just assume that everyone's interested in what you have to say
Today was "how to talk about discovery," "how to litigate personal freedoms" (we're doing "sexual autonomy" for late Valentines tomorrow! <3 I hope to work for this professor this summer) and "what types of freehold estates are the best, please zip it Miss (last name) no one wants to hear about patterns of inheritance." Law, I suppose. Big news, I'm dull, even my law school buddies walked off once I got into magnate lordship, so I'm not going to talk about my day any longer.
So yesterday evening & perhaps shading into this morning, I was on the SI Vault site, which is right up there with NOAA and H-Ref for "most hours frittered away," since I was looking for the article where J Devellano referred to shepherding four or so people off to AA. Of course, the article was actually on the Hartford Courant site, and refers to three-or-seven (because the writer doesn't display the roster turnover accurately) but nevermind, what matters is that I was reading 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s hockey articles. Not, tragically, in preparation for an excellent thesis: "Nationality, Gender, Class, and Race in Feature Articles in 'Sports Illustrated,'" but for my own bogus reasons.
There was a knock on the door. "Yeah?" said Burns, suddenly sounding gruff. "Oui?"
Right wing Stéphane Richer poked his head in the door. He had a question about the next day's travel schedule, and he and Burns conversed briefly in French. When Richer was finished, he took pains to close the door softly behind him, which wasn't surprising. Ever since the celebrated John Kordic incident, the Canadiens have tended to be on their best behavior when visiting Burns.
Early in October, Kordic, an archgoon and forward who has since been traded from Montreal to the Toronto Maple Leafs, burst into Burns's office and demanded-in language unsuitable for general audiences-
...
The players ripped Perron, he denounced the players, and the veterans on the team bickered with the younger players. The Montreal press feasted on the discord.
...
Burns, who coached the Sherbrooke Canadiens in the American Hockey League for a year before Montreal managing director Serge Savard selected him to replace the technocratic Perron last June, is the youngest coach in Canadiens history.
...
One case in point came on Jan. 18 when Richer, claiming illness, took himself off the Forum ice in the third period of a 3-1 victory over the Hartford Whalers. Burns saw to it that Richer did not suit up the next night in Hartford. On Jan. 21, right wing Claude Lemieux got tossed out of a 4-3 win over the Maple Leafs after berating an official. When Lemieux proceeded to trash the dressing room in a fit of pique, Burns saw to it that Lemieux paid for the damage.
One of the most venerated players Burns inherited was Guy Carbonneau, a seven-year veteran whom some hockey observers consider the NHL's best checking center.
...
Because of his police work, Burns sees nothing to joke about in drinking-one of the NHL's most popular extracurricular activities-and driving. Last season Burns took the Sherbrooke Canadiens on a field trip to the station house in Gatineau.
...
To avoid passing premature judgment on Burns, La Presse waited until the season was six games old before asking, in a front page headline, WILL HE LAST UNTIL CHRISTMAS?
By Christmas, Montreal had all but sewn up the Adams Division crown, and Burns had been anointed a savior. But he hasn't forgotten the rude welcome he received from the press. "It cut me and left me to bleed on Ste. Catherine Street," he says. "Now I'm winning, so I'm a genius. If I lose, I'm dead."
Third Degree Burns
a., this is a an accurate characterisation of the Canadiens lockerroom at one point, when "French-speaking," or at least, "French-derived" was a valid category, and one that could fill a room in Montreal. This view is plenty pernicious, but let us say it is subtle.
b., this is a ragingly weird hyper-nationalist drama, replete with "those French bitches" and "stupid English strangers" in a struggle that no one, on any sort of side, can comprehend. Apparently I joined the PQ while writing this.
c., What an amazing pun title. Also Pat Burns put together some pretty good pranks.
Whichever, though I am partial to b., and clause one of c., naturally. When walking into school this morning, it was actually light out! This was nice, although it cut way way waaaay down on my time spent imagining that I was John Rae. Look you know you do it too, and Rae's a better man than almost any other for this. (fuck you, Tryggve Gran; loyalty to Quisling breaks all our hearts.) (on the other hand, I am seriously close to really requesting "19C rpf: Olav Bjaaland" in Yuletide/life for sport, nationalism, and really cold places. if only he could talk about land tenure.)
This afternoon, while drafting a "Sanctions!" outline, and listening to the "Marek v Wyshinski" podcast from January 3rd, and Marek was talking up the next guest and the 1997 WJC, gave a huge pause and said, "Boyd Devereaux."
I dropped my pen; he talked about music and cussed. Does anyone else remember him? Or, alternatively, all of the fanfiction that people wrote about him? How we change. Or not; from this perspective, it's ZERO FUCKING surprising that I've begun writing about the 2000s Oilers and bitching -- because I live in the past, and am bitter. On the flipside, there is no way to guess who all of the hockey fanfictions will be about, in a decade. Although, based on datapoints so far, I am going to put it on some St Louis Blues honeys, after they win the Cup in 2017 book it. boooook itttttt. angevin2 and hockeysaurus are laughing at me really hard, so possibly is everyone else.
In other bogus-rey, I am driving up north to see Tep in two weeks, while the Patriarchy are out of town. That's still a boring story, since they have tried to kick me out for the last little while, ("you get free room," "YES because I'm not making any money") but I am looking forward to seeing my brother. That will be fun, we are planning on wall climbing, skating, and general chicanery.
Returning to my point, hot damn do we get into national ideals like a pack of homeland nationalists in the late Austro-Hungarian Empire when we talk about hockey. I suppose this applies to any sport (or -thing, really) with halfway vibrant international competition, but I am obsessing over this right now, so. I read Banks' Pavel Bure: The Riddle of the Russian Rocket since I was trying to learn about Bure on the sly for slowascent's Yuletide, and it was some wackytimes. Overall, it is a good book and has gobs of information which has been useful all over the place, but there's this bizarre sequence where Banks implies that Krutov, Mogilny, and I Larionov were all fuck-ups. Hey, this is not the least arguable proposition, but it's also pretty crazy: not just for the vague unsourced racism of the "fuck-ups" claim, but three examples is not sufficient thus: I call a priori bullshit. Ain't no one going to generalize "Canada" based on data points of F Mahovlich, Sakic, and Lemieux. (Or "US" on Tkachuk, Hull, and LaFontaine -- okay so "they get hammered and made weird fitness choices" might be apt for the USMNT -- the national team alone, not the NATION.) The route is clearly "more classes in theory for everyone who makes it their business to write" also "ha ha I see you failed to mention Fedorov."
In dispatches from LADIES (that's what faded-lilac and I are calling the always-a-women's-league-NHL) here is S Fedorov, not brooking any shit:
Fedorov, unimpressedly, reapplies her lipstick. "There were other activities. I would not live and breathe with the team. At this moment, I do not."
Yzerman wants to protest, because of course that's how it is supposed to be: they're a team, they're meant to be like this. Spending time with one another, talking about games, strategizing about wins. "Sure, we're all our own people. There's a reason you wanted to talk to me, though." Unconsciously, she rubs at her shoulder, passing with her palm where the "C" usually rests over her sweater, against her skin.
"That was tiresome when I was in Russia. It's enough." Fedorov runs one fingertip along the rim of her glass. "The Communist way, every single morning for nineteen years. They would wake us up with recordings of Lenin."
Yzerman's unsurprised that Fedorov has managed to turn being a complete asshole into a political ideology.
Let's get real, I like them the very best when I can pretend like they are huge jerks who use words like "oppugnant" when thinking about the playoffs. Also, not in this scene, but when I can involve my brain in the minutiae of "what's a power forward" and "why do they keep on hooking up with other women." Forreals. This has become a recurrent issue, and I really have no interest in fixing it: I get to have involved mental debates about what constitutes "big enough" and "how hot would that be."
WHAT I AM SAYING: if you like hockey and sexytimes involving ladies as much as I do, you should probably write about those things, and share them.
So yesterday evening & perhaps shading into this morning, I was on the SI Vault site, which is right up there with NOAA and H-Ref for "most hours frittered away," since I was looking for the article where J Devellano referred to shepherding four or so people off to AA. Of course, the article was actually on the Hartford Courant site, and refers to three-or-seven (because the writer doesn't display the roster turnover accurately) but nevermind, what matters is that I was reading 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s hockey articles. Not, tragically, in preparation for an excellent thesis: "Nationality, Gender, Class, and Race in Feature Articles in 'Sports Illustrated,'" but for my own bogus reasons.
There was a knock on the door. "Yeah?" said Burns, suddenly sounding gruff. "Oui?"
Right wing Stéphane Richer poked his head in the door. He had a question about the next day's travel schedule, and he and Burns conversed briefly in French. When Richer was finished, he took pains to close the door softly behind him, which wasn't surprising. Ever since the celebrated John Kordic incident, the Canadiens have tended to be on their best behavior when visiting Burns.
Early in October, Kordic, an archgoon and forward who has since been traded from Montreal to the Toronto Maple Leafs, burst into Burns's office and demanded-in language unsuitable for general audiences-
...
The players ripped Perron, he denounced the players, and the veterans on the team bickered with the younger players. The Montreal press feasted on the discord.
...
Burns, who coached the Sherbrooke Canadiens in the American Hockey League for a year before Montreal managing director Serge Savard selected him to replace the technocratic Perron last June, is the youngest coach in Canadiens history.
...
One case in point came on Jan. 18 when Richer, claiming illness, took himself off the Forum ice in the third period of a 3-1 victory over the Hartford Whalers. Burns saw to it that Richer did not suit up the next night in Hartford. On Jan. 21, right wing Claude Lemieux got tossed out of a 4-3 win over the Maple Leafs after berating an official. When Lemieux proceeded to trash the dressing room in a fit of pique, Burns saw to it that Lemieux paid for the damage.
One of the most venerated players Burns inherited was Guy Carbonneau, a seven-year veteran whom some hockey observers consider the NHL's best checking center.
...
Because of his police work, Burns sees nothing to joke about in drinking-one of the NHL's most popular extracurricular activities-and driving. Last season Burns took the Sherbrooke Canadiens on a field trip to the station house in Gatineau.
...
To avoid passing premature judgment on Burns, La Presse waited until the season was six games old before asking, in a front page headline, WILL HE LAST UNTIL CHRISTMAS?
By Christmas, Montreal had all but sewn up the Adams Division crown, and Burns had been anointed a savior. But he hasn't forgotten the rude welcome he received from the press. "It cut me and left me to bleed on Ste. Catherine Street," he says. "Now I'm winning, so I'm a genius. If I lose, I'm dead."
Third Degree Burns
a., this is a an accurate characterisation of the Canadiens lockerroom at one point, when "French-speaking," or at least, "French-derived" was a valid category, and one that could fill a room in Montreal. This view is plenty pernicious, but let us say it is subtle.
b., this is a ragingly weird hyper-nationalist drama, replete with "those French bitches" and "stupid English strangers" in a struggle that no one, on any sort of side, can comprehend. Apparently I joined the PQ while writing this.
c., What an amazing pun title. Also Pat Burns put together some pretty good pranks.
Whichever, though I am partial to b., and clause one of c., naturally. When walking into school this morning, it was actually light out! This was nice, although it cut way way waaaay down on my time spent imagining that I was John Rae. Look you know you do it too, and Rae's a better man than almost any other for this. (fuck you, Tryggve Gran; loyalty to Quisling breaks all our hearts.) (on the other hand, I am seriously close to really requesting "19C rpf: Olav Bjaaland" in Yuletide/life for sport, nationalism, and really cold places. if only he could talk about land tenure.)
This afternoon, while drafting a "Sanctions!" outline, and listening to the "Marek v Wyshinski" podcast from January 3rd, and Marek was talking up the next guest and the 1997 WJC, gave a huge pause and said, "Boyd Devereaux."
I dropped my pen; he talked about music and cussed. Does anyone else remember him? Or, alternatively, all of the fanfiction that people wrote about him? How we change. Or not; from this perspective, it's ZERO FUCKING surprising that I've begun writing about the 2000s Oilers and bitching -- because I live in the past, and am bitter. On the flipside, there is no way to guess who all of the hockey fanfictions will be about, in a decade. Although, based on datapoints so far, I am going to put it on some St Louis Blues honeys, after they win the Cup in 2017 book it. boooook itttttt. angevin2 and hockeysaurus are laughing at me really hard, so possibly is everyone else.
In other bogus-rey, I am driving up north to see Tep in two weeks, while the Patriarchy are out of town. That's still a boring story, since they have tried to kick me out for the last little while, ("you get free room," "YES because I'm not making any money") but I am looking forward to seeing my brother. That will be fun, we are planning on wall climbing, skating, and general chicanery.
Returning to my point, hot damn do we get into national ideals like a pack of homeland nationalists in the late Austro-Hungarian Empire when we talk about hockey. I suppose this applies to any sport (or -thing, really) with halfway vibrant international competition, but I am obsessing over this right now, so. I read Banks' Pavel Bure: The Riddle of the Russian Rocket since I was trying to learn about Bure on the sly for slowascent's Yuletide, and it was some wackytimes. Overall, it is a good book and has gobs of information which has been useful all over the place, but there's this bizarre sequence where Banks implies that Krutov, Mogilny, and I Larionov were all fuck-ups. Hey, this is not the least arguable proposition, but it's also pretty crazy: not just for the vague unsourced racism of the "fuck-ups" claim, but three examples is not sufficient thus: I call a priori bullshit. Ain't no one going to generalize "Canada" based on data points of F Mahovlich, Sakic, and Lemieux. (Or "US" on Tkachuk, Hull, and LaFontaine -- okay so "they get hammered and made weird fitness choices" might be apt for the USMNT -- the national team alone, not the NATION.) The route is clearly "more classes in theory for everyone who makes it their business to write" also "ha ha I see you failed to mention Fedorov."
In dispatches from LADIES (that's what faded-lilac and I are calling the always-a-women's-league-NHL) here is S Fedorov, not brooking any shit:
Fedorov, unimpressedly, reapplies her lipstick. "There were other activities. I would not live and breathe with the team. At this moment, I do not."
Yzerman wants to protest, because of course that's how it is supposed to be: they're a team, they're meant to be like this. Spending time with one another, talking about games, strategizing about wins. "Sure, we're all our own people. There's a reason you wanted to talk to me, though." Unconsciously, she rubs at her shoulder, passing with her palm where the "C" usually rests over her sweater, against her skin.
"That was tiresome when I was in Russia. It's enough." Fedorov runs one fingertip along the rim of her glass. "The Communist way, every single morning for nineteen years. They would wake us up with recordings of Lenin."
Yzerman's unsurprised that Fedorov has managed to turn being a complete asshole into a political ideology.
Let's get real, I like them the very best when I can pretend like they are huge jerks who use words like "oppugnant" when thinking about the playoffs. Also, not in this scene, but when I can involve my brain in the minutiae of "what's a power forward" and "why do they keep on hooking up with other women." Forreals. This has become a recurrent issue, and I really have no interest in fixing it: I get to have involved mental debates about what constitutes "big enough" and "how hot would that be."
WHAT I AM SAYING: if you like hockey and sexytimes involving ladies as much as I do, you should probably write about those things, and share them.