of any sports event really sucks. How on earth did anyone decide that making up some lame, watered-down “myth” and acting it out with thousands of people wearing spandex (and usually with faux-native drums of some sort) over the course of a couple of hours could be a good idea? They usually border on the offensive, in fact, when they’re not simply embarrassing.
at my weekly soccer game in Parc Lafontaine: CRACK (or perhaps CRUNCH is more accurate – probably both). As I came down from a wild header attempt into a little hole in the grass. I sprained my ankle quite severely, to the extent that I felt it necessary to go to the Royal Vic emergency room to check that it wasn’t broken. The sound of my ankle doing what it did was quite chilling – though nothing compared to an ACL that blows during a ski race or something, which sounds like a muffled gun shot. I was very happy with my hospital experience – even on a Sunday evening, I was in and out in under an hour, including x-rays and a very thorough consult with the attending emerg doc. And of course it didn’t cost me a cent. Long live socialized health care.
my friend Tomasz at our local cafe a few minutes ago, which prompted me to revisit pixelbox, his very cool art site. Fun for hours and hours! And evidently, much more to come shortly.
: Lyle Stewart’s last Borderlines column in Hour Magazine.