the better better better it gets

It's official: Ryan Gosling is a dream walking.

Oh yes, and nothing else matters in life but hockey.

everybody take it to the top!

You know what rules? "Stomp" by the Brothers Johnson. In case you were wondering.

Hey, see it!

she knows she's losing it

If I get through this week without ending up in a rubber room, I will consider it a major victory.

Speaking of major victories, my gorgeous and flawless NY Rangers won the Eastern Conference quarterfinals in a sweep. Sorry, Lil Jon. But, it happened in a week of horror. Which means I went from trying to cover monstrous shootings from an office in Times Square to jumping up and down for the "GOAL!" song in Madison Square Garden in about an hour. That's not good for one's head.

And then today, when I buy every local paper so that I have the pretty pretty back page action, the front page is a mass murderer pointing a gun at me. Where is censorship when I need it?

Even if I were sane I couldn't handle this. And we all know I am not sane. For example, I lost count of how many times I rewatched Matt Cullen's post-game interview last night to catch him "looking at me." I wish I were kidding. I really wish I didn't think we made actual eye contact. Through the TV. It's sad, really. But it's the quickest way to get happy.

somebody just said 'see you later'

I'm watching "American Idol," like you do, and I got so angry that Haley gets to sing "Turn the Beat Around" with Jennifer Lopez's help. Why, God? Haley sucks. That song rules. Jennifer Lopez is, honestly, one of my personal icons. You may think I'm kidding. I totally am not. I love Jennifer Lopez.

And then, all of a sudden, Phil Stacey sings "Maria Maria," clearly one of the 20 worst songs of all time, and I realize that if I did the indie rock remix of it, maintaining all of it's awkward, embarrassing "glory" it would be on Never Hear the End of It.

And that, finally, is the best way for me to explain what I don't like about that album.

who you talkin' to?

I was really going to just let this go, but my true nature won over.

Yesterday afternoon, I got this — rudely short, in my estimation — e-mail. Not only was it rudely short, the subject was the man's name. Um, what?

He's a relatively famous man (in some small circles), so I won't call him out. Let's call him Guy Smiley instead.

Here's what I got:

From: Guy Smiley
Sent: Monday, April 09, 2007 12:21 PM
To: Jane
Subject: Guy Smiley
Jane,
I am emailing to ask for Dollie's address. She sent me a poster and I need to send her a thank you note.
Thanks,
Guy

I responded quickly with just the facts. I am dying to send a PS note today, but I won't. Instead I've done this. It's the subject line that's putting it over the edge. I'm baffled.

if you want me, you can find me

It's not that I haven't been writing a lot. I have. It just hasn't been here. Let's catch up.

Monday, I wrote this and this and I wrote here (remember?) and this thing I wrote Friday published.

Tuesday I wrote this and was too busy obsessing over a hockey game to write anything else.

Wednesday I wrote this (Are you seeing the pattern? It's every weekday morning, kids.) and this.

Thursday I wrote this and this.

And Friday I wrote this and another thing that won't publish until Monday.

Saturday I wrote this and THIS right here. Oh yes, and this: Happy Birthday, Michael!

my wandering days are over

Dear Hockey,

You are everything, and everything is you. There's no living without your loving. You're everything I need and more. You're all I'm living for.

Seriously, what would we do without you but grieve?

Tonight, I celebrate my love for you.

Tomorrow, I sit in front of the TV and scream.

Wednesday, I get a haircut (it's supposed to rain, of course) and maybe hopefully celebrate a playoff clinch (oh please please yes).

And Thursday, I class up section 327 with my section 343 magic.

And then, then then ... the playoffs. Ohhhh, the playoffs.

I'm sorry, kids. I know I'm supposed to keep the hockey in the hockey place, but it's my world right now.

right on the hour the traffic slowed

Of course I woke up Friday morning to e-mails telling me to skip the meeting since I'd asked to run out early and all. Sometimes you have to have a meltdown to disturb the balance in such a way that people get a chill miles away and say, "Oh, yes. Jane is out early that day. She shouldn't stay for this meeting."

Or, you know, I could have just said, "Um, do I have to go to this? I have a bus to catch." But there's no way I would do that. Being crazy is really tough, I tell you.