Planet Broomball

Ho hum. It's Wednesday night, and we're over the proverbial hump. Although I don't really have anything taxing that really has necessitated looking towards today. My J-term class is really quite ridiculous. But I suppose, that can be okay as well. It's sort of a nice break after a hellish fall semester. But it really does sort of transport me back to 8th grade or so. I can just imagine Mr. Hillenbrand teaching us about inertia and force by nailing things into wood. Now it's Dale Nimrod using terms like "notion" and "sort of bonds" to describe chemistry. That's alright though.



I've been watching this BBC documentary entitled "Planet Earth" in my spare time, in a sort of effort to be both entertained but still feel like I'm doing something. And let me tell you, it is freaking amazing. Not only is it narrated by Sir David Attenborough, a legendary BBC naturalist, whose accent appeals to my desperate missing of England, but it has some of the most absolutely captivating imagery I've maybe ever seen on film. It's completely gorgeous. Each episode corresponds to a different geological zone. For instance, the first three episodes are "Pole to Pole" (the pilot), "Mountains," and "Fresh Water." The mountains episode was amazing, I could have been satisfied just watching the soaring film of the Himalayas and Rockies. But add in a rare snow leopard chasing a mountain goat and you got yourself a crazy night. In the pilot, they have this image of a GIGANTIC great white shark eating a seal. The damn thing jumped completely out of the water, and it looked like it could have quite literally swallowed me whole and thought that maybe it accidentally ate a bug. Bottom line, I can't sing the praises of this show enough. Can't wait to get the next disc from the library.

In other news, I've joined my Farwell cluster in playing intramural broomball for J-term. For those not in the know, broomball is like hockey except without skates and a puck. Instead you run on ice in shoes and bash about a miniature football (soccer ball) with a plastic broom handle. Quite exciting. On Sunday, with this disgustingly mild weather, we played on a pond with about 2 inches of water on top of the ice. Sucked balls. I don't know the last time my feet have felt so miserable. It was maybe one of the most singularly idiotic things I've ever done. But I did score a goal. But then again, we ended up losing 3-2, so it was in vain. Today we had the luxury of a frozen rink, but lacked a rather important component of the game, namely offense. And we ended up losing 2-1 in sudden death overtime. It was quite frustrating, as you are only allowed 6 people on the ice at once, and we had like, 11 people there. So I sat out for at least 2/3 of the match, which was unfun. Especially since I feel I have something to offer, having a rudimentary knowledge of hockey, and the willingness to run on ice. Similar to the overwhelming feeling I felt in my British amateur baseball days last year, I just wanted to participate. The thrill of competition, the soaring joy of victory, the distinct winter sport need to bash someone's skull in with a stick-like object. So our completely larger than necessary team irritated the hell out of me. In an effort to boost my own morale, as well as perhaps rally my teammates, my mom is sending me my hockey jersey. That'll show em', right?



It's late, I should probably go to bed soon so I can awaken and create a hard body. I'm having fun blogging again, as long as I keep it interesting to myself. I remember how much fun I had last year. Good times.