"Why can't they make dip as a meal?" - James, at Scotty's birthday party.
Sean: I'm going to urinate...or should I say, my-inate?
Me: What?
Sean: Well, it's not your urine that's coming out of me.
"I apologize for the blood guys, but yes, I did have something to do with it." - proud bouncer at Everett bar.
"I have a weakness for big hairy animals." - Amanda
"There's a clause in love that says if you puke from drinking tequila, I get to do whatever I want to you." - this guy Jordan, to his girlfriend, at Steamworks last weekend.
Kyle, on what me and him would do if we had expensive cars - me, the Cadillac I want to buy, and him, a Range Rover...
"We'd be ballin'. We could go pick up some hot chicks, have sex with them, and then ditch 'em. Then we'd see them again a few weeks later a party because we'd be having sex with their other hot friends instead, and then they'd be mad because we weren't having sex with them anymore."
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
:: The Ballad for the Single Guy ::
For far too long, I have been the single guy amongst groups of couples. Of course, there are a few other single stragglers as well, who appear from time to time, but by and large, it's me surrounded by pairs. And over the years it's only gotten worse.
Now, except if I'm clearly joking around about it, this strange phenomenon has never really bothered me. Sure, there are times when you feel like the 3rd (or 7th) wheel, but most of the guys in these couples I've known for a hundred years, so it really never feels weird. Mostly, it's just me hanging out with the boys, and the girls are around, they're around. It's cool.
But tonight, well, tonight pissed me off.
Some/all/many of us are going to Whistler for New Year's. Derrick and Chris spearheaded a get-organized movement, and Derrick found a place to rent in Creekside. Wonderful. There are, however, limited beds, and two people will have to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor isn't really a big deal, and I'm sure we'll work it out when the time comes. In the end, we'll likely be too drunk to give a shit anyway.
However, what I take issue with is the selection process. Derrick said him and Whitney get a bed because he organized it and booked. Absolutely fair. No problems there. Chris said him and Jenna get one because, well, because that's how he wants it. As for the remaining beds, I said I want one. The response?
"Well, I'm pretty sure the couples aren't gonna wanna sleep on the floor, so you might be screwed."
Oooooh, the poor couples don't wanna sleep on the floor? Who fucking cares.
Single guys don't wanna sleep there either, and just because there's one of me and two of them doesn't mean I should get jewed out of a hide-a-bed, especially when I was the very first person to say "Yes, I'm in" other than Chris and Derrick themselves.
Now, I realize that Derrick was half-kidding when he said it, and it was somewhat tongue in cheek (He also said I could have a bed if I paid him more), but there was a seriousness to it too.
What the couples want, the couples get. It's discrimination against single people, and for the first time it really aggravated me.
In the past, nobody's really seemed to single me out negatively (or any other single person) when it comes to any events, unless they're kidding. I remember Kyle pissing off Amanda once because he told me to meet him at the movies, so I did. Little did I know that I was ruining Date Night. Yes, it was funny, but ultimately nobody really cared because A-Scrams wasn't really mad; she's a good sport. And just the other day, Kels called to see if I wanted to be including in the Hemlock condo rental that ultimately fell apart. Yes, she called me because the condo had room for 5 people and two couples leaves only one extra space. However, at least she asked.
Whether it's pity, or friendship, I don't really care. I chose not to analyze it that closely. But if there's any more incidents like this Whistler business, or if I actually get screwed on this deal simply because I'm single, I'm so outta here.
For far too long, I have been the single guy amongst groups of couples. Of course, there are a few other single stragglers as well, who appear from time to time, but by and large, it's me surrounded by pairs. And over the years it's only gotten worse.
Now, except if I'm clearly joking around about it, this strange phenomenon has never really bothered me. Sure, there are times when you feel like the 3rd (or 7th) wheel, but most of the guys in these couples I've known for a hundred years, so it really never feels weird. Mostly, it's just me hanging out with the boys, and the girls are around, they're around. It's cool.
But tonight, well, tonight pissed me off.
Some/all/many of us are going to Whistler for New Year's. Derrick and Chris spearheaded a get-organized movement, and Derrick found a place to rent in Creekside. Wonderful. There are, however, limited beds, and two people will have to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor isn't really a big deal, and I'm sure we'll work it out when the time comes. In the end, we'll likely be too drunk to give a shit anyway.
However, what I take issue with is the selection process. Derrick said him and Whitney get a bed because he organized it and booked. Absolutely fair. No problems there. Chris said him and Jenna get one because, well, because that's how he wants it. As for the remaining beds, I said I want one. The response?
"Well, I'm pretty sure the couples aren't gonna wanna sleep on the floor, so you might be screwed."
Oooooh, the poor couples don't wanna sleep on the floor? Who fucking cares.
Single guys don't wanna sleep there either, and just because there's one of me and two of them doesn't mean I should get jewed out of a hide-a-bed, especially when I was the very first person to say "Yes, I'm in" other than Chris and Derrick themselves.
Now, I realize that Derrick was half-kidding when he said it, and it was somewhat tongue in cheek (He also said I could have a bed if I paid him more), but there was a seriousness to it too.
What the couples want, the couples get. It's discrimination against single people, and for the first time it really aggravated me.
In the past, nobody's really seemed to single me out negatively (or any other single person) when it comes to any events, unless they're kidding. I remember Kyle pissing off Amanda once because he told me to meet him at the movies, so I did. Little did I know that I was ruining Date Night. Yes, it was funny, but ultimately nobody really cared because A-Scrams wasn't really mad; she's a good sport. And just the other day, Kels called to see if I wanted to be including in the Hemlock condo rental that ultimately fell apart. Yes, she called me because the condo had room for 5 people and two couples leaves only one extra space. However, at least she asked.
Whether it's pity, or friendship, I don't really care. I chose not to analyze it that closely. But if there's any more incidents like this Whistler business, or if I actually get screwed on this deal simply because I'm single, I'm so outta here.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Jenna (looking at a menu): I want some food!
Chris: You're looking at a menu..See all the words? Food.
Jenna: But I want food - I don't want any weiner, pussy-ass shit.
Jenna: Can I get the clubhouse sandwich, with only two pieces of bread. I can't get my tiny, little mouth around such a big sandwich.
Sean: Chris must have a small sandwich.
Well folks, Mexico calls in less than a day, and I figure I better enjoy it because when I get back, and have to return to work, I suspect things will have taken a mighty turn for the worse while I've been gone. And then I'll have to decide whether I want to stay there or not. But that's a worry for another day. For now, it's Mexico time.
I will, however, leave you with one un-Mexico-related note. Go watch this movie trailer right here, called No Country for Old Men. It looks pretty fucking awesome/creepy. I especially like the line right in the middle of it, when one guy, after sawing off a shotgun, says to a girl in the room, "If I don't come back, tell my momma I love her." The girl replies, "But you're momma's been dead for years."
"OK, then I'll tell her myself."
Good, chilling stuff.
Chris: You're looking at a menu..See all the words? Food.
Jenna: But I want food - I don't want any weiner, pussy-ass shit.
Jenna: Can I get the clubhouse sandwich, with only two pieces of bread. I can't get my tiny, little mouth around such a big sandwich.
Sean: Chris must have a small sandwich.
Well folks, Mexico calls in less than a day, and I figure I better enjoy it because when I get back, and have to return to work, I suspect things will have taken a mighty turn for the worse while I've been gone. And then I'll have to decide whether I want to stay there or not. But that's a worry for another day. For now, it's Mexico time.
I will, however, leave you with one un-Mexico-related note. Go watch this movie trailer right here, called No Country for Old Men. It looks pretty fucking awesome/creepy. I especially like the line right in the middle of it, when one guy, after sawing off a shotgun, says to a girl in the room, "If I don't come back, tell my momma I love her." The girl replies, "But you're momma's been dead for years."
"OK, then I'll tell her myself."
Good, chilling stuff.
Monday, October 22, 2007
"Grolsch? That beer sounds evil - like a beer Hitler would drink." - Me, after yet another one of Ian's "let's-try-a-new-beer" episodes.
A-Scrams: Would you ever propose to me?
Buchs: I don't get enough butt sex to propose to you.
"Woo! I just about fought two raccoons out there." - Chris' excitable-but-random comment, after coming in front the front of Jeremy's house.
"This totally just adds to my metrosexuality." - Jeremy, liking his new Snap-On Tools hat while at the same time wearing camo shorts and rocking one helluva mullet.
:: In defence of SI ::
I have a big manilla envelope somewhere in my house. In it are Sports Illustrated stories and columns I've read over the years and felt compelled to keep.
There's only a few in there, because my standards of what constitutes great are pretty high. I know many people who say they don't like SI because they don't care about things like college basketball, or tennis, or any of the things that dominate the American sports landscape. They want hockey, a little football maybe, and baseball playoffs and that's it.
Fair enough, I guess, although - without sounding too snotty - I like SI on a much different level. I honestly don't care what the subject matter is, I'll read almost anything because I appreciate writers, words, and all that stuff that, to be honest, most people either don't get or don't care about.
Whereas most people just want to read about Sidney Crosby or Peyton Manning, I can appreciate a phrase, an ending, or the way a sentence flows - likely because I'm a writer. I've read 8,000 word epics on scrabble tournaments, for Christ's sake. My boss likes to recommend movies or TV shows to me that he says most people don't appreciate or like. "You'll appreciate it as a writer," he always says, and he's usually right.
Same goes for SI, I guess.
I decided to start the envelope years ago, long before I went to school and studied journalism and writing. When I was a teenager, I read a backpage feature in the magazine - far from the cover, which was likely graced with a flavour-of-the-month college football star. I can't remember the details now, but the story was about a high school cross-country team something in the United States. All members but one were killed in a horrific bus accident, and the story focused largely on the one who survived. The story was about the guilt he felt for being the only survivor, and about how, long after the funerals and the lost season, he ran the same route he used to run with his team. Over and over, by himself.
I lost the issue, and have had no luck finding it online, mostly because I have zero details. I can't even remember what year it was. After I had no luck rediscovering it, that's when I decided I should start keeping some stuff.
The articles in my envelope aren't just good, aren't just mildy interesting. The only things that makes the cut are things that I wish I had written. Once in awhile, I'll re-read some stuff if I come across the envelope in a drawer someplace. Mostly I read it because it helps me when it comes time for me to write something.
Most people probably think it's pretty nerdy, but whatever. I'm cool with that. It's a popular opinion amongst writer-types that the best writers/journalists in the world are sports writers, for whatever reason, and it's a pretty solid argument.
By now, if you are still actually reading this, I'm sure you're wondering just what the hell I'm telling you all this for. The reason for this long-winded defence of the world's most popular magazine (Which, I suppose needs no defending, since it really is #1)?
I just added another thing to the envelope. It's long, but if you've got 2o minutes or half an hour to spare, go read it. If I ever wrote something this good, I'd quit writing on the spot, knowing full well that I'd never do any better.
And to think, if my dad had never wanted a free shoephone back in 1992, I likely would've never subscribed in the first place.
A-Scrams: Would you ever propose to me?
Buchs: I don't get enough butt sex to propose to you.
"Woo! I just about fought two raccoons out there." - Chris' excitable-but-random comment, after coming in front the front of Jeremy's house.
"This totally just adds to my metrosexuality." - Jeremy, liking his new Snap-On Tools hat while at the same time wearing camo shorts and rocking one helluva mullet.
:: In defence of SI ::
I have a big manilla envelope somewhere in my house. In it are Sports Illustrated stories and columns I've read over the years and felt compelled to keep.
There's only a few in there, because my standards of what constitutes great are pretty high. I know many people who say they don't like SI because they don't care about things like college basketball, or tennis, or any of the things that dominate the American sports landscape. They want hockey, a little football maybe, and baseball playoffs and that's it.
Fair enough, I guess, although - without sounding too snotty - I like SI on a much different level. I honestly don't care what the subject matter is, I'll read almost anything because I appreciate writers, words, and all that stuff that, to be honest, most people either don't get or don't care about.
Whereas most people just want to read about Sidney Crosby or Peyton Manning, I can appreciate a phrase, an ending, or the way a sentence flows - likely because I'm a writer. I've read 8,000 word epics on scrabble tournaments, for Christ's sake. My boss likes to recommend movies or TV shows to me that he says most people don't appreciate or like. "You'll appreciate it as a writer," he always says, and he's usually right.
Same goes for SI, I guess.
I decided to start the envelope years ago, long before I went to school and studied journalism and writing. When I was a teenager, I read a backpage feature in the magazine - far from the cover, which was likely graced with a flavour-of-the-month college football star. I can't remember the details now, but the story was about a high school cross-country team something in the United States. All members but one were killed in a horrific bus accident, and the story focused largely on the one who survived. The story was about the guilt he felt for being the only survivor, and about how, long after the funerals and the lost season, he ran the same route he used to run with his team. Over and over, by himself.
I lost the issue, and have had no luck finding it online, mostly because I have zero details. I can't even remember what year it was. After I had no luck rediscovering it, that's when I decided I should start keeping some stuff.
The articles in my envelope aren't just good, aren't just mildy interesting. The only things that makes the cut are things that I wish I had written. Once in awhile, I'll re-read some stuff if I come across the envelope in a drawer someplace. Mostly I read it because it helps me when it comes time for me to write something.
Most people probably think it's pretty nerdy, but whatever. I'm cool with that. It's a popular opinion amongst writer-types that the best writers/journalists in the world are sports writers, for whatever reason, and it's a pretty solid argument.
By now, if you are still actually reading this, I'm sure you're wondering just what the hell I'm telling you all this for. The reason for this long-winded defence of the world's most popular magazine (Which, I suppose needs no defending, since it really is #1)?
I just added another thing to the envelope. It's long, but if you've got 2o minutes or half an hour to spare, go read it. If I ever wrote something this good, I'd quit writing on the spot, knowing full well that I'd never do any better.
And to think, if my dad had never wanted a free shoephone back in 1992, I likely would've never subscribed in the first place.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
:: An Ode to October ::
The summer may be over, the day's cooler and the nights longer, but there is one thing about October that makes is one of the best months of the year (Or at least in the top 12): Sports.
This is, without question, the best time of the year for sports fans. The hockey season is just starting, both the NFL and CFL are in full swing, and most importantly, it's also baseball playoffs.
Yes, baseball playoffs. I can hear the collective yawn now.
In the past two weeks since playoffs hit the field- begining with the Padres/Rockies wild card tiebreaker that I now count as one of the best games I've ever witnessed - and I've watched many a game. And no matter where I watch it, I always hear at least one person say the same thing: Baseball sucks.
I even met a guy the other day who said he didn't like watching baseball because it was too slow, but he instead preferred watching soccer because "there's always something going on."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" is all I could spit out, so baffled was I. I'm sorry, but watching soccer is like watching me go for a run - sure, there may be brief moments where you're impressed with the speed of the action, but for the most part, it's pretty repulsive to watch.
Which brings me to my point - the people who say baseball (especially playoff baseball) is boring and slow are uneducated on the sport. All they see is a guy throwing the ball to another guy with a big stick, with long moments in between.
But many of us know better. There's so much more to cold, October baseball than one guy with the ball and another with a stick. Baseball is the battle between the pitcher and the hitter. It's the hitter messing with the pitcher's rhythm by calling time to knock dirt off his cleats. It's the infield playing the David Ortiz-shift, because they know it's going to right field. And it's the sheer cleverness shown when Ortiz shocks everyone with a bunt to third base.
It's the lefty vs. lefty matchups. It's pitchers coming in from the 'pen only to throw three pitches before hitting the showers, their job done for the evening. It's the hit-and-run and walk-off bombs. It's extra innings. It's Dave Roberts stealing second base even though everyone in the stadium knows that he's running. It's a changeup on a 3-2 count. Or the manager pinch-hitting with a pitcher, not for a pitcher, because it's the 13th inning and his bench is empty. It's Schilling's bloody sock, catches at the wall, and the 6-4-3 double play.
It's 60 feet, six inches to the plate and 335 to left; it's Steve Bartman, and Homer, Ozzie and the Straw.
It's the god-damn playoffs.
Boring? You gotta be fucking kidding me.
The summer may be over, the day's cooler and the nights longer, but there is one thing about October that makes is one of the best months of the year (Or at least in the top 12): Sports.
This is, without question, the best time of the year for sports fans. The hockey season is just starting, both the NFL and CFL are in full swing, and most importantly, it's also baseball playoffs.
Yes, baseball playoffs. I can hear the collective yawn now.
In the past two weeks since playoffs hit the field- begining with the Padres/Rockies wild card tiebreaker that I now count as one of the best games I've ever witnessed - and I've watched many a game. And no matter where I watch it, I always hear at least one person say the same thing: Baseball sucks.
I even met a guy the other day who said he didn't like watching baseball because it was too slow, but he instead preferred watching soccer because "there's always something going on."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" is all I could spit out, so baffled was I. I'm sorry, but watching soccer is like watching me go for a run - sure, there may be brief moments where you're impressed with the speed of the action, but for the most part, it's pretty repulsive to watch.
Which brings me to my point - the people who say baseball (especially playoff baseball) is boring and slow are uneducated on the sport. All they see is a guy throwing the ball to another guy with a big stick, with long moments in between.
But many of us know better. There's so much more to cold, October baseball than one guy with the ball and another with a stick. Baseball is the battle between the pitcher and the hitter. It's the hitter messing with the pitcher's rhythm by calling time to knock dirt off his cleats. It's the infield playing the David Ortiz-shift, because they know it's going to right field. And it's the sheer cleverness shown when Ortiz shocks everyone with a bunt to third base.
It's the lefty vs. lefty matchups. It's pitchers coming in from the 'pen only to throw three pitches before hitting the showers, their job done for the evening. It's the hit-and-run and walk-off bombs. It's extra innings. It's Dave Roberts stealing second base even though everyone in the stadium knows that he's running. It's a changeup on a 3-2 count. Or the manager pinch-hitting with a pitcher, not for a pitcher, because it's the 13th inning and his bench is empty. It's Schilling's bloody sock, catches at the wall, and the 6-4-3 double play.
It's 60 feet, six inches to the plate and 335 to left; it's Steve Bartman, and Homer, Ozzie and the Straw.
It's the god-damn playoffs.
Boring? You gotta be fucking kidding me.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Two old quotes I found written in an old notepad file that I almost deleted. I'm assuming they're both from Bucholtz, likely from our famed but now largely defunct Friday Afternoon Drinkathlons.
Buchs: Ahh, nudity, my second favourite word in the English language.
Me: What's your favourite word?
Buchs: Poltergeist.
"Hey Nick, want a degree in shutting the hell up?"
Canucks tonight. Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday. Football Sunday. I have half a pizza and a few cases of beer in the fridge, so if anybody wants me, I'll be on the couch.
Buchs: Ahh, nudity, my second favourite word in the English language.
Me: What's your favourite word?
Buchs: Poltergeist.
"Hey Nick, want a degree in shutting the hell up?"
Canucks tonight. Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday. Football Sunday. I have half a pizza and a few cases of beer in the fridge, so if anybody wants me, I'll be on the couch.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
"I wrote the book on Awesome." - Dave
Chris: Oh good, there's a beer store on this island. I was worried that I crushed too many beers on the ferry over, and that I'd run out before the weekend was over.
Nick: Run out? How many beers did you bring?
Chris: 42.
Hi, I'm Troy McClure.
You may remember me from such failed fitness regimes as "Drink Yourself Thin" and "That doughnut won't get you laid, fatty."
I'm here today to talk to you about getting in shape. In case you're wondering, yes, you have heard this before.
I have exactly 38 days until I board a plane bound for Cancun, Mexico, where the sun is warm, water is clear, and the beer is included. And also where I'd like to be able to walk around without a shirt on without sending the locals running for the hills (Are there hills in Cancun? I don't know. If there isn't, I guess the locals will run somewhere else...likely the U.S. border).
Also, aside from the no-shirt thing, I'd like to be able to eat about 300 lbs of authentic spicy burrito meat and wash it down with about 120 pints of beer and a few margaritas without having to worry about my heart stoppping.
Anyways, the point is, I have approxiametly 45 lbs to lose until I can get to that point. The problem? Outside of a hunger strike or a coke binge of Lindsay Lohanesque proportions, it is impossible to lose that much weight in such a short amount of time. So, because I don't want to snort a bunch of cocaine, and because right now I'm actually sorta hungry, so a hunger strike is out of the question, I guess I'll go to Plan C with the hope that maybe I can drop 20 or so.
Plan C, of course, being eating vegetables and going to the gym a lot. Also, in sort of a desperate move, I'm not drinking. At all. A year and a half ago, I gave up drinking beer for three months. During that time, I went on a wine-drinking jag, and for a time experimented with gin - with disasterous, disasterous results.
And I didn't really lose a single pound.
But now I'm saying goodbye to everything for 38 days. (Well, to be fair, when I say I'm giving up drinking, I mean I'm not gonna go get blitzed on the weekend, and will curtail my weekday beers. I'll still have one or two here or there)
I expect the process to be painful, but ultimately worth it. What makes this task even tougher is that, after a summer of buying more beer for camping trips than I could actually drink, I currently have a mini-fridge full of over 40 beers. Just sitting there, chilled. Mocking me.
But ice cold barley pops can in no way compete with vegetables, nectarines, and rice. Right?
Damn you Coors. Damn you to hell.
Chris: Oh good, there's a beer store on this island. I was worried that I crushed too many beers on the ferry over, and that I'd run out before the weekend was over.
Nick: Run out? How many beers did you bring?
Chris: 42.
Hi, I'm Troy McClure.
You may remember me from such failed fitness regimes as "Drink Yourself Thin" and "That doughnut won't get you laid, fatty."
I'm here today to talk to you about getting in shape. In case you're wondering, yes, you have heard this before.
I have exactly 38 days until I board a plane bound for Cancun, Mexico, where the sun is warm, water is clear, and the beer is included. And also where I'd like to be able to walk around without a shirt on without sending the locals running for the hills (Are there hills in Cancun? I don't know. If there isn't, I guess the locals will run somewhere else...likely the U.S. border).
Also, aside from the no-shirt thing, I'd like to be able to eat about 300 lbs of authentic spicy burrito meat and wash it down with about 120 pints of beer and a few margaritas without having to worry about my heart stoppping.
Anyways, the point is, I have approxiametly 45 lbs to lose until I can get to that point. The problem? Outside of a hunger strike or a coke binge of Lindsay Lohanesque proportions, it is impossible to lose that much weight in such a short amount of time. So, because I don't want to snort a bunch of cocaine, and because right now I'm actually sorta hungry, so a hunger strike is out of the question, I guess I'll go to Plan C with the hope that maybe I can drop 20 or so.
Plan C, of course, being eating vegetables and going to the gym a lot. Also, in sort of a desperate move, I'm not drinking. At all. A year and a half ago, I gave up drinking beer for three months. During that time, I went on a wine-drinking jag, and for a time experimented with gin - with disasterous, disasterous results.
And I didn't really lose a single pound.
But now I'm saying goodbye to everything for 38 days. (Well, to be fair, when I say I'm giving up drinking, I mean I'm not gonna go get blitzed on the weekend, and will curtail my weekday beers. I'll still have one or two here or there)
I expect the process to be painful, but ultimately worth it. What makes this task even tougher is that, after a summer of buying more beer for camping trips than I could actually drink, I currently have a mini-fridge full of over 40 beers. Just sitting there, chilled. Mocking me.
But ice cold barley pops can in no way compete with vegetables, nectarines, and rice. Right?
Damn you Coors. Damn you to hell.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I don't know exactly why, because I'd never heard of this bird until 2 minutes ago, but for some reason, this makes me incredibly sad.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
:: Notes, quotes, and sinking boats ::
A two-parter...
"Hey Nick, watch this," Paterson, as he pulled out a 9-iron in his living room, and attempted to hit a foam football at Paul, who was playing Guitar Hero.
"The thing about wall mud is, it's the kind of thing you want to use when you're drunk." - Paterson, fixing the huge hole he put in his wall, when his 9-iron missed the football and connected with something else.
"I haven't seen a cleanup effort take this long since the Katrina disaster." - Scott, watching Chris, Jenna, Sean and Rachel clean up breakfast dishes one morning, while rafting. One of my favourite quotes of the whole summer.
"I do my women like I play my video games - zero armour, guns blazin'." - Paterson again.
A good ol' fashion blog post, by gar it's been awhile.
Well, after more than a month, you'd think I'd have more to say, but really, I just wanted to post those above quotes because I thought they were pretty awesome. The summer is slowing wrapping up - funtastic is long over, camping at Hick's came and went, and rafting too, is gone for another year. And the thing that each had in common? It rained during every single fucking one of them. I swear to God this was the worst summer weather-wise I can remember. Just brutal. And now it's over, and we can get used to 7 months of rain. Hooray!
All in all though, rain aside, the summer was much like previous ones - drinking, camping, playing softball...the usual. No complaints from me really. Rafting was pretty damn solid again this year, including copius use of a makeshift beer bong - made out of duct tape, a 2-liter bottle, and a broken paddle - and Sean and Rachel getting a hole in their boat, which caused an hour delay, but gave us more drinking time.
And I still have one more event on the horizon - Bowen Island MeatFest/golf tournament, in mid-september. Should be good.
And speaking of events, I'm gone this week if anybody cares - two days in Seattle with my dad, to watch some Mariners games, followed by two days in Wells Gray Park, where I'm going to say hi to my grandparents, and golf for free, and then another nigh in the 'loops, where I shall try to assemble a drinking team for the evening. Then it's back to work, with no more significant time off until Mexico, in late October.
It can't come soon enough. And it better not fucking rain.
A two-parter...
"Hey Nick, watch this," Paterson, as he pulled out a 9-iron in his living room, and attempted to hit a foam football at Paul, who was playing Guitar Hero.
"The thing about wall mud is, it's the kind of thing you want to use when you're drunk." - Paterson, fixing the huge hole he put in his wall, when his 9-iron missed the football and connected with something else.
"I haven't seen a cleanup effort take this long since the Katrina disaster." - Scott, watching Chris, Jenna, Sean and Rachel clean up breakfast dishes one morning, while rafting. One of my favourite quotes of the whole summer.
"I do my women like I play my video games - zero armour, guns blazin'." - Paterson again.
A good ol' fashion blog post, by gar it's been awhile.
Well, after more than a month, you'd think I'd have more to say, but really, I just wanted to post those above quotes because I thought they were pretty awesome. The summer is slowing wrapping up - funtastic is long over, camping at Hick's came and went, and rafting too, is gone for another year. And the thing that each had in common? It rained during every single fucking one of them. I swear to God this was the worst summer weather-wise I can remember. Just brutal. And now it's over, and we can get used to 7 months of rain. Hooray!
All in all though, rain aside, the summer was much like previous ones - drinking, camping, playing softball...the usual. No complaints from me really. Rafting was pretty damn solid again this year, including copius use of a makeshift beer bong - made out of duct tape, a 2-liter bottle, and a broken paddle - and Sean and Rachel getting a hole in their boat, which caused an hour delay, but gave us more drinking time.
And I still have one more event on the horizon - Bowen Island MeatFest/golf tournament, in mid-september. Should be good.
And speaking of events, I'm gone this week if anybody cares - two days in Seattle with my dad, to watch some Mariners games, followed by two days in Wells Gray Park, where I'm going to say hi to my grandparents, and golf for free, and then another nigh in the 'loops, where I shall try to assemble a drinking team for the evening. Then it's back to work, with no more significant time off until Mexico, in late October.
It can't come soon enough. And it better not fucking rain.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Oh, the things I'd do differently if I could do them over again...
And yes, a new post is coming, covering many topics of interest - and a few more not-so-interesting, just for kicks.
But not tonight. Must sleep now.
And yes, a new post is coming, covering many topics of interest - and a few more not-so-interesting, just for kicks.
But not tonight. Must sleep now.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
URGENT - DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING POST, AS IT WILL INEVITABLY DISAPPOINT!
- signed, The Future
- signed, The Future
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A long overdue post...
:: Funtastic 2007: What's the worst that could happen? ::
"This beer is so good, it's like God is jerking off in my mouth." - Bucholtz
"Take that atmosphere!" - Sean, burning some plastic in the fire.
"It was like professional packers packing for the Pro Packing Championships." - Scott, on how him and Buchs managed to cram all their stuff into the Explorer.
"You call it premature ejaculation. I call it a good night's sleep." - Chris
"In one word, he was the balls." - Scott, using more than one word to describe Sean's now-traditional Canada Day streaking.
"Thanks for making this not lame." - Firefighter, after Sean, Buchs, and Jason livened up the Canada Day fireworks.
"What time you flyin' out?" - Scott, to Rachel, when she walked past carrying her vintage '70s luggage.
Beer Garden doorman: Sorry buddy, I can't let you in without ID.
Guy: I don't have ID.
Doorman: Sorry, you aren't coming in.
Guy: But my girlfriend's in there.
Doorman: Look buddy, a lot of people's girlfriends are in there.
A quick recap, for those of you with short attention spans (Oh look - a blue car!!):
Got drunk. Again.
Failed to win a morning game. Again.
Argued with the stupid old campsite groundskeeper. Again.
Lost in the playoffs to a team full of steriod monkeys (I assume). Again.
Yep, in many ways, Funtastic '07 was carbon copy of Funtastic '06, except this time we upped the ante on the streaking, didn't get quite as loaded as last time, and we didn't put dishsoap in anybody's beer when they weren't looking (Where's Jeremy when you need him?).
Oh, and there were two big fucking storms.
We began our five-day extravaganza with some overcast, kinda rainy weather on Thursday evening. Then, once we were all set up, we were hit with one helluva thunderstorm - one of the biggest I can remember. Our campsite proceeded to get flooded out, with Sean and Rachel's tent getting the worst of it, to the point where everything - clothes, bedding, etc - were soaked right through, and they basically had to sleep in 2 inches of water.
That'll teach you to forget the fly to your tent, and replace it with a tarp with two big holes in it.
Everyone got soaked though, but thankfully for Chris and Jenna's vestibule, we still had a place to drink beer and play cards. The next morning things had cleared up slightly, but storm #2 still swung through town for a few hours in the middle of the day, which led to the following things:
1. The postponement our first game
2. The soaking of my tent, air mattress, sleeping bag, and one side of my pillow
3. A Bucholtz-in-his-boxers-and-nothing-else slip-and-slide moment with a tarp
4. The (stupidest) fight of a lifetime between Rachel and Sean
Now I know everyone's done talking about it, laughing about it, etc, but I have to harp on item #4 there for a moment, because I would be doing a disservice to bloggers everywhere if I did not accurately paint this picture for you, the reader.
Let's start with two drunk people - one moreso than the other. Let's add in a rainstorm, and some confusion. Then let's jump to two idiots, arguing not over something substantial, but instead absolutely nothing at all. At various points, they could be heard yelling to each other that neither knew what the fight was about, and at least 5 times (conservative estimate) the argument turned into a fight over the timeline of events - of who was doing what where. ("I was in the tent at 9:03!!!" "No, it was 9:15!!!!"
Seriously folks, this is what most of us had to deal with until the wee hours of the morning. Nice work idiots. Nice work.
I should also mention that all this fighting led also to this: 5. Rachel disowning Nick, an innocent bystander, as a friend for the rest of the night.
Tough break for me.
Anyways, on to funner subjects...like beer pong. Ian arrived on Friday, bringing with him a classy homemade trophy, put together with parts collected at Value Village - an upside-down salad bowl, a metal mug dealie, not unlike the top of the Stanley Cup had it been constructed not by an English silversmith but instead by three drunk hobos and a raccoon. To top the cherished championship mug off was a cheerleader figure, obviously ripped off some high school cheerleading championship in times of yore.
So, with such a prize up for grabs, Ian and Bre organized a beer pong tourney, with teams of two chosen at random, out of a hat (surely sending the usual team of Bucholtz and Scotty crying into each other 's arms :P)
I was teamed with Bre, and despite a valiant effort, we lost to Scott and Lanette, who were subsequently bounced in a later round. The final came down to Chris and Amanda vs. Rachel and Jason.
Midway through the round it appeared Chris and A-Scrams were going to win, but Rachel/Jay fought back, and eventually won when Chris knocked over a cup of beer with only two cups left. Game. Set. Match.
No post-game drug tests were administered, but tournament officials are still investigating whether or not there any cheating taking place on the part of Rachel, who made suspicious comments after the trip. Results thus far have been inconclusive.
The rest of the weekend went according to plan, with our team playing pretty strong, except we were bounced in the first round of Monday playoffs and finished with a 3-2 record.
One last point, and probably the most important, is that we were - if possible - far more obnoxious than we were in Year 1. Last time, Chris became well known in the beer gardens for constantly chanting "LET'S GO CANNONS!"
This year, we all did it, of course - once even getting a return cheer from another team across the campsite. However, between repeated chants, and the aforementioned three guys streaking the fireworks display wearing Cannons hats, and carrying a team flag (and also chanting) I can't imagine people like us much. Oh well - fuck 'em.
At least we're making a name for ourselves, as evidenced by this conversation I had with a fellow Funstasticker while waiting in the shower lineup on Saturday morning.
Guy: So, what team are you with?
Me: The Cannons.
Guy: Oh, you're those loud guys just around the corner with the blue hats?
Me: Yep, that's us.
Guy: You guys went pretty hard last night eh? I guess that means you'll be takin' er easy tonight? (He said optimistically)
Me: Haha, I doubt it. We're just getting warmed up man.
Guy: So it's gonna be like last year then?
Me: Last year? Whadda ya mean?
Guy: You know, like last year...with that "Let's Go Cannons" asshole.
Me: Oh, that's my brother. He's our coach.
Guy: .........
Awesome. So even though we didn't start our dynasty of Funtastic championships that Bucholtz predicted, as least we're the biggest dicks.
It's like they say - if you can't beat 'em, at least keep 'em up at night.
Our team's proudest achievement yet. By far.
Let's Go Cannons!
:: Funtastic 2007: What's the worst that could happen? ::
"This beer is so good, it's like God is jerking off in my mouth." - Bucholtz
"Take that atmosphere!" - Sean, burning some plastic in the fire.
"It was like professional packers packing for the Pro Packing Championships." - Scott, on how him and Buchs managed to cram all their stuff into the Explorer.
"You call it premature ejaculation. I call it a good night's sleep." - Chris
"In one word, he was the balls." - Scott, using more than one word to describe Sean's now-traditional Canada Day streaking.
"Thanks for making this not lame." - Firefighter, after Sean, Buchs, and Jason livened up the Canada Day fireworks.
"What time you flyin' out?" - Scott, to Rachel, when she walked past carrying her vintage '70s luggage.
Beer Garden doorman: Sorry buddy, I can't let you in without ID.
Guy: I don't have ID.
Doorman: Sorry, you aren't coming in.
Guy: But my girlfriend's in there.
Doorman: Look buddy, a lot of people's girlfriends are in there.
A quick recap, for those of you with short attention spans (Oh look - a blue car!!):
Got drunk. Again.
Failed to win a morning game. Again.
Argued with the stupid old campsite groundskeeper. Again.
Lost in the playoffs to a team full of steriod monkeys (I assume). Again.
Yep, in many ways, Funtastic '07 was carbon copy of Funtastic '06, except this time we upped the ante on the streaking, didn't get quite as loaded as last time, and we didn't put dishsoap in anybody's beer when they weren't looking (Where's Jeremy when you need him?).
Oh, and there were two big fucking storms.
We began our five-day extravaganza with some overcast, kinda rainy weather on Thursday evening. Then, once we were all set up, we were hit with one helluva thunderstorm - one of the biggest I can remember. Our campsite proceeded to get flooded out, with Sean and Rachel's tent getting the worst of it, to the point where everything - clothes, bedding, etc - were soaked right through, and they basically had to sleep in 2 inches of water.
That'll teach you to forget the fly to your tent, and replace it with a tarp with two big holes in it.
Everyone got soaked though, but thankfully for Chris and Jenna's vestibule, we still had a place to drink beer and play cards. The next morning things had cleared up slightly, but storm #2 still swung through town for a few hours in the middle of the day, which led to the following things:
1. The postponement our first game
2. The soaking of my tent, air mattress, sleeping bag, and one side of my pillow
3. A Bucholtz-in-his-boxers-and-nothing-else slip-and-slide moment with a tarp
4. The (stupidest) fight of a lifetime between Rachel and Sean
Now I know everyone's done talking about it, laughing about it, etc, but I have to harp on item #4 there for a moment, because I would be doing a disservice to bloggers everywhere if I did not accurately paint this picture for you, the reader.
Let's start with two drunk people - one moreso than the other. Let's add in a rainstorm, and some confusion. Then let's jump to two idiots, arguing not over something substantial, but instead absolutely nothing at all. At various points, they could be heard yelling to each other that neither knew what the fight was about, and at least 5 times (conservative estimate) the argument turned into a fight over the timeline of events - of who was doing what where. ("I was in the tent at 9:03!!!" "No, it was 9:15!!!!"
Seriously folks, this is what most of us had to deal with until the wee hours of the morning. Nice work idiots. Nice work.
I should also mention that all this fighting led also to this: 5. Rachel disowning Nick, an innocent bystander, as a friend for the rest of the night.
Tough break for me.
Anyways, on to funner subjects...like beer pong. Ian arrived on Friday, bringing with him a classy homemade trophy, put together with parts collected at Value Village - an upside-down salad bowl, a metal mug dealie, not unlike the top of the Stanley Cup had it been constructed not by an English silversmith but instead by three drunk hobos and a raccoon. To top the cherished championship mug off was a cheerleader figure, obviously ripped off some high school cheerleading championship in times of yore.
So, with such a prize up for grabs, Ian and Bre organized a beer pong tourney, with teams of two chosen at random, out of a hat (surely sending the usual team of Bucholtz and Scotty crying into each other 's arms :P)
I was teamed with Bre, and despite a valiant effort, we lost to Scott and Lanette, who were subsequently bounced in a later round. The final came down to Chris and Amanda vs. Rachel and Jason.
Midway through the round it appeared Chris and A-Scrams were going to win, but Rachel/Jay fought back, and eventually won when Chris knocked over a cup of beer with only two cups left. Game. Set. Match.
No post-game drug tests were administered, but tournament officials are still investigating whether or not there any cheating taking place on the part of Rachel, who made suspicious comments after the trip. Results thus far have been inconclusive.
The rest of the weekend went according to plan, with our team playing pretty strong, except we were bounced in the first round of Monday playoffs and finished with a 3-2 record.
One last point, and probably the most important, is that we were - if possible - far more obnoxious than we were in Year 1. Last time, Chris became well known in the beer gardens for constantly chanting "LET'S GO CANNONS!"
This year, we all did it, of course - once even getting a return cheer from another team across the campsite. However, between repeated chants, and the aforementioned three guys streaking the fireworks display wearing Cannons hats, and carrying a team flag (and also chanting) I can't imagine people like us much. Oh well - fuck 'em.
At least we're making a name for ourselves, as evidenced by this conversation I had with a fellow Funstasticker while waiting in the shower lineup on Saturday morning.
Guy: So, what team are you with?
Me: The Cannons.
Guy: Oh, you're those loud guys just around the corner with the blue hats?
Me: Yep, that's us.
Guy: You guys went pretty hard last night eh? I guess that means you'll be takin' er easy tonight? (He said optimistically)
Me: Haha, I doubt it. We're just getting warmed up man.
Guy: So it's gonna be like last year then?
Me: Last year? Whadda ya mean?
Guy: You know, like last year...with that "Let's Go Cannons" asshole.
Me: Oh, that's my brother. He's our coach.
Guy: .........
Awesome. So even though we didn't start our dynasty of Funtastic championships that Bucholtz predicted, as least we're the biggest dicks.
It's like they say - if you can't beat 'em, at least keep 'em up at night.
Our team's proudest achievement yet. By far.
Let's Go Cannons!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Well, as Kelsey once predicted, Facebook has done some significant damage to this blog, and the frequency of postings. This is not, however, because like other people, I write everything and post pictures on Facebook instead of here. No, that's not it.
Instead, my problem is I come online determined to great some great post, but instead I get sidetracked searching for people I may have once met and think I should add as my Facebook friend, and the next thing I know, it's 11:30 at night and the last thing I wanna do is write anything. Also, work has been a fucking nightmare for weeks, and all I usually wanna do when I get home is lounge around and then go to bed.
But tonight, like the trooper that I am, I have risen from the dead long enough to post something. I guess I'm not unlike Jesus in that regard.
Anyway...lemme fill ya in on what's been goin' on lately. Couple weekends ago was Ian's 23rd birthday, which turned into a pretty good shaker which included really hot chicken wings, me losing quickly at poker, and me and Bobby kickin' it old school.
Oh, there was also this really fucking terrible standup comedy DVD. This guy right here. And I'm talking completely fucking terrible. My dear sweet Lord I just wanted it to end.
Continuing on with my "I'm not going to drink (much) until Funtastic" plan, I was fully prepared to just knock back a couple Coors Lights at Ian's soiree, but then me and Bob came up with the aforementioned plan, and well...fuck. I left at 'round 2 a.m., with Sean still frantically searching for the beer that he never did find (Which is still quite baffling).
From what I heard later, some people ended up drinking until like 4:00 or 5:00 or 6:00 or something crazy, but Ian gave people the boot from his place 'round 2:30 because they were being too loud.
At least nobody yakked in the sink this time though. Bonus.
Other things of note that have gone on since I posted last: The president of my company called me personally the other day to tell me something I'd done was the best thing he'd ever seen during all his years with the company, ever. Seriously. If you had any doubt about my awesomeness before, it's all gone now.
That's just how fucking good I am.
Also last week, I pulled my best Shoeless Joe Jackson impression by "intentionally" throwing a setup/date. Here's the jist: Friend's wife decided I should be set up with one of her friends. Figured I'd go along with the plan, cuz well, why not? Then, I decided I wasn't interested, but didn't feel like saying anything, because that's just the kind of guy I am - too nice. Also, incredibly lazy.
So the setup occurs when some of us are out at the pub one night. I knew it was happening, so rather than a) be a man and just say 'sorry, not interested' or b) actually try to impress and/or get to know this woman, I did the following:
Didn't have a shower after work. Didn't do my hair. Wore an old hat. Wore some ratty t-shirt which may or may not have had a stain on it. Didn't say more than 15 words all night. Left nearly immediately after wing supply had dwindled.
In my defence, I was exhausted, and just wanted to go home, but still...I've put forth more effort just tying my shoes in the morning.
And while most, if not all of you, are thinking right now that because of my plan, I'm either a) a complete dick, or b) and idiot for not attempting to get some, and thus end this embarassing slump, I will simply say this:
I do not care. And it worked.
Instead, my problem is I come online determined to great some great post, but instead I get sidetracked searching for people I may have once met and think I should add as my Facebook friend, and the next thing I know, it's 11:30 at night and the last thing I wanna do is write anything. Also, work has been a fucking nightmare for weeks, and all I usually wanna do when I get home is lounge around and then go to bed.
But tonight, like the trooper that I am, I have risen from the dead long enough to post something. I guess I'm not unlike Jesus in that regard.
Anyway...lemme fill ya in on what's been goin' on lately. Couple weekends ago was Ian's 23rd birthday, which turned into a pretty good shaker which included really hot chicken wings, me losing quickly at poker, and me and Bobby kickin' it old school.
Oh, there was also this really fucking terrible standup comedy DVD. This guy right here. And I'm talking completely fucking terrible. My dear sweet Lord I just wanted it to end.
Continuing on with my "I'm not going to drink (much) until Funtastic" plan, I was fully prepared to just knock back a couple Coors Lights at Ian's soiree, but then me and Bob came up with the aforementioned plan, and well...fuck. I left at 'round 2 a.m., with Sean still frantically searching for the beer that he never did find (Which is still quite baffling).
From what I heard later, some people ended up drinking until like 4:00 or 5:00 or 6:00 or something crazy, but Ian gave people the boot from his place 'round 2:30 because they were being too loud.
At least nobody yakked in the sink this time though. Bonus.
Other things of note that have gone on since I posted last: The president of my company called me personally the other day to tell me something I'd done was the best thing he'd ever seen during all his years with the company, ever. Seriously. If you had any doubt about my awesomeness before, it's all gone now.
That's just how fucking good I am.
Also last week, I pulled my best Shoeless Joe Jackson impression by "intentionally" throwing a setup/date. Here's the jist: Friend's wife decided I should be set up with one of her friends. Figured I'd go along with the plan, cuz well, why not? Then, I decided I wasn't interested, but didn't feel like saying anything, because that's just the kind of guy I am - too nice. Also, incredibly lazy.
So the setup occurs when some of us are out at the pub one night. I knew it was happening, so rather than a) be a man and just say 'sorry, not interested' or b) actually try to impress and/or get to know this woman, I did the following:
Didn't have a shower after work. Didn't do my hair. Wore an old hat. Wore some ratty t-shirt which may or may not have had a stain on it. Didn't say more than 15 words all night. Left nearly immediately after wing supply had dwindled.
In my defence, I was exhausted, and just wanted to go home, but still...I've put forth more effort just tying my shoes in the morning.
And while most, if not all of you, are thinking right now that because of my plan, I'm either a) a complete dick, or b) and idiot for not attempting to get some, and thus end this embarassing slump, I will simply say this:
I do not care. And it worked.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
"I'm dicking his daughter, why wouldn't he want to buy me beer?" - Bucholtz
"I can't wait to start killing people now." - Paterson, after someone gave him this really cool knife/mini sword thing for his birthday.
Me: I'm at Safeway right now, what kind of pizza do you want?
Jay: I don't care, I like pretty much everything - just nothing with like moose on it or anything.
Me: OK, got it - no moose on the pizza. Good call.
"I can't wait to start killing people now." - Paterson, after someone gave him this really cool knife/mini sword thing for his birthday.
Me: I'm at Safeway right now, what kind of pizza do you want?
Jay: I don't care, I like pretty much everything - just nothing with like moose on it or anything.
Me: OK, got it - no moose on the pizza. Good call.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
:: A Facebook sequel ::
I don't have many vivid memories of high school. No parties I can particularly remember, not many crazy antics, save for a few. High school, to me, is five years melted into one long experience, with days and events, and arguments and people, all overlapping.
I hated high school, nearly from the first day in Grade 8 until halfway through Grade 12, when things finally got a little bit fun at the new school I was at. And because I hated it, I think that's probably why all my memories just blur into one. Kind of the same way people can't remember details of traumatic experiences, or something.
I don't even have a single picture from high school - not of any of my friends, or events...no nothing. And I'm OK with that.
But there are still a few things I can clearly remember - first and foremost being Spring Break in Grade 11. That was the week that my parents and Chris went somewhere for a hockey tournament - I think the Okanagan. So I stayed home by myself, and my friend Jay stayed with me.
Since I had the whole house to myself, I remember it basically being a clubhouse for me, Jay, and three of our friends - Trevor, Steve, and Paul. I don't remember exactly what we did for seven days, but I know we must've got drunk at least a few times, and the weather was really nice, so we played a lot of tennis too...all of us cramming into my dad's Hyundai Sonata and driving to the high school, with the same CD playing over and over and over and over - Collective Soul's self titled album (the light blue one). I still cannot, to this day, hear a song from that album without thinking of that week.
Not too long after that week, Jay and his dog Digby ended up living with us. His parents had been split up for a number of years, and each had their own things to deal with. This way was just easier. And so it was...
Then, midway through Grade 12, Jay left and I lost touch with all those "spring break" friends I mentioned earlier. There was some ugliness there, but being that it was almost a decade ago, I don't remember specifics. Probably for the best.
And then came Facebook. I decided one night that, in an attempt to see how many friends I could add to my list, I'd start searching for random old friends from elementary school, high school, hockey - whoever I could think of. I found a few, but not too many - there's a ton of people I just can't remember, too. But then there was Jason.
Still looked the same, but with shorter hair and a goatee. When I showed Chris, he had to look twice and say "Is that actually him?" but there really was no question. He hadn't change much in that span, and I guess I haven't either, because Jay told me as much on Wednesday when we went out for beers and wings.
I've written about reunions with high school buddies before, but this was still different. Partly because we used to live 20 feet away from each other, partly because he was quite literally part of our family, and partly because it ended strangely.
Ever since we first starting talking again, I surprised myself by how quickly and easily I forgot about all the past stuff - I didn't even make a conscience effort to let it go, I just did. I'll admit to being bitter sometimes, and holding a grudge easily. This particular case hurt, and I was pissed for a long time. Even after I found Jay on Facebook last week, there was still something there. I didn't click "add as friend" and send him a message until a day after I saw his name because I didn't know what to expect.
But after one message back and forth, it all just...left. All was fine again. In fact, we never even mentioned any of the bullshit; we just picked up where we left off, before it all got weird and we both disappeared.
In previous instances where I've ended up meeting or talking with old friends, I - like most people in similar situations - have usually spent the majority of the time re-hashing past stories, laughing at old jokes, and inflating how truly awesome you were "back in the day." But on Wednesday, we really didn't do that. Sure, we got some of the basics out of the way regarding the last eight years - he's married now, I went away for school and work for awhile, his family's OK, mine's good too - but we didn't spend a lot of time reminiscing.
We lost eight years, but what's done is done.
Instead, we just hung out - laughing our balls off, and generally living in the now I guess you could say. We've hung out three times in the last five days, which is more often than I see many of my other friends. And I was thinking tonight that, as much as I love the friends I've had for the past decade, I really didn't miss 'em that much this weekend. I just had a good time doing other things.
And next weekend, at a party, we're also going to reconnect with the rest of the ol' team. Should be pretty awesome.
As much fun as I always have with anyone else, this weekend so far has been pretty hard to top. I know, it probably seems like with all these reunions that I'm living in the past, when most of these types of things are little more than a novelty act - you seen the person or people a few times, but then life returns to normal soon after, because when you're set in your lifestyle it is tough to turn back the clock.
But I don't think we'll have that problem, and like I said, this weekend was a pretty good time, so far. I guess it's just nice to know that, even though you might not've seen someone for a really long time, you're still free to act like a complete nerd, and you don't have to worry about who's in a mood and who's not. Or you can tell a bad joke without being mocked; and you don't need to care about whether it's acceptable or not in some eyes if you didn't get your passport photo stamped yourself.
But mostly, after 2,920 days wondering "Hmmm, I wonder what happened to that guy?", it's just nice to have another best friend back.
I don't have many vivid memories of high school. No parties I can particularly remember, not many crazy antics, save for a few. High school, to me, is five years melted into one long experience, with days and events, and arguments and people, all overlapping.
I hated high school, nearly from the first day in Grade 8 until halfway through Grade 12, when things finally got a little bit fun at the new school I was at. And because I hated it, I think that's probably why all my memories just blur into one. Kind of the same way people can't remember details of traumatic experiences, or something.
I don't even have a single picture from high school - not of any of my friends, or events...no nothing. And I'm OK with that.
But there are still a few things I can clearly remember - first and foremost being Spring Break in Grade 11. That was the week that my parents and Chris went somewhere for a hockey tournament - I think the Okanagan. So I stayed home by myself, and my friend Jay stayed with me.
Since I had the whole house to myself, I remember it basically being a clubhouse for me, Jay, and three of our friends - Trevor, Steve, and Paul. I don't remember exactly what we did for seven days, but I know we must've got drunk at least a few times, and the weather was really nice, so we played a lot of tennis too...all of us cramming into my dad's Hyundai Sonata and driving to the high school, with the same CD playing over and over and over and over - Collective Soul's self titled album (the light blue one). I still cannot, to this day, hear a song from that album without thinking of that week.
Not too long after that week, Jay and his dog Digby ended up living with us. His parents had been split up for a number of years, and each had their own things to deal with. This way was just easier. And so it was...
Then, midway through Grade 12, Jay left and I lost touch with all those "spring break" friends I mentioned earlier. There was some ugliness there, but being that it was almost a decade ago, I don't remember specifics. Probably for the best.
And then came Facebook. I decided one night that, in an attempt to see how many friends I could add to my list, I'd start searching for random old friends from elementary school, high school, hockey - whoever I could think of. I found a few, but not too many - there's a ton of people I just can't remember, too. But then there was Jason.
Still looked the same, but with shorter hair and a goatee. When I showed Chris, he had to look twice and say "Is that actually him?" but there really was no question. He hadn't change much in that span, and I guess I haven't either, because Jay told me as much on Wednesday when we went out for beers and wings.
I've written about reunions with high school buddies before, but this was still different. Partly because we used to live 20 feet away from each other, partly because he was quite literally part of our family, and partly because it ended strangely.
Ever since we first starting talking again, I surprised myself by how quickly and easily I forgot about all the past stuff - I didn't even make a conscience effort to let it go, I just did. I'll admit to being bitter sometimes, and holding a grudge easily. This particular case hurt, and I was pissed for a long time. Even after I found Jay on Facebook last week, there was still something there. I didn't click "add as friend" and send him a message until a day after I saw his name because I didn't know what to expect.
But after one message back and forth, it all just...left. All was fine again. In fact, we never even mentioned any of the bullshit; we just picked up where we left off, before it all got weird and we both disappeared.
In previous instances where I've ended up meeting or talking with old friends, I - like most people in similar situations - have usually spent the majority of the time re-hashing past stories, laughing at old jokes, and inflating how truly awesome you were "back in the day." But on Wednesday, we really didn't do that. Sure, we got some of the basics out of the way regarding the last eight years - he's married now, I went away for school and work for awhile, his family's OK, mine's good too - but we didn't spend a lot of time reminiscing.
We lost eight years, but what's done is done.
Instead, we just hung out - laughing our balls off, and generally living in the now I guess you could say. We've hung out three times in the last five days, which is more often than I see many of my other friends. And I was thinking tonight that, as much as I love the friends I've had for the past decade, I really didn't miss 'em that much this weekend. I just had a good time doing other things.
And next weekend, at a party, we're also going to reconnect with the rest of the ol' team. Should be pretty awesome.
As much fun as I always have with anyone else, this weekend so far has been pretty hard to top. I know, it probably seems like with all these reunions that I'm living in the past, when most of these types of things are little more than a novelty act - you seen the person or people a few times, but then life returns to normal soon after, because when you're set in your lifestyle it is tough to turn back the clock.
But I don't think we'll have that problem, and like I said, this weekend was a pretty good time, so far. I guess it's just nice to know that, even though you might not've seen someone for a really long time, you're still free to act like a complete nerd, and you don't have to worry about who's in a mood and who's not. Or you can tell a bad joke without being mocked; and you don't need to care about whether it's acceptable or not in some eyes if you didn't get your passport photo stamped yourself.
But mostly, after 2,920 days wondering "Hmmm, I wonder what happened to that guy?", it's just nice to have another best friend back.
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.")
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 ready....now.
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 opinion..it'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.
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 ready....now.
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 opinion..it'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.)
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.
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.