Well, I’ll get to Lundvqist later. But because today is my twenty-fourth birthday, I thought I would share with you the hotness that is Marc-Andre Fleury!

Beware: extremely image-heavy below the cut.

Fleury is a 25-year-old French Canadian from a small town near Montreal. The beginning of his professional career in hockey was starting and stopping. I would describe his play as exceptionally talented but inconsistent: when he’s good, he’s unquestionably in the top few of goalies in the league, but his quality of play isn’t level; it goes through highs and lows, and he can have pretty bad games, but very quickly rebound and demonstrate exactly why he is so valuable to have around.

Please note!

He normally does not wear the ugly moustache on his upper lip that show in a couple photos; it is a NHL tradition to let your facial hair grow unabated during the playoffs in hope of a full beard by the time you win the championship — he is so much hotter with his usual understated soul-patch, which you will see more of below.

(In general, the pictures get better the closer to the end ;))

For a long time Fleury wore bright yellow pads/gear, but eventually switched to white because the yellow was so easy to see against the background of white ice and thus easier to get around — white blends in enough to make it more difficult for offensemen to get past.

Fleury’s teammates most often describe him as immature, happy-go-lucky, care-free — he never seems to take anything too seriously, is always ready to have some fun, and is a general goofball.

A couple magazine covers from his younger days:

In mask:

He appears cross-eyed when you see him looking out of his goalie mask from a certain angle. I find this endearing.

In action:

The moment we won the Stanley Cup…

Winter Classic (Ty Conklin was the man in net that day, but there is always another goalie dressed for the game):

Victory parade (which we went to, which sucked but at least I can say we went!!)

Interviews and press conferences:

(Fleury can never talk without grinning. It’s adorable.)

GLASSES OMG:

Named to Team Canada:

Sidney Crosby walking with Fleury. The shirt Sid is wearing was a team t-shirt the 2007-2008 season (iirc) which had the word “SACRIFICE” written on it in the five different languages spoken by various members of the team. (This picture shows just how damn lanky Fleury is. You may have noticed I have a thing for skinny guys.)

In the locker room:

No comment!

I told you he was a goofball:

(I found this one with the filename “poor sleeves.”)

No comment again:

*cough*

Puppy!

Convinced yet?

How about a video of Fleury rocking out to Rock Band with a wild white wig and pink sunglasses?

I rest my case.

Marc Andre Fleury made the most ridiculous save against the Philadelphia Flyers last night:

This is why he’s my boyfriend. And also why my husband doesn’t mind.

I feel like a five-year-old who just got teleported into Disneyland for the first time. I start bouncing up and down giddily and crying do it again! do it again!!

Philadelphia’s Jeff Carter rushes to the net and makes a shot, which Marc-Andre Fleury thinks he has frozen but ends up coming out for a juicy rebound. Philadelphia’s Daniel Briere works in front of the net trying to chip the puck in, and Fleury falls on his side reaching to stop the puck just outside his crease. Briere makes one last attempt, trying to chip the puck over the body of Fleury, and Fleury, still lying on his side, rolls on his back and curls up just enough to grab the puck out of the air with his glove, legs in the air, rather like a turtle on his back…

Paul Steiggerwald: — good save by Fleury — the rebound, loose around the net, Fleury can’t corrall it — OH! makes a good glove save on a puck that was going over his body and into the net off the stick of Daniel Briere.

Bob Errey: Absolutely sick save by Marc-Andre Fleury, laying on his right side, and Briere thought he had himself when he chipped it, but Fleury somehow got the glove reaching back! …

I was in the midst of an awful whole-body migraine at the time, and ended up taking more painkillers than is technically safe to be able to attend the game. But this is the kind of thing that happens once in a lifetime, and it is one thing I firmly decided when I was a teenager in high school facing the choice between completing assignments or attending this or that social event (Prom and Grad Nite, mainly): there are times where I will sacrifice my physical wellbeing for the sake of participating in something that is important to me. I will not let my disability keep me from doing something fun, just because it is “fun” and therefore not allowed for the chronically ill (who face pressure to never, ever do anything that takes any sort of energy which is in any small way enjoyable to them — because then they are failing in their responsibilities to everyone else in the world, and seen as transgressing the dominant narrative of disability as a tragedy, something to somberly nod to one another about).

This doesn’t mean I abandon all responsibility and throw myself into every trivial thing that comes along. It means that I already have to sit out most events because of my disability, and I already have to put a disproportionate amount of energy into the basics of life, and I can’t let myself fall into that rut of always doing the more Serious and Important thing because that’s what I’m supposed to do, so yes, sometimes, I will say “fuck it,” bear the consequences, and go do that Really Fun Thing I was wanting to do, because I should not be denied participation in these things — sport games, concerts, art festivals, dinners out, parties, etc. — or shamed for daring to participate in them, just because I am disabled.

Anyway, pictures. I managed to get picturesof both Pittsburgh goals, as well as that crazy insane shift at the end of the game where Rob Scuderi stepped in front of the net and did some stand-in goaltending for the waylaid Marc-Andre Fleury. Enjoy.

The entire set

Me with Iceburgh, the Pittsburgh Penguins mascot (as posted previously here):

Inside Mellon Arena just before the game began:

Jordan Staal’s first goal:

Tyler Kennedy’s second goal:

‘nother panorama:

And the sequence of crazy man Rob Scuderi:

WE WON!!!:

The #1 Star, a.k.a. my “boyfriend” Marc-Andre Fleury:

A pano of the arena after most of the fans had gone:

And the laser logos the arena cast onto key buildings in downtown Pittsburgh:

Head over to check out the whole set.

It was a great experience — I love the DC area and I was excited to go back. But five hours in a car makes for stiff muscles, and I was already dealing with some endo flareup. So I was dealing with spasms and pain even with my TENS on (here’s the trick: if you have a big bag, security doesn’t bother patting you down when you enter) and more painkillers than I should have taken.

We had nosebleed seats but whatever, they were seats. It was a great game, even though we lost. It’s hard not to enjoy an NHL playoff game. Especially being able to whisper at each other about the clueless fans behind us who had several amusing misconceptions about how the game is played. (It’s fairly doubtful that the linesmen are biased in calling off-sides. It’s one of the most objective and least arguable calls there is. But “they only ever seem to see ours!”)

Throughout the game, the people behind us kept tapping my shoulder and yelling at me for leaning forward. They “couldn’t see.” Of course, everyone else in the section was leaning forward, and I couldn’t see without doing it too. But most of all, my back was killing me, and doubling over stretches the muscles in a way that helps relieve some pain. (Ask mattw — I sleep in the same damn position.) I tried sitting back for part of the second period but couldn’t last.

After a few times of them tapping me, toward the end of the game, I turned around when they tapped again and stuttered, loudly, wide-eyed and annoyed, “I have a disability — in — back in a lot of pain –”

and they sneered and threw up their hands at me. So I turned back around.

I was steaming inside. I complained to mattw on our way out when the game was over, noting that my TENS was turned up all the way and I’d already taken way too much medicine. And when we reached the bottom of one escalator, the couple behind me tapped my shoulder and the middle-aged bearded guy said, with a smile, “They meant it nicely.”

There are several things going on here. We were wearing Penguins shirts at a Capitals game, and there’s a budding rivalry there. It’s a playoff game, and there’s the whole MVP debate going on (Malkin vs. Ovechkin), so of course it’s contentious. I severely doubt they would have bothered me if I’d been wearing red & blue rather than black & gold. So I understand it. All in good fun, in that respect. A little rivalry can make the sport more fun.

It’s a national sports game, though. At a huge arena. Some people pay attention to the game. Those people might lean left, right, forward, backward, so on. And as long as they aren’t standing up all the time, or wearing a very tall hat or something, that’s accepted, and you work around it. You lean one way or the other to get a better view. People move around as the puck moves around the ice to see better. You move too. And when things are really tense, they probably scoot closer to the edge of their seat and lean forward. So you do the same. And at the very end of the game, people often stand up. Which means you stand up too. IOW, it’s a rather ridiculous thing to complain about, no less multiple times, and angrily (not politely).

Finally, their reaction mattered. When I spilled out why I kept leaning forward, they didn’t do what I expected — look away awkwardly and quiet down as though nothing was ever said. I’m used to that. But instead, they kept gesturing and yelling at me.

That’s what’s so frustrating. It’s not respected at all. Or only respected for so long as it has to be — when you have any reason no matter how trivial to discount that person’s experience or opinion, respect goes out the window. People with disabilities are “protected” in this society only insofar as they are nonthreatening. And that protection is paternalism at its extreme. But that’s a separate issue. When they aren’t subjects of protection, they are objects of harassment.

It isn’t the worst case of harassment I’ve had related to my disabilities, but it bothered me.

The greatest thing to happen to the world of sports since the advent of the telecast.

During their run for the Stanley Cup in spring 2008, the Pittsburgh Penguins, teamed with Consol Energy and Trib Total Media*, decided to put up a giant LCD screen facing the grassy area outside Mellon Arena, so that fans without tickets to the game could stop by — or camp out — and watch the game. For free.

Every game (weather permitting), home and away, was shown on the Big Screen. And fans responded. The place was packed. The energy was incredible. Even better the chance to gather and watch the games that did not take place on home ice.

As entrance (such as it was) was free, the team collected no direct revenue. But they set up concessions — barbecue grill and so forth — and made a good penny off of that. But you could still bring your own food, non-alcoholic drink, your own chairs/blankets/accommodations, and so forth. It was an open and free atmosphere. The area was not roped off, not guarded, not ticketed.

And it’s the most freaking genius thing ever. Yeah, they weren’t gonna make a buck off tickets, but they drew a whole lot of fans to the arena. They fanned the flame of fandom, cementing enthusiasm for hockey in the budding fanbase of Pittsburgh — an area that previously cared only about its precious Steelers. (My husband, a Pirates fan, has quite the complex about this, and I actually share his distaste for antagonistic element of Pittsburgh football fandom.) They found a way to make money off of local fans even when the team was playing an away game. And for once, more people than those who could afford the price of playoff hockey tix were able to gather in support of their team.

It’s playoff season again in Pittsburgh. We never would’ve thought it two months previous, when the Penguins were in such a slump that they aspired to a tenth-place finish in the Eastern Conference, but their fortunes rose and here they are: first round against their bitter rivals the Broad Street Bullies. If there’s one way to draw a crowd to a Penguins game, it’s to play against the hated Philadelphia Flyers! (I think it betrays Philly’s inferiority complex: why would they care so much about little ol’ Pittsburgh if they did not see us as a threat? Ha.) And fortune indeed shone upon us: the Pens get the home ice advantage.

And the team was smart enough to agree to put up the Big Screen again this year! A fan can’t help but be excited. Having had my share of bad experiences with booking overlord Ticketmaster, and being newly unemployed, I can’t exactly afford the price of playoff tickets. But I can afford the two-dollar T fare up into the city. And indeed, we are planning to go to every game possible. Because it’s an incredible experience, one I wouldn’t miss for all the world. I will always cherish the memories of the games we were able to attend last season, when I was new to the city, settling in to my new home. Forming an identity.

And I’m glad someone had the bright idea to do it. I can’t wait til tomorrow night.

See scenes from the May 4, 2008 game against the Rangers pictured above in my Flickr stream.

* Yeah, I’m not happy that my hockey team’s fortunes were sold to** Big Coal. And I know progressives aren’t a huge fan of the Scaife media. But one out of three isn’t bad, right?

** God, I’m going to miss Mellon Arena. Oldest arena in the country, and the city sees that as a bad thing. I love that fucking place, inaccessible as it is (and O, is it inaccessible!). But I’m still both a hockey newb and a swPA transplant, so I don’t get to make that call. Unfortunately.

Photography is more than a casual hobby for me; it is something I genuinely love to do. And I like to think I do a pretty good job of it. Playing with color, angle, perspective, focus and detail — I feel the same thrill I feel putting brush to canvas. There is something about art that truly does reach into the furthest depths of self. My photography has carried me through several particularly rough times in my life, and added unsurpassable depth and joy to some of the best times. It is also an art I can put to work even when I am not at my physical best. I don’t know that I can express how valuable that is to me. And I can only hope that others find some enjoyment in the work I put out.

Right now the pictures are from two Penguins playoff games last season, with some kitty pictures sprinkled in between. There’s much more to come.

Incidentally, a friend of mine just posted some of his pictures, and he has more patience than I — he’s described each photo, and he manages to be rather funny doing it. It’s worth checking out, seriously.

Last Sunday, the Detroit Red Wings came back to Mellon Arena for the first time since our spring 2008 battle for the Stanley Cup.We haven’t been able to see a game so far this year. So when I noticed that there were still tickets available, I nudged my husband to take a look.

Unfortunately for us, the Penguins lost. Dammit. But I got a great picture next to my one and only crush, goaltender Marc-Andre Fleury. And I maneuvered the crowded gift shop to get a good look at the replica jerseys. There was #29. I remarked to my husband that of the three, I liked the white jersey best. He stood by silently. Little did I know.

He had told me a month or so back that my birthday present would probably come a couple weeks late. OK, I said. I did long distance for four and a half years — I was well used to flexibility on gift-giving deadlines (and actually somewhat preferred it that way).

The box finally came Thursday, while we were at work. He didn’t want me to see who it was from as he carried it inside, to the bedroom where I couldn’t see as he unwrapped. He asked me to close my eyes. I had no idea what I was going to see when I opened them.

I’m not really a person who shows surprise or excitement. But I stood there, eyes wide and mouth open, reduced to a one-word vocabulary:

Ooohhhhhh

The reason it was late, he explained, is that they are made custom for every order. This isn’t an appliqued replica. This was the real deal. Complete with the little strap on the lower back inside to tie the jersey down so it can’t be pulled off in a fight. (I had no idea. Come on — I am still a hockey n00b.)

My husband wubs me.

Anyway, I wanted to draw your attention to one girl who is kicking ass in the local interscholastic hockey league. Lindsay Holdcroft is the goaltender for the North Allegheny Tigers.

The vignettes that the local media draw up for her are, inevitably, kind of demeaning (see this Post-Gazette article), but I think it’s great that she’s getting some attention. And maybe someday I’ll get to have a daughter who can play some good hockey with her peers, gender irregardless, and it won’t have to be such a big deal. For now, Lindsay, you rock.

* I grew up in central California, OK? We’re technically classified as desert. Hockey was indistinguishable from lacrosse in those parts. Something the weird rich people over on that goddam East Coast. (Those twits are so full of themselves, we thought. So were the people along the coastline of the state, in the actually populated areas, but at least they were familiar, so they were tolerable.) Now, water polo, that was at least a peripheral sport that we could get behind.

** …. I grew up in central California, OK? We didn’t have sports teams representing our area. And face it, there’s really no reason to devote oneself to this sport team or that one except that they represent the area you call home. But nobody’s going to travel to freaking Fresno for a football game.

One day my husband is dragging me (who likes to play sports, but has no skill at playing sports, and had zero interest in pro sports whatsoever) along to a playoff game, the next thing we know I’m a rabid Penguins fan. I “accidentally” bought a six-game mini-plan last season (long story), which didn’t help matters. I got to watch Malkin step up the points race while Sid was down with a high ankle sprain. I developed a quick appreciation for Marc Andre Fleury, the deft and nimble crosseyed French-Canadian crack monkey, my one and only celebrity crush (seriously, watch that man move — the splits, the dives, the spins, the full-getup-and-skates hops — and watch his dark eyes dart around behind his face mask, always searching — and tell me that isn’t impressive as hell). I got to be a part of the incredible energy in Mellon Arena during the final games of the season. It’s a drug. And I got hooked.

I don’t know what it is about the game that draws me. It’s not for a lack of other sports in the household — hubby is a baseball stats geek, and also watches football, basketball, and NASCAR — none of which interest me much. (Surprisingly, the most tolerable of those four is the last one.) But for whatever reason, now, the sound of skates on ice, and the silly epic-sounding Penguins intro music, gets me in that same giddy mood children get in on Christmas morning.

One of the things I appreciate most about hockey is that it didn’t seem to have the exclusive atmosphere of, say, your football or basketball. There are no cheerleading squads or “dancers,” and the ads during the TV broadcasts tend to be pretty mild. No soft porn, GoDaddy, macho-man robots, local radio-sponsored hot babe contests, and the like. There is an element of performed masculinity, as in just about any mainstream pro sport. I mean, fighting is pretty much a central tenet to the game. But — and I’m having trouble articulating the distinction here — while there is definitely quite a bit of feminist analysis to be done on the game, the players, the culture, the advertising, and so on — there isn’t quite the same constant reminder to women that this isn’t for you.

It’s hard to watch football and not be bombarded with messages that are explicitly and enthusiastically geared for men. Not men as humans, but men as men. And not even men as men, in an affirmative, appreciative way — but men as not-women, in a taunting, exclusionary way. It is telegraphed quite clearly that women’s only place in the game is for men’s consumption.

I never much got that sense in hockey — or NASCAR, surprisingly, as I said. The culture was definitely geared toward men, but it didn’t shut the door on women. And I appreciated that. “Honorary man” still isn’t good enough, but it’s a hell of a lot better than “man’s property.”

In football, women are a part of the game as bikini-clad cheerleaders. In racing, women are part of the game as on-the-ground reporters. And while the latter sport is hardly innocent (trust me, I’ve hardly a lack of criticism for the sport), that difference does send a message to the fans at home.

All of this is a lengthy introduction to my home team’s latest marketing project: Hockey ‘n Heels.

I mean, the program itself doesn’t sound so bad, right?

One (1) game ticket in the Club Level Seating for three (3) games which includes event ticket, event premium item and buffet dinner

Locker Room Tour

On-Ice Demonstrations with the opportunity to sit in the Penalty Box/Player Bench

Attend a morning skate

Meet and greet with players after the morning skate

Limited Edition Framed Art Piece

Sounds pretty cool. And really, I don’t see how this would appeal any differently to women than to men, or children, or hockey-lovin’ aliens from outer space. At least it isn’t a hot stone massage and black-and-gold manis and pedis. It’s cool, exciting, relevant stuff. Actually hockey-related. Nothing any female hockey fan wouldn’t love.

Why, then, the stupidass name?

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never seen anyone standing in line to get in to Mellon Arena wearing four-inch Manolos. Pretty much everybody comes wearing some sort of Penguins jersey, shirt, jacket or sweater, possible a Penguins baseball cap or beanie. Most people are in jeans or shorts. The women who wear Pens gear tend to wear oversized men’s sizes. They look frumpy. They look “ghetto.” And they don’t give a shit! They’re showing team spirit, dammit.

I have seen a couple men in business suits, but I haven’t seen a single pencil skirt yet. And I’d say it’s somewhat impractical to mount the steep steps up to your seat inside the arena if you’re wearing shoes that double as an assault weapon.

OK, there’s nothing wrong with heels. I understand a lot of women love them. I love my skirts. I wear makeup (sometimes). I like getting all dressed up. I’m pretty cool with flowers and I like to bake. Hell, I actually like doing the laundry! All of which are trappings of femininity, some of those things perfectly harmless were they not bound to gender roles. And I don’t think it’s really feasible for most women to completely eschew anything that could possibly be “tainted” by the patriarchy. So this isn’t a criticism of heels themselves.

It’s just out of place, is all. I see a hell of a lot of women in those stands. Most of them are jumping and screaming and enjoying a beer just as much as the men.

But they needed a clever name that would capture female fans. Thus, heels.

When I see or hear an advertisement for this program, it just reminds me that I’m not a “real” fan. I’m not “supposed” to be making a damn fool of myself, shouting criticism from the sidelines, quoting stats in conversation with my husband, biting my lip when the game gets particularly tense, and jumping to my feet every time the horn sounds for a goal. That’s what men do. Women sit pretty, toss their hair, and giggle politely when men do something stupid. They’re not supposed to enjoy the game, because women don’t like sports for sports’ sake. They just get dragged along by their husbands. The only way to get them interested is to appeal to the girly things they actually like to do. Don’t cha know.

Ugh. I don’t know what else to say. I’m disappointed. If I had money to throw around, maybe I’d offer them a considerable sum just to change the fucking name. It’s patronizing. Shame.

*Ugh, I know I started the “alternative takedown” thing here, and I’m still not entirely happy with people who push scam treatments on people who are desparate or disillusioned enough to try anything. But I don’t think scorn should be directed toward the people who are suffering with problems that their doctors can’t (or won’t) diagnose, for whom traditional means of treatment prove ineffective. These are people who are navigating the world they live in as best they can. If there is judgment to be given, a better focus would be the practitioners who push ineffective treatment on people for profit.

II. know that third word in this blog’s name? yeah, it’s not just the climate manifestations that’s referring to. my brain has been fraught and frazzled and frustrated for days now. it’s like there’s a thick haze on the lens through which you view the world, so it takes so much more effort to make anything out, and then double that effort to make anything of it, and oh hell, just forget trying to actually then form and communicate a cohesive message to the outside world through that haze.

III. please excuse the design disarray. I have been mucking about with my templates and lost the sidebar content. and item II means that it won’t be worked out immediately. give me a week or three.

IV. I so want to contribute to the disability carnival coming up at cripchick’s. I don’t know that I’m in a state right now to write something fitting by the deadline. regardless, check that out when it goes up.

V. I have awesome friends.

VI. I am noting this here to put pressure on myself to do this: I have two posts planned, for May 11th and May 12th, both days of significance for me. we’ll see if I find myself able to follow through, or if I call it in at the last minute once again.

VII. fucking Versus. fucking work. I’ve had to work three of the last three round-two games the Penguins played against the Rangers. so I missed them. then tonight, finally, I’m off for the fourth game. and it’s on fucking Versus, a channel we do not receive now that we’ve disentangled ourselves from the pulsing evil that is Comcast. we’d go and watch it outside Mellon Arena (totally awesome that they’re doing that) if it weren’t for the fact that husband has to work tomorrow. le sigh.

VIII. wii is awesome. yay mario kart!

And just now, my husband emails me this:

Politics stops at the water’s edge — even if that water’s frozen, apparently.

About 57,000 more households in the Pittsburgh region tuned in to watch the Penguins beat up on the Ottawa Senators than tuned in to see two senators (Obama and Clinton) beat up on each other in the Democratic presidential debate, according to Nielsen Media Research.

The hockey game played in 175,000 — or 23 percent — of all households in the Pittsburgh metro market, while the blame game played in 118,000 households — or 14 percent of the market, according to Nielsen.

Pittsburghers know better than to think that debates moderated by TV “journalists” are worth anybody’s time. They neither inform nor edify; they aren’t entertaining; they have nothing to do with our actual lives. We’d rather you broadcast ol’ Sax Guy playing the Addams Family tune on a two-hour looop than watch a couple of blowhards play the same old tired gotcha game with two politicians who’d be better served catching a few hours of much-needed sleep.

We’re too smart for you, o MSM. Neener neener.

But I have to say…

Why the ’stache, Sid? Whyyyyyyy???