the session is NOT going well

Maybe it's the best thing for you, but it's the worst that could happen to me.


PS Honestly, how is this man not my best friend?

PPS Dallas or not, I'm still totally naming any boy-child I raise Sean Avery. Get into it.

I didn't see it, I can't believe it

I just had the most wonderful idea, but I've already talked myself out of it.

While reading Popbitch, I noted a fantastic acronym: IDNSHC. I have read it before and enjoyed it before. (For the uninitiated, it generally pops up in "Stood next to ___ at the urinal" posts. You can figure it out.) Today, for some reason, I fell deeply in love with IDNSHC and wanted it to be a part of my life. It has a wonderful HRH and/or esquire sort of air about it, so I decided it would be wonderful to use it with the name of anyone to whom it applied. Now, of course, that would mean I'd spend the next few months IDNSHC-ing pretty much every name ever mentioned in this site, but it would be worth it.

My fear, and the reason I've abandoned this plan, is that one day, I may forget a needed IDNSHC and scandalize myself and others. So, yeah. I'm pretty broken up about this lost affectation. Please that I may use it just this once: Have you seen this story about Sean Avery, IDNSHC? I am living for his concept of what fashion should be.

just for today, let go and slide away

Every once in a while (more like every couple of years) I meet up with people I used to know and still sort of know, in the following-along-online way. Today was one such day.

There's the standard "What have you been up to?"/"Eh, the same. How about you?" exchange, generally. But this time was a bit more interesting. Me and Dollie, we've got a song. (You have heard this, right?) One other guy makes a living trying to figure out if someone urinating into another's orifices will transmit a crystal meth high. And then there's our movie-star peer.

Of course, I have seen this already and knew about it even before that, but I didn't really know how to show you. But I found out. Say Aloha to Aloha. (The magic starts one minute in. Embedding disabled by request, sadly. You must click here to see.)

In other news, I've been listening to Quest For Fire (featuring two Deadly Snakes) since I belatedly learned that they exist (oops!). So yeah, I like what I have heard so far and look forward to hearing more. That will happen in July, on The Storyboard Label, from what I understand. Hopefully they will play in New York soon thereafter.

Anyway, in the meantime, you will have to hear it on MySpace like I do. It's apparently being saddled with some sort of stoner-rock label, but I don't know much about that. To me it sounds like make-out music, you know, music boys play when they invite you over. The way I hear it, "Hawk That Hunts the Walking" exists in the same spirit as Verve's "Slide Away," which is an enormous compliment (seriously, why don't The Verve play that live anymore?) and means it's a total make-out song.

So yeah, crank up the computer and get busy!


PS I hate to see people lose, but dang, Sidney Crosby is one ugly bastard.

PPS I totally have a crush on Mike Babcock.

waiting for tonight ... whoaaaaoaahahoaoahooo!

Here is the story of tonight (please read it as a very bad limerick):

There once was a girl named Jane
Who loves the Rangers and everyone said they would lose
So she screamed and she screamed
And they played really great
And Henrik got a shutout and Jagr was awesome and then she went and drank too many snakebites and now reheated an old eggroll and will go to bed in her Avery Rules t-shirt.

The end ... ?

PS For the first time, Gardenvision showed TWO of my text messages!
PPS Definitely for serious, I name my first born child that is a boy Sean Avery. Internal bleeding will do that to a girl.

it's OK, I know nothing's wrong

Why does the world hate me? I am a nice lady. Why is it that I must get terrible Sean "My Soul Brother" Avery news (which, for 20 minutes there, was basically, "He got a heart attack and probably died.") after a terrible loss, followed by a terrible episode of "American Idol" that I had to watch in the midst of other terrible times. No, really. I had to watch it. Like, for serious.

Also, why are people who are supposed to be my friends waging some sort of imaginary feud against me? Don't be mean to me. I am good! Where did I go wrong? I am at a loss. Honestly, I deserve better than this.

Do you deserve this video? It's hard to say. But I offer it to you anyway:

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?

<--

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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third-period conversations

Me: I can't believe I didn't win a Peabody again.
DB: Yeah, I noticed that.
Me: Another year, another missed Peabody.
DB: I could give you a Peabody.
Me: Really?
DB: Sure. I could pee on your body.
Me: Eew! No.
DB: Although it's PEAbody, like peas. I guess I could put peas on your body. Frozen peas. But you could really do that yourself.

...

DB: Ohhhh. Why is [hockey player] so foxy?
Me: He's very dirty. I learned that the hard way.
DB: What did you hear?
Me: Nothing. But I told you, I had that dirty dream of him.
DB: Did he give you a Peebody?
Me: No! Yuck.
DB: That's my joke of the day.

...

DB: I think People should do the 50 Biggest Butts list. I bet there would be at least forty hockey players on it. They'd probably be more likely to do the 50 Most Fabulous Butts. But I'd rather see Biggest Butts. Although Michael Moore might be on it. Who else? J.Lo, though her butt isn't even that big anymore. Kim Kardashian. Who is known for having a big butt? The lady who's always on the cover of King magazine. Let's say there's 10. So the rest are hockey players.

...

And ... we're in the playoffs! This will only get worse.

I love your dress

OK, so the hockey game SUCKED (I blame myself; clearly wires were crossed and Matt Cullen and his teammates made off with my good wishes and luck) — but there was a big Theory sale, and Dollie went and picked me up this great perfect dress. It is my first Theory dress! And it is great, perfect and great. Hooray!

that's why it'll never work

I just killed a bug with my hand and instantly regretted it. I announced, "That was shitty. Now I feel bad about it." Um, no one is here. Who am I talking to!?!

In better news, Dollie is my hero. You may not get that bananacake joke (well, well, well, you should!), but trust me, it's the best thing ever written.

And so ends my month of daily blogging. I'm not sure if it would be more or less impressive were I not writing two posts a day over at the work blog, but I did it.

Speaking of the work blog and things that I do, every day in December (Yes, weekends. Yes, Christmas) there will be a new 2007 year-end list. That's 31 lists. It all starts tomorrow. I won't tell you exactly what the first theme will be, but I can give you one clue (Why? Because who's going to stop me? I already killed a bug today. Look out.) That clue is: Sean Kingston. Be sure to stop by, disagree with me, post your own lists and suggest other Best Of lists. Seriously, comment all day long. Become the new Bradley. I'd love it.

no one else can feel it for you

I love winning. And we won! Even though I wasn't there. Finally. Nice one, boys.

Also, this is so wonderful. But then again, it could just be that I love James Franco. And the name Justin Bobby.

shake the disease

I'm feeling better, a lot better, but still really awful. So I did what anyone in my position (two blocks away from Macy's) would do. I went to Henrik to be healed. Am I healed? Not so far. But I did get to look at him in person and stand right in front of him for a full 20 seconds and even talk to him a little. Plus I got a signed puck.

He's totally all gorgeous in person, in case you were wondering.

go-oh-ohhhhl!

Yay Colton Orr! I know it's not his Thanksgiving, but he came across with something to make me say thanks. Oh, I love to win. And I love when the win comes from an unexpected source.

like icing on the cake

You know when you're having one of those weeks, where you're working a billion hours and not sleeping nearly enough and finding at the end of the day that you have maybe one or two things you've done that you're happy with and about (if you are lucky — I am)? How do you get through those weeks? Me, I have the New York Rangers. (And this week, the "I'm a citizen" guy). But you probably don't.

So tell me, what small victories and simple pleasures make your life worth living? I'm curious. After all, eventually it will be June and hockey will be all done. And it's not like I'm going to run into the "I'm a citizen" guy in the street. Besides tonight, I mean.

you're gonna meet me

(that's Sam Rosen, Dave Maloney, Ryan Hollweg and Sean Avery.)



Today I went to a Rangers season subscriber event, and Sean Avery had to leave early because he had to meet a girl's parents for the first time. Ha! Which girl? What parents? Page Six better have the goods. Anyway, I found that hilarious. The whole thing was all so delightful and wonderful. I left it thinking, "I love my team and want to be best friends with Sean Avery." The end.

fake headlines, believe them

Oh, if only this were happening. (You know it was inspired by that episode of "Inside the Rangers" I was telling you about. He looks just beautiful in it.)


Rangers' Orr Could Be The Bachelor?

How fantastic and hilarious would it be, though, seriously? Especially since he has a girlfriend and is not interested! Did I mention that it would be one hour a week of Colton Orr?! I'm starting a petition.

Dear Colton Orr's lovely girlfriend, You're in show business — get on with the show! You know these "Bachelor" fauxmances never last. What does it take, two weeks to film? Then he's back with you forever. Think of my entertainment. Please.

back here where we need you

Sean Avery returned to the ice tonight. We won, but the big story is the return of his great big mouth. There was a whole lot of on ice action (seriously, can't they come up with an adults-only broadcast where everyone is mic-ed?), and then this:

Sean Avery was asked how exactly Marty Brodeur responds when he’s in his face the whole game. “His accent’s too thick. I can’t understand him.” Avery also referred to David Clarkson as a “boneheaded minor leaguer.” Good to have Avery back to fill up our notebook. (Rangers Report)

There's a picture of Avery and Brendan Shanahan, when you first walk in at The Garden, and they're on the bench, both smiling and looking down. And it might remind you of me and Dollie, where Dollie's Sean Avery and I am Shanny, for a number of reasons. I think that still holds true, but when it comes to Brodeur, me and Avery are of one mind. I love it.

I want to be haunted

I admit it: I totally thought it was Luis Guzman, not Rick Aviles in "Ghost." And I've hated him ever since.

Also, if you like the New York Rangers, or even just hockey — or, in all honesty, even just men — you really really REALLY might want to watch this week's "Inside the Rangers". It will change your life.

there was time to kill

Next Rangers game (that I have tickets to): 142 hours

My birthday: 16 days (yes, even at my advanced age, I still live for my birthday)

"Flight of the Conchords" on DVD: 30 days

Surely there are other great things to be excited for and look forward to, but I can't think of them right now. Instead, enjoy this totally weird video for "Countdown," by Pulp. And wonder how it is that I have never seen it before. Speaking of weird Pulp videos, I really need to dig up my 12-year-old mashup video for "97 Lovers." I wouldn't hold my breath for that to actually happen.

they've only got one

Henrik has re-signed. Hallelujah!

To celebrate, here is a nice video for a not-bad Sloan song. (Though, as the lovely and talented Lola has noted, the "or maybe TWO!" at the end almost ruins it all).

Oh, and THIS ... is awesome.

don't take it personal

I had another memorable dream. Two of them. And they were way better than the stupid Sloan/ Korn one, though both were tied to work.

In one, it was my last day of work, and some IT person was running off a report of my computer, noting all the things I looked at that I shouldn't (as if I had any time for that during the day!) and as I was like, "Whatever, F- you guys," someone (with whom I do not work in real life) said, "Jane, I'd like you to meet ..." and before they could get "... Henrik Lundqvist" out I'd attached myself to the lovely goalie, never to be parted.

Then in another one, someone I really do work with told someone else in the office that I had a crush on him (gee, thanks). While this was more realistic (it was the real people, and I really do have a -- foolish, terrible -- crush on the one guy), it wasn't scarily so. For one thing, Sha doesn't know, so it isn't like he could tell the guy. Also, even if he did know, I believe he would never sell out a Queens girl like that. The best part of the dream? The crush guy, upon learning this news, took off his pants -- in the office. But no, even that isn't the best part. The BEST PART is that when he did that I said, "Really, you should put your pants back on. It's not that serious."

"It's not that serious"! Amazing. Best line ever.

I am having an exausting week. I have been cosmically clowned, and it has made me not want to do anything, not even dance with the gays. What a bummer.

the better better better it gets

It's official: Ryan Gosling is a dream walking.

Oh yes, and nothing else matters in life but hockey.

she knows she's losing it

If I get through this week without ending up in a rubber room, I will consider it a major victory.

Speaking of major victories, my gorgeous and flawless NY Rangers won the Eastern Conference quarterfinals in a sweep. Sorry, Lil Jon. But, it happened in a week of horror. Which means I went from trying to cover monstrous shootings from an office in Times Square to jumping up and down for the "GOAL!" song in Madison Square Garden in about an hour. That's not good for one's head.

And then today, when I buy every local paper so that I have the pretty pretty back page action, the front page is a mass murderer pointing a gun at me. Where is censorship when I need it?

Even if I were sane I couldn't handle this. And we all know I am not sane. For example, I lost count of how many times I rewatched Matt Cullen's post-game interview last night to catch him "looking at me." I wish I were kidding. I really wish I didn't think we made actual eye contact. Through the TV. It's sad, really. But it's the quickest way to get happy.

if you want me, you can find me

It's not that I haven't been writing a lot. I have. It just hasn't been here. Let's catch up.

Monday, I wrote this and this and I wrote here (remember?) and this thing I wrote Friday published.

Tuesday I wrote this and was too busy obsessing over a hockey game to write anything else.

Wednesday I wrote this (Are you seeing the pattern? It's every weekday morning, kids.) and this.

Thursday I wrote this and this.

And Friday I wrote this and another thing that won't publish until Monday.

Saturday I wrote this and THIS right here. Oh yes, and this: Happy Birthday, Michael!

my wandering days are over

Dear Hockey,

You are everything, and everything is you. There's no living without your loving. You're everything I need and more. You're all I'm living for.

Seriously, what would we do without you but grieve?

Tonight, I celebrate my love for you.

Tomorrow, I sit in front of the TV and scream.

Wednesday, I get a haircut (it's supposed to rain, of course) and maybe hopefully celebrate a playoff clinch (oh please please yes).

And Thursday, I class up section 327 with my section 343 magic.

And then, then then ... the playoffs. Ohhhh, the playoffs.

I'm sorry, kids. I know I'm supposed to keep the hockey in the hockey place, but it's my world right now.

wrung me out too too too many times

Today I left work an hour and a half late (nothing shocking), and when I got home I spent another hour doing other work things. And then I got an e-mail that said I have a meeting that starts at the time when I'm supposed to leave work, PS I needed to leave an hour early tomorrow.

So what I did was cry. Seriously. I cried for an hour. I cried at the computer, I cried on the phone, I cried on the couch. I went into my room and starting packing my bag for my trip (which I will now be late for) crying while watching "The Job."

I love "The Job." The job, not so much. Now I am sitting at the computer (oh, but you knew that) having downed three Advil and a beer (My self-medication is squarely OTC), and I have stopped crying. I'm calling that progress.

PS I love Colton Orr.

sit down next to me

Today I am going to that Elton John concert that's all over the news. I'm so lucky, right? I don't know where my tickets are, but I'm hoping for my regular hockey seats. Not because they'd be great concert seats (they wouldn't) but because they would be so familiar. And magical!

Speaking of hockey seats, please let them win today. I'm shooting for no losses from here till June.

I want to live the sporting life

My stepfather bet me $10 that Boston would win the St. Patrick's Day Bruins/Rangers game.

"I've always loved the Bruins," he said. "And the Devils." He lies. He's a Rangers fan. He does it just to drive me crazy. The other day he called me as a representative of the Chris Simon Fan Club. He's a riot.

Anyway, we won 7-0. And Matt Cullen got 2 goals and an assist (it's like supporting a team within a team!). Pop should bet me more often.

Speaking of sports enjoyment, there was an "exposé" on "Dateline NBC" about men who like watching football. Yeah, really. So they had these huge fans who really like their team, and the wives who can't stand it. My favorite part is when the wives talk about how much they hate it, PS of course the men were crazy fans before they were married. First off, why hate it? Who cares? I hate football too, but it's on once a week. How much of a problem can it be? And if you do hate it, why get married to a fan?

So they set the dudes up by having the wives ask them to do things around the house while the game was on. Come on! Leave the dudes alone. Does it make you happy to haunt your husband so he can't enjoy something that he loves? Aren't you happy to see him happy? Can't you find something to do without him on a Sunday afternoon? And when did emasculation become a prerequisite for being a good husband?

Also, how is it that no one has married me?

miss me, miss me, now you've got to kiss me

Jorge, you fool! Not only did you miss me (you poor, poor thing!) but you also missed a 4-0 win.

Rangers fans, you can thank me. I wore the lucky socks and jersey, I had the traditional pre-game cup of coffee and in-game giant beer (and braved the ladies room, as one would have to after consuming that much liquid). I kept my spirits high, watched Matt Cullen's every move (that part was easy — ooh, and click that link to see him biting, just like me!) and even read the dreaded work email during the game — If I read this email, Henrik will hold his shut out.

He did. He rules. I rule. My night was magnificent.

And today at work totally sucked a butt. You can't have it all, kids. This I know for sure.

would you knooooooow MYYYYY naaaaaaaaame?

I've got a new pretend boyfriend at the hockey game. He sits in my section and seems to have the same ticket plan I do. He is cute. I insisted that Dollie pick a name for him (I have to call him something), and she named him Jorge.

"Why Jorge?"

"Well, I told you I thought he was French!"

There was laughing. There was screaming. And that's all there is to say about that.

PS This title is from a Sheila Divine song. (I fixed it so that you know that it isn't Eric Clapton). And speaking of The Sheila Divine, Dear Leader, starring Sheila Divine frontman Aaron Perrino, is playing Friday night. Yay! OH NO! They are not. I just went to the page to link to it, and it's canceled. Now I cry all day forever.

hear the sound of marching, charging feet

Welcome to Lent, believers. I have given up being less than awesome. So far, not so good.

Who is awesome? Sean Avery, who called Martin Brodeur (UGH!) a big whiner. A BIG WHINER! YES!!! And I missed it. Why? Because of a bleeping Knicks game, I had to watch the Rangers/Devils game on the Devils channel (though MSG said "Tune in to MSG2," there was no MSG2 last night). Grr. Still and all, Sean Avery is my new hero. Also, I watched the game, and saw the "goalie interference/roughing" moment in replay 62 times, and Brodeur started it. Whiner. BIG WHINER! Also, they are the Devils. And I am confident that God don't like ugly OR evil, I don't care how much they win.

I started a secret diary. It is invitation only, which I will send out soon, I hope. If you don't get an invitation by Friday and you think you should (this means you don't work with me AND you are either not someone in my real life OR are my BFF), hit me up. I think you have to have a Blogger account for it to really work.

I got the green light, I got a little fight

I think what's going to happen is that the Killers are going to win me over on the disappointing Sam's Town by putting out every song as a single. I'm three for three with "Oh yeah, I guess I do like that song." Now "Read My Mind" has a video (which I have not seen yet) and it's my new favorite song. Good work changing my mind, Killers.

Last night I went out (to the whitest place I've been since that place on the West Side Highway — and last night I was in Greenpoint. What?!??!)

OK, it's aside time. And yes, I know I am white, very white, in fact. All Northern European ancestry — we kind of have white on lock, in most senses of the word. But not mine. The white that makes me want to leave nightlife establishments, the white that gives me that fright, is a very specific "I'm not from around these parts but I'm certainly not from another country"/ "I always have a trust fund or a job at the family company to fall back on"/ "I'm totally buying a big house back home as soon as I get NYC out of my system"/ "I even use toilet seat covers at home." These things aren't bad, they just aren't me. I prefer slightly grittier company.

Anyway, it was fine but mostly boring. Which was really just as well, as I had to be up and at 'em c. 8AM today. (Thanks again, Grammys!).

Earlier, the Rangers won again (oh thank you thank you, lovelies) thanks in no small part, I'm certain, to my rediscovery of the power of a well-placed "You're ugly!" scream at the other team during the game. It got us the Cup in 1994, I assure you, and calling Pavel Bure ugly wasn't easy. "LeCavalier, you're an ugly bastard and you stink" stuck in my throat on Friday night as well, but it turned into a 5-0 win. Good thing 90 percent of the most beautiful players are on our team.

Last night I had a dream that I was at a fancy party with theater journalist Patrick Pacheco and Seymour Butts. They were both pretty fun.

three will love you so much

Wouldn't it be a kick if I started calling hockey games right here (live-blogging, I think the kids call it). Well, it would be a kick for me. Anyway, the second period of the Rangers at the Bruins is just starting, and we're up 2-1.

And which line did both of those goals come from? The third line. The line they bumped Matt Cullen (Eeee!) to because he was apparently outclassed as a second-line center. Whatever. Now he's centering Prucha and Ortmeyer. That is a trio I can really get into. Two Americans, even. And we (yes, now this is MY line) got both goals. So there.

PS And yes, I am the top search result for "stab myself in the neck". Good times.

PPS 8:18: Now it's 3-1. And yep, my line again.

Oh, and 8:22: Boston power play. Rangers' short handed goal. Whose? Matt Cullen's. It's 4-1. My line has all four goals.

Alrighty. It's 9:41. It's a 6-1 final, thanks to Shanahan's penalty shot and a Nylander goal. It wasn't an ALL third-line victory, but close enough. And what a joy! I can't remember the last time I had this much fun. Seriously.

you care, I know, I forgot for a while

It borders on ludicrous that I am unable to write more than once a week. I mean, really. But this weekend I was tired. So so tired. Friday I went to see "Les Miserables" with my mom and Dollo. Third time for me, fourth for my mom, first for Dollo. Sadly, Fantine was terrible. Other than that (although that's big — killed a big crying scene for me) it was very good.

Saturday I went for a walk to get milk at the farmers' market. Then, um, I think that was it. Oh yes, plus the "am I getting thrown out or a lease?" apartment drama ended (I'm getting a new lease Monday). And there was also the hockey game (just on TV, but exhausting all the same) and "Invincible." Let's see, Mark Wahlberg starring in an inspirational sports film about poor people? Of course I loved it!

Speaking of that, yes yes yes to his Oscar nomination. And yes yes yes for Ryan Gosling's. Finally, something to root for. Also, it's been about 18 years now that Mark Wahlberg first showed up in a New Kids on the Block fan magazine and I said, "Ooh, now that's what I'm talking about." So when he wins that Oscar, I can say I knew him when.

Today, I took a shower and spent the day switching between the couch and the computer. This is sad. I am sad. In nearly all senses of the word. But! I did manage to squeeze in three or four hours of Korean TV (No subtitles. And none of us speak Korean), including a show featuring practical science experiments. And the popular favorite, Xman. I never have any idea what's happening, but everyone is having so much fun that it hardly matters. Enjoy!

yeah, no problem, Tyuts

I'm not sure what you know about "Bobby Granger's Guide to the Rangers" (very little is my guess. If I'm wrong, let me know. We have so much to discuss!) but it is a series of short spots promoting the greatest sport's greatest team (this is not defined with win/loss stats, clearly). Anyway, they are all quite funny and deliver precious off-ice seconds with the players.

Last night, Dollie introduced me to this one, which is my favorite ever, not just because Matt Cullen is in it (he's the ping-pong playing "Bonehead" who doesn't understand Russian) but mostly because it made me laugh for at least 15 minutes after I saw it. That plant? Comedy gold. I've never caught this one on TV, and I seriously watch hours of MSG a day. So I'm sharing. Enjoy!

the alarm is set for noon

We won! We won we won we won. I loved it. Matt Cullen played 98 shifts (the scorecard doesn't show this, but I know what I saw) and also took off his helmet and shook out his hair at one point. It looked like a new 'do. I liked it. This also didn't show up on the scorecard. I warn you now, the yearbook comes out Saturday. If it's as good as last year's I may have to take Monday off to take it all in. And you'll hear about it. Get ready.

So yes, fun Rangers times yesterday. Then we went and had pho (yay and yum) and met a great friend's new friend (very handsome, very fun), walked from Chinatown to Union Square and then through Williamsburg, and then we came home. Soon there was sleeping. Over nine hours of it.

This is what a weekend is supposed to be, my loves. Fun, sleeping, wins, boys.

Oh, and I dyed my hair some more. Medium ash brown? Not quite. It is totally black in the back and underneath. That better wear off quick.

And my Christmas tree is down, and out on the curb. Progress!

Tomorrow, Target and laundry. And gearing up for a hell of a week.

Oh my God. Andy Rooney is droning on and on about team names. He is killing me.

life is a test and I get bad marks

OK, I decided how I will know my one true love when I meet him: I will say, "Cool Ice, Cold Soda" and he will know what I am I talking about. Don't bother looking it up online, would-be suitors. Google is no help. Someone out there knows what I mean, and probably maybe it is Matt Cullen.

Hopefully this damn team stops losing, else I may have to think twice about him. Even if he knows "Cool Ice, Cold Soda." See, now I can say that because it is my team. Brett Hull, on the other hand, is dead to me. Talking smack about Matt Cullen and Adam Hall? In the middle of a game? On MSG? Don't hate the players, hate the game, son.

PS I am officially delirious. Is it really only Thursday?

no need for further questioning

Now Matt's more like it. What a delight. Clearly, Matt Cullen just needed someone to talk him up. See how supportive I am? I inspire great success. Unfortunately, the post-game interview highlighted just how incredibly lovely the mighty Mr. Cullen is, and now everyone will be in love. What a bummer.

Do you think there will be NY Rangers at the Sloan show? They're off that night and the next night. And it's right between a NJ game and a home game, so they'll be in town, presumably. Lots of Canadians in the ranks — you'd think someone on the team has to like Sloan. I ask only because I'm going to need something to entertain me during the bad songs. There's only so many times I can go to the ladies' room. Alone. If you're at the show and see a Ranger, find me quick.

it's the last thing that's holding me

Oh Sloan. Their L.A. album release party is a Cobrasnake production, DJed by Steve Aoki. I find this adorable, somehow.

So do you think the U.S. release is going to have 30 completely different tracks? I'm holding on to hope.

PS: Eeeee!

slow down, you're taking me over

Yes, he's married. Yes, he has a new baby (named Brooks. How delightful is that?!) But I'm sorry, when the Brett Anderson of the NHL is on my team, I'm bound to catch some feelings. I mean, really.

you wonder why New York fans are in love with him

If you listen close, you can hear me screaming.

speaks with his fist

10 minutes into a (crucial, much needed) nap, the phone rang. It was work.

So I had some work to do (news doesn't stop just because I need a nap and have a hockey game to get to) and ended up leaving an hour late for MSG. I missed the first 12 minutes of the first period (and also our first goal in seven periods — thank you Prucha, you handsome, wonderful man). I arrived just in time to see Nylander score the second goal of the game, so I bought a beer and went to my seat.

And then the party started. That motherfucking monster Donald Brashear — one of the very few people whom I'd surely spit in the face of, given the chance — was in (not-so) rare form, picking fights, haunting Jagr, asking for a total beating.

Our regular team thugs (and I say that with the utmost respect and affection. I love our team thugs.) did their best to keep him busy and put him in his place. And then he tangled with Brendan Shanahan. The entire Garden was on its feet screaming and cheering for every punch my man Shanny landed after he threw off his gloves and got the party started right on center ice. It was glorious. Then Brashear got thrown out, for attempting to do bodily harm, and I jumped up and down (seriously, I left the ground at least four times in pure joy) and pointed to the door, cheering. It was magic.

Oh yeah, plus we won. Seven-game losing streak? Snapped!

see I'm wise enough to know when a gift needs givin'

I cannot stop watching that SNL "_ in a box" video. Not to mention my obsession with "What's my weakness? Soup!" and Jo-Jessica. Man, Justin has created an instant classic. In my version of events, he wrote the great sketches. How else was it so funny? Also when Alec Baldwin was on, he wrote his own sketches too. And Ludacris also.

Anyway, "backstage at the CMAs" will never have the same meaning again.

Another night, another awful hockey game. I think they are trying to destroy me. Thankfully, my latest obsession (no, not Brand New. It's Matt "Don't Shave Too High You'll Regret It Later" Cullen — and yes, I know he has unfortunate hair. And a wife.) was out hurt. Thankfully? Why? Because I got to spend the whole game wondering what he was doing. PS It was always dirty.

But the Bigmouth Maple Leafs fan wasn't annoying about the Saturday night loss at all. "Come on, you have to let me gloat a little," he said. "We're on a one-game winning streak!" Fair enough.

can I get myself out from underneath

At 9something PM, my Christmas tree was up and decorated, all but the angel. I should have taken a picture. Because then it fell down. I don't think anything broke, luckily (Not even the ornaments you threw across the room for daring to fall on you while you were under the tree trying to get it to stand again? No, not even those).

Also, hockey fucking sucked. 9-2? Seriously? My day was going well until that. Bastards. I'm giving the Bigmouth Maple Leafs Fan who sits behind me at MSG just 30 seconds to talk about it at tonight's game. After that, he's going the way of the ornaments that fell on my head. Only he'll break, I assure you.

This morning I've dyed my hair. Now I'm going out to get a new Christmas tree stand. And a latte. Using Preference by Loreal AND indulging in a Dunkin' Donuts free Gingerbread Latte? Why not? I'm worth it.

PS I didn't stay up for all of the JT SNL, but so far so good. "Omletteville" revisited I saw coming. "The Barry Gibb Talk Show" I hoped for. But "My Dick in a Box" — now that was a surprise. And a good one. Especially when they said, "See, I'm wise enough to know ..." Magnificent.