14 June 2002 - 1:51 p.m.

Was feeling like a dragged thang after class yesterday, so instead of hitting the drawing board or the live music dive, I fell in with the BYM's plan to watch the Red Wings-Hurricanes game at Woodland House. We got there just as Carolina scored their lone goal, ordered burgers and pints of Sam Adams, listened to the cafe staff josh with each other about procedures and art and lasagna and other topics...and when Brendan Shanahan scored the empty-net goal, I could feel the grin splitting my face as the television showed Dominik Hasek jumping up and down. (As well as marveling at anyone with the coordination to jump up and down on ice skates at all, never mind with abandon...)

Then it was back to home, where I crawled into bed with the cat and fell asleep reading the introduction to Guy Davenport's Seven Greeks. It wasn't the material - I was just bloody tired. I may continue blowing off the drawing board this weekend in favor of stretching out with Archilochus, Sappho, and a long glass of sweet tea.

In other reading, I was amused by this ESPN dose of common sense, diverted by Michael's musings and (following an Oblivio link) entertained by assorted Paul Ford entries, starting with this humdinger on sex and war and hallucinations...

[Stray thought: Maybe, if someone hasn't already beaten me to it, I'll found a madrigal-singing group one of these years and call it "Hallucination."]