honestly I don't remember who you are

Here's what happened:


Hockey. We win, we lose, it runs my life. PS Have you met Fredrik Sjostrom?

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I mean, really. Whoa, right? Today hockey isn't looking great, but we will still win the Stanley Cup and I will still get my tattoo.

In other news, everything else is difficult and making me miserable, including the fact that my annual (see 2007 and 2006) so so so wrong obsession with a so so so wrong man has come around, and he's pulling a "CSI: Miami" this year. I can laugh about it now, but that doesn't make it OK.

Hmm, what else? Finally, after getting my hands on the book years late (and then choosing to put it on the backburner and avoid reading it right after my poor Nipsey went to heaven), I am reading "The Year of Magical Thinking." Which is great because I can't even listen to "11:11" without crying (believe me, I have tried!), clearly a book about death is just what I need during these fragile (for some reason) days. But what Joan Didion does (what she always does) is make me itch to write my book. So I have been, a tiny bit. A very tiny bit. I came home last night after an unsettling outing with El Fano (the movie was disturbing, not the company) and wrote two small parts. I think I only have about 1,200 other parts to go. Hooray!

In these uncertain times, a good song to listen to is "Second Chance," by Liam Finn, because it feels like a shot of adrenaline, mostly when it gets to the "you stand around your haunted home" mark. I love it right now, and I hope you like it too.

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