Monday, Apr. 08, 2002
Dear Diary:

Well, the spousal unit and I have been glued to the tee vee for the last few days watching folks from around the world get their rocks off in Bismarck, North Dakota.

And while Bismarck, North Dakota probably isn't the place name that normally crosses your mind when you contemplate the concept of "getting rocks off", well you're just going to have to adjust your thinking now that they're hosting The World Curling Championships, eh.

As I've mentioned before, Canada is a world power in curling. This is mostly because this is a sport that involves rocks, ice and unfortunate fashion choices, three things we know A LOT about.

Oh, and curling is the dullest spectator sport around, narrowly edging out golf, which was also invented by the Scots. ("Ach, Ewen, can't ye find something a wee bit less excitin' than tha golf to be watchin', laddie? Mebbe paint a-dryin' or somethin' wi' rocks?")

So of course, the spousal unit and I drop everything the minute we know the Canadians are playing because hey, what Canuckian COULD resist the combo of ice, rock, unfortunate fashion choices AND dullness?

Exactly.

It's Who We Are, eh.

Now as of this writing our Canadian men's team is snugly in second place, right behind the Scots. Although we would, of course, like to stomp those skirt wearing, sheep molesting, funny talking foreign devils into the ice, right now we are biding our time.

(I meant the words "skirt wearing, sheep molesting, funny talking foreign devils" in the kindest, gentlest and least judgmental way possible of course.)

All we have to do right now is keep in the top four.

THEN on Saturday we go into the finals and stomp those skirt wearing, sheep molesting, funny talking foreign devils into the ice.

It's all about timing.

I wish I had such happy statistics to report for our Canadian women's curling team who at this writing are languishing in SIXTH place, tied with Switzerland.

I don't understand this. Okay, I know that on the surface we seem as dull as the Swiss, that both countries have a lot of rocks and ice, but one look at the Canadian women's outfits and you KNOW we have the unfortunate fashion choices nailed and on the outfit alone We Should Be Ahead.

Clearly, I still don't understand all the nuances of curling.

At the moment, I'm still hopeful. Round robin play continues until Thursday, so our women could still find themselves in the top four.

What I'm thinking right now is that the true power of those shapeless, black pleated skirts hasn't struck our opponents yet. We have the unfortunate fashion choice, its mojo just hasn't kicked in.

It's just a matter of time, eh.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.