YAY!

So, Yours Truely did, in fact, peer desperately at her laptop screen in breathless suspense for the duration of the Canada-USA Mens Ice Hockey match yestereve. Needless to say, I was rooting for the Canadians (I mean, honestly...) and my viewing experience would have been vastly improved had my internet connection not COMPLETELY freaked out midway through the second period and left me hanging onto every posting on the LiveTwitter portion of the BBC Sport website. Apparently I just wasn't good enough for iPlayer to not screw me over. There was much gnashing of teeth. MUCH GNASHING.

Regardless, hang on I did, and text in twice. Here's what the BBC wrote at the conculsion of the overtime period:

1503: Sidney Crosby was already a legend, at the age of 22, coming into these Games. Every young Canadian wants his name on their jersey. Every young Canadian wants to be him. He was always going to have a hard time living up to that reputation and, in the early games of this tournament, he was just another name on th...e roster. 'Sid the kid' was quiet. Now, with millions from Kampala to Baghdad to Vancouver to Aberdeen watching (and I know that, they've all been texting me), he has enshrined his name in Canadian folklore. Sidney Crosby has scored the biggest goal of the biggest game of the biggest tournament, for the biggest nation in the sport.

Yeah, that's right!! I texted in and Aberdeen gets the shout-out! Properly chuffed, thank you very much. Oh, and Canada winning is pretty cool, too.

Long and Rambling...

...which is exactly how I like my flowerbeds, pathways, rivers, stories and updates.

I'm beginning to feel a little more at home here in Aberdeen. This past Sunday I struck out on my own for the grocery store with which I am acquainted, the local Morrison's. This required two separate bus fares, but now I have milk, cottage cheese and hummus. I spent less than I had thought I would, and won't really need to go back for another 10 days. A good deal all around, and while it might not seem like a milestone, it is for me-- I'm not a city-dweller by nature, and the bus system intimidates me. Really, all public transportation. I'm not really sure why, perhaps that's why I loved my car so much and why I miss it so dearly. I doubt I'd be able to actually drive here, what with the roads all being backwards and counter-intuitive and tiny, but I think I'd feel better about my situation. For me, my car is a really expensive security blanket: so long as I have it, I can always drive away, regardless of how badly I screw things up. Unlike Captain Sparrow, freedom, for Miss Melville, is not a boat but a car-- maybe it would be if I had a boat and lived on the ocean, but I don't. I'm landlocked, and as long as I have a car I don't have to rely on anybody else. Regardless, I'm without it and me braving the bus system is a big step towards becoming one with the city.

Moving backwards to Saturday, I made another significant move and took the train for the first time in my adult life. It was just a short little trip, down to the pleasant seaside town of Stonehaven, with its quaint charm and fish and chips shops. Despite how gray the picture looks, there was actually quite a bit of sunshine, and the constant breeze off the water smelled like oceans always do. I went with my three favorite Norwegians, and it was interesting to see how each had an additional bounce in the step as we came within sniffing distance of the sea. There were dogs running and playing in the surf, parents with babies in strollers walking the boardwalk, elderly tottering along hand in hand... all of this just reinforced my opinion that vast bodies of water are good for the soul. The surf and the moisture and the sand have a cathartic effect that I need more in my life. Something about the brine cleansing the soul. Additionally, I think I've read the opening of Moby Dick too many times. You know, the part where Ishmael says, "Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me." Yeah, one too many times.

Anyway, Stonehaven held more for us than just the pleasures of brine: Dunnottar Castle lay just outside it, not more than a good stretch of the legs, you might think. Well, it might look that way, but in fact it's a healthy 5 miles from boardwalk to portis, and it seemed like most of it was via the most rinky-dink goat path I've ever seen. Apparently the Scottish fail to see the merit in handrails, and while this is perhaps a way to thin down the wobbly end of the gene pool, I never did dream of falling off the side of a sea cliff as the way I would eventually go. Anyway, the climb out accomplished, the ruins themselves were breathtaking. The previous weekend had included the castle and whiskey tour, and while Ballindalloch is very nice in its own right, THIS is what I think of when I conjure up a castle. It was all rocky and forlorn and remote. For a nominal fee, one is allowed to scamper like a billy goat anywhere you can get to, with the occasional handrail installed on the walk up into the grounds proper and on the still fully-functional stone spiral staircase which provides access to the remaining upper stories of what used to be the tower keep. The views from the windows were spectacular with all the rocky, crashing surf and steep, green hillsides. I tried to imagine what it mist have been like, to live there, the might and the force that built it, maintained it... needless to say, my poor 12-volt imagination was hardly up to the task. I capered all over the grounds and snapped dozens of photos, though I fear my three compatriots tired of the grounds before I did. I found them standing next to the old well long before I was done exploring. If they were bored, they hid it well, and the hike back out was a pleasant one. I'm certainly not in the best shape, and the exercise in all the fresh air absolutely kicked my ass. Then again, my ass needed some kicking. I'm hoping with my student diet of apples, crackers and the occasional pint of beer, in combination with all the walking I'm doing to and from campus and the weekend outings I'm determined to take to Stonehaven, even if it's just to sit beside the sea, maybe I'll be happier with my physical self when I leave this lovely land than I was when I arrived. Anyways, the castle ruins were beautiful and I'm sure I'll be out there again. If and when you visit, my imaginary and ubiquitous reader, I'll take you there and we'll have a picnic lunch.

In other, more girly news, I've been in communication with M3. Yes, the one and only Minnesotan Mountain Man... oh my. He's playing hockey in France, and we're both on the wonderful and amazing skype, so... yeah. I don't know if he's still with that wretched girlfriend of his or not, I personally hope not, for his sake if no other reason. We talked for an hour and a half when he called the first time. He's dong well, though it sounds like he's bored out of his mind. The team isn't doing particularly well, and he's got a lot of free time on his hands, which he is filling with voracious reading. He finished War & Peace not long ago and wanted to chat about it... and I'm fine with that. I'm sending him my copy of Anna Karenina when I get the chance. I called him on Monday to see how his game this weekend went, and though he was on another call, he called me right back. I guess they got "schelacked" as he put it, 9-0, with a brutally long bus ride to and from. Poor devil. And he had another forever-long away game that required an overnight bus trip last night into today with the game this evening. Regardless, I don't really know where all this chatting is going, but it's nice to have a friend. A friend who reads, at that.

I got my box of books from home today, which is wonderfully good news. I just didn't feel right without my anthologies, my reference texts and, OF COURSE, my better homes and gardens. I know it's silly and 1950s housewife, but it's not my home without my cookbook. no two ways about it. Additionally, my mother sent me a post-it pad, some really nifty page-marker-flag-thingies, my battery-powered toothbrush, and a copy of Peter Benchley's The Beast that I'd found at the Book Exchange back home. I'd meant to bring it with my on the flight for some good, distracting, all-out-mind-rot reading, but accidentally left it in the back seat of my aforementioned much-missed car. Well, I got the box this morning at around 9:30 and spent quite literally until 4:00 this afternoon solidly reading. Now, I don't have lecture on Tuesdays, and I've only got 10 more pages of required reading left to do for my second lecture tomorrow (at least I think it's tomorrow, my prof said he would double-check and e-mail us, but I have yet to receive anything) and I didn't have any big plans. However, I wasn't planning on staying in bed all day with such a light book! I absolutely devoured it, no two ways about it. I didn't turn any music on, I didn't check my e-mail, I didn't even get up to use the facilities-- I didn't need to; I was completely engrossed in my fast-paced little thriller about renegade giant squid and economically depressed coastal towns and the possible dire perils of overfishing and knocking Nature out of its natural balance. To be honest, it wasn't particularly well-written, and the author's perchant for using the word 'for' instead of 'and' got to me a little (for example, " He could have found them five hundred fathoms closer on the south shore, for there the reefs ended and deep water began only a mile or two from land"). See what I mean? They also changed a LOT from the original book for that wonderful, wonderful movie that I know and love so well. Some names were altered, personal plot details, the whole love-interest angle-- everything but the Beast herself. Well, there's no baby Beast in the book, just lots of egg sacs. And they never really say if the Beast is a male or a female. Whatever, it doesn't matter. What does matter is the book was a brilliant way for me to while away the day, and the movie has William Petersen as an angry and noble fisherman who clings to a disappearing way of life and kicks the shit out of a evil, man-killing giant squid. Also, lots of well-knit fisherman's sweaters. What's not to love? (PS-- I'm still stalking the SciFi Channel schedule for the next time they are planning on airing the aforementioned movie/mini-series/4 hours of squid-filled goodness so that I can bootleg tape the hell out of it. Hopefully someone with such taping capabilities in the US loves me enough to tape said programming, transfer it to dvd and then mail it to me. I'm hoping. And I'll keep looking for a copy on Amazon and E-bay, though I hold out very little hope-- nobody else loves the Architeuthis dux like I do.)

Well, that's about all I've got for now. Stay tuned for some future discussion on how my lectures are turning out at all how I had expected but I still hold out hope for the program as a whole, and the adventures of prudent Miss Melville in the Special Collections Library!

Hockey Night with Miss Melville

I've refrained so far, but tonight concluded game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals between the Anaheim Ducks and the Ottawa Senators, and I will hold my peace no more...





DAMN YOU, SENS, PUT THE PUCK IN THE F-ING NET!!





... that said, it was a decent game. The Ducks played like shit the first period, which I appreciated and the Sens scored in the LAST SECOND of the first period. Way to go, boys-- Sometimes it really does take 19:59 to get it in. Regardless, there was a little bit of diving going on, but it's hockey: people fall down. The announcer did have a point when he compared Emery with Hasek in that there was an awful lot of diving going on just outside the crease.





Second period brought a resurgence from the Ducks despite the significant absence of Pronger, who is a dirty rotten bastard, I don't care what everybody else says. His hit in game 3 was blatant and cruel and totally uncalled-for and he should be publically caned. Or have frozen pucks shot at his bare chest from the blue line. Either one works for me. Anyway, the score was 2-2 at the end of the second period. In the closing seconds, the captain of the Sens went to clear the puck down the ice and happened to line up on Neidermeier (who is one helluva player, I'll give him that) and binged one off his shins. Was it deliberate? Who can say. Perhaps yes, but even then, should the captain be suspended? I say, no.





No, he shouldn't... and here's why: Hockey is a rough game. Boys become men somehow through slamming into each other play after play. They lose teeth. They smash facial bones. They split open heads in pursuit of the puck. You've got to expect a little roughness and to catch the puck in the teeth every now and again. Reminds you that you're alive, gets the blood pumping, all that business. And it's not like Neidermeier fell to the ice, grasping a shattered foot, ankle or shin as a result. The fight on the ice happened almost immediately, and the teams sorted it out for themselves. Let it be, I say. What happened to the old adage, no blood = no foul?



The game was marked by small flurries of activity on both ends of the ice. How the hell the Ducks goalie, popularly referred to as Giggy, managed to stop that firestorm from the Sens I will never know. It may be blasphemy, but I'm not particularly impressed by Emery in goal for the Sens. He just LOOKS shaky. And the apt comparisons to Hasek don't help any.

The rest of the third period was dismal at best. Perhaps the highlight of the commentary was the brief visit from Hockey Night in Canada Legend, Don Cherry. Just in case you'd forgotten, dear invisible reader, I have long harbored a love of basically all things Canadian, and there's nothing more Canadian than Don Cherry:





He's a delightfully funny, spunky, plain-spoken Hockey Legend, former coach and all-around upstanding citizen. He's all for fighting in the fine game of Hockey, and I'm all for him. And nobody rocks a pinstripe like this man. Also: please to note the case of Molson Canadian in the picture to the far right, the one with the red plaid suit... ahh, the goodness.

I dearly hope that the Sens can pull a win out at Anaheim in Game 5. They're down 3-1 in the best of 7 series, and the Ducks are tough to beat at home. Still, they've got to try. Ohh, lawd, they've got to try.