Sightless Eye v2.0

Interesting things that I have discovered....

....during my tooling around

1) I'm 1/8 Swedish, rather than 1/4 as I'd originally been led to believe. Does this make me half as evil now?
2) I'm 1/8 German--which is interesting to know.

So that sorts out Grandpa's side of the family, at least. Grandma's side, I'm still not too sure about. Since nobody on that side of the family will speak to me, I don't know who (or where) I can get info from.

My Grandpop lied about his age (and his birthday was 8 August, 2 days before mine). That amuses me for some reason. I imagine that it amused Grandmom too.

I need to get a hold of my mom to get some background on her side of la famiglia.

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Sightless Eye v2.0


Dear paternal side of the family,


For the love of Frigga, people. TELL ME THIS SHIT.




Thanks for helping me find my father's address so I can send him a Holiday Greeting of Folded Paper.

Holy fuck, he's 59?


Hail to the Hammer

Hockeyin' it down on the heathen tip, y'all (and cooking rambling)

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Ever since 19 June, I've been feeling way different regarding my outlook toward teams that I "traditionally" hate/loathe/despise/whatever. It's strange and wonderful at the same time. Is this what it feels like when your team finally gets over? It's like...I dunno what it's like. Like people can say whatever they want about my team or me or my town or my fellow fans, and I don't care as much as I used to. Go ahead and bash my team, I've got better things to do with my time than to get upset about it--like helping to show the newbie Caniacs the wonder and love that is hockey. I feel like I can get on with that personal task, now that I no longer have to break off time to fight other battles. I want everyone to experience hockey, to come to know and love it as I do, to know the truth in the old Fred Shero quote:

We know that hockey is where we live, where we can best meet and overcome pain and wrong and death. Life is just a place where we spend time between games.

I touched on it a little bit more here, in the hockey blog. It was a little rambly, but it's the summation of the feelings I had all through that playoff run--all the anger and the fear and the sadness and finally the joy and relief.

I think that, on some level, I've achieved satori--that amazing state of epiphanic enlightenment where your eyes are suddenly opened and you "get it". I may not go to games, but I treasure each game I go to for what it is--a touch of spiritual fulfillment, a golden opportunity to spend time with the Gods while watching the Einheriar duke it out on Iðavöllr. The NHL can "sanitize" it all they want, they can turn it into something where fighting becomes a Flowery War that protects miscreants rather than the rough Tyrian justice that it always was and should be, but they can't take away the fact that hockey is the last sport where man truly touches the divine and learns something about himself in the process. Other sports come close, but hockey....there's something about the inherent danger in those sharp blades and the sticks and everything that raises it to another level.

When I see Rod Brind'amour camp his orcish ass in front of the net with his stick at the ready, he's more than "just a player". He's a warrior lying in ambush. Put a sword in his hands and swap mail for the pads, and you've got a man girded for some old-skool warfare. Man is closest to the realm of the divine when he's balanced on two very sharp blades of steel and fighting for a little hunk of rubber--all my years of hockey-watching have convinced me of it. Danger awakens in us the very real possibility that we can die, and episodes like Clint Malarchuk's throat being cut open by a skate-blade and Jiri Fischer almost dying on the bench remind us of that. From that possibility arises the desire to become closer to something greater than ourselves. Few hockey players are atheists--in some way, they all believe in something because they've touched that something on a nightly basis.

It's the most terrifying and perfectly liberating feeling one can have. It really is.

Sightless Eye v2.0

So.... I the only one who doesn't care that Team USA lost?

And I'm probably the only one who hopes Team Canada gets wtfpwnt by the Russkies, because I'm still irritated that they refused to put Eric Staal on the roster. "Taxi squad", please. He's better than all the centers that are on the roster except Thornton--better than Draper, better than Richards, better than Sakic--and yet he gets snubbed because he's not a Friend of Gretzky. Fuck 'em.

Heia Sverige (except agin the Czechs).

And how sad is it that I actually find myself not wanting to post my opinions about stuff in my livejournal anymore, because I know that everything I post that isn't a meme or work-related will carry with it a high probability of somebody getting all bent out of shape and bringing the drama?


Go Czechs

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Sightless Eye v2.0


I'm pruning the flist of people that I haven't been paying a lot of attention to or that I really have nothing in common with. Also cutting old journals, people that decided to deflist me without a reason, that kind of thing.

Spring cleaning. If you got prunz0red, don't take it personally.
Me and my little kitty

To all those new arrivals:


No doubt you've found this livejournal through a link from Jes Gölbez's Hockey Blog. Either that or you're from and you guessed that my username there is the same as my username here. Either way, welcome.

Most of the entries here are friendslocked. You'll find a few public ones, and I'm sure that they'll give you a chuckle or two, but unless you're 1) a LJ user and 2) on my friendslist, you won't get much out of reading my journal unless I feel like sharing something with the world. :)

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