A scout from the Flames came down from Saskatoon.

So, my poor Rangers lost a heartbreaker last night when Sergei “I’m So Old That I Played In The Miracle On Ice Game -- For The Commies” Fedorov scored a goal late in the third period. I console myself with the fact that the Devils lost, too.

Ah, hockey. I played it in the frozen backyard of Jimmy Stevens as a lad in The Ancestral Homeland, cheered as new Ranger Phil Esposito battled his old teammate Bobby Orr on TV, and pretended I was Rocket Richard on the rare occasions when my older brothers allowed me to play as the Canadiens on the slot-hockey game we had in the basement. (Being stuck playing the Maple Leafs gave me a degree of sympathy for the white and blue that remains to this day.)

I drifted away from the game, though, after the move. The fact that hockey lost a national broadcast deal around the same time didn’t help. I rediscovered the game much later, when I was channel surfing and happened upon the playoffs one year on ESPN. It was 1993, the year that Montreal and Los Angeles battled for the Cup, and Patrick Roy hooked me. And the following year, my Rangers ended the “1940!” chants when Mark Messier picked them up and carried them into victory. Ever since, no matter who is in the playoffs, I love this time of year. I like it a lot better, of course, when a team (or player) I like wins, but the game itself makes up for the fact that the hated Red Wings win too often, or that the thuggish Devils seem to do well (but not this year!) in the playoffs.

At any rate, with the Rangers out, I need to find a new team to pull for. There are plenty of options, but I think that I am leaning towards the Blackhawks.

I was once lost, but now am found.

Hello.

So, it’s been a while. Longer than I had realized, in fact. One of my imaginary friends made a comment in passing about not seeing any new posts in some time, and when I checked, I was shocked to see how long it has been.

Anyway, spring has been a series of days in trial for me. Not that I haven’t had plenty of days where I just sit around the office Googling for information about “When Things Were Rotten” while the “Acoustic Estrogen” channel is playing on Pandora.com, but still.

I’ve also been writing a little bit, and maybe will post some more of The Other Great American Novel here for your amusement.

In other news, most of you probably already know this, but Alex Balk and Choire Sicha have started a new website – The Awl. If you aren’t familiar with these guys and their cast of talented friends and amusing commenters, go visit there now – we can wait for you.

Since we last spoke, I have continued my usual mildly manic-depressive mental health cycle, alternating between degrees of Angst-y Funk and Semi-Smug Satisfaction. The last couple of days have more on the funk side of the scale, but nothing too horrible. (Not that I ever really get too horrible, but you know what I mean.) I have, however, been pretty good about hitting the gym regularly for a little 30 minute cardio workout in the last two months, so (along with achieving total consciousness on my death bed) I got that going for me.