Every Great Streak Must End.

Even Cal Ripkin missed a game eventually. Brett Favre will eventually miss one too, either through retirement or injury. Well, today, a great streak ended for me. Before you get excited, it's not that I drank or anything.

I've been taunting the ice here ever since October. I do not own boots, so I walk around in my usual nike skater/tennis shoe breeds, constantly slipping, but never falling. My quick hand-eye coordination saved me probably 500 times in the 4-month winter we've had thus far. Every time I cheated wet pants, I laughed at the ice and dared it to try it again. I was a naive young man, nowhere near experienced as I am now.

Today, the ice fought back in full force. It gathered up all the times I taunted it, and thrust them back me in a cluster of karma. It was 47 degrees tonight and rainy. This meant that you had to choose between walking on ice or walking in 6 inches of water in some areas. Naturally, I picked ice. I had some close calls and addressed them with my usual arrogance. But a mere block from my apartment disaster struck and I wound up with a drenched side. Dejected and dethroned as the king of balance, I carefully stepped with a new-found respect for frozen water.

Don't cry for me, I learned a valuable lesson.

I will make the song of the day "The Ice of Boston" by the Dismemberment Plan. They were a very influential band on the indie music scene, buddies with Death Cab for Cutie, and a favorite of Pitchfork Media (not that that means anything to me). Hailing from Washington, D.C., they released four albums before disbanding in 2003. They, like the Toadies, often have reunions in their hometown, usually for benefits. The Dismemberment Plan, at least for their first three albums, were a unique blend of spoken word, screaming, and singing, employing dischords and funky basslines similarly to Primus.

The Ice of Boston by the Dismemberment Plan on YouTube.