CANDY!

CANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDYCANDY

Candy.

Writing: 541 words. End game ENGAGED

Well, That Explains A Lot

First - whatcha doing Dec 6th-8th? Why not come play games at Anonycon with me? I running three different games - Kobolds Ate My Baby!, Inspectres, and a Dungeon World mashup with mini and other (hopefully cool) stuff. Plus GMs much better than myself as well. Check it out! Come! It's a very nice, very friendly little con.

Back to hockey. One of my major frustrations with learning how to play is that I have too many whiffs on the puck, mostly on what should be easy attempts to corral the puck. I couldn't figure out why. I happened to mention it to Shequi today and he said the ref had mentioned that I tend to skate with the heel of my stick on the ice instead of the main part of the blade. That's awesome to know because now I can be cognizant of it and try to fix it. Can many goals be far behind?

Yes, probably.

writing: 741+ words. Finally finished chapter 36, which waddled in at a bloated 13000 words. Ooops. Chapter 37 will truly set the end game in motion, and I should be able to wrap it up in under 15k words, which would probably put me somewhere between 120-130k - not optimal, but after an edit it might be okay.

Center of Trouble - An Old Man Plays Hockey, Week 4

Something weird is happening with the Ice House Raiders. No, we're not winning. We lost 8-0 this week. Victory is something almost mythical to us right now. Getting dressed before the game there was some joking around and talks of a practice during our back to back bye weeks  (yeah, what?), and after a disorganized first period we settled into three set lines of forwards and five defensemen rotating among themselves.

In other words, we started to act like a team instead of sixteen or so random dudes tossed out on the ice. Wait, make that fifteen or so dudes and one dudette. Can't forget Stephanie, our captain. There's something reassuring about having the same two guys hitting the ice with you each shift. Given time, we'll get used to how each of us lays and knowing where we're going to be. It reminds me of playing a season with the same scrum in rugby - you get used to the guy locking in next to you, the flanker on the other side, the two guys in front of you whose hips your ramming your head between, and so on.  It's cool.

It's also not a perfect scenario, for two reasons. One of the guys who takes FOREVER shifts is on my wing, although to be fair that was markedly better when we were a set line and the others - me and a guy of course named Chris, because the Council of Chris thing is going to follow me forever - went off, so he'd follow. He doesn't appear to know what he's supposed to be doing in the defensive zone. I may have yelled a little. It's pretty simple. Right wing covers right point. Don't go below the dot unless the left defenseman does. At least the bench was yelling along with me.

The other issue is that I've been made the center. Not that I have years of experience as a winger, but centering is a little bit different than what I'm used to. There's the faceoffs, of which I managed to win one of six or seven. I like being the guy camped out in front of the net looking for tip in, deflections, and rebounds, and almost had one on a twice-deflected pass. But center? Like my learning curve needed a deeper bend.

The game wasn't as bad a blowout as the score might indicate. Our first goalie gave up a few he'd probably like to get back, and two were powerplay goals as well. In the second period we came thisclose to our first goal as it was through the goalie but ticked off the heel of his skate and went wide.  We also had two posts. There's going to be a goal one of these games, and we're all chipping into a pool - a buck a guy a game, with the pot going to the first one to put it in the net. Like a team does.

We still have other issues - too long shifts, especially by one guy,  and we're waiting for Jeff to get back from dislocating his shoulder, which he evidently didn't tell his wife about for a week and a half. Such is the life of a hockey player.

Writing: 741 words. I need to wrap this chapter up.

At Least He Didn't Sack Him

So The Boy had a football game 'under the lights' Saturday, and it was really cute. First the all got their names called out and ran through a tunnel made up of high school football players, and then played a 'night game.' It was the usual kitten herding with our side being slightly hampered by the fact that the head coach overinflated out footballs and with the cold, nobody could grip it. The other team ran a double reverse, which is impressive when you consider these are 5 and 6 year olds. It was SO impressive that a kid on their team got either confused or excited or angry but whatever it was, he saved us from giving up a sure touchdown when he yanked his teammate's belt. We all laughed in our armpits so the kids wouldn't see. Really, we should be both allowed and encouraged to drink at these things.

Hockey write-up tomorrow. They made me a center. Have they not watched me play?

Writing: 661 Saturday, 641 this morning. Bro-bonding, dude. Bronding. Also, Go Sox,.

It . . . what?

I just had a guy call me from Iowa about a radio for an 05 Celica I'm showing. He then asked me how many miles the car it came out of had.

What?

Writing: 511 words. I was tired and cold and distracted. So there.

I'm Not Lazy, I've Just Never Been There. Okay, I'm a Little Lazy Too. But Help Me Anyway.

Let's say, for the moment, that I was going to run a one-shot set in Los Angeles. For those of you more well-traveled than I am (so that'd be all of you), what are some great places to visit and things to see (that will become supernatural problems)?

Writing: 663 words. I am making up luxuries that don't exist, as far as I know. But I want them!

The Sound That Gets Around

So one of the odd things about playing hockey where we do is that aside from the actual game noises, it's pretty silent within the rink. I'm used to rugby where you're outside and near traffic, planes, etc. Hell, I've played games under the RFK Bridge on Randall's Island with all sorts of distractions. At the Ice House, however, it's just the smack of puck against stick and the slash of blade against ice.

Until this week. This week the scoreboard operator brought a laptop and peppered the breaks in action with snippets of music. He announced the goal scorers and the assists, and had a foghorn for when goals were scored. It was goofy but also kinda cool. As I hopped over the boards to the strains of 'Shipping up to Boston' I felt, just for a second, like a real hockey player.

Then I almost wiped out, and the illusion was shattered. Nice while it lasted.

Writing: 945 words. I said I'd try to get to a thousand. Descriptive writing is much easier than conversation.