Oh My (Darling) Bruins!

At the end of the third period of last night's Bruins game, when the score was tied and it was heading to overtime after a great Bruins third period, the Garden PA played this song:



Then it played this one:



The first overtime period moved fast, with few whistles. Both sides played hard and got chances, both goalies made impossible saves, nothing went in. Before I knew it, the period was over, and the game went into a second overtime.

And in that overtime, Buffalo got called for too many men (not a small thing to a Boston fan, shades of Montreal [shudder]), and Miroslav Satan made it happen, woo! Leading of course to fun headlines based on his name (he pronounces it Sha-TAHN, but of course that's not what it looks like). Such as: Satan Rewards Those Who Stay Up Too Late. Actually, I liked the one at NHL.com: Miro Worship.

Yay Bruins! The "leading the series 3 games to 1" Bruins, that is. You know, the "17-1 when leading a series, 3-1" Bruins. And of course, knock wood, the "we're not counting our chickens, O Fates, but just enjoying the moment" Bruins. Game 4 tomorrow night. Be there or be ... in front of a TV watching*.

*Yesterday that SVP, seeing my Bruins sweatshirt, made what I'm sure he thought was pleasant conversation. He asked if I knew that the CEO has season tickets to the Bruins? Yes, right behind the bench. Nice.

I got in bed at 10:45, but had to read for a while to settle down enough to even try to sleep.

I thought, as I often do when I'm falling asleep, about three good things that happened that day. Easy: Bruins won, I finished my sock, and the weather was lovely. Then I thought about how only one of those was within my control (vigorous, encouraging Bruins-game-watching postures to the contrary notwithstanding), so I went on to three good things that happened that I did have control over: finished knitting the sock, applied for a job...I had trouble thinking of a third one. I did, eventually, but now I don't remember what it was. Still, a good day.

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At lunch today, a bunch of us ate outside, because the weather was gorgeous. Naturally enough, it started to turn into a bitch session about the company, and I do understand that, but I left the picnic table and went to lie on the grass in the sun a little ways away. Because the stupid stuff the company does can still get to me if I let it*, and I don't want to let it.

*Paying who-knows-how-much to make a conference room luxurious, fancy table and new paint and large pictures on the walls, while nickle-and-diming office supply orders. For folders. Just for example.

Besides, it was really nice in the sun. Beautiful day. Wanted to stay out there all afternoon.


Ohh, I can't tell you how slowly the days are going. How much I want to pull out a book or my knitting at my desk.

I did bring the socks out for a photo shoot in the sun.


More on them to come: they deserve a full post to themselves.

The inchworm, on the other hand, folds right into this post.


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The New Guy asked me today what people from Massachusetts call themselves. (He's most recently a Minnesotan.) And I couldn't think of anything. Bostonian, sure, if you're from around Greater Boston. But Massachusian? No. Massachusettsian? No. What am I overlooking? New Yorker, Floridian, Californian...

Of course, there's always Masshole, but that tends to be applied to us by outsiders. I'm an American, a New Englander, and ... what?

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Finally, the thought for the day: why is a chicken salad sandwich, a tuna salad sandwich, even an egg salad sandwich perfectly normal, while a pasta salad sandwich is a really weird idea?