Hockey...

Hockey hockey hockey hockey. Played in my first tourney; we lost every game. By a lot. And drank a lot in the locker room and laughed our asses off. I loved that. I am getting better but still so terribly bad.

And watching Olympic hockey.

And thinking about what I like about it. Hockey has made me so happy in the last few years, watching and then doing. Something so pure and rough and simple about it. And there's a lot of generosity to be had, in-between the chippiness and ego. Chivalry is not dead, at least not in the Whitehorse women's hockey league.

Ovechkin, Malkin and Datsyuk, oh my!

Even though they lost tonight. I like those Russians.

And flowers, because it feels like spring these days:

Happy

Don't think about it too much.

Barry Goldwater

I am reading a short, sweet little autobiography by Steve Martin, where he talks about the small things that brought him to the stand-up comedy circuit.

Life influences are strange and you almost never get them right. I don't know why I got to be the way that I am. Sometimes I think I do but then a small memory will trigger me, and I'll realize I've got it all wrong.

I heard from an old friend this fall. I met him when I was twelve, and later on, in between bouts of abuse (the great kind, where your closest guy friends ridicule you and wrestle you) we became off and on lovers. My first introduction to sex included him offering me a choice: green condom or blue? (Blue, of course. C'mon, who would choose green for their first time?)

Anyway, we never totally lost touch, but I'd only get an odd email out of the blue, or call him up once every few years in Vancouver, and we'd go out and get drunk, and I'd feel exactly the same as I did when I was twelve.

But it had gotten to be more than a few years when I emailed him this fall, hoping he was still reachable. I sent a thoughtful, friendly email, telling him what my life was these days, and asking him the same. This is what I got back, in its entirety:

Remember when I beat you at Trivial Pursuit. Man were you pissed. I even remember the answer. Barry Goldwater. It was a total guess. I wasn't even sure who he was but I answered quickly and confidently. You were sure I cheated. I know it's been hard knowing that despite all your scholastic successes and book smarts that I'm smarter than you. I know you play the violin and I play hockey. You went to university, I got my G.E.D. You kayaked through pristine locations and I smoked weed. But remember that game. I'm sure that was just one of many smack-downs I dealt you. You sure hated that. Sure Barry Goldwater was a guess but the universe always gives us what we need. Barry Goldwater was there for me. It's all right there. Don't think for a minute that I don't know you're smart. Your intellect is very high. So you can imagine how I feel about myself. You and I both know how smart you are so I'm pretty satisfied.

That was all he said, but I think it was all I really needed to know.This message made me happier than I had any right to be. I walked around with a smile all day, and all my relationship choices - good and bad - since, made a new kind of sense. I felt lucky.