Pond Hockey Stickiness

You know, I sure do love hockey. Right now, my love for hockey has resulted in a tight chest, cold limbs, and a bunch of blisters on my right foot. Ok, my decision to take my sock off caused the blisters.

But It was all worth it, as I played on a pond (lake, really, since ponds are never 40-something acres) today.

See, that's the thing hockey has over all other sports. In basketball, the variation is hardwood vs clay court, which is a distinction that can be made any time. No baseball player has ever said "hell yeah, let's play some baseball in the mud!". Actually, baseball players don't come out if it drizzles, so mud is right out.

Football probably comes the closest. We used to play a ton of hockey at the park below my house (see past posts for more on that park), but when it was too snowy to skate (ironic, huh?), we tended to pull out the football and beat the hell out of each other for a few hours. Snow football is great.

But there's something great about pond hockey.

Usually, I'm iffy on if I want to play or not, because honestly, I suck. I'm really, really bad. And I worry that everyone else on the ice is thinking "man, that kid sucks, and is really, really bad". But when my friend said last night that he was playing on Canonsburg Lake today and wanted to know if anybody was in, I was all for it.

When the ice is really choppy, the air is cold as hell, and the bench is a long, long way away, nobody really cares if you suck, because everyone sucks.

Except Bryan, who was quite good, thus making him the Dick Of The Day.

I'm not going to go into some gross, sloppy, sticky, awful, unimaginative soliloquy about "the good ol' days on the pond, when we'd play for hours until Ma would tell us to come inside for dinner". But I'll just say that even if you don't play hockey, never played hockey, but have some skates hanging around, give it a shot. You could do a lot worse than an afternoon on a pond.

I'll probably still be the worst person on the ice.

As a side note, My first thought was "I wonder if the fish below us are really confused about what's going on?"

Thoughts of the night, 1/7/14

I'm going to sit here and force my brain to think of stuff that may or may not be interesting, because I feel the need to write stuff.

So first thing's first. What happens to fingenail clippings? I bite my nails a ton, and few things are more satisfying than realizing you've neglected one of your fingers for a few days, then biting that sucker off.

I live for that. My life is an odd one.

But then,perhaps you flick them, perhaps you *ttttttthhhhhhhhhhP* spit them out. Where do they go? I think there's a species of elf that come out of our furniture, take the nail clippings, and make Christmas toys out of them. Hope you loved your dolls and k'nex sets as a kid.
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Sometimes the cat makes a noise exactly like this toy my sister had when we were little. It was an orange cylinder with a cow on it, and when you turned it over, it went "EAOORRRRRRRB". It was supposed to sound like a cow, but ended up more like a calf or a lamb, which I feel was the USDA's way of subliminally getting children to enjoy veal and gyros. I love both things.
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I found this today, and I think I'll be sending it to people a lot:

Frank Turner, a singer/songwriter from England, wrote in a song called "Try This At Home" that "there's no such thing as rock stars, there's just people who play music. And some of them are just like us, and some of them are dicks". I feel this is applicable to all groups in society, including the "untouchables" such as nuns and Buddhist monks. Maybe not the monks, but definitely the nuns. Point is, some people are put on pedestals as being "above" normal folks, but really, they're just normal people in strange positions who are either cool, or they're dicks.

Motley Crue seem like a bunch of dicks, but "Shout At The Devil" is an awesome album.
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I'm going to start a new feature on this bloggity blog, called "Dick of the Day". Today's Dick of the Day is none other than Chase Bank! Congratulations for being a morally reprehensible bunch of lazy dickbags. Aside from other things, JP Morgan Chase has earned tonight's title by receiving 97.4 billion dollars in taxpayer bailout money (http://www.seiu.org/a/profilechase.php). What a bunch of dicks.

 

 This blog has hit an impossible low.

Ways To Fortify Yourself Against The Cold

As this blog is titled "From Igloo to Igloo," it goes without saying that I am the preeminent non-Aleutian authority on cold weather. So I said it.

"It goes without saying" is a silly phrase, because it is always followed by saying whatever is supposed to not be said. This bothers me.

But I digress.

With the temperatures reaching record lows (should one include the wind chill factor), I feel that it is my duty....nay, my privilege, to help all of you to get through this. What follows is a list of tasks one must complete if they wish to survive this hellish nightmare of snow, ice, and in Erie's case, impossible rain.

1. Purchase a cat.
Normally, I am against anybody keeping a cat as a pet. They are awful creatures, who exist simply to ignore their delusional, obsessive, and unkempt owners. Owners like this lady:

 

In this case, however, such measures must be taken.

When the temperature is 40 degrees below bullshit, which is the exact boiling point of "fuck this," cats are invaluable. In fact, buy three cats, because you're going to need all of them. 

With the first cat, identify the entry point of water into your home. This is sure to be the coldest section of pipe in the house, as it is linked to the outside. Take one of your cats and duct tape it around the pipe, making sure its underbelly is flush with the cold, cold metal of said pipe.

With the second cat, do nothing. This cat is, as all pets are, backup food. The reason for eating a cat is to save your infinitely more admirable dog, brother, or sister. I recommend eating what I can only categorize as the thigh. The breast is slightly gamy and mostly fat, while the thigh of a cat is full of Omega 3 fatty acids.

The third and, at this point, final cat will also be saved. Possibly. After emergency crews are first spotted, release the third cat into the wild, outfitted with a tracking device. Monitor said tracking device. If the cat stops moving for an extended period of time, assume that it has died, and that it is not yet safe to venture outside, as the cold has not yet lifted. Or it might just be sleeping, since that's really all cats do.

There you have it. If you've followed my detailed steps on how to survive this "arctic blast," you will make it through unscathed, and will also be helping to curb the out-of-control cat population.

As an addend to this guide, here is a list of things you will not need, and why you will not need them.

1: a coat, because fuck going "out there". Are you NUTS???

2: A scarf, because see above. Also, scarves are accessories, and accessories have only really ever helped out James Bond, Batman, and Johnny Depp.

Scarf, sunglasses, cufflinks, and a necklace. You try looking this cool without them.

3: Batteries, unless you're using them in conjunction with a sock as a weapon against cold-resistant mutant cannibals.
4: A fourth cat, because one can only eat so much cat thigh.