Monday, April 30, 2007

There's no doubt that the tool-of-the-Devil that is Facebook is a wonderful web creation, and pretty god-damn addicting to boot. Since signing on a few weeks back, I've re-connected - if through nothing more than a quick message - with all kinds of people I knew in high school, elementary school, minor hockey, etc..It's been pretty fun, if not a little weird in that some of these people I never even really liked in high school in the first place. It's amazing what time can do.

But tonight, as I sifted through all kinds of groups in search of a long-forgotten familar names (and believe me, there was a lot of 'em I'd forgot...high school ended for me eight years ago, after all), I got a slight tinge of, if not sadness, then, well let's call it a combination of malaise and/or envy. This is why:

Among former schoolmates of mine:

One went to medical/grad school at John Hopkins University and is now a doctor. Lives in France.

One guy - a dude you would've called a geek in high school - is married to an incredibly hot woman, has a kid, and works for a professional sports team.

One guy got a degree, some money, but then just said 'Fuck it,' and appears to spend his days living on the beach in California, Australia, and other places. All he does is surf.

There were more, but those are the ones I can remember best. Now, I'm not lamenting my place in life at all - I've done pretty alright for myself in some departments. But still, here I sit in the same town I grew up in, eight years later. Single, and often eating peanut butter straight out of the jar (I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. Don't judge me - it's delicious).

My point in all this? I dunno really, except that in high school I was one of the smart kids. I wasn't one of those popular smoke-pit types, and I was led to believe that karma would eventually repay me by giving me some of the stuff I didn't get much of in high school.

Maybe if I'd have had the balls or the inclination to move away after high school I'd be the one with the hot wife or the doctorate degree.

Or maybe I'd just say fuck it, get a bunch of tattoos, bleach my hair blonde and surf all fucking day. Yeah, that'd be pretty rad.

And while yes, I know there's a vast majority of people from high school who still live close by, doing average jobs for average pay, I just always thought I'd be the guy who, when people mentioned my name, they'd say "Oh, you won't believe what he's doing now."

Instead I fear I've become a Townie. A townie with a house and a degree and a decent job, but a Townie nonetheless.

I wonder if there's other Facebookers from my high school online right now, clicking on my name and thinking, "Wow, he's doing really well for himself. I'm kinda jealous. Good for him."

I hope so.

(But while I hope that, I'll settle for someone clicking on my name and thinking to themselves, "Wow, he's not as fat as I remember." or "Holy crap, he looks way cooler than that geek I used to know.")

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

:: Playing catch-up ::

I was going to write one of those "sorry for never posting" messages until I realized one thing: I'm not sorry. Not sorry at all. The way I figure it, you'll get the pleasure of reading a post when I'm damn well good and ready to give it to ya.

And I'm

So, we've got some catchin' up to do, I suppose. I had half a post written from the long weekend, but most of the stuff I wrote has since become a moo point (You know, like a cow's's not important). But let us first relive some of the more quotable moments of the past few weeks.

"That's as naked as I've ever been." - Sean, after being stripped of all his clothes and thrown into Lambie's front yard in the post-UFC mayhem a couple weekends ago.

"At first when you guys jumped me I thought you were just gonna shove something in my ass, and I was like 'OK, that's fine I guess,' but then you took all my clothes instead!" - Sean's twisted thought process as the above-mentioned deed took place.

"Quit being so bleedy!" - Lambie, as he attacked poor beer and blood-soaked Sean, who was flailing away on the floor.

"Beer. It's what's for breakfast." - Buchs

"I'd fight Snoop Dogg. What's he gonna do, gin and juice me?" - Buchs, after a few of those 'breakfast beers'.

"It's not funny but it's hilarious." - Jer, commenting on Buch's retardedness, which resulting in A-Scrams being pretty angry.

Amanda: I want a teleport.
Ian: You want a tadpole?

"They should make a steak cologne." - Bucholtz

Well, the last few weeks have been fairly eventful. I can tell because it doesn't feel like I've been home much at all the past three weeks. I work, I go someplace, I come home late, and go to bed. Rinse, lather, repeat. I'm not complaining, but it just seems like this is one of the few weekday nights where I've had both the time and energy to write anything.

A couple weekends ago, if you couldn't already tell from the quotes, many of us - mostly Sean - became intoxicated. Sean, on a $5 bet, stuck his balls into quickly whirrling fan blades, which obviously caused him to hit the deck pretty hard. Five minutes later, he decided sticking his nose into the same fan was a smart idea.

Guess what? It wasn't. You see, when slim blades made of hard plastic, metal, or any other solid material are set at speeds in which you can no longer tell one individual blade from the other, whatever comes into contact with said blades is likely to be caused some undue strain. It's like when you used to throw your Grade 9 math textbook into the ceiling fan, just to see what would happen. What happens is you get calculus everywhere.

Lesson learned, Seany. Lesson learned.

This past weekend, while other people were at stag parties or Nintendo nights or UFC TV events, I was back in Kamloops for the first time in what seemed like 100 years. In reality, it was only about two and a half or so, but still too long. Quite a bit had changed - people now hung out with people I didn't know, the Burger King near my old house was now a Tim Horton's, and an entire new uber-large strip mall had sprung up on what's basically one large median between some major thru-ways. Very odd.

Some things, however, don't change. The pulp mill still stinks - something I'd forgotten about, but was reminded of at nearly the exact same time the "Welcome to Kamloops" sign came into view from the highway - and also, Sifton Ave. is still a formidable foe. One day, however, me, Mike and Shaun will have our revenge.

We just need a better plan. (And a shovel, ahead of time)

Friday evening was spent at Meghan's, drinking a few beers with her and Lorne, before we headed to a very crowded, very hot, Central Station Pub, where I proceeded to a) spill beer on my jeans and b) drink six beers and a caesar but somehow only get charged $13 for three beers. Still not as good a deal as Al though, who downed a couple double paralyzers before just walking out, apparently completely oblivious.

So we did that. And then me, Shaun and Mike drove around for quite awhile (see aforementioned failed plan) before Shaun went home to sleep, and me and Mike hit up some 7-Eleven hotdogs which the slurpee jockey informed us were anywhere from 2 hours to four days old. We took our chances anyway. We killed some more time, before the night basically ended, and boy did it ever end in (insert sarcasm here) fine fashion for me.

The night was mercifully ended at 3:15 a.m. after a loooooooooooong, painstaking conversation with Meghan's otherwise delightful two friends, who spent two hours - two fucking hours - talking about cats. The next day, when explaining what happened to Mike and Shaun, I was actually incapable of words, such was the rage and bafflement that had built inside me. Ask 'em, they'll tell you. It was a tough one.

Nevertheless, on Saturday - refueled after some coffee, Ricky's breakfast, and a solid nap - we eventually got the ball rolling again. Some people went to Earl's for dinner, but me, Mike and Shaun instead went to White Spot, where the TV viewing was far superior to watch the Canucks' Game 6. We said we'd show up at Earl's after the first period, but that was before we were informed that not only did Earl's have worse TV locations, but in fact no TVs we could see at all. So we eventually rolled in around 7:45. Nobody seemed to really miss us anyhow, so that was good.

The Earl's experience was ended with one giant beer each, and this from Shaun:

"I'm having fun, if fun means the opposite of fun."

So rather than hit up the pre-drinking/Blue Grotto, the three of us crashed a work-related conference (for a different division) at a downtown hotel, where we met up with Al, Ken, Melissa, and briefly, Tara. It was an open bar so it turned to a pretty solid night. Near the end, the little makeshift bar actually ran out of beer.

Hooray for us.

So that, in a nutshell, was my long-winded Kamloops experience. I left Sunday after attempting to throw a sponge soccer ball at Mike's car from mine (they'd previously chucked it at me), but it turns out you have a better chance to hit them if you roll your own window down first. Rookie mistake, but it nearly caused Mike and Shaun to laugh so hard they nearly drove of the road, so at least there's that.

Oh, and if the weekend wasn't success enough, Shaun - former video store warehouse employee - gave me a lifesized, lighted Superman Returns standup. I haven't taken it out of the box yet, but I can only imagine its awesomness.

This week: Tonight we had softball, kicking the ever-loving shit out of some team of poor saps, 16-2. Tomorrow and Friday are Games 1-2 of the Nucks and Ducks series, and Saturday is my all-fucking-day-long conference at an airport hotel. It's the same exact thing I crashed Saturday night while in Kamloops, only that I'll have to sit through 10 hours of workshops before the drinking can begin.

But hey, it's another open bar.

Monday, April 23, 2007

:: Game 7 ::

In the moments after Trevor Linden scored the go-ahead goal midway through the third period, and then again after the final horn sounded and CBC cut to a shot of Roberto Luongo, alone in his crease, stick held high among 19,000 screaming towel-wavers, I for some reason thought of a scene from the forgettable Keanu Reeves' movie The Replacements, when coach Gene Hackman is asked by a sideline reporter what it's going to take to win the game:

"It's gonna take heart....Miles and miles of heart."

And now, I must sleep. Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Stars.

(and yes, a long overdue post is coming, which will cover the activities of the last few weeks. I promise. But not tonight.)

Thursday, April 12, 2007

"Any boss who gets mad at his employees tomorrow morning for being late ought not to be allowed to watch another hockey game the rest of the playoffs. I'll write everybody a note." - Harry Neale

Holy Jesus Christ. I know Roberto Luongo's new at this whole playoff thing, but will somebody tell him he gets to play more than one game?

Finally, I can go to bed.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

:: A tough-to-top Tuesday ::

I'll edit and add to this post later on today with my thoughts on work, Major League Baseball's Opening Day, and a funny story I heard about a goose, but for now, know this: My arch nemesis assistant-boss has abruptly quit (and hours later, in a hilarious twist, is likely wishing she hadn't), leaving me to continue on further with my current Monday-to-Friday shift, rather than shift back to Sundays, as was supposed to happen this week. Also, it leaves me to share second-in-command duties with two people I actually like, and respect. It also means a permanent gig as second-in-charge is up for grabs, which I may decide to jump on. We'll see.

Sorry to leave you with such cliff-hangers (and admit it, you're waiting breathlessly), but I just figured I'd go a little Prison Break on y'all. Seriously, do they not have the best/worst cliffhangers in TV history? Other than that summer I spent waiting to see who shot Mr. Burns, I can't recall ones on par with PB.

But that's the scoop, basically. Got a delicious free lunch today. Saw one co-worker's tyrannical reign of terror come to a sudden end. Sun is shining.

To quote Jasper from The Simpsons:

"What a time to be alive."