ed_rex

"Thanks" to mijopo I found myself compelled look up a poem I wrote for my high school writing class. It's a bad poem, with lurid, somewhat nonsensical imagery, a central metaphor that gets displaced by another one, a strange use of the letter y in place of i and, generally, no evidence for an ear for poetry whatsoever.

But it amuses me almost as much as it embarrasses me. If you care for a peak into one of my not-so-good early writerly moments, click away.

... and I don't say this with any pride or even some political axe to grind.

The truth is, I just don't give a shit about the Olympics — except for the hockey, in which I am compelled to maintain some interest. I might actually watch some of the games.

But about those who ski quickly, or dance forcefully, or sweet with authority ... er, you know, good luck to you and all that, but I'm simply indifferent.

(And yes, I'm aware of the anti-social sociological results that hosting a Games usually brings to said host's city, and the Nazi origin of the torch ceremony &cetera, but I think, when wars are being fought and famines ignored, that those too are pretty small beans.)

I'd like to see the Canadian boys and girls bring home hockey gold and might (might!) watch a game or two, but I am basically, fundamentally, indifferent to the whole kit and kibboodle.

In all likelihood, this has been my final Olympics-related post.

Carry on.

An unrepentant Habs fan living in Hogtown, I've seldom seen Sydney Crosby or Alexander Ovechkin play and so no them largely by stats and hearsay.

My friend Vern was the other day talking up Washington's superstar as a player who shows "pure joy" in the game and, since last night's remarkable game in Washington, I've come around to that position.

My infatuation started during (I think) the second intermission, when a replay showed Ovechkin clearly exchanging complementary words with Penguins' goal-tender Marc-André Fleury, who had just stopped Ovechkin on a scoring attempt.

We too seldom see the pros engaging with a member of an opposing team. Too witness it during the playoffs and in the middle of a hard-fought game was wonderful.

That Ovechkin also scored three of Washington's four goals only sealed the deal with my heart — it's true, I just might see Crosby on the side, but don't tell Ovi, okay?

P.S. I'll try to stop this flood of posts now.

Jewel:

New words: 1,053
Total wordcount: 78,300
Deadline: May 1

* * *

Yes, there's a (working) title on the above entry, and will be from here on in. The reason? I think I'm about to start a second novel and - if so - will be keeping a similar word-count. Rest assured that "Jewel" will have first priority on my writing time until it's finished, but I'd like to keep track of "Use Me" from the get-go.

Where Jewel is intended to be strictly a fun fantasy, Use Me looks look being a so-called "serious" psychological novel, probably with pornographic undertones and hopefully of some sociological and political significance - Jane Austen better watch out! Or else only a self-indulgent cri de coeur that, maybe, will appeal to "chick-lit" aficionados, if from the distaff side.

* * *

Last night's game between Montreal and Boston was marvellous hockey. Though the final score was only 1-0 (happily - very happily! - in favour of les Canadiens, it was everything hockey should be. Fast-paced, with end-to-end action, lots of scoring chances, excellent goal-tending and lots of (mostly clean) body-checking.

What a beautiful sport.

Edit:

Use Me:

New words: 550
Total wordcount: 550
Deadline: None yet