Rubber puckie, you're the one!

As I write this, the New York Rangers and the New Jersey Devils have fought their way to a 3-3 tie in the first round of the NHL playoffs. I have no dog in this fight -- never followed hockey, and I have dear friends who love each team and hate the other team with the heat of the sun -- but from what I've seen, whichever team wins Game Seven deserves to go on to win the Cup. Either team would qualify under Lord Fred's #1 Rule of Ice Hockey, which is that no place that does not get ice in the winter deserves to have an NHL franchise.

And yet all that had nothing to do with why I bought a hockey puck. 

It's a puck for street hockey, or, as the puck also says, "hockey de rue," because otherwise those Quebecois would have no idea what it was. But I, very poor ice skater in the few times I've tried, and even worse on roller skates, have not played anything like hockey since my school days. Even then it was plastic-puck gym mayhem or after-school Nok Hockey or air hockey in the arcade, so none of them really count.

No, I bought this puck because of the World's Most Famous Golden Retriever™, Tucker Budzyn. Tucker, who lives with his son Todd under the auspices of Heckin' Linda and her husband, apparently likes to chew hockey pucks and will steal them from his owner to go play with them. Well, that might be a pain for Dad Budzyn, but there are advantages to a hockey puck as a dog toy. They're very tough, even the "hockey de rue" version, and no more expensive than a dog toy of the same caliber. Maybe cheaper. 

Baby dog Izzy likes to destroy toys, as did Nipper before him, but unlike Nipper he will continue to play with the rags that remain after ripping out all the stuffing. He does like some tougher toys, though, ones that will take a good chomp, and with his estimated bite power of 190 pounds psi, it has to be pretty strong. 

Well, a toy that could take out Gordie Howe's teeth has to rank up there. 

Did the puck pass the acid test? Well, yes. He does like to chomp on it, but it's not his favorite toy. It's not flavored, like a Benebone, and it isn't something he can rend like a chipmunk. But I can tell he likes the texture. He'll gnaw on it for a little to satisfy the bite urge before moving on to something else, like licking my wife's elbow. (He's a fan.)

I can't say he's obsessed, as Tucker is. I'd be willing to bet that Tucker's owner stores his pucks with his skates, and so the extra shoe-odor appeal on the pucks is bound to make them more attractive. Maybe I ought to store Nipper's in the foyer closet for a few days.

One thing that I like about the puck is that it has no squeaker, like so many dog toys. But it would be kind of awesome if it did. Can you imagine a bunch of rugged Canadians engaged in a bruising game of street hockey, only every time they slapped the puck or it bounced off someone's head it made a loud squeak like Ernie's rubber duckie? Comedy gold, man. 

Memeing of life.

To get your Saturday going in fine fettle -- and if you don't have a fettle, run out and buy one -- here are some fresh memes for your enjoyment. Tally ho!

If it was fun, they'd call it play.

So how about that? No sooner do I say I'll restart the blog when work fills up my week. Well, it's good, but it's also bad, because if I'm not writing it means I have no spare time, and indeed that's how I've felt. Work has been -- well, you can guess. 

While I was taking my recent leave -- of my senses -- I actually got into a regrettable scrape with one of my freelance clients. I'd done work for them before, always for a flat fee. Watch out for that flat fee, boys and girls; it is seldom a good deal. Nevertheless, I liked the people and the work, so even though they didn't pay that well I was willing to take the job again, cleaning up copy. 

Well, everything went wrong. You see, they were no longer using the same writers as in the past, and the new one was terrible. This caused me to spend about twice as much time on the project as in the past. We know time is many things, including:

• fleeting
• relative
• of the essence

But most important, time is 

• money

So when they told me I had to go back and make changes in part of the job I'd already returned, I lost my temper. These changes were caused by stylebook decisions they'd recently made, something I had forgotten about, and I argued that they had pushed me to minimum wage already and I was about to sink below that. They responded that they were sorry I was unhappy and it was best if we part ways.

The next day I sent an e-pology, and wished them luck. I do not like blowing my stack and take no pleasure in it. But I wouldn't work for them again even if they'd have me, which they wouldn't.

So that was one client down. 

This week has been a whole other kettle of crap, but I'm glad that the memory of regret for letting my anger get the better of me is still fresh. I'm way too old to expect anything good to come of tantrums. 

 

What has two thumbs and is loopy?

This guy! 

I just want to thank everyone again for your kindness, and a special shout-out to GregW for sharing his story and the link to Andrew Klavan's testament. For those who don't know, Klavan is a prolific writer and podcaster, son of New York radio host Gene Klavan, and fervent Christian and conservative. Funny guy, too. The video may be seen here: 

And let me just add that it had to have taken a minor miracle for Gary Carter to beat out a throw to first.

People wonder why there's so much insanity among the kiddos today, especially of the horrible type that leads to mass murder. Often this wave of killings, especially school shootings, is traced back to the Columbine massacre in 1999, and I think it's not a coincidence that by that year the Internet was up and running everywhere. Many of us from the pre-Net era have seen the unusual adverse effect of falling into the sea of digital humanity -- that it reveals our individual insignificance by the sheer number of human beings out there. 

Few things in real life can do that. Maybe if you come from a small town and move to a big city. If you just visit a big city, you have the specialness within the traveler to keep you apart from the masses -- I'm not part of that crowd; I'm me! But when you live there, it slowly sinks in that very few people know you and even fewer care. On the Internet, it's that times eight billion. Acts of extreme evil are one way, and the worst way, to fight against that feeling. It's a rare but powerful temptation, and we see the awful results.  

On the other hand, the Internet's saving grace is that it allows rare connections through space that would be impossible otherwise. Even this has its downside with people who work together for sinister purposes. But an online community that brings real camaraderie among people who would never ordinarily meet is very special indeed. I know most of you through the Great Lileks's blog, and it is the greatest chatroom (there's a bewhiskered term!) of which I know. 

So what am I doing now? Well, thanks for asking! I am taking your advice and putting my writing back up on Amazon, and I am not doing away with the blog. I can't commit to posting every day--thus the title change--but I certainly plan to do so most days. If the black dog bites again, I promise not to vanish over it.

I hope to see you around here, or elsewhere, and thank you for being my friends. God bless you and keep you, and keep supplying you with dad jokes and whatnot to bring your day sunshine. 

Words fail me.

Sadly, there's a double meaning to this entry title, but I'll stick to the good one. I cannot find the words to thank you all for your kindness over these last weeks while I was (and to a certain extent still am) stuck in a gloomy spot with no idea how to find a way out. You folks are aces. Special shoutout to Stiiv, and also his massive partner in crime Mongo. 

I don't know what to do about the blog. I was taking my books off Amazon, but perhaps I should put them back up. I'm out of ideas. Suggestions are welcome. 

I guess I'm still lost in the woods, but that doesn't mean the sunshine hasn't reached me. 

You guys are aces. (And PLW, that means you ought to be dealt with.) (Ba dum dum.)

Thanks a million and a half.