us in Flipper fashion.
But when we go, perhaps they go about their day.
Ready to move on from human distraction.
Chuckling among themselves
At the silliness of people.
And wondering if we’ll ever get it...
As they go back to their hidden paradise.


MONDAY...
— Fairly drab day at work... lunch with Melissa being about it. Physio... nap... some TV. Pacific finale was quite good. Blue Jays were not.

TUESDAY...
— Tired today. Day shift is catching up to me. Habs game is annoying tonight. Hab fans will riot with joy if the team can just score a goal again.
— Bike in to get fixed up for summer. One week to go.

WEDNESDAY...
— Meh kind of day. I did learn, at the cafeteria, that scrambled eggs and an omelet are the same thing. Knobs.

THURSDAY...
— Long long day at work. Took forever to reach lunch... after then it was alright. Montreal wins at home. Saturday may be the series... tie it up... or down three to one.

FRIDAY...
— I know I haven’t had kids and don’t know what it’s like being a parent. But I’ve seen enough spoiled kids to know bad parenting when I see it. And I saw it at the tail end of physio. For a half hour, the mother tried to negotiate with her son. Asking him to be good and stay where she can see... then, when he doesn’t do this, she tries pleading with him “want to be a good boy”... “stay where mommy can see you”... “If you don’t do it, no donut after soccer”. There is no way this kid isn’t getting his donut. He knew it... mommy knew it... I knew it. The kid even told her “If you don’t get me one, I’ll buy it with my own money”. And she seemed to feel he won with that one, and began negotiated again. Licences for parenting... no children allowed if you don’t earn your licence.

SATURDAY...
— Some laundry and cleaning. Hockey is hard to sit through. Possibly the least skill needed by a goaltender in getting a shutout that I’ve seen in the NHL. Montreal loses and is one loss from elimination.

Making It Up As I Go Along #416

Off to Botwood
There are too many memories of my trips to my Grandparent’s place in Botwood. Too many to tell a story of. But I’ll share thoughts of the Botwood milestones. That is, the spots there and along the way that stand out.

When leaving the city, the long weekend which often comes with a Botwood trip is recognized by a desolate land. In university days, I learned that the land just outside St. John’s is formed by glacial action. Great rolling mounds and hills dotted with ponds and peppered with boulders. Boulders as much as a story or two high. Hardly a tree is seen and you look out at the landscape and feel like pulling the car over, packing up, and trekking across the barrens. It looks like you could go for a hundred miles. And you could bring a rod, set up a tent in the shelter of a boulder, and live off the land.

Further along, there’s the isthmus of the Avalon Peninsula. This is the foggiest place on earth. Some amount of fog is seen here more than three hundred days of the year. And often, the drive through this area is a slow, dreamy one. Where stunted trees are shadows a hundred yards off the road and cliffs loom out of the fog, surrounding the highway with walls of rock. Pictures are on the internet of this place. It’s where winter storms have buried transport trucks. But on those days when the fog stays clear, this drive is almost wondrous. An unknown landscape that’s been traveled many times but rarely seen. Coastal islands can be seen in the distance as the sea glistens.

Clarenville comes next. A town I’ve only been in a few times but skirted along the highway hundreds. You drive a winding bit of highway along the cliffs, catching glimpses of the town when the road winds right. And then you know you’re there when the Irving gas station comes along. Most trips are timed to reach this place at meal time. Be it lunch or supper, often a break comes here for soup or the most amazing burgers a gas station could offer. In fact, the burgers at the Clarenville Irving are in the top five I’ve had. Even when the stop has to be brief, we’ll usually order a meal to go. Once we hit a pothole after grabbing our food. My head hit the ceiling of our Caravan... my fries with gravy flipped in my lap. And as I rubbed my possibly broken neck and felt the burn of gravy upon my lap, dad looked back in the rear view mirror... and proclaimed “there better not be any mess on the van!”

Terra Nova follows Clarenville. The great park of inlets, hills, forests, and wildlife. A sign at the front of the park tells you how many moose/vehicle accidents have occurred in the park this year. On a long weekend, you could drive to Botwood and see the number of accidents here at sixteen. And drive back two days later to see the number climbed to eighteen. Two long weekends not as pleasant as ours. Resulting in insurance dealings back in town... or funeral arrangements. Terra Nova always force you to take it easy. Be it to take in the scenery as you drive along, or the line of traffic trailing a great camper trailer that can barely make it up the larger hills. A lack of passing lanes within the park makes for a caravan of vehicles crossing the land. We’d sometimes stop at a roadside picnic area. Along a river, tucked below the highway. You’d look at trout in the river and feed Gray Jays coming for bits of bread.

Gander is the place for a gas stop. Stocking up on bars and drinks for the final hour to Botwood. It’s a place of dropping off and picking up. We stopped at the airport in Gander once to see Edena off to England. My first long time apart from my sister. I lay awake in bed that night, listening for the distant sound of an overhead jet... and guessing “that one’s probably hers... bye bye sissy”. Another time, it was in Gander where I met dad at the gas station. He coming from St. John’s and me from the west coast field school. Exhausted, I drag my stuff off the university van, say my goodbyes to the crew I lived with for the previous few weeks, and carried on with dad on a trip to the coast, and Fogo.

The bridge at the Exploits River tells us we’re there. Only about ten or fifteen minutes away, we get off the main highway just after the bridge. Crossing the bridge, you look out at the river... searching for salmon fishermen standing along side a gully. I often think of the story I heard of tragedy on this bridge. Of a van of nuns, crossing the bridge but realizing they left some item behind. One of those times when you feel you can’t go on another second without going back to get it. And if you don’t think it through, you may turn around right there to do just that. They did, there on the bridge, and while they were maneuvering the van to face back towards the way they just came, a transport truck crossed the bridge and t-boned them. All the nuns died, and the item remained left behind.

The final road to Botwood is a small highway. The trees along each side being an endless sea of birch... a treat for those from town, where conifers are much more prevalent. The soil and rock in this area is almost purple in colour. So much so that the road itself is paved in purple. We pass the gas station where soft serve ice cream helps get you through warm summer days and turn into the town shortly after there.

Botwood seems to always be in the sun. The birch leaves glisten as the rustle in the breeze, homes seem vibrant, and the water in the bay shimmers.

At my grandparent’s house, the pulse drops as soon as you exit the car. You linger on the front lawn for a moment as the dog sniffs about and looks for a place to pee. And then, before going for the bags, you wander into the house, climb the stairs, and stroll in on the main floor. Soup simmers on the stove as my grandmother casually greets us in the hall. There is no rushing here, but hugs do come. Sometimes she’s given a bit of a start, as we arrive earlier than expected. “Oh, I thought you were Jim” she’d say as she turns to great my uncle from across the street. When my grandfather was still alive, he’d either be just getting up from his chair in the living room, or snoozing on the sofa, slowly waking with our arrival. Or sometimes he may come up the stairs behind us, having been in his workshop when we arrived.

I can think of only one time when my first action wasn’t hugging my grandmother. That’s when I made the four and a half hour drive needing to go to the bathroom the whole time. On the road, I used the bladder pressure as a way of staying awake (having driven by myself after a day of work). My grandmother met me in the hall, awaiting her hug, but I passed by, making the straight line from the top of the steps to the bathroom, and as I shut the door I said “Be right with you!” as I heard her gentle laugh.

The home in Botwood is where cares drifted away. From the back, you look out at the bay. Seeing the hills across the way and the gentle sea bridging the distance. The greatest sunrises occur here. Although my most memorable one was the morning my grandmother died. Mom called us before the sun came up, I laid in bed with my heart sinking as I heard dad answer, and we stood for a while after, looking out at the purple and rose coloured sky bringing a start to the day.

In the front of the house, was the biggest window I knew of as a child. A great window that made up a wall of the living room. Sometimes you’d just want to sit and look out. Being a kid, I’d kneel in the chair and lean against the back of it, our dog (Sparky in the early years and Schokee in the later) would climb up on the chair with me, I’d scratch the dog’s back as we both watched the Botwood world go by.

Across the road and over the hill would be a maze of pathways into the hills and trees. An old car wreck lay near the beginning of the paths. At my youngest, trips over the hills would have me stop at the car wreck to play for a bit. As years went by, and the wreck slowly decomposed into the shrubs, play gave way to exploration of the rust.

The hills were full of blueberries. Miles of berries to be consumed or picked. If I went with my parents and grandparents, beef buckets are carried in empty and lugged out full. If the journey was made with my friend, Greg, no buckets were needed. We’d explore for berries as if they were gold. And every now and then, one would call out to the other... “I found the mother load over here!” And the other would abandon everything to scurry over and join in the feast.

Evenings would have blueberries with milk and sugar as a treat and cards on the dining room table. Tea, with cheese and crackers would be as the Zamboni at a hockey game... bringing the intermission to the card playing. My grandmother would play her cards gently, softly putting out her card to win a trick while chuckling quietly. My grandfather would slam his winning cards down with a great thumb of his knuckle on the wood of the table. I’d hurt my knuckle trying to match the echo. And my grandfather’s snack would often include a doctor prescribed banana, laid out for him by my grandmother as he’d mutter “I’m going to turn into a God Damn monkey”.

Driving back on Sunday was done with sadness. Usually the trip would occur after a big lunch. I remember once we made the drive in the early morning. I was tucked into the old Volkswagen camper in a sleeping bag. The early departure being necessary so we could get by Gambo (about three hours from Botwood towards St. John’s) before the day’s heat would re-ignite the forest fire there. We drove along the highway with the forest devastated. Blackened wood, nothing green, with smoke hovering over the land. Years of Botwood trips after that time enabled us to view the regrowth of nature. Today, a visitor to the region would never know where that fire occurred.

And back in St. John’s. Knowing you’re home by the billboards along the highway, some fifteen miles out. In the early trips, we’d come back to town via Kenmount Road. Starting with a line of traffic in the early evening dusk... a line of red from the rear lights of those cars ahead of us. And then the drive across town to get back to Wedgewood Park, all rimmed in trees. In later trips back, Kenmount Road is bipassed thanks to the Ring Road. And the city is barely seen as we cross to the east end, where Wedgewood Park has become a forestless suburb. No more lines of red lights heading into town either. Divided highway right to Torbay Road, and minutes from home have taken care of that.

And, where in Botwood, we’d linger in the sun before venturing into the house for gentle hugs and the aroma of soup, in St. John’s, we huddle at the back of the van, getting loaded down with bags, shoes and jackets, hoping to rush all of our stuff from the car to the house in one trip, so we can avoid going back out into the cold, foggy drizzle of home.

MONDAY...
— Physio killing me. About two and a half hours with my first round of treadmill to finish it off. I can last five minutes doing that contraption.
— Work is ok. But I leave early... gone at 8:00 to beat it home and watch the Hab game on PVR (about an hour behind live). Great game, and now the series is tied going in to game seven Wednesday.
— Groceries bought after the game.

TUESDAY...
— Bye Bye Canucks. 5-1 is disappointing. But the defense was too battered to hold it together in the end.

WEDNESDAY...
— Physio goes well. Treadmill even goes well with a half hour no problem.
— Work is fine. Short shift, as I take the evening off, and just filing... an easy job.
— Meet Geoff and get burgers from the works and beer from the beer store and watch game seven of Montreal vs. Pittsburgh at home. Montreal wins 5-2 and we’re floored with happiness.

THURSDAY...
— Longest work day in a long time. Eight hour shift felt like twenty-four hours. Numbers are fine but I’m going off the walls by the end of it.

FRIDAY...
— Physio is good... I kill a bird on the way to work. Poor thing on the side of the road, goes to fly as I drive by, bam!
— Apple Crisp and Chinese food at work. Thanks to Roz for the Apple Crisp.

SATURDAY...
— House day. Some napping and some TV. Hurt Locker is really quite good. Not sure if it’s the best movie of last year or not... but quite good.

Making It Up As I Go Along #415

Random Moments
Memories are fickle. You never know what will hang within you as the years go by.

My first trip to Europe holds many memories. There’s the night time flight over the Atlantic. Looking down into the darkness and seeing the tiny lights of a ship. The first sight of land soon after sunrise... flying over the coast of Ireland, over towns I’d never seen or known before, but there they sit, in the early morning, older than any town I’ve known before but with a regular day about to begin for them.

There was the decent into London. Being struck by the sight of cars driving on the other side of the roads. I’d known this my whole life and seen it on TV more often than could be counted... but there they were non-the-less. Plain for all to see and seeming to normal for me to comprehend.

The London Eye, Big Ben, and the Tower Bridge drifted under our plane as models. Yet these were real and it was the most spectacular decent into a city I’ve had.

After touching down in Athens, we exited the airport and got a cab into the city. And my first memory on the ground in the ancient city? IKEA. Near the airport sat that little bit of Sweden looking much like the IKEA in Ottawa. Cheap bookcases and oddly named foot stools must also litter many a Greek home.

Seeing the Parthenon for the first time was meaningful. But the moment it most struck me was when we wandered through the Plaka (the market at the foot of the Acropolis) and rounding a corner, there it stood for all to see behind the shops. It drifted out from behind the buildings, reminding you where you were.

There was the evening in a hillside town (Delphi) as darkness crept in and dad and I looked down from our perch onto the valley below... seeing olive trees vanish into darkness and civilization light up along the distant shoreline.

One of the most memorable mom moments on the trip came with a hot chocolate. A cold morning on the Salisbury Plains with a misty fog hanging over the land. We sipped our warmth in a simple parking lot. Me my hot chocolate and her a coffee. What made this special was the fact that Stonehenge stood a golf drive away while we drank.

There were other moments shared with mom on that European trip. Our discussion of what price should be haggled on in a Turkey market... before agreeing to pay what the store owner asked. Our slow spin upon the London Eye while dad stood safely on the ground. And our discussions of the Athens hotel waitress who mom felt was a sweet girl I should take back to Canada with me.

But when I think of me and mom together on that trip, the first thoughts that come to me are of our hot drinks in the Stonehenge parking lot. Quietly together after viewing one of the wonders of the world.



MONDAY...
— Subdued day at work as we learn of one of the nicer people who works upstairs having a stroke. Doesn’t sound good.
— Physio is loud... banging and drilling going on in the room next to ours.
— An evening nap to help me stay up late for the Canuck game tonight. See how that’ll work. Not even worth it as Chicago comes back to win the game.

TUESDAY...
— Legs aren’t happy today. Feeling the bad left knee and the right leg is just tired. Walking isn’t fun today but by the time work ends, I’m pretty well back to normal... well, normal as of late anyway.
— Montreal lose 1-0... tight game but disappointing finish.

WEDNESDAY...
— Work, Physio, Hockey... ok, not bad, frustrating.

THURSDAY...
— A bit tired at work but get through ok. Montreal wins. The team that keeps amazing. Series tied 2 to 2. Still odds against the series win but never say never with this crew.

FRIDAY...
— Canucks are awful tonight. Work and physio go about as is normal.

SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Some video game baseball... some TV... some computer time... and some phone time with Ruby. Montreal loses a close one. But also lose Hal Gill... and that may be a loss too big to come back from.

Making It Up As I Go Along #414

Beetle Life
House beetle upon the floor
Helpless upon your back
Rolling gently in the breeze
Legs hinging slowly
Trying to grab on
Nothing to catch
But reaching
None-the-less

A helping hand lowers from above
Trying to end the torture
Looking to fix the grief
Causing legs to cease
It’s the only defense
Perfectly still
Play dead

Lifted upon a palm
Carried to a wall of light
The opening wall of freedom
Lightly tossed
Airy flipping
Land with a click
Indoors gone

Outdoor beetle upon the deck
Helpless upon your back
Rolling gently in the breeze
Legs hinging slowly
Trying to grab on
Nothing to catch
But reaching
None-the-less



MONDAY...
— Work days... and survive. Physio is pretty good... shorter day there.
— Hockey game is pretty amazing. Jaro Halak plays one of the great games in Montreal Canadien history... 4-1 and game seven on Wednesday. But calling Montreal for three diving penalties is a complete joke. Garbage like that is what brings the conspiracy theories against Bettman. One dive was legit... the other two were made up.

TUESDAY...
— Tired day. Struggled some at work with heavy eyes... and napped a bit after I got home. Some evening baseball rounds it out on a cold, snowy day. Blah to that.

WEDNESDAY...
— Physio... I’m now clear for biking. Time to get the old bike tuned up.
— Montreal beats Washington to win the series after being down 3-1. Halak and Gill were gods. And the whole team played great defense all game. Washington are now the Eastern version of San Jose... and I’m quite fine with that.

THURSDAY...
— Work is better than the other days this week thanks to AFIS.
— Tired of how the media seem so outwardly disappointed that Montreal beat Washington. Even Canadian media sound like Gary Bettman advertisers... wanting Ovechkin to entertain us all and oh how the bad Habs robbed us of that treat. The NHL has spent too long worrying about getting star individuals or major US cities into the Stanley Cup final. When you’re disappointed that the Montreal Canadiens... the New York Yankees of hockey... is moving on... well there’s something that’s just wrong about that.

FRIDAY...
— Made it through the week at work... and physio is alright. Long week though.
— The Montreal vs. Pittsburgh series starts and is needing to rev up. Montreal looked tired and Markov going down is likely going to hurt.

SATURDAY...
— Laundry and cleaning... supper with Sheila and Melissa and Nick join us for the DVD of the best Saturday Night Live movie of all time... Blues Brothers.