Should I Go Out To The Middle Of Bridgestone Plaza And Toss A Beret Over My Head?

No, wait.  That was Mary Tyler Moore.  Last night was more of a Bridget Jones sort of thing.  Oh, who am I fooling?  Every night  (and day, if you want to quibble) is a Bridget Jones kind of day, except I am not cute and squinchy-faced like that actress from Texas.  

This morning I finally got a look at what I wore to the game last night.  Dark maroon jeans, a navy long-sleeved tee, my running shoes and a black knitted pancho.  Did I get dressed in the dark yesterday?  As a matter of fact, yes I did.  There was Weather and the power went out and after some struggling with a candle and deciding that Abraham Lincoln must have only worn black for a reason¹, settled for anything that felt warm.  I also neglected to accessorize; but at that point, what would have been appropriate, a babushka around my head and a cigarette hanging from my lower lip? 

Then there's the whole "skin of thirteen-year-old" thing going on which would be great except that this would have to be a thirteen year old on meth because I am seriously broken out.

"Hormones?"  asks the BGBF in a hopeful tone.

"Look, I am nearly fifty and I am not giving you a gaby.  I'm sorry.  I do good to take care of Niklas Lidstrom and even at that I have help."   I'm not sure how much longer Mom is going to enjoy sitting the Grand-Tzu.  She told me he kept demanding to go into my office, where he would stand and howl.

"He misses you."  Says Mom as she coos at twelve pounds of grouchy hair attached to a stuffed Powerpuff Girl.

"No, he is being the Chinese lapdog equivalent of Ernest T. Bass.² Seriously Mom, 'Yipyipyipyipyiypyipyip rarf yipyipyipyip woooooooooooo  rarf rafrarfrarf!' translates to, 'Awright Bigbutt, I know you're in here somewhere.  Come out now and throw my stuffed penguin!' "

So anyway, dressed from the Ugly Betty Collection (Season One) and desperately wanting to rub against the  side of the building to moult, I almost missed saying goodbye to the departing intern from the communications office of the Predators.  That was because I was wearing purple foam ear plugs³ and they make me feel like I'm underwater and kind of spacey.  Luckily she tapped me on the back and after a moment of thinking, "Why is this child in fangear?"⁴ I remembered we were losing her to her final semester at U of Michigan. 

Dear Music Executives, You cannot do better than Britany!  Ask anyone covering the Predators this year. She⁵ made everyone's life in the pit and the box a lot easier. Look at her work on the "Preds Press"⁶.  Be smarter than the average bear and hire her before the Red Wings people wise up and offer her a job.

I don't think I'm going to be able to come to a point beyond "Hire Britany!" but that's okay.  You really should hire Britany and I can promise you she will never show up to work in a yarn-fringed pancho. 

By the way, to the other writers, coaches, trainers and officials I ended up next to in the elevator going to event level after the game: All of you looked very nice.  Your mothers should be proud.

Signed,
Oscar Madison is alive and well and can be found in the form of a middle-aged, straight, female, native Nashvillian





1.Yeah, yeah I know...Matthew Brady made daguerrotypes, not color photos.

2.The rock thrower from the old Andy Griffith Show.  Look him up.

3. Wait a minute.  Do those count as accessorizing?

4.Fangear is verboten in the press area.  Heck, even the coaches and players wear suits unless theyre playing or at practice.

5.And pretty much everyone on staff, but she was often the front person...

6. The magazine/program for each game.




copyright 2010 jas faulkner