Blue Thursday

Colorado has surpassed one billion in tax revenue on marijuana products. I hope it’s being put to good use and not doled out in patronage.

I came across a new word: “Solomoon” — a trip taken by someone soon to be married, often as a way to relieve the stress of wedding planning.

I’m not going to pretend I watched the decisive game of the Stanley Cup finals. These days I much prefer scripted drama to any sporting event outside the final holes of a golf major. When the program I was watching ended, I picked up the remote and came upon the St. Louis Blues’ celebration on the Boston Bruins’ home ice. I was surprised they’d won after having been beaten decisively in game six at home. As I’ve often said, the NHL seems very different than other pro sports. The regular season has the feel of exhibition play. Here’s some info that corroborates it further, at least in my mind. On January 3rd, the Blues had the least points in the entire league and management was contemplating a complete overhaul. The head coach was fired and Craig Berube, an assistant who had failed as the head man of the Philadelphia Flyers, was hired. He installed Jordan Binnington, who had fallen into disfavor, as the number one goalie. The team took off and soared all the way to the championship. I was sure the Bruins would win the coveted cup easily after blowing out the Blues in St. Louis in game three, but the series was completely unpredictable. Five of the seven games were won by the visitors, and three were not close, including the last two. Blues’ fans have waited 52 years — enjoy. I’ve always loved when a team wins for the first time. I suppose it has something to do with the hope that good things come to those who wait and keep plugging away.

Until about one PM it was as stinky a June day as could be. The clouds were moving so fast. I’d under-dressed. Fortunately, patches of blue began to appear and let in some sunshine, providing warmth that allowed me to complete a full session. It was well worth opening up the shop, even though the wind was whipping so hard that even one of Stephen King’s massive novels was blown off its perch several times. My thanks to The Quiet Man, who bought a huge pictorial on cats and the chop socky DVD I had on hand; and to the gentleman who purchased a carpentry instructional titled Weekend Projects; and to the one who donated a dozen books in Russian, all but one in hardcover and in excellent condition. Not much revenue, but better than the goose egg I’d feared.

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