Commuting: Balloons


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Trash Bag Conspiracy

 This morning a grey Altima parked in front of my house.  It had New Jersey plates.  The woman driving the car got out, took three full black trash bags out of the back seat and carried them up the walkway adjacent to the twelve unit garden apartment building across the street. A little while later a grey pickup truck pulled into the spot behind behind the Altima and two women got out.  They walked around to the back of the truck which was one of those with the plastic cover covering the whole back part and opened the tailgate, took several black trash bags out of the back of the truck and instead of crossing the street carried them south toward the next corner and disappeared from my vantage point. A little while after a guy came down my street painting a while line to mark off the street parking.   Someone want to tell me what's going on here? 
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The Cups Are Cracked and Hooked

The Stanley Cup playoffs continue to surprise me. Not in a good way either. I expected the final a long and entertaining series full of highly skilled, exciting play. Instead it has been largely a snoozefest with Detroit embracing a boring defense-first system that is aided and abetted by referees who appear to have been instructed by the league to call it like it’s 1999. On top of that, we have the sad ballad of Evgeni Malkin. Poor Evgeni is tired. It’s so hard to be a professional hockey player. Listen to his tale of woe from between games one and two in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review: "I'm just tired," Malkin said. "Practice is long. The season is long. I feel bad." Awww...poor guy. Imagine how he’d feel if the Pens had played more than two games over the minimum you can play in the first 3 rounds and make the final. In just a few days Malkin has gone from being the guy that some overzealous writers called “this generation’s Messier to Crosby’s Gretzky...
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Hair

  I had my hair cut today for the first time since around a month before the pandemic took hold.   That’s 18 months ago, more or less.   At some point during this period we find ourselves in I had decided that one positive thing I could do while I wasn’t forced to interact in person with anyone on a professional basis is grow my hair long enough to donate it to a charity that makes wigs for kids who lose their hair to chemotherapy or for other medical reasons.   It was a no-effort effort on my part, and now that it’s done hopefully some small positive thing will come out of this long tunnel of negativity.   Hair is just hair, I figured, you cut it off and it’ll grow back, maybe, right?   Still, I felt a little pang of sadness as I heard the scissors crunch through the strands.   I just had another birthday, and the thought that “it’ll grow back” is a promise of time that I’m not entirely sure I have and won’t know that I have until it has already pas...
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