I’ve been giving Train of Thought a fair chance, and now I can’t stop listening to it. I’m thoroughly impressed. They’ve really developed as a band, and are definitely more confident as composers. They can stick to their key signatures with more creativity now, and I’m glad that almost every song is given the time to develop all the motifs that they introduce (most are over 10 minutes long). There’s only one song that sounds like filler, because it uses a lot of the same little tricks from other albums, such as Portnoy’s exact syncopated snare roll from Scenes From a Memory or other such riffs. The lyrics remain a tad simple though; these guys are definitely music majors and not English majors.

I took Dolly for a walk today, and brought her over to Tom’s apartment. She started freaking out as soon as we got outside. I set her down and she would have bolted if it wasn’t for the leash. She was alright when we got to Tom’s place, and she set herself in a steady pounce position in front of his birdcage. When I got back, I set her down outside the apartment door to unlock it, and as soon as the door was open she rushed back in again. I guess she’s really comfortable and secure in her little controlled area. I really wish I knew how she reacted the first time she was let out, but I probably won’t be trying it again anytime soon. That means that I’ll probably end up not even bothering with the microchip operation.

I went to the second league meet yesterday, and it was definitely another experience. The diversity of all the players is just amazing. Their personalities come out in every little detail, from their style of play, to how they lose a point, to how they serve.

There’s the team consisting mostly of elderly ladies in their sweat pants, along with their little, supportive peanut gallery of friends who cheer and clap after every point. Sometimes the players try to high five each other when they get a good rally in doubles, but end up shaking hands in a sort of awkward way. The most they ever say when they lose a point is, “Phooie!”, and fake an angry foot stomp, and are always the first ones to approach you for a hand shake. These are the ones who play socially, as something to do on Sunday with their friends between what I’m guessing is tea and nap time.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are the players who wear faces of dire aggression as soon as the point starts, as if they’ll throw their paddles down and punch you in the face if you serve them an ace. These are the ones who introduce themselves, state their provincial ranking, and immediately ask for yours. They have no problem with shouting one word expletives to release their frustration when they’re losing, even when they’re playing next to the peanut gallery previously mentioned. They don’t play for fun, they play to kick your ass.

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Somehow, Aaron talked me into a doctors appointment for a general physical examination, something I’ve been avoiding for years now. Turns out nothing is wrong, as far as the doctor can tell, and I opted to skip the blood test. I brought up some issues I thought I might have, but he waved them off as being fairly normal. I wasn’t too nervous because everything in my life seems to be going fine, so some bad news wouldn’t have hurt (as opposed to before, where it would have been another problem added to my list). I was looking forward to some bad news actually, as if conveniently having it now would mean that I’d be free for another few years.

Finally found some sweet pants, 28 28 29. They all need to be shortened of course, one of the hidden fees that always comes with my pants purchases and chicken legs, but otherwise they’re perfect. I even found comfortable jeans that are wide enough at the foot. Orleans is a gold mine of mens clothing.