BTW South Song of the Day
The Eyeliners, "Finished With You" from Sealed With a Kiss (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Three sisters from Albuquerque, hotties all, playing bare-bones but not too angry punk rock, The Eyeliners really hit the spot.

Believe*
Unlike the '03, '04, and '06 squads, which I honestly believe simply rolled over and played dead at the first sign of adversity, I think this year's Red Wings have that greatest and truest of all sports cliches, heart.

I was misinformed as to the game's starting time; so, by the time I tuned in to Versus the Red Wings were already trailing 2-0. Curses! And then of course the usual Thursday night ritual of Hat Day, scrambled eggs for dinner, and The Office, 30 Rock, and Scrubs, followed by the Mountain making his nightly phonecall to The Buckeye and me watching Ugly Betty on videotape. But, I am confident the Wings will put the verdammt Sharks in their place on Saturday. Victory!

*I was test driving a proposed title, "Red Wingtips," and contemplating several others, including "The Red Menace" and "The Octopus," and was finding them all rather unsatisfactory. I then looked over at the replica sweater (jersey) hanging in my closet and saw "VK&SM." I bought my sweater in the spring of 1998, during the second quest for Lord Stanley's Cup, and gladly paid an additional premium for a "Believe" patch. Who can say what tomorrow and capricious fortune shall bring, but for this moment at least, I can think of nothing more fitting or beautiful.

Hat Day!
The Mountain of Love wore his smallish black ushanka and I wore my AC Spark Plugs cap-cum-horned Viking hat, specially modified for a live performance of Murky Transport Disaster's "The Viking Song." I love Hat Day!

Caution: Vulgarity ahead.

Mission: Unpossible Zwei - Tag Vierzehn
I read something... horrific today, something truly appalling. My brutish personality and vicious pettiness are, respectively, the armor and camouflage intended to protect and disguise the ridiculously intense sentimentality at my core. I have always believed in romantic love, I have cherished the notion of romantic love. I will always believe in the power and purity of romantic love. But, the baleful passage I read this day has, albeit temporarily, rendered the mere thought romantic love not simply distasteful but outright repugnant. This shall pass in time; until then, though, I am bereft of any faith in romantic love and left with nothing upon which to fall back except lust. Of course, thanks to "Mission: Unpossible Zwei," I don't even have access to lust anymore! Lousy self-imposed second go at a Lenten sacrifice!

I know I shouldn't complain, and I am sorry for doing so, but this rots.