What are you watching?

Wife and I decided to watch all the season of Seinfeld from start to finish again. Started last night. My favorite show ever. Pure brilliance.

You surely picked a good one to start with!  I can't get enough of Seinfeld.  I think half of what I say comes from this show.  LOL.  One of my favorite episodes, as there are many, but I love the episode Darren the Intern.  Cracks me up.

I played hockey until I went to college. I really didn’t have much choice in the matter. My dad owns a rink up in MA and ran a girls/women’s ice hockey program. All of my siblings, nieces and nephews played hockey and both brothers are coaches. The only one who didn’t skate was my son, Ian. He went for baseball and golf. He and my husband would occasionally take me to the driving range but I was terrible. They said it looked like I was taking a slap shot off the tee. Muscle memory is a powerful thing! 

Yes!  I loved reading this.  I come from a hockey family, too.  Both my older brothers played though college.  I keep hockey sticks in my classroom still.  Surprised I haven't broke something...YET.

Loose ankles in tight skates!

I watched The Omega Man a couple nights ago: Charlton Heston as the survivor of a plague pandemic (bio warfare) that wipes out the world's population except him some goon mutant survivors with whom he battles, and a handful of healthy survivors. With today's goings on, it struck a nerve. His place of respite was a movie theater that was showing "Woodstock."

It came out in the mid 1970's and was a favorite of ours in high school. And I'm sure everyone has had that fantasy of being the only person on earth--or maybe not....

Doom Flamingo
www.facebook.com/doomflamingo/videos/316818329329079/
All covers 1 hour set. Not everyone's jam but I loved it. Thanks to VinnieTheEel for recommending these guys.

“what did you watch today?”

The storm making up.

Was reading and tubing and noticed flashing outside, and poked my head out to find lightning about, and some tall wind. So I poured a tumbler of whisky and walked out across the yard and onto the pier for immersion, as if lying in the tub as it fills.

Standing over the water, I see the layers and levels of the clouds, confused as if constructed not by an architect but a poet, layers revealed as lightning floods under, above, around and among. A little green here; a streak there. But oddly quiet; what thunder there is seems more suggested than present.

The wind breathes on my face from the prevailing southwest, steady, but then a cooler blast comes up my back to my nape like an exhale. The wind is confused, the sky now dirty.
But to the south, there’s a line in the sky and beyond a pale and peaceful as if the storm has a low fence it cannot—or chooses not to cross. Confined to its range, the brunt moves on its archetypal march down the James and out Hampton Roads to the north.

Across the way the tree tops are silhouettes cut out of black paper—and then they are mashed down. The trees behind me twist and droop. I recount my Mother’s recitation:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.


The temperature drops five. The wind blows sustained fifteen, gusts thirty. The moored boat seems puzzled whether it should lay against the pier, or away, but it has no choice.

A black spot against the gray backlit sky is an eagle, or osprey, working against the wind. As a hunter, I know to always hunt an edge. A front is an edge. The raptor knows as well, far better than I, for I was told and he was born knowing.

I smell the fresh rain over the low tide brine. I smell the lightning, acrid like a crushed geranium. The wind has now turned ninety degrees and some wind puffs scud across the water contrary to even that. I watch for the curtain of the white squall, but it does not come. Is that drooping cloud a funnel top? No, Toto, we are not in Kansas.

A few drops slap the cedar shingles, like an impatient patron knocking on the table for another dram. I move back to the house, drawn by the comforting light behind the glass. I find a door blown open; the leaves of the morning paper scattered to the lee.

Reality is for those who cannot handle drugs, or something like that. I embrace the real

Please. I can cook circles around that braying ass, and I don't have to verbally abuse anyone to do it.

On marathons he's got me though...

Just stop before it gets too nutty!