Hockey, and the dog days of summer

As a diehard hockey fan, I am anxiously anticipating the upcoming season. Fortunately, due to an unfortunate run-in with some Libyan terrorists while driving my Delorean, I'm able to give you a sneak peek of the year ahead for Canada's seven NHL teams.

Toronto Maple Leafs: After a promising start to the 2011-12 campaign, the Maple leafs lose a critical cog as winger Phil Kessel unexpectedly goes missing. "We just don't know what happened to Phil, as he had such a great start," said Leafs bench boss Ron Wilson. "I told him to start digging in the corners, and then he just sort of disappeared." The mystery has a happy ending, however, as Kessel is found by an elderly couple in Corner Brook, Nfld in mid June covered in dirt and wielding a shovel. "We didn't know who he was at first, so we took him in," said Norm McIntyre. "Then we saw him on the news, and it all made sense." A relieved Wilson said that he was happy to have Kessel back in the lineup, pending his completion of an NHL mandated course in figurative language.

Calgary Flames: The Flames continued to struggle through their rebuilding phase, marred by the confusion of an aging Jarome Iginla. The Flames captain appeared disoriented during a mid-season game against the San Jose Sharks, and was seen wandering around the ice muttering to himself. "Where are all my teammates?" wondered the former 50-goal scorer as he peered around the ice in search of a friendly sweater. Though Flames management was saddened to see the face of the franchise in such poor health, General manager Jay Feaster said that iginla would surely find his old scoring touch with his new team, the Sacred Heart Retirement Home Fighting Octogenarians.

Edmonton Oilers: A quick start for the rebuilding Oilers, led by their young forward core, quickly turned sour as their parents discovered they had been cutting class in order to attend games. "We just don't know where we went wrong with Taylor," said Taylor Hall's obviously distraught mother, Kim. "We always taught him that school came first, I here I come home to a phone call saying he hasn't been to Mrs. Baumgartner's third period math class in over a month." Forwards Hall, Jordan Eberle and Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, the self-described "Young Guns" have all been grounded by their parents and are under strict curfew for the rest of the season.

Vancouver Canucks: After continuing the shocking pace of last season, which saw the Canucks cruise to the Stanley Cup Finals, Canucks fans are disappointed when first line forwards Daniel and Henrik Sedin take a leave of absence to train for the synchronized diving team at the London Olympics. "We are obviously sad to see them go, but they wanted a chance to win an Olympic Gold Medal in both the summer and winter olympics," said Canucks coach Alain Vigneault. The Sedins, who were heavily scouted by the Swedish Olympic committee during the cup finals, said they were ecstatic to compete for their country once more. "It's really a dream come true, to be asked to compete for your country once more," said Daniel, or perhaps Henrik.

Montreal Canadiens: After making few changes through the offseason, the Canadiens shock the hockey world by releasing recently re-signed defenceman Hal Gill. Though still rock solid on defence, the Canadiens coach Jaques Martin said the towering blueliner just wasn't seeing the ice well enough to keep a position in the lineup. "His passes were all over the place, and he complained about his eyesight a number of times," Martin said. "He would come to the bench and I would ask 'What happened out there, Hal?' He would just tell me over and over that he couldn't see anyone on the ice. It was time for us to part ways." Gill said that he couldn't explain his lack of success. "I would just look up, and I couldn't see anyone from my team. all I could see were the oppostion players, but there were always these specks of red and blue at the bottom of my eye."

Winnipeg Jets: After just three short months in their new home, the Jets are forced to disband after a number of players came to the realization that they were in Winnipeg. Jets captain Andrew Ladd said that he was a little sad to end the season so early, but mostly embarrassed it took so long for him to realize he was playing in the Manitoba capital. "I guess the warning signs were all there, but I just ignored them," said Ladd as he cleaned out his locker. "I guess I wanted to be somewhere else so badly that I just sort of blocked this whole 'Winnipeg' thing out of my mind."

Ottawa Senators: Under intense pressure from the Canadian government, the Ottawa Senators are forced to drop the Senators moniker midseason. The Honourable Noel Kinsella, speaker of the Senate, said the government pushed for the change in light of the hockey teams terrible performance. "What it really came down to is that we were embarassed by the association," Kinsella said. "I mean, we have our fair share of bickering and lack of teamwork here in the house, but it's nothing compared to what we're seeing out on the ice. They were giving us a bad name." No new team name has been annouced.

Hello again

I write this to no one in particular, as it has been nearly a year and a half since I last blogged. Oh, where has the time gone? I assume it was lost in the whirlwind that is university, or perhaps merely I stopped caring. Probably both. But alas, I am bored and revisiting the notion of blogging. I have no idea for how long, but we'll see if it sticks.

Ah, uni

Jeezus, where's the time gone?

Seems like not that long ago that I was chilling in Lacombe, going to high school and thinking about what the hell would happen after grad. And before I turn my reader away through random lamentation, I should note that this isn't about regret; rather, it's about the difference between daydreams and how things actually work out.

I seem to remember that soon after I went to Ottawa, I got to thinking about what university would be like. Late nights in the capital, stumbling through a series of misadventures that made me grow as a person, that typical bad university sitcom bullshit. And to a degree, that stuff has happened. They always say that stereotypes are based on fact, but these ones are skewed. I rarely if ever hear early 90's post-punk after one of those misadventures, nor does it start raining every time I end up wandering alone through the city at night. I have a series of characters in my life, but there are very few occasions where there are complex love octagons or whatever the hell happens in said sitcoms. No one lives in rez for four years, and profs usually aren't cool, inspiring, hip recent grads who are just trying to show you why Voltaire was a fucking rock star.

These are the things that have been occurring to me lately as I get closer and closer to what people keep calling "the real world". Shit, if this isn't the real world, I dunno what is. Having gainful employment is a part of the real world, but then so is stumbling uselessly from one big event to another. I have a theory about this: no one ever feels stable in what they do, and everyone feels like their lurching from one crisis to another. Adults look like they have everything together, hell, university students looked like they had it together when I was in high school. But weeks wander by, and I sometimes feel like I'm just waiting for the next crisis, the next implosion.

I mean, I still just spend my time in my beat up apartment, with my friends who don't have any better idea about things than I do. But I feel like the romance of how university is portrayed in pop-culture is kinda lost in translation. Same sets, different soundtrack. Fuck.

Subconscious? That guy's a dick.

Jesus H. Raptor Christ, I love those nights where sleep won't come.
You subconscious starts to kick into overdrive right when you just really want a little bit of respite, as if spiting you for all the abuse you toss at it. You see, I have a theory; the subconscious is actually a spiteful persona of it's own, just mulling over all of your stupid actions FROM YOUR ENTIRE LIFE AND JUST WAITING UNTIL YOU WANT TO SHUT DOWN FOR A NIGHT SO IT CAN RUN A SLIDESHOW, AKIN TO A GREATEST HITS ALBUM.

You know it. You know exactly what I'm talking about. That moment in grade two when you got in a fight on the playground over some indeterminable and arbitrary kickball rule? You remember it right? About what does and doesn't constitute a foul ball? Something about the way it curves when you don't quite hit the ball square? WELL HERE IT IS, SUCKER! WATCH IT OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HIT IN THE NOSE BY A MUCH BIGGER KID. See that spurt of blood coming out of your nose, because you lost your temper and tried to fight Derek, the biggest guy in the grade? LET'S WATCH IT AGAIN, BUT IN SLOW MOTION. SUCK IT.

It's all about those moments. My subconscious is evidently an excellent video editor. I'm always amazed at how well it runs through literally millions of hours of footage, and somehow comes up with crystal clear depictions of all your worst moments. THAT ASSHOLE MUST BE USING PHOTOSHOP FOR SOME OF THESE. THERE'S NO WAY THE ORIGINAL FOOTAGE WAS THAT GOOD. What a dick. He evidently has no journalistic morals. You're not allowed to touch things up like that! But it's all for maximum effect.

Now, what makes me curious is whether or not everyone has this beautifully painful montage going on. More importantly, what about famous historical figures? Did Eisenhower go to bed, only to wake up in a cold sweat remembering that time he freaked out a little bit when talking to a cute girl that he liked, only to drop his pencil out of pure fright and stand up again, trying to look all cool, ONLY TO BANG HIS HEAD ON THE UNDERSIDE OF HIS LOCKER? DID HE?! I WANT TO KNOW, GODDAMMIT.

Did Asimov always remember falling out of that tree that everyone said he couldn't climb, but he did anyways because he wanted to show that he actually could? I firmly believe that these are the things that should be appearing in unauthorized biographies. I don't want to hear about Gagarin being the first dude in space, I want to hear about him walking into a door while ogling some cute little Bolshevik. THESE ARE THE THINGS I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT.

Fuck you, subconscious. I will now retire to thoughts that will eventually cause me to stab myself in the skull with a barbecue fork. I hope you are happy.

Really? That just happened?

So, as experience tells me, shit happens.

I spend my life largely upon journalism and drinking, bleeding booze and bad journalistic references to things that happened before my time. Lately, I guess I realize the mere mortality of my profession and the foolishness that it endows upon us. We fight day to day to become something that has essentially become a sellout to the system that supports us. We cow before the corporate world, fearing that they will harbor our destruction and demise, wondering if ads will spell the end our our career lifelines.

To be dead honest, who cares?

Even if we are systematically torn apart by corporate Canada, what does it really matter? Perpetuated as martyrs will only render us as the pitiable figures of culture, rendered useless by those in a position of monetary and political power. We become an ideal, if only the best of what we do, fighting for something that has long since been lost. The integrity that so defined us during the times of Woodward and Bernstein has long since faded, leaving us as mere shadows of what once was. We are, as an industry, shadows of what once represented us. The powerful personalities that took on governments and captains of industry. We cannot compare to the days of what essentially could be contrived as sheriffs of the social world we exist within, but we can fight for something, be it good or bad. We fight for nothing but information at this point, bought and sold by those who control the money and power in our society. What chance do we have? None at all, but that retains our social conscience. That is what keeps us as useful foils to those in society who choose to impress their perspective on everyone else. And that is what keeps us useful to the everyday components of society. The part that holds people questionable for their acts. And yes, we will die as an industry. But the truth remains as the great equal to all the bad that occurs in our world. And we must embrace that as the only good we can do anymore.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

So, as some of you may or may not have known, I was involved in a Rock Band competition today. Skipped my English tutorial, went there, drank too many energy drinks, and proceeded to belt out "Float On" and, even better, my trademark song, "Hungry like the Wolf". Despite the groans I will invariably entertain for this song choice, I got 98% on Hard (go me) and proceeded to be awesome. I also dressed in costume and ripped off my shirt and threw it into the crowd. The hat wig I was rocking was also awesome (thing 80's glam rock and you get the idea). Point would be, my band rang up an awesome score and looked good doing it, but after a couple of mediocre bands, up came every competitors worst nightmare: beautiful women. They couldn't play worth a damn, but they were dancers. 4 BEAUTIFUL DANCERS! You simply cannot compete with that. And they were nice. Which, due to the the fact that the winner is crowned by the votes of the audience, meant that we were fucked. So, knowing we were going to lose due to our lack of anything resembling female breasts (I expect to get some snarky comments on this one), we decided to play a duet with them. Which also included the Global News reporter. Which, along with the interview he did with me, should appear at 6 on Global. This is frightening for both me and the viewers. Point would be, my band (People Under the British Empirical System) lost due to anatomical differences, but we lost graciously. And got to hang out with beautiful women, which is really the greatest victory of all. We didn't get what we came for, but the consolation prize wasn't so bad ;)

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...

Let the motherfucker burn. Like everyone, I have my bad days and my good days. Sadly, the bad ones tend to hit really hard, and the good ones are merely decent. Today was one of those bad ones. I woke up with the most ridiculous hangover, and then I had to go talk to Madelyn, the discipline lady in rez. She first went after me for empty beer bottles in the lounge where I wasn't even present when the R.A's showed up, and then after I asked a series of ingratiating questions, she went on a fuckin tirade against me. She spent five (hypocritical) minutes yelling at me for not keeping to the subject matter, and whenever I tried to get back to said subject matter, she would snap and say that's what she wants, but I keep going off on tangents. Which she continued to do.
So, after 20 minutes of bullshit, we finally got to the point where she hadn't given me a real answer as to how we got from suspicion to a solid issue, and then told me (as I had said that I had drank a couple of beer in a private room) that drinking underage was illegal, and it was a 3-point offence. So, now I face three points, which could cause loss of guest priviledges, as well as a possible eviction. Fuck.
But what people don't seem to understand is that I'm a stubborn son of a bitch. There's an appeal process that no one uses, and I have grounds for two of the three terms of the appeal. If I get so much as one point, I'll probably just burn the process to the ground. Fuck it, I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Today was not the day to cross me, and Madelyn seems to think that I'll lay down and die. My main point would be that I, as the prick I am, will take a molehill and turn it into a mountain. Sure, I could do something more constructive with my time, but why? To sound like a crazy leftist, this is just another abuse of power in the view of striking fear into the masses. Everyone here drinks, and Madelyn seems to think that just because she's pissed off, she can come after me and make an example of me. Fuck no. If she really wants to instill fear, she would be best going for the meek, not the pricks in journalism.
We don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn.