I am an American sports fan. In many ways, I like to think of myself as unique and different, sometimes even strange, but in this area I am quite happy to be like most other people: I love sports. Sports is fantastic in all sorts of ways that real life just isn't. I cheer my team when they are winning and call into question the legitimacy of their parentage when they lose. I lose my temper and feel giddy with excitement and all sorts of other wonderful things. With the Red Wings sent home with their tails between their legs, I've got nothing left to cheer for. I retain an interest in who wins the Stanley Cup, but as long as it isn't Colorado I don't really have any emotional investment either way. I love sports, but there aren't any sports for me until late August, when college football season (the best four months of the year) kicks off. Son of a bitch. Regarding the Red Wings, I really truly do not know what happened, I don't even have any theories. All I know is, there's always next year.

What's Eating The Last Angry Man?
People who aren't blonde but think they are. Until puberty, I had blonde hair, and a part of me wishes I still did; so, I understand blonde envy. At the same time, I am well aware that I am not blonde. I hate people who think they're blonde when they aren't. The most recent example: last Saturday, moving equipment to the Animania screening, Q-Girl made a comment about blondes and understanding the blonde point of view, since she is one. It took every ounce of my self-control to not scream at the top of my lungs, "You aren't fucking blonde, you insidious moron! You are not blonde! Are you fucking delusional?!" My anger was not directed at Q-Girl because she is Q-Girl, but because of her claim of blondeness. For the record, by no conceivable trick of lighting could Q-Girl's brown hair be misconstrued as blonde. If you aren't blonde, please feel free to whine about it and wish you were, but don't claim to be something you aren't.

Yesterday, I began the process of removing the posters and decorations that line the walls of my room. This being a fairly melancholy process, I thought it very appropriate to listen to the melancholy ballads of Can't Stop the Love Sled, The Watergirl's album. The hardest part of yesterday's work was taking down my rock show and hockey tickets. So many unbelievably great memories....

In more Watergirl-related news, reading Where is Joe Merchant? is teaching me a lot about my friend. There are any number of Post-It notes, receipts, and remnants of make-up packaging stuffed throughout the book. Among them, a Post-It note with a name, address, and telephone number in Watertown, NY. (With my keen detective skills, I think I've got an inkling of who this might be.) DS9 once again hit the nail on the head when it called it's farewell episode "What You Leave Behind."