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I hear dive-bomber
Jun. 5th, 2006 11:59 pm
High today, here: 25. Dewpoint then: 11. High dewpoint: 13.
High today in TO: 26. Dewpoint then: 12. High dewpoint: 13.
Low today on the balcony: 13.5. High: 25. Currently: 18.4.
The truly annoying thing is not so much that the Oilers now pretty much need some serious divine intervention (or, who knows, a goaltending meltdown on the other side) to win this series, barring which I will end up 6-for-15; it is, rather, that Kara Yorio will be right. Which maybe just goes to show what a mug's game it is. There is no good goddamn reason that anyone should've picked the Hurricanes to win the Cup before the playoffs started. I wonder if there's ever been a final before where the back-up goalies got most of the ice-time. Two things about these playoffs: first, in just about every series, there has come a point where one team has pressed the self-destruct button; second, holy back-up goalies! That's gotta really be messing with some pools.
Today I saw three bunny rabbits, one of which was a baby bunny rabbit, and the baby bunny rabbit ate a rose petal. The bunny rabbit that freaked out at York when a squirrel bumped into its bum had, just previous to that, plucked up a dandelion stem at its base and munch munch much munched it straight in, fluff and all. I love the way rabbits eat. They eat like robots. After I saw the baby bunny rabbit eat the rose petal, I was dive-bombed by a red-winged blackbird. Several times. The first time, I heard something go by the back of my head. What I heard was some sort of vibrating croaking, like a very large bug--Gregor Samsa, say. I looked to where the sound seemed like it should have gone, and there was a red-winged black bird, sitting in a tree, making a more normal red-winged blackbird noise. A few steps later, same thing; look up, there's the blackbird again. The next time, I managed to turn around just in time to see a black blur go by.
This happened on the way back from UW, because I decided this morning that life could not go on until I had read a new commentary on the Crito--( Michael C. Stokes, Dialectic in Action: An Examination of Plato's Crito )
High today in TO: 26. Dewpoint then: 12. High dewpoint: 13.
Low today on the balcony: 13.5. High: 25. Currently: 18.4.
The truly annoying thing is not so much that the Oilers now pretty much need some serious divine intervention (or, who knows, a goaltending meltdown on the other side) to win this series, barring which I will end up 6-for-15; it is, rather, that Kara Yorio will be right. Which maybe just goes to show what a mug's game it is. There is no good goddamn reason that anyone should've picked the Hurricanes to win the Cup before the playoffs started. I wonder if there's ever been a final before where the back-up goalies got most of the ice-time. Two things about these playoffs: first, in just about every series, there has come a point where one team has pressed the self-destruct button; second, holy back-up goalies! That's gotta really be messing with some pools.
Today I saw three bunny rabbits, one of which was a baby bunny rabbit, and the baby bunny rabbit ate a rose petal. The bunny rabbit that freaked out at York when a squirrel bumped into its bum had, just previous to that, plucked up a dandelion stem at its base and munch munch much munched it straight in, fluff and all. I love the way rabbits eat. They eat like robots. After I saw the baby bunny rabbit eat the rose petal, I was dive-bombed by a red-winged blackbird. Several times. The first time, I heard something go by the back of my head. What I heard was some sort of vibrating croaking, like a very large bug--Gregor Samsa, say. I looked to where the sound seemed like it should have gone, and there was a red-winged black bird, sitting in a tree, making a more normal red-winged blackbird noise. A few steps later, same thing; look up, there's the blackbird again. The next time, I managed to turn around just in time to see a black blur go by.
This happened on the way back from UW, because I decided this morning that life could not go on until I had read a new commentary on the Crito--( Michael C. Stokes, Dialectic in Action: An Examination of Plato's Crito )
