The Milk Man

Check out the only goaltender in the world who is possibly cuter than Henrik Lundqvist (a.k.a. new dad).

A Day Without Goals

What a great day to sleep in and read the New York Times: A Day Without Goals. Love the pun. What a cutie.

Read the book The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work by Alain de Botton yesterday. This snippet, about a day in the life of employees at a multinational accountancy, struck me as particularly poignant.

These achievements will no doubt lose some of their significance with the perspective of time. Three years from now, the diary of the afternoon of the twenty-ninth of July will have become almost unintelligible, when it had once been sharply divided into pressing hour-long increments, devoted to appointments with colleagues whose very names and faces will have grown indistinct.

Sad but true. If I try to remember what was so important that I never made it to girls' weekend in the Hamptons late August two summers ago, I cannot for the life of me begin to imagine. But it certainly was seemingly critical at the time.

Ah well, must go to bed on time tonight so I can awaken early, go swimming and be in the office by 7:30 a.m. so I can meet my pressing deadlines, in billable increments, for clients whose very names and faces will grow indistinct soon.

That's life.

My Boyfriends

My girlfriend Karen posted pictures of her boyfriends on Facebook last week: Brad Pitt, Jon Bon Jovi and Bret Michaels. Per my request, she later added Richard Grieco because she dated a Booker lookalike during the 21 Jump Street days and I felt it was a noteworthy absence.

I decided to compile my own photo album of boyfriends here in the blogosphere where, due to lack of readership, I wouldn't be subjected to as much public derision. To ensure the list didn't go on forever (and take the better part of my day), I limited it to two men per class (i.e., actors, musicians and athletes) which forced me to nix cute men like Denis Leary and Justin Bateman and focus on the true loves of my life starting, of course, with my main man David Bowie. Given that criteria, I then added an extra musician -- the lead guitar player for Rochester's very own Presstones (circa 1980-something).

What a winsome lot. And for a chick who claims to favor intelligence, the list is very telling. Nary a Stephen Hawking-esque figure in the mix. Ah well, can't have everything.

Tell me, can you ask for anything more?

Boy, do I love musicians or what?



This video found on a blog devoted to all things Henrik. 24/7 Hank. Thank you baby Jeebus.

The Lone Ranger(s)

The hubby won tickets to a Sabres game courtesy of Labatt Blue Light. The whole beer drinking thing can pay off, apparently!

While he could have taken Son #2 to see the NJ Devils, instead he chose a Rangers game so that he could see one of his favorite players, hailing from Rochester, Ryan Callahan and so I could see my Swedelicious* boyfriend in action. (*Term coined, to the best of my knowledge, by my Swedish friend Krister.)

Amen to that.

Free tickets = awesome! Free tickets also = nose bleed. Fourth row from the tippy tippy, vertigo-inducing top. So high in the rafters that the Hindenburg-like blimp that drops tchotchkes on the crowd was flying below us.

As much as I like the Sabres when they're playing pretty much any other team, last night I had to root for my favorite team: the Rangers. That meant wearing Son #1's camoflauge Rangers knit hat in front of a crowd of over 18K Sabres fans. The hubby wanted to know if I was looking to get my a*& kicked in the parking lot.

When you're spawning upstream through a wave of Sabres jerseys while sporting a Rangers logo, you feel a sudden kinship with the handful of other Rangers fans you spot along the way. Little smile. Thumbs up. It's like being overseas for a while and hearing an American accent: it doesn't matter how big of a dork that person is, s/he's suddenly fascinating. That drunk dude with the painted face? My new best friend. The chick in the furry blue hat with yellow horns who keeps turning around and giving me the snake eye as I cheer for the Rangers? Not my new best friend. No, not at all.

For the majority of the game, we could pinpoint the other Ranger fans in the crowd. Look, over there, thirteen rows down, to the left, there's guy cheering for Lundqvist. See? But, at the very end of the game, a slew of guys in Rangers jerseys came and sat right behind us. Comrades in fun. And the last few minutes were, indeed, tense, action-packed fun, especially when Buffalo scored in the last minute and brought the score from a shutout to 2-1.

The crowd went wild for a few waning seconds only to give it back up in 4, 3, 2, 1. Oh darn.

I think Henrik clearly knew (or definitely felt in the depths of his soul) that I was there. (Yes, I'm kidding.) He was en fuego. And, with that score, they sucessfully ended not only the Sabres' four-game winning streak but also their own three-game losing streak.

Saturday night: date night. Thanks Labatt. Thanks hon. And thanks mom for watching the kids.

A Girl Can Dream . . .

What I REALLY Want for Christmas

Santa, you listening? I feel like a few "she shoots, she scores" or "two minutes in the box for roughing" or "game misconduct" or "hank-y panky" jokes are here somewhere but it's like shooting ducks in a barrel. The man behind the mask . . .

I just hope John Cusack doesn't mind.