Fall of Because

Death by 1,000 Containers

Dominik — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:38:00 GMT

I am in The (dreaded) Container Store, who sends me mass mailing after mailing encouraging me to spend a grocery bill on a new closet shelf, and the DJ is killing me.

It is not by choice but by last resort that we've come here. An old house, built for Depression-Era needs, does not have the closet nor kitchen storage space for modern-age wardrobes and gluttony. You have to invent new places to put "stuff," when that stuff ("needed" or not) gets in the way when not in use.

Everything here is expensive. Everything here seems like a quick, almost intuitive way to simply solve a storage problem -- yet with a giant, "where else you gonna find it?" premium slapped on top of what a reasonable person might pay to solve a little clutter.

As I said, we've come here as last resort: Because Big Box hardware's many standard-issue items are made for the giant spaces of new suburban homes and usually don't fit our old house. We've come here only now, because neither of us ever wants to go to The (dreaded) Container Store, but neither of us trusts the other's convenience/aesthetic/utilitarian taste to make the right choice, on his/her own, from among limited options.

This much-delayed trip is about three years in the making.

And while we're already having this otherworldly, elaborate conversation in the store aisle about our kitchen routines and what's easy to dust and what would look sort-of-tolerable-okay in our mismatched ancient kitchen -- and I'm all too acutely aware of how silly and suburban we sound and how T(d)CS staff must hear these same mundane conversations 100 times a day -- it is made much, much worse for me by a selection of Ace of Base, REO Speedwagon and Rick Astley on the in-house stereo.

It's already annoyingly silly yet necessary conversation in an annoying setting. But it's made more annoying by the realization that The (dreaded) Container Store -- which has thought so carefully about it's customer impression that even its bathrooms are filled with lots of "ooh, look what they thought of!" Container Store touches -- has decided that people who want to passively hear this music are its customer base.

As a kid and teenager, I had to hear my share of REO, Astley and Ace of Base-like nonsense thanks to the tyranny of Top 40 and the poor guidance of the girls I chased. [Now, they even resurrected Astley and his white-guy dance for this year's [corporate] holiday parade in New York (Why, God, why?!?).]

The beauty of adulthood and independence, I always thought, was finally getting away from these people. And here The (dreaded) Container Store is telling me that you can't get away from these people, they're all around you, and I'm one of them.

Feels like I should be drinking cognac

Dominik — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 02:44:00 GMT

This is the first year where the inclination to call my father at the stroke of midnight -- whether Czech time or my time -- has no physical human recipient. (Surely I've written about this tradition before, haven't I?...Ah yes, there it is. I knew there was a reason I kept this freaking journal/blog thing.)

I could consider it poignant that what I wrote a year ago no, it was TWO years ago(!) both commemorated this tradition and foreshadowed his death within a TWO year's time -- but in truth, he'd been foreshadowing his own death for the past decade. No Nostradamus points there. Seems that's how people by-and-large die once they reach a certain age and survive a certain number of medical setbacks.

Anyway, seems when he passed [Ed.: It's died! My mother hates euphemisms like "passed." Wait, wait, but I'm just picking a different word from the paragraph before! Ed.: Doesn't matter. Try again.] in October, this is one of the things that occurred to me: I'd need a new tradition, or a new lucky recipient for the midnight-ish call. There's too many candidates, though. (Half-tempted to prank call drunk dial a random Czech number instead.) And the advantage of having some one seven time zones away is either you or they are not otherwise detained at the stroke of midnight. When you only communicate with someone a handful of times per year, the most regular occasion comes to mind as they die.

So anyway, the "like, wow" not-very-profound thought for the moment is that around 5 p.m. (midnight Czech time) this time around, New Year's Eve 2008-09, I was indeed watching hockey, which is one of the few ways my father connected with me or anyone. And it was interesting to see the modern-day NHL figures and uniforms and contrast them with the bulkier jerseys and chalkier broadcasts that we watched together in the memory of my formative years. Further, this holiday I saw a reunion show of one of the local almost-made-it bands that the First Night sister mentioned in the above linked story introduced me to as the proverbial "she's the one who took me to my first all-ages show" sister.

Like I said, not very profound. But an instant-oatmeal way of igniting mixed reflections on the passing of 20 years, the "passing" of my father and a cherished-if-somewhat-superficial tradition, and the relationship between older siblings, pre-high-school music tastes and the uber-cool "I already know about them" hijinks of teenage music one-upmanship.

First Night sister introduced me to a few good local bands who are now doing annual holiday reunion shows to commemorate what-almost-was 20 years ago, before they had to pursue "real" careers (except for one of them -- there's always at least one who's still following the dream avenue, whether it be having to play for Guns N' Roses or just plain pimping solo albums).

And while that's only superficially "fitting" in a forced TV drama kind of way, it's nonetheless one of the elements that's entering my mixed head on this, the first New Year's Eve where my father literally isn't alive to pick up the phone at the other end of the undersea cable. Apropos of nothing, this is also the first New Year's in 15 years where First Night sister -- who moved from town this year -- won't be around.

Ah well. A pour of damned-good cognac and a raised toast to the confusing departed father and to everyone else I hold more understandably dear. Cheers.

We just wanted the sex

Dominik — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 22:39:00 GMT

"The paradigm has shifted. Dating is dated. Hooking up is here to stay.

... I should point out that just because more young people seem to be hooking up instead of dating doesn’t mean that they’re having more sex (they’ve been having less, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention) or having sex with strangers (they’re more likely to hook up with a friend, according to a 2006 paper in the Journal of Adolescent Research)."

--Charles M. Blow, New York Times Op/Ed, Dec. 13, 2007

Aww, man! Tsk tsk, born too late.

See, B.H. and I would sometimes have this conversation about sex, I forget how it started (our conversations originate from some pre-Big Bang primordial soup of whim), where we each had a wish for how things really ought to be. I'm pretty sure it started because we each just wanted the sex, but we observed all kinds of annoying, unnecessary inefficiencies that complicated matters, so we used all of our philosophic powers to fix them.

The Solution
[Note: the following theories are not necessarily endorsed by Mrs. Fall of Because, nor would she necessarily associate closely at all with anyone tool who had the courage brazen will, much less chance in hell to practice them.]

B.H. said sex should be as casual as a handshake or trying on clothing -- an activity you could do with whomever you pleased ("Hmm, let me try this in red, medium."), with no disrespect -- no relation, even -- to existing long-term relationships.

To distort his words: "I'd like to have sex with anyone I want without it being a sign I somehow love a girlfriend any less." I think he wanted to be a swinger for life, and he wanted a "single" partner who saw casual partners as nothing more than food preferences.

[Mind you, this is the man who hilariously called ME an "emotional autistic" when my dad died -- as in, "This must be very hard, even for an emotional autistic..." I was walking through New York City when I read that text from him, and it made my day, sent me cackling down the sidewalk.]

But back to the sex relations theory. B.H.'s "handshake" is a bit extreme -- I've been forced by custom to shake so many unwanted hands. But my wish was that sex were divorced from the expectation and pursuit of a long-term mate. I was fine with monogamy once you, you know, vowed it -- but before then "hooking up" itself should be taboo-free. (If there must be a bad rep for breaking the taboo, one should earn it by the quality, not the quantity, of one's handshake partners.)

My reasoning was that everyone wants to have sex, and guys will generally do and say a lot of things they don't mean just to land it. Girls, meanwhile, also want to have sex but will, generally speaking (their motives are mysterious and confusing), want to see some kind of expression of earnest from the guy in order to release it.

Which results in the following timeless phenomenon: Guys lying about their intentions (and acting against their own long-term wishes) to get sex; girls forcing guys to lie to them, causing these girls to unlock sex for people whose intentions they thought they knew but did not actually know, with consequences they would not understand.

The resulting dishonesty and mistrust is a disservice and inefficiency to both parties: Each is trying to acquire a long-term goal (men: lotsa unattached sex; women: partnership) by using short-term means that undermine that goal (men: having to pretend to want partnership afterward; women: providing sex to someone who, it turns out, does not meet their standard for membership in the club).

Take my brilliant suggestion to remove the bond between sex and commitment, though, and it does two things: First, it frees up both genders to have all the short-term sex to their hearts' content. (Excellent!) Second, it clears the clutter from the pursuit of the long-term relationship and thus makes it more efficient: By allowing girls (alright, and guys) to narrow the pool of long-term mates to only the truly earnest, they don't have to waste time -- and years of "I can fix him" training -- with those who are just saying the right things to get into their pants, again, while kicking and screaming through the rest of the game.

Heck, it would've even freed up more time for interesting conversation, allowing one to skip the hot specimen who only talked about her/his wardrobe/car/like-wow-isn't-that-weird-man?. (Oh, the hours I foolishly flushed away in vacuous conversation).

See, it's all about creating market efficiencies, honest.

Like I said, we were young. And we wanted the sex.

Great moments in employee relations

Dominik — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 20:43:00 GMT

"A KFC manager said the young woman who quit expressed an interest in taking a bath in the sink, but the manager told her not to do it."

I got nothing.

I mean, it kinda reminds me of when I asked my boss if I could work naked -- but I was coming in at 2:30 a.m., when no one else was around. Totally different. Incidentally, our working relationship was never the same.

Meanwhile, you just know somewhere a PR junkie is saving this for her next PowerPoint presentation about "brand identity."

[Update: Oh, DO click on the images with the story. I've always wondered if all kids have to learn the hard lesson of posting images of their tomfoolery on Facebook, or if the workplace will eventually change to a resigned norm of, "Meh, who didn't photograph themself bathing in the KFC sink?"]

Who said it?

Dominik — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 16:25:37 GMT

The (Illinois governor) Blagojevich story is entertaining (and foul, so foul) on so many levels. The unbelievably deranged balls of that guy. Illinois is on a two-governor imprisonment streak.

A sweet primer is at the Daily Beast, in the form of "Who Said It?" A 10-question game where you have to guess whether the quote is (allegedly) Blagoyovich's, or Tony Soprano's. I did not perform well.

Look who's back, back again ...

Dominik — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 22:44:00 GMT

Four weddings, two sinus infections, one graduate class and zero Trans-Siberian concerts later...

It's fairly ironic - not in an Alanis way - that I started this blog in part as a way to force me to write regularly, yet at the times I most need it such regularity fails me.

As a consequence of my never have adapted a Fall of Becausing schedule, when things get really busy (often with other pay writing, at least), the bloggy ideas just pile up in my head into a verbal crash at the front of my cranium. So I end up not writing them at all -- because "oh, there's no time to flesh that idea out," and then I pick through the pieces of the accident later to see if anything's identifiable.

Which is a way of saying I don't have a specific idea right now (yet will once I step away from the PC), but I do know from old writing tricks that I'll never get there unless I jot something -- anything -- down. And the "last post XX weeks ago" was staring at me accusingly like the priest's "And when was your last confession?" question.

[Note: When a Catholic goes to confession, he -- wait! They allow SHE's to confess, too! -- the sinner (we are ALL sinners) is supposed to state, when asked, that "it has been XX days/weeks/months since my last confession."

This question paralyzed me as a child. It sounded like a test, but I never knew what the standard for confessional regularity was. Two weeks? A month? A school year? Maybe it depends on the number of unforgiven sins you've piled up? Is this why I delay oil changes today?

Meanwhile, I was undergoing what may be called "a crisis of faith." More precisely, the salespeople who were shilling this organized religion thing to me did not, in my estimation, embody the values they preached.

So: Do I answer "how long since your last confession?" based on what the Priest and Guilt-Wielding Authority Figure wants to hear? Or do I answer honestly in the (unlikely) event there exists a God who gives a shit about such details, then suffer the Earthly consequences of disappointing the priest?

Reasoning that something was amiss -- God would not choose such rotten ambassadors, would (s)he? -- I went for the Earthly ease of telling the priest what he wanted to hear. Plus, "I cursed twice ... I lied to my sister ... and I took The Lord's Name in vain." And voila! My soul was cleared.

It still is...

Congregations of 1000 different deities

Dominik — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 23:31:00 GMT

From far away, this is how it looks: There is a country out there where tens of millions of white Christians, voting freely, select as their leader a black man of modest origin, the son of a Muslim. There is a place on Earth — call it America — where such a thing happens...
--New York Times, Nov. 5, 2008

For the purpose of clarity and reigned-in expectations -- and to curtail sudden outbursts of tears -- I've tried not to think about this much until now. But the outside-the-issues symbolism and significance of Obama's victory are of an earth-shaking nature whose possibility I dismissed just four -- even two -- years ago. The irony that it took Bushian debauchery to open the door tempers my shock and satisfaction only slightly. If Bush wasted our precious time in climate and energy advances, the least he could do was inadvertently accelerate the healing of an awful scar from our history.

As a young kid I naively assumed racism and homophobia would be obsolete like Xerox by the time I was an adult. "All these people will soon be old, and the evidence in front of their face will change them," I thought. Alas, adulthood arrived with bad news. Silly kid. Hadn't realized as a child how views are passed on. Hadn't understood how limited exposure --> limited understanding --> unlimited fear.

"Rosa sat, so Martin could walk
Martin walked, so Obama could run
Obama ran, so our children could fly"

--Heard all around us

Racism will still fester, hate will still find fuel. But new recruits will require even greater cognitive dissonance to sign on when every day an object of their superficial hate shows competence and compassion in the White House. Ignorance always "ain't never seen that before" -- until it has.

So waking up today to see a big chunk chopped off this Original Sin gave me a feeling of unburdened weightlessness. OMG, indeed!

To see the looks in people's eyes at the polls yesterday -- black people in particular -- as they tasted that the unimaginable could happen. To see others participating for the first time, after years of resignation to the notion that there is no place for them in this fixed process. (On that note: the margin between McCain and Obama in Missouri at this moment is about a third of the number of Missouri votes given to Nader. Who says their vote doesn't matter?)

"...The world’s view of an Obama presidency presents a paradox. His election embodies what many consider unique about the United States — yet America’s sense of its own specialness, of its destiny and mission, has driven it astray, they say. They want Mr. Obama, the beneficiary and exemplar of American exceptionalism, to act like everyone else, only better, to shift American policy and somehow to project both humility and leadership..."

To see reactions around the world and know that the U.S. will once again hold both sides of its mythical role as inspirational example and empire of unreachable expectations.

But back to the symbolism: Obama's heritage and path is the logical landing point of the "American dream."

Not a dream of WASPs, connected bankers, and "keep the pot with the privileged" set, but of a globalized gene pool stirred by whoever dreams of making it here.

Not a dream that anybody who just wants it really really hard can be a millionaire and not pay taxes because, of course, taxes destroy the American dream, but rather a dream that cognitively understands how reaping the benefits of residence within a society necessitates shared sacrifice and responsibility to keep that very society afloat.

Not a dream that any old "Joe Sixpack" can become President by sweatin' and shootin' and talkin' football under a POW flag, but the dream that any old smart, thoughtful-yet-engaging human can reason his way to the role of inspirational President and policy mover, regardless of what he or she (still working on "she") looks like, regardless of what category and stereotypes we assign to that look.

On the relevance of ill-defined, touchy-feely "inspiration:" There is something to it, oh yes there is. Humans are often stupid, we know this. Yet we love them (Us!) still. So there are two possible responses to our "condition": Resignation to its inevitable futility is one. Trying to nudge the needle for good is the other. So when an Obama comes along and inspires people who had given up, it matters. When it's someone like that making a gesture so small (yet so big) as telling parents it's up to you to be there for your kids, to take them away from the TV -- to give the seed a bit of water so that the education system that later receives them has a fighting chance to help them grow ... THAT is nudging the needle.

If parenting, poverty, education and greed are at the root of what ails us, simply letting these rot will do no one service. Small gestures in transformational packages will matter.

"... There is another paradox about the world’s view of the election of Mr. Obama: many who are quick to condemn the United States for its racist past and now congratulate it for a milestone fail to acknowledge the same problem in their own societies, and so do not see how this election could offer them any lessons about themselves..."

Foreigners so often expect more from the U.S. than they do from their own insular societies precisely because the U.S. is supposed to be the land of openness and equal opportunity. It's a shame that other nations too often don't expect the same from their own cultures, but there's no harm in expecting the U.S. to strive to be better. It's better for us and, ultimately, better for them. Expectation comes with being the state in the captain's chair.

Now, we are life forms after all, so conflict and weakness will happen. But study of history, collection of data, and the practice of thought and earnestness can reduce the frequency of our follies. All our issues will not be resolved in my lifetime, but somehow a lifetime feels better spent when we're inching toward the goal.

Denominations of a thousand different deities
Congregations, endless carnivals of gaiety
Why should I fear? Why should I cling on to anything?
It's not how long long I live but how beautiful it is

And I saw crying, there was turmoil in the marketplace
I saw economies perpetuate the next arms race
And I felt helpless: there was nothing I could do or say
And then I noticed there's a change that's coming over me:
Tapping into the aeon
Tapping into the aeon

Myriad experiences of billions of humans
Recorded in the memory the compassion of their gods
Beauty defined by disfigurement and symmetry
Re-evaluate their history, reassess their symbols

And I saw crying, there was turmoil in the marketplace
I saw economies perpetuate the next arms race
And I felt helpless: there was nothing I could do or say
And then I noticed there's a change that's coming over me:
Tapping into the aeon
Tapping into the aeon

Balance of the ecosystem, self-reliance beckons us
Windmills and waterfalls, strawberries and lily ponds
When skyscrapers no longer block the Sun's meridian
When we awake to the whisper of the voice

Tapping into the aeon

--"Aeon," Killing Joke

Back to square one, another empire -- backfire

Dominik — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:46:00 GMT

Walked down to my polling place today. The line snaked outside the building even more than it did for Bush v. Gore (and I think Clinton v. Dole, but that was when they were rehabbing the church basement and we were rerouted through the kitchen). Fifty-60 deep outside, then nearly the same snaked once you got inside the door. Took me about 90 minutes to get through.

It was early in the morning, but I was still struck by how quiet the line was. No one spoke. Definitely got the sense people were being respectful (we really CAN all behave like grownups ... away from the Internet and cable news). Also got the sense people were on a mission. Saw laborers looking at their watches, hipsters interacting with their iGadgets -- but sensed a common determination of "I'm here, it's taking a looong time, I'm late but I'm voting, dammit."

I love these settings where I can observe and take in people from all walks of life. Common, cohesive threads (even if only marginally so) are nice to find.

When I hit the polls, once I get inside the 25-foot green zone Radiohead's "Electioneering" always comes into my head (There's a sign announcing 1-year imprisonment and/or $2500 penalty for electioneering within). But today, reflecting on the last eight years -- and then about the last 28 -- Killing Joke's "Empire Song" came into my head.

More so for the art on the single than for the melody or lyrics. Although it is all part of the same coin, capturing the same regretful tone.

Albums - 1 new picture

Tue, 01 Aug 2006 20:54:15 GMT

View entire album.

Fall of Leaves...in Minnesota, on the Mississippi

New Guestbook Entry by no one you know

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 23:31:02 GMT

I am who am.

...who are you?

See all guestbook entries.

Afghan Whigs: Gentlemen

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 20:06:00 GMT

There is something beautiful in the cathartic expression in art of misery overcome. When done well, whether in visual art, writing, or music, you can listen to/look at the work and truly feel the sense of the miserable experience depicted, as well as the tainted-yet-victorious feeling of having overcome it--almost to the point that you wish you had that same experience. The same feeling of victory. The same overwhelming depth of feeling, despite its pains. The intensity of that human experience. Usually, you find yourself identifying at least some of your own experiences within the art, whether you intend to or not.

The Afghan Whigs' Gentlemen isn't quite all that, but damn is it ever a piece of work. The band itself was good, tight, skilled, probably one of the better-yet-underrated bands of the '90s. They produced a few albums, though nothing they did matched Gentlemen, which was lightning in a bottle from beginning to end. In 10 words or less: The perfect soundtrack to a dysfunctional romantic relationship.

Now granted, conditions such as drug abuse, rampant cheating on your partner, and general hatred for one another aren't necessarily common aspects of every dysfunctional relationship (at least note the ones I've been in). But they sure help get the point across. And of course, the Whigs' blues influences don't hurt the relationships-gone-bad motif, either. Even if you don't like "depressing" music, you might love this because: 1) it's not slow, stare-at-our-toes music; it really rocks. and 2) like gawking at a car wreck (no blood, but a burning question of, "good God, what happened?"), you can't look away.

It's a bit melodramatic, sure, but its honesty is a beautiful window into the ugly, codependent, selfish soul. In fact, the album artwork hilariously depicts yellow-hued images of a boy and girl in sulking, alienated scenes around the house -- as if an admission that these codependents are being quite childish indeed.

The Lyrics
It's very difficult to quote lyrics from this album, particularly when out of context, without just leaving the impression that, "Well, yeah, the singer/narrator is a jerk." And he kind of is. But the singer/character's confessionals unveil the darkest shadows of his soul in a brutally honest way, a place that a person can only truly reach when they're in the confusing, emotionally charged throes of a relationship that is in the crapper. And of course, despite it being in the crapper, no relationship is worth whining about unless it had far better moments, whether they be based on sex, security, vulnerability, or--God forbid--an actual connection between two engaging minds. Those moments are what make losing it such a disorienting, wrenching pain.

Anyway, some of the juiciest ones, always set to perfectly complementary tunes:

"And it don't bleed, and it don't breathe
It's locked its jaws & now it's swallowing
It's in our heart, it's in our heads
It's in our love, baby, it's in our bed
It holds my arms down, sits upon my chest
It waves its finger at me every night & day
And it don't rest
And it don't breathe and it don't bleed
It's locked its jaws and now it's swallowing
It's all a lie, it's nearly dead
It's in our hope, baby, it's in our bed"
--'If I Were Going' (the album opener...way to set the tone!)

"I should have seen this shit coming down the hall
Every night I spent, in that bed, with your face in the wall
If I could have only once heard you scream,
To feel you alive instead of watching you abandoning...yourself."
--'When We Two Parted'

"Think I'm scared of girls? Well, maybe,
But I'm not afriad of you. Wanna scare me?
Then you'll cling to me, no matter what I do....
And it goes down, every night
This must be what jail is really like
I will scratch my way out of this pen
And I will crawl back into it again"
--'What Jail Is Like' (ha ha, lovely title, too)

One song, "My Curse," features a female voice (Scrawl's Marcy Mays), in a similarly dark-yet-funny take from the other side of the fence. Among its highlights:
'You hurt me, baby
I flinch so when you do
Your kisses scourge me
Hyssop in your perfume
Oh I do not fear you
And 'slave' I only use
As a word to describe
The special way I feel, for you...

...All ugly thoughts are gone
I'm sure we'll all be friends
I'll try to break your back
You'll try to make amends'

I haven't been in a relationship that came anywhere near this kind of pathos, and the last "rocky" ones I was in were obviously years ago -- and frankly due to immaturity and incompatiibility more than anything else. But man, even when I happily celebrate my 50th anniversary, I'll still be able to put this album on and appreciate what an incredible piece of work it is.

A few resources:

Lyrics
An interesting (shorter) take on Gentlemen and another album from 1993.
Interview with the lead singer, Greg Dulli, that probes the dark
The album (and surely tons of reviews) at Amazon

Blog incontinence

Dominik — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 20:09:57 GMT

No, I didn't fall off the face of Planet Home. Yes, I have more funereal and travel stories to tell.

But first I selected the "upgrade" that Sampa is pushing through all of its sites, so at the moment, everything is a bit jumbled as I try to figure out what this upgrade has done, and how to manage things within. (Although I think this change shouldn't affect the blog -- just the rest of the site's hanging fruit.)

I apologize for the wacky format of things. Do bear with us while we conduct this government-mandated test...

Thunderstorm Passes, But not Quietly

Wed, 18 Apr 2007 05:37:47 GMT

Solid hustlin' effort comes up just short
Offseason: Walker turns attention to hairdresser convention

Final
Thunder - 5
Icemen - 6
Attendance: 18 enemies, and a couple lovely lady friends

Stenson Better Homes & Garden Quote of the Night: "Seriously, for a bunch of ugly guys, I'm always impressed with how good-lookin' our women are." These lovely women don't have a choice, Stenson, they don't have a choice. The world's pickin's are slim.

Well, it had to end somewhere, some time, but I was kinda hoping that was Toronto in June. Or at least St. Louis in late April. But alas, another Thunder season has passed, this time without playoffs for the first time in several seasons. That's not to blame Rob or anything, even if he is the new guy on the roster since last year. After all, he brought much-needed East Side spice to the team. Nor Decoy Jansky, whose chronic "Czech Sniffles" took him out of yet another crucial game, while an ill Copeland showed up. To say nothing of Puckhog Jansky, who put in goals for himself but didn't create enough extra late effort to nudge us to overtime. Or down-lowed G, who just couldn't stop using his wrist and thus taking himself out of the lineup.

Seriously, it was a hugely competitive three-way divisional race all season long, we just happened to come up short in the end. But each of the top three teams had inconsistent seasons, and each dropped games to "lower" teams they/we should've beaten. But if we can bring efforts like the last three games into every contest next season, we should be even better.

K-Feld faced fewer shots but the shots he faced were deadly chances by their feared top line, including a shorthanded breakaway in the 2nd that just might have put the game out of reach had The Fisher of Five-Hole Fish not stopped it. The guy went swooping wide ready to put on a highlight reel move, but K-Feld stayed with him the whole way like he was a tough 5-hole fish on the 11 Point River. Yeah, that's it, just like the fish, except that he caught it.

Meanwhile, Decoy slept.

"The Greater" Hoagland was buzzing as usual, though he managed not to check me into the boards. His forechecking created at least two or three goals, one of which he netted himself after forcing a turnover.

Meanwhile, Decoy poured himself some tea.

D-men Author 'Back-End Pressure'
Wiggins and Rob rained shots in from the point all night, Stenson performed bull-rushes toward the net to create pressure, and Walker threaded passes into waiting wingers, but the Icemen goalie, even while coughing up rebounds, had all the luck (not to mention a favorable ruling on the shot he caught as he fell well behind the line).

Meanwhile, Decoy tucked himself into bed.

So our rally came up just short. The season is over. But the calendar year is young. There is Stenson's Cinco de Mayo party to look forward to, the epic Float Trip II, and Lee's pool party, where we will be the "natural" pool cleaners.

Apologies for this being a recap cut short -- I started it with the intention of adding more later, but now I've forgotten most of whatever I was going to say. The season deserves a full recap or season-taunts-in-review, but I may not get to it. Ah well.

Next Game:
Next fall, place TBD

Stamp My Heart

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 15:39:38 GMT

OT Loss Spoils Comeback
But but but:

Playoffs still possible
Adam returns; Beck goes down
Canoe float plans advance
K-Feld and Spenard conspire to spite us all
Tomorrow's Oprah: Decoy's 'nipple pluck' secrets revealed

Final (OT)
Thunder - 2
Stampede - 3
Attendance: way more than is healthy for an HNA game; 'early' start and free cups of hot fan draws a crowd

Well, it was a disappointment, but it could have been worse. The day started off with a call from K-Feld, who came down with some Montezuma's Revenge (tip: "Don't drink the water" means don't eat the ice or bathe in the sewer, either), and Spenard came down with the "I say I sucked in the last game, er go I sucked, plus I have Blues tickets" excuse. Other HNA keepers contacted similarly behaved like goalies (Dejai fell off some stairs and dislocated his shoulder; another keeper also had coveted Blues tickets; others were deemed incapable of handling the complex Thunder defensive scheme). But Geoff from the IceDevils came through, so we had a guy in pads by game time.

And then the game. Boy, if things align right next year, this could be a helluva wild division, with the Stampede and Wildkittens both playing consistently tough against the rest of the teams in our division. We came out with good tempo but without getting many shots, and the Stampede matched our tempo stride for stride. They also got the good bounces, including one wobbler that created a breakaway goal for them to make it 2-0 by the end of the 2nd.

We Come Back
Then -- with our backs against the wall, our playoff chances floating away -- came the comeback. Perhaps we were inspired by the stunningly quick return of Adam from the DL (all of his power tools have been confiscated and sold on behalf of The Thunder Fund: 'Cause God Makes Thunder). Or maybe we were inspired by DL'd Garrett, who arrived at the bench in street clothes for the third period wearing a cast, and whose mere intimidating (yet silent) presence incited paranoia in the quite-paranoid-enough-already-thanks ref, who came over to our bench with a ferocious "You got something to say, guy not in uniform?!" Apparently the ref doesn't realize that whenever Garrett has something to say, the entire rink hears it. Or perhaps we were inspired by Stenson's 2nd-intermission cat-moan-pitch rant of, "SKAAAAAAATE. You have to MOOOOOOOOOOOVE your FEEEET!"

Whatever the impetus, we outshot them 16-5 in the final period and tied the score at 2-2. The first goal was plausibly, allegedly, bounce-kicked off my foot, perhaps, but we deserved it anyway. The second was backhanded in fair-and-square by me, so naturally Wiggins took credit on the scoresheet. We had many chances for a third, and it really felt like we'd pull it out either in regulation or in OT. But a fluke shot from the corner early in OT ended the rally.

I'm not gonna say K-Feld or Spenard would've stopped that shot or anything...I'm just saying I sure hope they each enjoyed their time crapping through a screen door and watching a blowout loss to the Blue Jackets, respectively (Ed.: aren't those activities the same?). Not like we enjoy their company, anyway.

'I'm not dead yet...'
Miraculously, the playoff fight lives on yet another day: Sheldon's Wildkittens defeated the Icemen this week, so now we're a point behind them with two games to play (including our final regular season game against them). We win out, we're in. We don't win out, we've run out of time for getting help from others.

But our next two opponents should be our fiercest yet. We need constant backchecking, constant skate-the-whole-shift-then-sub shifts, and more offensive pressure to make it happen.

The After-Gathering: Nipple Hair, Fund Management, East Side Politics, Summer Canoe Float Plans
The traditional stragglers who gathered after the game retired to Stenson's for some unofficial fund advice from "The Greater" Hoagland; some East Side politics insight from Sloppy Rob; some "Things You Do When You're Retired" tips from Walker (e.g. "wake up in time to meet your friend for happy hour"); and the traditional trolling for lawsuits from Decoy Jansky, Esq.

Not sure how it came up exactly, but we also learned that the proudly bald-chested Decoy ['Family Guy' wmv file] hand-plucks the random nipple weeds that sprout from his areola and taunt him in the mirror. I thought this was perfectly rational behavior -- embracing the few genes that override his furry East-European lineage -- but he denies all charges and now I face a libel suit. Fortunately for me, the prosecuting attorney is in over his head.

[This thread also led to Stenson recalling some sort of college-era nipple-hair (non-male) sucking incident, and things predictably deteriorated from there.]

The Float
But we did manage to tentatively establish a date for this summer's canoe float trip: Fri. June 29 afternoon through Sun. July 1. The Gov'na -- still out of town on a haberdashery supply mission -- was not consulted on this, but we have feelers in to his advisers. So write the date down now or raise a very substantial objection, or forever hold your peace. If you need convincing on whether this is a good use of your weekend, read the details and testimonials from last year's trip.

Back to Hockey
As mentioned, we can still make the playoffs, extend our season and create the possibility of Toronto. But the next game is critical:

Wed. April 4, 10:00p, Ice Zone
vs. Longnecks (we are home/white)

Heloise Float Advice

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 17:44:15 GMT

Hints from Heloise Float Advice: Reprinted and modified from the epic 2006 trip.

So, Jim "where's my" Walker asked [2007 edit: he’s the banker who bailed on this year’s trip in favor of a high school reunion that will feature zero high school hotties] what one should bring on a float trip, and then it ocurred to me that I saw Heloise devote a whole column to this once. I dug it up to share with the group:

Q: Heloise, what do I wear on a river in high-80s/low-90s weather?
--Pale Woodcutter, Buffalo, NY

Heloise says: Take sunscreen to protect yourself from the sun's harmful rays, which can be surprisingly damaging to sensitive skin. Also, a brimmed hat you don't care for is an often-overlooked but quite helpful accessory that protects ears and forehead. Heloise never floats without one. As for your luggage, wear anything you're comfortable sitting on your WET buttocks in all day long. Note: this may or may not be "traditional" swimming trousers with cheap mesh "lining" for your jewels: Assuming you remember to apply sunscreen at least a few times in your drunken stupor, you're biggest concern all day will be chafing and other conditions commonly fought with Blue*Star Ointment (ask for it).

Q: Heloise, do I need a tent to camp?
--Banker, St. Louis, MO

Heloise says: Nay, there are many options. Spenard, for example, sleeps in a double-folding chair. Due to modern advances, some people "camp" in Residential Vehicles. Though such tactics are considered savage in some circles, it is now apparently acceptable to most of society. Those accustomed to finer things, or sleeping in a trailer (Ness), will be allowed to sleep in the RV. Otherwise, if you have a tent that you know how to set up, bring it. Extras can be left behind at Chez Stenson. Heloise generally lets others share his/her tent, too, but only if the visitors bring lipstick.

Q: How is we fixin’ to take the RV down thar when me and the wife already took the wheels off the trailer?
--Tatonka, O’Fallon, MO

Heloise says: Believe it or not, Tatonka, "RV" is not synonymous with "your home." It is possible to “rent” an RV that still has its wheels and does not serve as anyone’s permanent place of residence. No money down. No mortgage. No "Wheels Off" Party.

Q: But Heloise, what if it rains?
--Italian/French Separatist, St. Charles County, MO

Heloise says: Contrary to the urban myth common in your part of Quebec, you will not melt. But Heloise likes to bring a lightweight water-repellent jacket, with a hood, which can keep you warm if it rains for an extended period. Chances are any summer storms that drift in under the current forecast would last maybe 20-40 minutes, tops, but I am not a member of NMS.

Q: Heloise, I might get hungry on the river, no?
Billboard Lawyer, Clayton, MO

Heloise says: Mike K. will bring “enough jerky to snack on but not to gorge on.” So bring sandwiches, snacks, granola bars, or the head of Alfredo Garcia--whatever keeps you from bottoming out while on the river all day and drinking. Bread and meats can easily get wet, so Heloise likes to wrap them and put them in a tupperware container (Ask your wife what "tupperware" is). You will get hungry and you will feel very, very bad if you drink 14 beers with no food between breakfast and dinner.

Q: How will I relieve myself while on the river without getting my banjo wet?
--Special K-Feld, Fenton, MO

However you see fit. You might live like swine and float in your own waste, if you wish, but remember not to "peek" at other men (you are, after all, on a river far from help). One thing Heloise warns, from experience: Do not stand up on your canoe and try to relieve yourself off the side of the craft. No matter how advanced your balance while ice skating, it does NOT translate to drunken standing on a floating canoe. You canNOT stand up straight facing the side of a canoe for longer than the standard drunken urination (SDU) without toppling over into the water, risking the contents of your canoe, and assuring the scorn of your friends for years to come.

Q: Should I bring a flashlight? A knife? Sunglasses? Water shoes or Tevas? Can coolies?
--Concerned Captain, Ladue, MO

A flashlight might help you find your way out should you determine this was all a mistake. A knife...that depends on what you plan to use it for. Water shoes or Tevas can be helpful on the river but make running away more of a challenge. Can coolies are marketed to prevent you from spilling your beer as often. Heloise fashions a strap to his/her coolie to wear around his neck, thus drawings scorn but preserving beer.

Q: What about lube? Why does Martin keep telling me to bring lube?
--East Side Brawler, Washington Park, IL

Some things are best left experienced -- words can only spoil them. Just do as your told, and no one gets hurt.

Q: How much beer should I bring for a 3-4 hour ride in a Residential Vehicle, followed by an evening dinner, an all-day float, and an evening dinner of (expletive) Stenson BBQ?
--On the Wagon in Anchorage, AK

Heloise says: If your float coordinator has not assigned a beer procurement officer, and you must fend for yourself, count on 10-16 non-glass beers on the river portion alone. This might seem like a lot or a little, depending on your liver, but remember that it goes down like water and remember that you will spill often when your canoe-mate causes you to crane your neck at an imagined Brazilian in a bikini. Also remember that you might actually want to augment your consumption with water and/or Gatorade, although Heloise reminds you this is never to be done in polite company. You might want "finer" glass-bottled beers for your RV ride and dinners, though, especially for the dinner following your being on the river all day.

If your friends are nice, they will have brought some mini-kegs and other "ballast" beer as back-up to help you out during the float portion. If your friend wants to screw you, he will ignore your carefully procured ballast Miller beer and shove it aside as he purchases a case of Nat Light swill from a roadside gas station and dumps that in your cooler, but there are no assholes like that going on this year's float, are there? Regardless Heloise's father always told her/him you can never have too much beer, you can only have too little, and then no one likes you.

Q: But Heloise, how does one carry all this beer?
--Pampered in Kirkwood, MO

Heloise says: in "regular" large coolers. Not the giant size that span a truck bed, but not the plastic man-purses that are suitable for a short jaunt, either. There will probably be close to one cooler per canoe, plus whatever holds dinner and evening beer back at camp. If your trip coordinator is concerned about fitting them all on to the Residential Vehicle, he will consolidate and leave coolers behind.

c: Hints from Heloise, 1995

Float Trip 2007

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 17:19:13 GMT

This Time, We Bring Our Own Redneck*

*A whole RV full of 'em, in fact

Quick Resources:

Heloise helpful float trip tips: What to pack and what-not
Roster of floaties: the few, the shameful
Weather forecast for the river
That thar is an R-V

Martin (our Cruise Director), was kind enough to organize things and send along an opening missive the size of Deuteronomy. In case the "pipes and tubes" of the Internets clogged up when you received his email, it is reproduced here.

Martin's Opening Missive Containing All Things Mildly Pertinent to the Trip [Abridged Version; for full version, visit Library of Congress]

And then their were 14….

Ladies and Gentlemen (and Kurtzeborn),

The 3rd (2nd?) annual Thunder float trip is upon us, and due to our being duped by a retired banker and professional shower moaner (his falsetto is strangely alluring), it will be more posh than ever. Yes, ahh but for yea, tis but alas, Walker, may his shriveled testes rest in peace, will be debating fascinating topics such as the relative merits of one urologist over another and when to buy long-term care insurance at his 40th high school reunion with withered old colostomy baggers instead of honoring his commitment to his teammates during post season play. I wish I could be both on the kick-ass, Class A, RV and at the first 45 seconds of the St. Mary’s class of 1932’s reunion where Walker instantly realizes he made a terrible mistake…kind of like showing up at your ex-girlfriend’s wedding…just cause you got an invite – bad in conception, bad in practice.

Anyway, now that we off-loaded the dead weight, we unfortunately have added literally infinitely more. The infamous Doug "Totonka" Ness, will be joining us this year as a supply ship, more of a Queen Mary, really, to the Wiggins-Stenson dreadnaught. Ness, though not without his redeeming qualities such as his fondness for good smokes, artificially flavored rum and British Navy-style sodomy, has the atomic mass of the Red Planet and will require its own floatation device in order not to displace the entire 11 Point river watershed prior to our travels.

Another Newbie (to the float at least) is Sloppy Rob, who doesn’t know what to bring, because “getting out into the outdoors” in his native East St. Louis meant moving your warm Colt 45 forty oz., your fetid splif, and your larded, fried chicken and catfish-fed ass from the vinyl couch all the way to the front porch of your Sec. 8 apartment. Rob, I’d bring some beer, something in case of rain, and a whole lot of faith in your fellow man. You will need every bit.

The final poor bastard, I mean new addition, to this ill-fated trip, is Sion Levy, the Jansky brothers’ brother-in-law. Taking Sion (“SEEon”, like peon, which will be his rank in the pecking order), an emergency room doctor, was a compromise between my sister who needed him out of the house and my bond company stiff, Ernie Patti (no relation), who understood the inherent risks of proximity in excess of 30 minutes to Hoaglando el Mayoro (Craig) when his alcohol besodden hypothalamus shifts to his primal tongue. Sion is also the only one other than Spenard with a skill set capable of getting our generator running after the Govna’ sabotages it again in an overt attempt to consolidate his power through the ruse of external threats.

The Contestants and their approximate pairings (pairings to be decided amongst yourselves, this is just a guess):

FOURTEEN APOSTLES
Lee – Spenard
Craig – Rob
Stenson – Wiggins (and their boy, Beuford Ness, in tow)
Dom - Sion
Martin – nameless Haitian cabinboy and sunscreen applicator
Kurtzeborn – 5-Hole
G and his yoga master monkey

When:    June 22-24, 4:00pm departure on Friday

Where:   Departing from Stenson’s house, 507 Coulter Ave, Kirkwood, MO 63122

Driving 5hrs to 11 Point River on the Arkansas border See: http://www.missouricanoe.org/river-maps/eleven-point.html
How: by RV See: http://www.winnebagoind.com/products/winnebago/sightseer/index.php

Why: See below

Cost: approx. $125+/-, which includes: RV, gas, canoe and campsite rental Fri-Sun, Stenson’s catering Fri night meal and Kurtzeborn “catering” Sat night meal. You BYO beer, breakfast and munchies. Additional discretionary personal costs and social services medical tests not included.

Eat
You must bring your own everything but Friday and Saturday night dinner, which will be provided by Stenson and Kurtzeborn, respectively. Stenson to provide a BBQ Pork ROAST with buns, chips and veggie tray. Kurtzeborn to provide a fish fry with all the fixins and a little Round-Up and Dioxin farm run-off for a garnish and dipping sauce. This means you are responsible for your own munchies, Sat and Sun breakfast and Sat lunch. Your Sat lunch should be packed for and eaten on the river (ie. waterproof it).

That said, Senson is bringing donuts for Sat morning as a part of your good, nutritious breakfast and on an eggs and bacon breakfast and/ or breakfast casserole for Sunday breakfast. He is also running a syndicate for purchasing cheese and crackers for resale on the river to go along with Kurtzeborn’s deer jerky. YOU NEED TO OPT OUT of the donut count and the cheese and crackers deal by e-mailing Stenson; otherwise, you will be assessed for same. From long experience, anything Stenson has in the way of provisions, you generally want.

I would like someone or their servile spouse other than Stenson to prepare a breakfast casserole to lift that burden from his shoulders. Have it premade and ready to stick in the coals or oven on the RV for Sunday. PLEASE CONFIRM with me and Stenson if you are able to take up this noble task for the betterment of your fellow Thunderers.

I, personally, will bring some soy milk, some healthyish breakfast food and fixins for morning Bloody Mary’s to quickly off-set and beneficial effect said healthyish food.

The chefs, Kurtzeborn and Stenson, will bring everything they need to prepare the meals including aluminum foil, fire grates, pots, cooking utensils. The RV has burners, an oven, a microwave, etc…..unless it doesn’t work. As we have Hoaglands on this trip, factor in some redundancies for coal fire cooking.

Stenson will additionally bring paper plates, paper towels and utensils for all meals. (emphasis added for Stenson)

You may want to bring back-up eating plates and utensils if you want. Tom is going to bring tofu and his lame-ass circa “Meatballs” backpack.

If you have a hankering for something or think you could help with the non-dinner provisioning, speak up and bring it.

Drink
You are to bring your own alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages for the entire weekend. The RV and the campsite have potable water. By way of example only, I am bringing for Saturday on the river: 12 beers, 4 waters, 4 gatorades, 2-4 margaritas and related hooch. I also plan on pissing in my pants.

Ness, on the other hand will be bringing two gallons of Captain Morgan’s with an IV of Coke (aCola) or vice versa and plans on vomiting over the side after degustation. I will have water and extra beers as well as said Bloody’s and breakfast drinks in addition with extras to share at the campsite but not enough to bank on so BYO.

Note: with transit to our launch site included, we will be on the river for approximately 9 hours

Advisory 1: No glass containers on the river ($150 fine and confiscation of your Crown Royal, ahem) and potential buzz-kill while the Fedarales determine if you have additional contraband.

Advisory 2: Team up with your canoe partner concerning drinks. We will CONSOLIDATE coolers. I.e. we will not be loading 14 coolers onto the RV.

Advisory 3: You can buy ICE at the campsite, so don’t think you need everything iced up at home. Please save space and money (on melted ice that you will have to replace anyway).

Advisory 4: Consider whether you need to bring additional personal floatation devices and whether your effects are in order prior to departure.

Advisory 5: Bring or plan to buy a can coolie, and water shoes (Tevas or such)

Advisory 6: No guns, none. (never had to include this one before, wonder why)

Other Items
For the uninitiated, you should also consider bringing basic camping gear such as:

Toilet paper in a ziplock
Small bottle of hand germ killer (for those with chronic masturbation issues)
A waterproofish bag or 5 gal sealable paint/drywall compound can for the canoe (totally optional)
A rainjacket or poncho (comes in handy when you are cold and wet and the temp drops to 50 degrees)
A longsleeve shirt or sweater (wool or other water repellant material)
A hat for the sun/cold and to replace the Gov’na’s once we banish it
Shoes that you can wear on the river (you will get out of your canoe on occasion and walk on rocks)- Keens or Teva’s are perfect.
Sunscreen, of course
Sleeping bag and waterproof ground cloth
Sleeping pad
Camp chair (for sitting, or -- for Spenard -- sleeping)
Hammock, if you want
Plate, cup, utensils
Towel
Rope
Knife
You don’t really need a friggin flashlight but I know you will bring one
First aid kit if you want
Shot for bee stings if you are allergic
Any meds you take
Lighter
Swimsuit
Cooler to be shared with your buddy
Your blankie

SPEAK UP IF YOU ARE BRINGING A TENT: we need three to four but we don’t need many more than that

For the new guys, you may want to consider a few bottles of lube and a sphincter repair kit but that’s optional. Remember: “if you’re a newbie, you better lubie.”

As Kurtzeborn responded perfectly to Keenanesque assaults to his “performance in the wild” like a wide-eyed Calgary rookie just brought up from Moose Jaw, and Stenson promises his bankable playoff best, we will feast like kings (of the redneck variety). Expect to come back fatter than you already are (except Craig H, who is bringing his stationary bike and vows to keep his heart rate above 170 bpm at all times). This year’s float with a new, bigger RV, the experience of a veteran line-up, and the fresh meat provided by the three nubies promises to be slightly above average than usual or at least will not all-together suck.

Cant wait!

Kabbitz amongst yourselves. Line up cooler, beverage, snacks and tent coordinations. Garrett, invest in an electric fishing motor, cause I aint paddling your limp wrested ass up and down the river.

PS. If any of you other guys still want to join, there is still room. Lemme know.
PPS. Grandma Feldman is watching and nodding in approval from fish heaven, so the gods have been appeased.
PPPS. I am taking bets against Feldman beating his 4 inch fish record of last year.

See you all at Stenson’s this Friday, fully loaded and departing by 4pm!

--Martin

Thunder Spread Love Around, K-Feld Shuts Door

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 04:04:30 GMT

8 goals despite missing Adam; Many still ‘pull a Walker’
Suddenly Lady Byng is 'hot'

Final at HNA.com
Thunder - 8
Eagles - 0
Attendance: At least 2, on a frickin’ cold night (Ooooh, K-Feld: she is devout!)

Their severely short-benched opponent may have had something to do with it, but the Thunder responded to the loss of Adam* for the foreseeable future with a veritable offensive orgy, a K-Feld Shutout Special (Does that really make TWO?!??! In the SAME season??!!), and a Lady-Byng scramble, as absolutely no one picked up a penalty in this pacifist-filled game. Suddenly, it's sexy not to get penalties.

The Injury
(*For those who did not hear the news, or for twisted “Faces of Death” fans who just want to read it again: Adam had a confrontation with a circular saw – no, not “Da Saw” Warger – and the saw won. Adam was scheduled to have surgery Thursday to reattach tendons and nerves and what-not, all of which, not being made of titanium, somehow failed to keep the saw from cutting half-way into the bone in his thumb. All Thunder thoughts were with him on this night, and all made mental notes to either call a carpenter or a more expendable player for their future carpentry needs. Here’s wishing you a thorough, speedy recovery, #7.)

The Love
Now the game: Where to start? A whole lot of hustle, for one. Subbing in goal for the Eagles, Dejai made some fantastic saves, but we moved the puck well enough and often enough and peppered him with enough shots (42 by one count) to give him no chance. He was particularly tough one-on-one and with point-blank opportunities, as Garrett and I discovered on a few occasions. Stenson, too, found him hard to beat despite an end-of-game breakaway that featured indescribable Stensonesque moves and dekes not found in nature.

But making passing plays did the trick, and Copeland started things off with a 2-on-1 goal on the first shift, and we were off and running. Hoagland The Greater soon followed with a goal set up by Mouser. Since Hoagland The Lesser couldn’t get on the scoresheet despite his two mammoth forecheck efforts that gave me the puck all alone in front of Dejai (again, point-blank shots were no sure thing), like a good brother The Greater added another goal on a one-timer to bring the family tally up to 1.0/Hoagland on this night.

Decoy Jansky…did not contribute to the Jansky family average, but he skated well, and unconfirmed reports say he didn’t check any of his own teammates, leaving the friendly-fire average for the evening at 0.0/Jansky. Decoy also, after considerable effort, put on the correct socks, thought it took him all of warm-ups to do so.

Sloppy Rob had several rushes to the goal while Stenson stayed behind and tended the pasture at center ice, but since Rob’s a defenseman, we generally ignored those efforts. In what is becoming a patented move, though, Rob skated down the left boards with the puck and set me up with an easy conversion from the top of the slot.

You know, kind like one of the setups Walker made last week? The kind he promised to repeate this week? Not to be, as Walker pulled his namesake. What do you expect from a banker when you have no collateral to speak of? And speaking of no collateral, Wiggins, no doubt distracted by the growing prospect of K-Feld's shutout, also “pulled a Walker,” which I’m sure he will blame on me for not converting some sort of beautiful pass that I don’t remember or didn’t see because my head was still fogged-over from his incessant musings about the aesthetics of 1920s Russian film or some such artsy crap.

The Pep-Talk
But the story of the night may have been Mike K., who combined with Copeland, Mouser, and just about everybody else he played with on several pretty hustle-and-pass plays that resulted in two goals and two assists for him. To think, in all my prescient brilliance, I pulled him aside at one point to remark that he looked like he lacked his usual confidence. Mercifully, he did not tell me off or question my vision.

The Shutout
Then there was K-Feld. In every shutout, even in a blowout, there comes a point where a goaltender’s team must force him to earn the clean sheet, and we certainly did that. Kev made a handful of memorable saves, including getting just enough of his toe on a breakaway shot to make the puck hit the post and stay out. “Mr. Zero” rises again, and you can bet he’ll send an autographed puck to quasi-French separatist Spenard.

The Post-Game
Afterward, many Thunderers retired to Stenson’s Kirkwood abode for the comfort of heat, beer, carpet and dogs. Mike K. cornered “Can’t Botch a Crap Case” Martin for legal advice on all sorts of promising cases – though suing the manufacturer of Adam’s saw was not brought up...Captain Lee told us of his plans to sneak into Cuba to trade medicine for cigars. No word on what priceless Western medicine The Lesser is bringing on this mercy mission, but unconfirmed sources say they include pharmaceuticals from the “Wal” class of drugs, such as Wal-nol, Wal-fed, Wal-tussin, and the recently recalled Wal-agra...And Toronto was casually brought up; it still requires both making the playoffs and winning in the playoffs, but threats about participation were made nonetheless.

Anyway, nice hustle all around on a very fun night.

Next Game – important!
We will be short next week, with both Hoaglands, Adam and Stenson out for sure. (Presumably, North County and Carlton will have power back by then.) Plus, we’re playing the “division rival” Longnecks. It's an "earilier" game than most and a longer commute for many of us. So let me know as soon as you can if you won’t be there. We’ll likely be calling up reinforcements as it is.
Tue, Feb. 20, 9:30p at North County
vs. Bud Longnecks | We are away/BLACK

Walker's 3 Pts. Shame Stenson

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 03:28:18 GMT

Tutonka 'earns' assist to save face as Thunder cruise to win

Final at HNA.com
Stingers - 2
Thunder - 8
Attendance: 3 or 4, and they didn't look pleased

In the dual-spirit of male razzing and public humiliation, and considering his ample self-deprecation, it has become custom in these pages to refer to a night of zeros on the scoresheet as "pulling a Walker." That pejorative may need to be retired, however -- much like the man himself -- after the esteemed Super Bowl Party host and known leaf-dumper "Who Moved My" Walker unleashed a littany of unprovoked assists on the Stingers last night.

What was more notable -- that each assist was part of a pretty goal, or that none were directly delivered to Stinger players? Only future historians can decide.

Walker began when late in the first period he fed a cross-ice diagonal to Wiggins who, fancying himself a forward, one-timed it into the net from the faceoff circle. Then in the second, with Wiggins having returned to his rightful place as a humble, underpaid defenseman, Walker made a move around a Stinger and fed a one-timer that arrived to Yours Truly's stick on such a soft platter that I didn't bother pondering whether I left the oven on before shooting.

In the third, Walker capped his night with a more traditional loping shot through traffic, which Adam somehow tipped into the net without robbing it of its already pedestrian speed. It would not be a stretch to think Adam's conversion here was comparable to Jesus turning one basket into enough bread and fish to feed 5,000 -- or even Decoy Jansky's earlier-in-the-day conversion of a truly hopeless case into his first unassisted trial victory in the courtroom. (A fact that itself goes a long way toward explaining how Decoy is the attorney of record for Wiggins and Stenson.)

Walker's Teammates Were There, Too
Speaking of Stenson, he appeared quite motivated on this night – and that can only be attributed to the mounting pressure of Walker’s accumulating points. Believing that he himself has “pulled a Walker” [note: original meaning] for some 15 games in a row, Stenson began delivering smoked ribs to the scorekeeper’s table after every goal – no matter which team scored -- in the hopes of getting some love and not being outshined. Alas, bribery wasn’t needed (and he quickly stole the ribs, according to the pissed off scorekeeper's postgame complaint) when his third-period tugboat-like point shot stopped at a Stinger’s skate blade in the slot and was knocked into an open net for Greedy Goal Whore Jansky’s easiest tally of the night.

Before the goals started flowing like ref-expletives out of Mouser's mouth, though, K-Feld put on a stellar display of acrobatic saves in a first period that could have turned either way. Though we outplayed the foes, they had enough chances in the first to make us nervous. But nobody -- repeat, nobody -- takes down K-Feld when he's feelin' it, yo.

But the Thunderstrikes did flow; other mentionables include:
-- Mouser setting Greedy Goal Whore up for an easy backhand in the first (on a pass that went through Decoy, in accordance with the Scriptures);
-- Copeland burying a break-in in the second and then igniting one final rush for Greedy Goal Whore's tap-in to close out the scoring;
-- Hoagland The Lesser claiming, "A pylon could have scored a hat trick tonight with the chances I had." [Ed. counterpoint: but would the pylon backcheck? or bring pucks?]

The Matter of the Lady Byng
Then there's the other side of the scoresheet, well populated by our usual suspects. Yeah that's right, Wiggins, Sloppy Rob, Walker, Hoagland The Greater, and Mouser all did their time -- some of them at the same time. Gross. How Stenson escaped discipline...well, maybe he was packing enough ribs for the entire officiating crew. Now some of the calls were dubious, sure, and Wiggins earned his by "accidentally" firing a dump-in at the ref ala Mike K. on G'mache, but it escapes this Mad Recapper why this group of felons is so eager to avoid receiving a trophy named after a Lady.

Traditional Dorsett Entertainment
Both Garrett and Carlton missed out on the fun, but I've now run out of contrived insults to hurl at the absentees. But what they may have missed more than the hockey was the typical post-game entertainment from the friendly wait-staff at the Dorsett. On this night, Yours Truly was apparently mistaken for a regular ("Do you come here every week or every other week?") by two waitresses I've never seen in my life ("Officer, I swear").

With considerable charm, they told me "Take your shirt off" at both the beginning and end of my visit, while the younger kept removing layers of clothing before each botched-order visit to our table. This was all apparently some sort of proposition codetalk, but without my "Ex-Con's Survival Guide for the Outside" pamphlet, I couldn't figure out whether it meant "Interested in a body shot?" or "Wanna buy some printer paper my boyfriend stole from Wal-Mart?"

But do not dispair: we'll have more games in North County this season and thus more excuses to visit the Dorsett and study its perplexing social customs in their natural habitat. Personally, I think I'm starting to earn their trust and gain an "in."

Next game:
Tue. Feb. 13, 10:30 at Kirkwood
vs. the Eagles | We are away (black)

North County Nights

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 05:29:30 GMT

Thunder flunk two-game road trip up north
A short double recap to keep the carnage short

Final
Thunder - 3
Longnecks - 8
Attendance - more than a few

Final
Thunder - 4
Icemen - 7
Attendance - several, including many enemies

We weren't great...
Well, we had a starkly different lineup for each game of our divisional-rivals tour of North County, but each game began the same: falling too far behind early.

In game one, we lacked both Hoaglands (viva Fidel! Viva California!), Stenson (already on a Rocky Mountain High), and of course injured Adam. Skullf*cker Joe made a happy return (and dutifully questioned whether he brought bad karma that instigated the consecutive losses); but further stretching matters, T.K. couldn't sub, and Spenard, though wanting to sub, had to bail with the legendary Spenard Flu. No doubt he was cursing his bowels and immune system all the way to sleep.

We didn't exactly come out flat vs. the Longnecks -- we even got the first goal -- but they came out flying, and they stacked the slot to keep pressure on us and get some good-bounce goals. The worst omen came when Mouser's clear behind our net bounced off the glass divider, right into our slot...and right on the stick of a grateful 'neck.

...To be fair, neither was the ref
Then the really weird $hit happened, centered around the buffoon in the referee costume, Ref "Lout-ing" Thomas. Thomas was the one who I couldn't talk to, in the first intermission, about all the uncalled picks and interference away from the play because, well, he spent the intermission joking around at the other team's bench.

Anyway, first, he whistled play after Carlton was literally checked off the puck, busting our bench door open. On the ensuing faceoff, when we asked why he was letting the 'necks line up with 5 skaters, he scoffed, "No, no, no. There's no penalty, the whistle was because the gate opened." Which received the obvious rhetorical 'Well...how did the gate open?' that fell on deaf Ref Thomas ears.

Then came the laughable interference. I poke-checked their main gun on a partial breakaway, after which he promptly grabbed my arm and pulled my glove and stick out of my hand. Lout-ing Thomas astutely called coincidental penalties, with "interference" on yours truly for "interfering after you lost the puck." My disagreement met another round of, feistier, dismissive, "No no no no" from the expert eye-witness.

It got especially petty when he whistled Sloppy Rob for a penalty in the third, I asked Thomas if he had caught the post-infraction interference, and he responded with, "That's it! You're gone! Two plus 10!" Wait, two plus ten?! That's like double-secret unsportsmanlike conduct -- my first ever! Hilariously, Mike K., upon witnessing this, got much more of his money's worth out of a two-plus-ten with the following observation, said with cool, Mike K.-like calm: "Are you kidding? You know somethin'? I tell you what, you are the worst goddamn f*ckin' ref that I've ever seen, and that's saying something."

Then there were four (subs)
As we spent the rest of the game in the cozy confines of North County's penalty box (floor elevation: even lower than the player's benches), I warned Mike not to say any more since another grossly called misconduct might incite the suspension gods from HNA. Mike responded with, "Don't worry, brother, I've said my piece. I'm not gonna say another thing to that damn motherf*cker all night."

Of course, this was all after Ref Thomas tried to keep Mike from being able to serve his penalties -- he originally left the ice, rightly calculating that his night was over -- and insisted that one of our remaining four subs should serve his 10 minutes.

Reason prevailed, Sloppy Rob insisted Mike get back in the box despite what Thomas said, and we watched as the remnant Thunderers valiantly finished out the night -- and multiple 5-on-3 kills, with just four subs. Particularly amusing was watching all three forwards come off...for only two forward subs...and then see them repeatedly push an exhausted and increasingly pissed "Decoy Jansky" back out there, cursing all the way to the faceoff circle. (By some coincidence, Decoy came down with the Spenard Flu later that night...but like a trooper, he still made it for the ski trip the next day, liquid diet and all.)

Game 2 of the N.C. Tour
Game 2, vs. the Icemen, started even worse. More bodies back in the lineup, but we did not come out ready. We fell behind 3-0 in the first, upon which Captain Lee called a timeout and chewed our arses in the subtle, your-shame-is-so-evident-it-hardly-needs-mentioning way of which Lee is a master. And, as he pointed out after the game, from that 3-0 deficit onward, we outplayed them (barely), even outscoring them when you exclude the empty-net goal.

The highlight may have been Copeland and Mike K.'s tenacious penalty kill in the third that hemmed them in their own zone and lead to their sweet combination on a shorthanded goal. That was followed by Copeland's sniper-placed goal from the slot that iinched us ever closer to a comeback, but that was as close as we got.

Hoagland "the Greater" also had a pretty goal, working with his brother The Lesser off a faceoff to put a shot in five-hole. After the Jansky-and-Mike misconduct show of the previous game, Mouser re-staked his claim to the anti-Lady Byng with three penalties and a warning from the ref about talking too freely. "Skullf*cker" Joe also announced his return with a few defensive PIMs (after miraculously going penalty-less in the previous game).

Alas, again we didn't get it done. We had it all in our hands with these two games, but now we've made it harder on ourselves. Simply, we can't afford to lose any more, but taking the two remaining games against our division rivals could do the trick. Adam, for one, is counting on us, so that he has some hockey to play in April (and in Toronto) and a reason to push his rehab.

May a renewed commitment from our pathetic selves commence now...

Next Game:
Wed., March 7, 10:45p at Webster Groves
vs. Eagles (We are home/white)

Stung Again

Mon, 26 Mar 2007 20:33:41 GMT

Array of shots no match for clog-the-middle tactic

Final
Thunder - 3
Stingers - 4
Attendance: Beelzebub and his minions

Well, the Stingers done did it again. Not much to say. They got a lead early, we tied it; they picked up the lead again to open the second, but our hustle wasn't hustle enough, our shots not precise enough. Lots of comedy, but no bounces our way.

On the Matter of that Ref Guy
Not to harp on officiating, since we lost this game even without his help, but his comedy must be documented, since it's always more fun than blaming ourselves.

The mousey ref established his credibility by incorrectly calling three hand-passes in the first 5 minutes of the game (none of which were passes within the same team), then being challenged by his partner, only to explain "There's absolutely no hand-passing in NHA" -- to which his partner replied, "First, it's HNA, and second, that wasn't a hand pass."

Undeterred, he still made himself a nuisance: He ruled the shot at the end of the 2nd period to be a goal against us -- even though his partner waved it off, having seen it not leave the blade until after the buzzer. Then he told me to back away from our own bench door, because that -- rather than in the ref's semicircle -- was where he decided to confer with his partner on why the "goal" should be allowed. Later he called Walker for four minutes in penalties late in the third for the crime of possessing the puck in the corner and accepting 10 seconds of checking, holding, and general smothering. Strange.

But at least he had his over-vigilant eye in hyperdrive on the faceoffs. There wasn't a faceoff all night in which he didn't delay proceedings with corrections and exhortations for wingers to stay outside the circle, don't step on the hash marks, don't act like you want to play. Tuck in that jersey. Pick up that blood.

Then There was Us (sans Hoaglands and Beck)
But we didn't pressure them enough early. Their goalie missed the first shift with alleged stomach flu, and we didn't put one in the empty net. And, as is always the case when the Stingers beat us, we let them slow the game down, they clogged up the middle, and they waited for cherry-pick home run opportunities to get odd-man rushes and breakaways.

The shots were a ridiculous 41-14 in our favor, but many of ours were attempts through a crowd of defense, while theirs were quality chances on "The Left-handed K-Feld" Spenard, who was subbing during K-Feld's demotion to Mexico. On their third-goal, we failed to backcheck while their two best players took it to the net.

And of course their second goal, at the start of the second period, was so funny that it almost doesn't need extra harassment. The "90-Footer," as it may be called was a curving, tailing slap shot right off the center-ice faceoff that, with its Minnesota Fats English, eluded Tony and gave him a new slate of material for which to curse himself. Somewhere in Mexico, K-Feld was day-dreaming, feeling free of pressure, Wiggins taunts, and "sincere" inquiries about his optical health.

Ack, what are you gonna do? Even with our poor start, a lack of friendly bounces despite many fat rebounds, and the funky ref, we still had the time and the ingredients to pull off a comeback -- and we did get it to 4-3 with time for a final push -- but it wasn't in the cards.

Now to make the playoffs, we have to win out and hope for luck. If we do that and end up in a standings tie with the Ice Men, we would win the first tiebreaker on the basis of having more wins than them (they have a tie and an OTL on their ledger).

The next task is the Stampede, who are in the words of Judge Smails, "no slouch myself."

Next Game:
Tuesday, March 27, 8:45p, Kirkwood
vs. Stampede | We are away/dark