:: Delay ::

I know you're all waiting for stories from our trip to Arizona and Las Vegas, and I also know you're anxiously waiting for hundreds of pictures to appear on Facebook, too. And they will. But not yet.

Ever since last Tuesday - our second night in Vegas - I have been getting sick. It's a combination of the flu and some severe dehydration. As a result, I'm constantly either feverishly hot, or cold and clammy - sometimes both within minutes of each other. Also, I can't sleep, and have not slept for the last four nights. Maybe an hour, tops, but thats it.

It's terrible and I hate it. So you'll just have to wait.

"It'd be rad if I was black." - Christene

"In (high school gym class) square dancing, you basically got an A if you smiled and looked like you were having a good time. I was always good at it, because back then I was a naturally sunny person. That was back before life handed me some shitty cards." - Christene again.

:: Random Childhood Memory #58: Vacation Edition ::

Growing up, we used to go on one "family vacation" per summer. Once in awhile we'd mix it up – a big camping adventure or Puerta Vallarta (we went when I was 13) – but for the most part, we rotated between three main spots - Edmonton, to visit my uncle and go to West Edmonton Mall; Southern California, to go to Disneyland; or Northern California via the Oregon Coast, to see the sights and visit family near San Francisco.

While each vacation had its charms, as kids, we obviously like Disneyland the best (I think we went two or three times), because, well, because it's fucking Disneyland, and it's basically part of a kids' DNA to like Mickey, Space Mountain and those giant pickles they used to sell for three dollars. Any person under the age of 13 who doesn't like The Happiest Place on Earth is basically a Nazi. But I digress...

Though Disneyland was the most anticipated trip, my most memorable was a journey we took to San Francisco when I was 9 or 10. Though today I'd kill to spend some time in NorCal, back then I'm not sure my brother and I fully appreciated it. The year before we'd been to Disneyland for the first time, and it was very tough for our tiny little elementary school brains to understand why we'd come alllll the way to California again without going to see the Big Mouse and his friends. Sure, the distance between San Fran and Anaheim is 601 km (I checked) but still – WE'RE ALREADY HERE! C'MON LET'S GO!!!!

As we did in those days, we hopped in the Volkswagen camper van that we had purchased from my grandparents earlier in the year, and set out on our two-week trek. Being that I was 10 and Chris was 7, we were not the most easy-going travellers – especially when those travel days are 8-9 hours long. We would have been completely unbearable if my mom had not planned ahead for this situation.

At the time, both my brother and I collected baseball player stickers. They were great – essentially they were baseball cards that you would peel the back off and stick on the designated team page/rectangle.

Before the trip, my mom purchased an entire box of these Topps Baseball stickers, and every hour or two, when we were getting restless, she would reach into the box and toss a pack or two of these stickers at each of us. We would then be kept occupied for the next five to 10 minutes, as we found places in the book for our new Mark Langston or Hubie Brooks sticker.

It was also during the early parts of this trip that we became acquainted with the rock 'n roll stylings of Steve Miller, the Beach Boys and Bobby McFerrin (my dad purchased a Road Trip Tunes mixtape).

But things went bad around Sacramento.

The temperature was about 40 degrees celsius out (or something close) and the old VW van started to fizzle out. Eventually, it just died by the side of the road. While my dad tried to flag down some help and call a tow truck, the rest of us sat in a nearby air-conditioned McDonald's for hours, drinking orange pop and eating fries. Though the ensuing details have been glossed over by time, the end result was this: Eventually we moved out of our new home at McDonald's and into a local hotel, and the van got a new engine put into it for the low, low cost of $3,000 (USD).

Once that was finished, we carried on with our trip, visited our family and the wonderful city of San Francisco, and also ate an Earthquake Sundae at Ghirardelli Square, much to the disgust of the other diners (They were just jealous).

It was, without question, the most expensive family vacation we ever had. But they say you can't put a price on a memory, and if that is indeed the case, then it was money well spent, because to this day, every time anyone in my family (including extended family) sees a Volkswagen camper van driving down the highway, they say the same thing:

"Uh oh, they're in trouble."

I felt compelled to write this long-winded, mildly amusing (at best) story because less than 48 hours from now, I will embark on another holiday. And although it won't be a family vacation in the sense that my parents aren't coming, I will be going with my brother.

We realized today that we've never been on a vacation together since the old family vacation days. He went with Jenna to Disneyland a couple years back. I went to Cancun a couple Octobers ago, but he did not. Then Jenna and him went to the Mayan Riviera for a wedding that I did not attend, and my previous two trips to Vegas were with mom and/or dad.

So Thursday morning when we embark for our trip to Phoenix (and later, Vegas!) for some Mariners spring training baseball, it was be a first. We're gonna drink some beers in the outfield bleachers, hob-nob with minor-league players destined to spend another year with the mighty Everett Aqua Sox, and heckle opposing teams' outfielders from our seat on the stadium's grass.

And I'm gonna check if they sell baseball stickers, too.

(Hey, it's a five-hour drive from Phoenix to Las Vegas.... gotta stay entertained).

:: 411 ::

There is a gentleman I work with in my office who is, to put it lightly, old-fashioned. He's 50 years old, and very classy. Always wears a suit to work - usually a vintage suit from the '40s. Hell, I've run into him in the mall on a weekend and he's wearing a suit, decked out to the 9s. He also used to drive a big old Mercedes until it broke down last year.

So yeah, he's an old fashioned chap. Nothing wrong with that - it just makes him quirky. However, it has its drawbacks. For starters, he is utterly clueless and lost when it comes to computer technology - which is trouble considering that's a signficant part of our job. But somehow, he manages to get by.

But on Friday, he did something I could not understand. He needed to find a phone number of a local restaurant. For starters, I'm sure this number was in the phone book. However, if it wasn't, the most logical next option is to look it up online, especially considering that he's sitting there with a computer in front of him.

But no, instead he decided to pick up the phone and dial 411 for directory assistance. I didn't even know this service still existed - or that anybody used it, but knowing this guy as I do, I have to believe that using the Internet never even occurred to him.

I clued into what he was doing when I overheard him talking to the automated system.

"Business."

"White Rock."

"West Beach Bar and Grill."

"No, West Beach..."

He had to repeat himself a couple times, but eventually I heard him get through, and he got the information he was seeking. As soon as I realized what was happening - about midway through his 411 call - I thought I'd find the info for myself.

First I went to Google. Then I typed in the restaurant. Then the website came up. The phone number was listed on the main page (As was a full listing of the weekend entertainment, which is what he was calling for the in the first place).

The whole thing took, oh, maybe 11 seconds.

His phone call took five minutes. And cost 75 cents.

It was also during this debacle that I e-mailed Kristyl, whose desk is right next to our old-fashioned co-worker:

"Wait...is he actually dialing 411? What is this, 1998? Some people are just so technologically stunted it's baffling.

"To quote Garth Algar, "Live in the now, man."

:: Random Childhood Memory #42 ::

When he was a teenager, about 15 years old if I recall correctly, Ian left Walnut Grove and spent most of the summer with his cousins in St. Catherines, Ont. Why he voluntarily chose to stay for an extended period of time in Ontario I'll never know, but that's what he did.

He finally returned later in the summer - thus bringing an end to the saddest, most boring summer of Chris's life – and he brought with him a fairly expensive skateboard that he had purchased back east. I guess his cousin had got him into it or something, I don't know.

We all laughed at him because, let's face it, Ian with a skateboard is akin to me with gang tattoos. What a waste of money, we said. But Ian – who always boasts that he never gives in to peer pressure – was adamant that he was going to use his new board, "like, all the time."

For a couple weeks he'd bring it over to our house, and try channelling his inner Tony Hawk by doing ollies and kickflips at the end of the driveway.

Then the summer ended, school began, and we never saw the skateboard again.

:: The desert calls ::

I worked a 14-hour day today, in three different cities. It started at 8 a.m. at my office, doing my usual job. Now, this wasn't too bad to begin with - minus the fact that we had to skip our usual walk to get coffee because it was too fucking cold out - but it got worse.

I won't bore you with the details, but just say this: budget cuts have made a certain part of my job a living hell. I spent three-quarters of my day today talking to colleagues on the phone about said problem, trying to find a solution, dealing with complainers, then complaining myself when no solution could be found. Good times.

In between these phone calls, I did a minimal amount of real work, and also traded phone calls back-and-forth with my bank, as I am in the process of trying to secure a car loan. This was the worst part of my day, but again I won't bore you with details. I'll just break it down quick:

- I own my own place. It is assessed at $244,000. I could sell it for 260.

- My credit is perfect. So perfect, in fact, that last Saturday a car dealership approved me for financing - for an amount far greater than I needed, as a matter of fact - in less than fifteen minutes.

- I make a good annual salary, and have a second job which in theory would cover the entire cost of a monthly car payment, were I to get one.

- I have no other real debts, except for my mortgage (which many people driving nice new cars despite modest salaries have and can easily afford) and a few hundred bucks on one credit card.

- I asked for $32,000 (Whether I need this much or not is debatable, but considering all the above points, I thought it was more than a reasonable request).

- The bank said I could only have $25,000.

- Then the following things happened: I got really mad, and yelled at the bank folks, calling their offer "insulting." Then said I was taking all my money out and going to a different bank. Then I hung up. Then they called me back four times, all of which I sent straight to voicemail. In the messages they left, they said they'd "try to work something out." Their second "offer" was pretty much the exact same thing. I called back and yelled some more.

- I still have no new truck.

I don't know what else to say about this really, except that it really, really pisses me off. When I was 20-years-old and jobless, I got a $21,000 loan from the same bank with no questions asked. Why they've now decided that a stable person with a good job and a house is not to be trusted with anything more than a $400/month loan is beyond me. But whatever.

Sorry, I know I said I wasn't going to bore you with details and then went ahead and did exactly that, but I do that sometimes... stories just get away from me.

So where was I? Oh right, my stupid long day. After bitching at the bank for another little while, eventually I had to drive downtown to cover a basketball game, which just happened to overlap with two other things I normally would have covered. I watched the game, took pictures - even got hit in the side of the face by a ball on its way out of bounds. I was sitting courtside on the floor, camera to my eye.

With four minutes left in the game, I had to race back to Langley, grab some dinner en route, and then watch the Canucks game, so I could write about it and file a story by 10:15 p.m. In between stoppages in play, and in the intermission, I worked on my basketball story, and did interviews over the phone from the dining room.

Then the game went into overtime, which meant I had even less time to file a story. I made it on time though, like I always manage to do, and now I'm sitting here, way past when I should've gone to sleep, especially because I have two more nights like this between now and Saturday.

The only thing currently bringing a smile to my face is the Bud Light Lime that is sitting in front of me, ice cold and half-full. It is the last of the Lime beers I brought back from Vegas when I was there in the fall. Somehow I made 24 of them last five months.

This particular beer is making me happy because it reminds me of sitting at the Stratosphere Las Vegas, playing Super Jackpot Party for about three hours straight, getting fucking bombed off this particular beer. Then, at about 3 a.m., I stopped by the hotel gift shop/store and bought three more for the elevator ride to my room.

I woke up hungover with one unopened beer in my bed next to me, and an empty bottle still in my hand.

And in a little over a week, I'll get the chance to do that very same thing again, only this time with the addition of four days watching spring training baseball in Arizona.

Can't come quick enough.

:: I have a nautical-themed Pashmina afghan ::

For the first time Monday night, Chris viewed the SNL/The Lonely Island I'm on a Boat video. He's a little behind the times, but we'll give him a break just this once because his response to it was so awesome:

"Oh, so that's why everybody's Facebook statuses lately have said they were on a boat! I just kept thinking, 'Why the hell are so many people going on cruises?'"

"It did not get cool until I got here."

I woke up this morning to this text message from Fort McMurray:

"You posted quotes yesterday and not a word about my birthday... gone r the days of birthdays shout-outs, apparently.... Hurtful."

Jesus Christ. A person gets all this shit for her birthday - and 24th birthday, for that matter (not exactly a milestone to begin with) - and she's still fucking complaining about the lack of a mention on a crappy, 25-readers-a-day blog.

Some people are just so ungrateful.

But as I've often said - it pays to complain, so in honour of Kelsey Lundquist's 24th birthday, I will repost what is probably my favourite Kelsey quote of all-time:

"If I fold down the seats in the Cougar I could have sex with like four people at once!"

So there's your damn shout-out. Happy Birthday - you asked for it.

Just a couple quotes for ya...

"I look like Lindsay Lohan's mugshot." - Christene, the morning after a night of drinking.

"I'm trying to make it so I don't get drunk all the time." - Christene again, after the aforementioned night o' drinking.

"You know, if we hadn't broken up, we'd still be together." - this guy Joel, logical as ever.

"We should start our own gang that eats nachos and goes to the Walnut Grove Pub." - Kristyl's answer to the increasing gang presence in the Lower Mainland.

:: How to know when it's time to take a vacation ::

I just got back from a four-hour, double-overtime playoff hockey game. I am exhausted, but somehow still quite energetic and cheerful.

I don't know if it's because I just saw a very entertaining hockey game (which the good guys won, too) on an otherwise drab Monday, or if it's because I have a fantastic lede already written in my head for when I sit down at my desk early tomorrow morning and pound out the story on deadline.

I'm not exactly sure, but I think it's the second one.

That frightens me.

:: Truck? What Truck? ::

Me: So you bought that truck for sure, then?
Bucholtz: Yeah, but don't tell anybody. I don't want to help people move.
Me: Nobody's moving. Who don't you want to help?
Bucholtz: Anybody. Especially that Ian.
Me: Well, alright, but you realize you can't exactly hide a truck that big, right? It's an F350 - not exactly stealth.
Bucholtz: We see about that.

:: What kind of day it's been ::

For the third time in a matter of weeks, my office computer has completely crapped out.

It's nearly March and – after a week of pretty gorgeous weather - it's fucking snowing (hard) outside, again.

And today it was announced that Steven Page has left the Barenaked Ladies, one of my favourite bands since I was a kid. Sadly, though it affects my life the least of the three, it's the music news that bums me out the most.

Today sucks.

Christene: My phone bill for December had $155 in text message fees. That was before I had a data plan.
Me: I can't help but feel partly responsible.
Christene: Of course you're responsible!

"Pregnancy is one big camel toe." - Kristyl, on ill-fitting pants.

"It actually feels like you're masturbating if you have sex with a black chick in the dark." - Sean, as politically correct as ever.

"I quit smoking weed for awhile, but then I was like, 'Hey, I enjoy being stoned.' So now I smoke weed again." - Sean, again.

Watching some '80s movie on TV...
Me: That guy looks like Judge Reinhold.
Christene: It was the '80s, everbody looked like Judge Reinhold.

"There's a lot of lesbians in Blaine." - Jolene, a co-worker. She said this at lunch, completely off-topic and unprovoked.

Speak first, think later...
Me: I want to go to Australia.
Kristyl: Me too, but I don't think I could handle the drive.
Me: uhhhh...
Kristyl: Flight. I mean flight.

"We saw a lot of sights. We didn't neccesarily go into many of them, but we drove past a lot on our way to a pub." - Kristyl again, reminiscing on the trip to Ireland her and Christene took a couple years ago.



:: And the award goes to... ::

Because it's Oscar Night, I've decided to put on my best tux (actually a stained wife-beater and some fleece sweat pants) and hand out some awards of my own.

Best attempt to out douche-ify Randy River: Old Navy, which is currently selling a shit-ton of board shorts with skulls on them.

Raddest Facebook admission: My cousin Steve, who admitted in one of those 25 Random Things About Me lists that he once "was so high I made a platter of sandwiches for people I was talking to on the phone."

Best Way to Spend a Sunday: Me, lazy fuck that I am, for waking up at 8 a.m. but not getting out of bed until 2:15.

Best Way to Get Out of Household Chores: Me again, a two-time winner. On Saturday, by coincedence, I popped by my parent's house to say hi just as my mom and dad were out washing their cars. So of course, mine ended up nice and shiny, too. I helped....sort of. Also, on Sunday, I had a bunch of shirts I needed to iron for work, but my iron sort of crapped out (it sucks on the best of days. I'd buy a new one, but it's a fucking iron, so who cares?). So I brought a bunch of my dress shirts over to my parents' house when I went there for dinner, fully content to, and planning on, ironing them myself (really). But my mom did it for me without me even knowing, because she's my mom and this is what she does.

The What a Shocker Award: Heath Ledger's Best Supporting Actor Oscar win for his role as The Joker. Not saying he wasn't deserving - he was amazingin The Dark Knight - but c'mon, they've been hyping this since last summer, obviously he was gonna take it. Even Stevie Wonder saw this coming (*rimshot*).

Best Dressed: The guy I saw at the Walnut Grove Pub Friday night, who was wearing a black T-shirt with "Spitters are Quitters" printed large across the chest. Classy buddy, classy.

Best Idea: Jenna's pre-purchase of Mariners/Padres tickets for our first night in Phoenix. Fuck I am pumped - and less than a month to go!

Best/Most Terrifying Realization That We are Getting Old Award: Christene and me, watching Kids. When you watch the movie as a 15-year-old, you think "Wow, these kids are bad ass - drinking, fucking and wandering around New York. I want to be like them (minus the AIDS)." When we watched it on Saturday, as quasi-responsible 27-year-old adults, we both said the same thing at the same time: Where are these kids' parents, anyway?

:: Not that funny ::

Just a friendly word of advice. If you are a brown guy, in his mid-20s, with an fashion sense that I can only describe as "G'd up from the feet up" (ie: douchey), and you find yourself in a parking lot, exiting from an $80,000 Porsche Cayenne alongside two other young brown dudes, do not make any jokes when you hear police sirens in the background.

When you look at your pal/accomplice - and me, standing right beside you - and say, "Ha, sounds like somebody else got shot!" you aren't that hilarious (even if you might be right).

No, considering your car, your age and your general appearance, you do not sound funny at all.

You sound guilty.

:: The Definition of Douchebag ::

Saw this BMW parked outside Boston Pizza last night. Needless to say, it did not have a "Handicapped Parking" pass hanging from the mirror.

I was as shocked as you.

(I apologize for the grainy photo, but it was taken on my BlackBerry as I was walking swifty. I would've stopped, but this was an expensive car with nice rims, and I therefore gave it 10:1 odds that the owner of said vehicle was a gang member. And I did not want to get shot. I'm sure you understand.)

:: A case of the Mondays ::

If you've ever read Christene's blog, you may have noticed that she is not a fan (to put it lightly) of Friday office banter. You know the type – the herds of people who come by your desk throughout the day saying things like "TGIF!" or, "I'm sooo glad it's finally Friday!" as though this week somehow took longer than any previous week since the Egyptians created the modern calendar.*

*I actually have no idea who created the modern calendar, and a Google search proved inconclusive, so I decided to credit the fine folks of Egypt. They seemed like smart people, after all. I mean, have you seen the pyramids?

(editor's note: If you haven't read Christene's blog, you really should, because it's usually funnier than anything you'll find here. She's in the process of becoming a professionally trained comedienne, and I'm just a hack with an attitude problem)

But anyways... back to my original point: people should shutup about Fridays. But as much as that bugs me, too, I've decided that Monday office banter is on an equal footing, if not worse.

I cannot count how many times today I had to have a "Monday conversation" with someone.

This is how one of these conversations is typically supposed to play out:

"Hey, how's it going?"
"Pretty good I guess...for a Monday."
"I hear that!"

It's at this point that the two people engaged in said conversation usually high five, so pleased with themselves and the fact that they've found a kindred spirit who shares their view. Either that, or they slink back to their desks and slug their luke-warm coffee until the caffeine numbs their tortured souls until the clock strikes 12:01 a.m.

Here's how that same conversation went with me today, when approached. (I'm the second person, if you couldn't tell).

"Ugh, I really hate Mondays, don't you?"
"About the same as I hate Tuesday, or Wednesdays."
"Really? Monday's are waaay worse."
"Why?"
"Because it's Monday!"

Good argument. Way to back up your argument with real fact-based analysis. This is equivalent to the elementary school, "Because I said so" defence.

So, you can probably see what I'm dealing with here. And though I admit that this obnoxious banter is not that different from the TGIF nonsense, there is one thing that makes it worse: On a Friday, I know that I am, potentially, mere hours away from drinking away all recollection of this "witty" water cooler talk.

But on a Monday, not only do I have to put up with it, but I'm four and a half days away from the sweet, sweet memory blackouts brought forth by jagerbombs and vodka. (Unless of course, I decided to bring back Kelsey's Drunk Tuesday tradition, which isn't entirely out of the question.)

Ahhh, sweet alcohol, it eases the pain.

:: Not much, not much at all ::

I don't have much for you guys today, because what limited ranting ability I could muster this afternoon was spent writing a piece for my actual job, for which I get paid and therefore takes priority. Sorry.

However, I do present to you a handful of things that have crossed my mind over the last couple days. So, in no particular order...

1) I really hate man-purses. (This may or may not have been the focus of my earlier column writing).

2) Why are Nintendo's video game icons referred to as the "Super Mario Bros."? I'm not disputing that they are, in fact, brothers, but only one of them is named Mario. Shouldn't they be called the Super Lastname Bros. instead? And, speaking of which, how come they don't have last names?

3) Does anybody actually live in Tsawwassen? And if so, where are their homes? I drove out to the ferry terminal late last night to pick up a friend, and while I saw enough vehicles to suggest the area is habitated, I saw little else to support this claim.

I drove down Ladner Trunk Road, and saw dark, farm fields and one old Ford Tempo, left abandoned at the side of the road. Then I turned onto the four-lane Hwy 17, which is essentially one long, straight journey to a dead end (the dead end being the ferry terminal), and all I saw were the lights of Robert's Bank; plenty of billboards for the Rick Mercer Report (Tuesdays at 8 p.m. in case you were curious); and a odd scene at the side of the road in which three old trucks were parked at odd angles, and a handful of men were circled around a small bonfire. I just assumed they were burning the contents of their meth lab, but I didn't stick around to get a definitive answer.

But my point is, I didn't see much. It had been a long time since I'd made that drive, and it was very, very eery.

4) For those of you who work in an office setting, I dare any of you to be on a speaker-phone conference call with numerous other colleagues and not burst out laughing when one of your IT people, when discussing your company website's online presence and statistics, makes reference to "viral penetration." It just cannot be done. It was the best That's What She Said moment ever in this office's history (And God knows there have been thousands of opportunities).

Have a good weekend, folks. Happy Valentine-ing. Don't eat too many of those delicious, delicious cinnamon hearts. And try not to get an STD either (Which is good advice anytime, not just on Cupid's Big Day).

:: The Answers ::

Well, my attempt at music trivia didn't go so well - as you can see, only a few of the 25 songs were identified - but that's mostly because a lot of the lyrics were pretty obscure (Thanks a lot, iTunes' random mode). However, with song titles coming up in the first lines of a few of the songs, I expected a few lucky guesses. Good tries though - and good for everyone for not cheating (except Lanette). But, just so we can move on to other things, here are the answers:

1. Neil Young, Sugar Mountain
2. Bon Iver, Blood Bank
3. Pearl Jam, Corduroy
4. Tom Petty, Free Fallin'
5. Crash Test Dummies, Mmm mmm mmm mmm
6. The Black Crowes, She Talks to Angels
7. Matthew Good Band, Haven't Slept in Years
8. One Day as a Lion, If You Fear Dying
9. Pink Floyd, Time
10. 50 Cent, Window Shopper
11. The White Stripes, Offend in Every Way
12. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Knock Me Down
13. Van Morrison, Into the Mystic
14. Led Zeppelin, Over the Hills and Far Away
15. The Academy Is..., His Girl Friday
16. Pilate, Barely Listening
17. The White Stripes, The Hardest Button to Button
18. Ray Lamontagne, Trouble
19. Live, The Distance
20. The Black Crowes, Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution
21. Jay-Z, Can I Get A...
22. Vampire Weekend, A Punk
23. Motion City Soundtrack, 1,000 Paper Cranes
24. Green Day, When I Come Around
25. The Tragically Hip, Ahead by a Century

So there you have it. As an aside, you should all download some or all of these songs. They're good.

:: Trivia Time ::

The following is one of those mostly annoying lists that is floating around Facebook at the moment, but I decided I'd post it here too, because, well, because I felt like it. Also, it's a nice break from me bitching and moaning about stuff.

The following 25 things are the first line(s) from 25 songs that came up randomly on my iTunes last night. There are a few that are easy, plus some that I can almost guarantee nobody has heard. Either way, leave your answers in the comments, and for the time being, try to avoid Googling everything you cheatin' fucks.

1. Oh, to live on sugar mountain, with the barkers and the coloured balloons.

2. Well I met you at the blood bank, we were looking at the bags, wondering if any of the colours, matched any of the names we knew on the tags.

3. The waiting drove me mad. You're finally here and I'm a mess.

4. She's a good girl, loves her mama. Loves Jesus, and America, too.

5. Once there was this kid who/Got into an accident and couldn't come to school.

6. She never mentions the word addiction in certain company. Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan after you meet her family.

7. Make me your animal, make me your freak, and I will pack them in.

8. The bastard son I spit non fiction, in exile for a while now with raw friction.

9. Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day. You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.

10. Oh, the top feels so much better than the bottom... so much better.

11. I'm patient of this plan, as humble as I can. I'll wait another day, before I turn away.

12. Never too soon to be through, being coool too much too soon.

13. We were born before the wind, also younger than the sun.

14. Hey Lady, you got the love I need - maybe more than enough.

15. If you knew what you do, when no one's in the dark room but me and you, a brilliant disguise.

16. I lie awake on this phone call, she's dreaming of better days. Flowers lie on the counter, remind her of better days.

17. We started living in an old house. My Ma gave birth and we were checking it out.

18. Trouble, been doggin' my soul since the day I was born.

19. Let him come into the city, let him find his lucky penny, let him put it in his pocket and shake it all around.

20. Cut a rusty engine outta sawdust town. Better deal with the man who shook 'em all down, so put a little grease on my axle now.

21. Can I hit it in the morning, without giving you all of my dough? And even worse if I was broke would you want me?

22. Johanna drove slowly into the city, the Hudson River all filled with snow. She spied the ring on His Honor's finger. Oh-oh-oh.

23. I thought that you knew her. I thought that you cared. But what am I do do at four in the morning?

24. Well I heard you cryin' loud, all the way across town. You've been searching for that someone and it's me out on the prowl.

25. First thing, we'd climb a tree, and maybe then we'd talk, or sit silently and listen to our thoughts.

:: No Laughing Matter ::

Of all the people I know, there are only a few I would consider genuinely hilarious people – these are people who consistently make me laugh. I'd put Jeremy in that group, Bucholtz and Christene, too. My cousin's ex-boyfriend, Dave, was also a funny, funny dude. And of course, Chris makes me laugh, but that's usually because he's drunk and yelling at someone, and Kelsey makes me laugh because she's usually done something stupid – like injured herself eating lobster.

That's not to say the rest of you don't have your moments, too - nearly all my friends make me laugh numerous times, which is why they're my friends, I guess. (This is my disclaimer so I don't get 50 messages from you idiots, mad that I didn't list you by name).

And not to build myself up too much, but I know I'm a pretty funny guy, too. I didn't once win columnist of the year by writing about the Israeli peace talks, after all.

But what's more troubling is that, increasingly, I have been running into more and more people who think they are funny, but whose "jokes" are so lame or dated – usually both – that I just cannot take it anymore (Hence, me posting about it).

My biggest pet peeve is the people who purposely misspell and mispronounce words, effectively ending up sounding like a live-action lolcats poster (And as many of you know, there is nothing I despise more than those goddamn lolcats). This is not funny. It may have been mildly entertaining four years ago, but that was a simpler time, when funny was harder to find. So we settled for mildly cute and amusing instead. That time is over.

The worst part is, rather than calling these people on their lack of originality, cleverness or humour, equally unfunny people are encouraging them. Recently, someone I know posted online some quip about being a champion of procrastination. Fair 'nuff. Valid point. End of story.

But then somebody else, a friend I assume, commented that they would dethrone this champion of procrastination, but they were "too lazy."

Gee, I don't think that joke has ever been made before. How clever. This is the same person who probably still goes around asking people "Is that your final answer?" and wearing Hammer pants. But it gets worse...

A few comments later, after about as much witty repartee and one can stand, somebody else chimed in with something along the lines of "OMG LOLOLOL You guys just crack me UP!!!"

Yeah...thanks for coming out. Go back to your Springer reruns and "Idiot's Guide to Growing a Mullet" handbook, jackass.

We just can't be encouraging this behaviour. These are the kind of jokes you expect when an Autistic Day Camp take a field trip to Open Mic Night. (Wow, that was offensive, even for me)

I also cannot stand the people who, while not straying into LOLcat territory, instead regurgitate the same phrases, comments and jokes we did when we were in high school. That was 10 years ago, times change! (editor's note: 10 years...fuck).

Nobody says anything is "the bomb!" anymore, and not everybody's "mug" is hilarious. Sure, there are ugly, goofy people out there, but not everybody. And while I'm bitching, lets update the ol' music collection from Marilyn Manson's Beautiful People and DMX, aiight?

These are just examples, but there are more. For starters, some amateur "artist" with a ballpoint pen and computer paper dropped off to our office today a comic strip he thought we could run in the paper (forgetting, obviously, that our publication has not once, since its inception in 1976, ever run comics). The comic was titled "Wang, Dang and Doodle" (editor's note: OK, the title is mildly hilarious if you are 7. or 27). It was about, apparently, three duck-like characters. Each piece of paper was supposed to be one frame of the strip.

Frame 1: Giant scribbly head of one of the characters (probably Wang?), saying "OH NO, MY WIFE LEFT ME."
Frame 2: A different giant scribbly head asking, "OH NO WHAT HAPPEND (sic)?"
Frame 3: Head #1, explains "SHE LEFT ME FOR THE MARCHING BAND."
FRAME 4: Head 2: "OH I GUESS YOU JUST WEREN'T MEN ENOUGH FOR HER!!!!"

Ohhhhhhh burn! I see what you did there. The man vs. men thing, because it was a whole band. I get it – very clever. Good work.

See people? This is the kind of mind-numbing shit I've been bombarded with lately. And it baffles me as to why it's suddenly occurring. And why were are encouraging them.

Do these people think they are actually hilarious, worthy of their own hour-long Comedy Central special? I mean, common sense says you update your shtick – nobody does TV dinner jokes anymore, do they?

Let me break it down in an analogy for you. I'm not good at running, so I don't enter marathons. But if I was absolutely convinced that I should do that anyway, I would practice. I would go to the gym. I would get running advice and hone my craft. Or at the absolute bare minimum, I'd buy the proper fucking shoes to at least give myself a fighting chance.

Now, for these wanna-be comics, I suggest just giving it a rest. You are good people with (presumably) many awesome qualities – you don't have to be funny, you're fine without that skill set.

Or if you're determined, it's not that difficult to improve. Just turn on a TV. We have sophisticated, clever comedy now like The Office, Curb Your Enthusiasm and 30 Rock, among others. Not to mention reruns of classic episodes of The Simpsons, which is the cleverest, most satirical show ever produced.

We can do better than fart jokes and lolcats, folks.

A little effort – that's all I'm asking for.

:: Awkward moments and Coke-fueled explosions ::

Couple things from today at work...

From experience in high school up until, oh, probably this morning, I have become something of an expert in awkwardness. Awkward clothes. Awkward conversations. Awkward baseball slides into third base. Awkward situations with the opposite sex.

You name an awkward situation and not only have I probably experienced it, but I've also probably made it more awkward (awkwarder?).

Today, in light of these wonderful economic times, I have something new to add to the list: The run-in with a former colleague who, after being laid off by your company, is serving you coffee in order to pay the bills.

The conversation goes something like this:

Person with job: Oh...hi! Nice to see you.

Person serving coffee: You too!

Person with job: So....what's new? Working here eh?

Person serving coffee: ...yep....sort of a career change.

Person with job (over enthusiastic): Well that's just great!

Person serving coffee: Yeah...take your fucking change.

On another note, I learned this week – by virtue of my boss telling us about his son's Grade 4 science experiment – that when you take mint-flavoured Mentos and drop them into Diet Coke, it creates a geyser of cola that often ends up shooting up and hitting a fellow student square in the face, knocking his glasses off and soaking him from the waist up.

Apparently it has to be the mint-flavoured Mentos and not the fruit ones, and it has to be Mentos, not some other kind of mints. Also, regular Coke does not work – must be the Aspertame or something (which is reassuring for those of us who drink the stuff).

Armed with this knowledge, I (obviously) went out this afternoon and purchased a package of peppermint Mentos and would have bought Diet Coke too, had the store not been out of stock. Tomorrow, however, I will come to work prepared, and we plan on running our own experiment in the back parking lot.

Yeah, we're model employees.

:: Server sympathy ::

Christene, who has worked at IHOP for a number of years...

Christene: I'm wearing an "I'm in training badge."

Me: uhh, why?

Christene: I'm hoping for sympathy tips.

Hey, we're in a recession. Gotta do whatcha gotta do.

"If there was a letter higher than 'A' that would be me and Kristyl." - Christene, discussing who among her friends and acquaintances had earned A-List status.

"I used to think that maybe I had a learning disability, but it turns out I was just really lazy." - Kristyl

"I hate the term, "fake boobs." If I can feel 'em, they're real." - Dan

Ian, reminiscing about the last time Blue escaped from the yard...
"I just remember that I came out of the bathroom and said 'Where's the dog?' Then somebody said that Jeremy had taken him for a walk, and I said 'A walk?! But Jeremy's the drunkest one in the house! And Blue's leash is still here."

:: Repeat Performance ::

You may recall (because I brag about it often) that a year ago I won some North American-wide awards. Well, not to toot my own horn or anything, but, well, I won one of them again.

First place this time, instead of third actually, if we're keeping score (and we are).

Normally, I'd suggest this would be cause for a big, fat raise - or a barrage of better job offers from competing companies. However, my company is bracing for a recession (read: being cheap) and the major competition is currently in a "hiring freeze" so the best I can hope for is that this saves me from being laid off.

Whatever, I'll take it.

:: Helpful tip ::

If your co-workers decide to walk somewhere for lunch, but you are out on an assignment so instead decide to drive over and meet them afterward, be sure not to walk back with them, thus leaving your car in the restaurant parking lot.

It saves you time, among other things.

Nick: Hey, how's it goin' man?
Sean: Just livin' the dream man, livin' the dream. Drinking every night, playing Rock Band.
Nick: That's the dream?
Sean: Yeah, the novelty's wearing off pretty fast.

"I saw a gummy bear on the floor this morning so I ran and ate it." - Kristyl, who can't control her pregnant cravings, clearly.

Hanging out with Scott, Chris and Sean on Friday...
Sean: So I guess you're in the only one of us with a woman in town right now, eh?
Me: Hmm, yeah I guess I am. I'll take "'Things that have never happened before' for 200, Alex."
Chris (drunk): Apparently some broad in the original Fleetwood Mac isn't coming back for the new tour, and Stevie Nicks didn't want to be the only woman in the band, so they asked Sheryl Crow to join but she politefully reclined.
Sean: Politefully reclined? Do you mean politely declined?
Chris: Whatever.

When Rock Band turns ugly...
Scott: Why does this one drum have a bigger mark in the centre of it than the other ones?
Chris: Because you take dicks in the mouth and God hates you.

"I only want two kids. Maybe I was rich, with a big house and a big yard, I'd have our. Then I'd just stay home all day and bake muffins, and pay to get my stomach stapled." - Kristyl, planning for the future.

Christene: I don't know what to get Sarah for her birthday.
Me: Well I've only met her twice, so I don't know what to tell ya. All I know about her is that she likes two things - the Cloverdale Rodeo and Bernard.
Christene: Alright, I'll get her a Chinese cowboy then.

:: I'm going to buy a huge, gas-guzzling truck just to offset your bus pass ::

Except for the week I spent in Cancun, I have never once taken a city bus. Ever since I got my licence, I've always had access to a car, and my lack of bus experience is something I'm very proud of.

I know there are those self- righteous douchebags out there who like to get on their soapboxes and proclaim that they take the bus because it's better for the environment, and reduces their "carbon footprint." But it's all bullshit. The reason those granola-munchers take the bus is because a) they're too busy making hemp necklaces to go get their driver's licence or, more likely, b) they can't afford a car because they spent all their money on weed, wool tuques and organic fruit.

And today I realized, as I walked back to the office after making a coffee run, that there is something smugly satisfying about watching these transit riders run to catch a bus. It's just so demeaning.

Here they are, grown adults – some of them business people in fancy suits or other office attire – running wildly like six-year-olds on the playground, zigging and zagging through other pedestrians just so they can hop on a bus before the big accordion doors close.

I personally enjoy when they don't make it on time – missing by mere seconds, which then forces them to stand, out of breath, next to a bus shelter and any number of other grubby "bus people" for 15 minutes until the next bus arrives.

And there is nothing dignified or admirable about that – regardless of the size of your carbon footprint.

Buy a car, assholes.

(editor's note: Meghan, I know you often take the bus, so I'm sorry. At least you own a car, so this disqualifies you from the hemp-necklace wearing, granola munching category)

:: This is why there's still crime ::

14-year-old fools Chicago cops and goes on patrol

Police Chief: Jeez, I can't believe this has happened again. This is getting embarassing.
Judge: Yeah, just crazy. What're the odds?
Police Chief: What should we do? Lock him up? Let him off the hook? Send him to juvi?
Judge: I don't know. A stern lecture might do the trick.
Police Chief: Yeah, that should work.

I have an idea, geniuses: Take his uniform away.

He lucked into one, somehow, but how many do you think he's fucking got, anyway?

:: Free T-Shirt Sundays ::

Over the past couple weeks, I've come to realize that I have very few t-shirts I could wear in a social situation, or a so-called "nice t-shirt" if such a product even exists, as t-shirts are by their very nature, casual.

I really only have 3-4 that I consistently wear, but yet I still have a closet and two dresser drawers full of shirts. This is because I have an absolute crapload of free t-shirts, that aren't really suitable for anything except, say, mowing the lawn, or loafing around in while hungover on a Saturday morning/afternoon.

And lately, in an effort to preserve my 3-4 good shirts for Friday and Saturday nights and/or weekdays, I have taken to wearing these grungy-looking free shirts every Sunday, because at the very most, the only place I go on Sunday is the grocery store or my parents house.

I don't care that it makes me look like a poor, or just a general schlub. They're comfortable and I likes 'em. Also, I have a general affinity for things that are free, or at least cheap.

Sure, I could go purchase some other new, better shirts - I am usually able to afford such luxuries as clothes - but for now I'm content to plug along every Sunday wearing the freebies. And because I've started wearing these shirts every Sunday, I've sort of began taking an inventory of my collection. As far as I can tell, I own 14 free shirts.

Two were promoting a high school basketball tournament, another one was from a basketball camp, two more were promos from triathlons I covered, and I have three from a bike race in which my company was the title sponsor. I also have a couple from a case of beer, one from slo-pitch, one I won at a pub, one that Gorski won at the pub but then foolishly left in my car (sorry, pal, whatever I finds, I keeps), and then, my personal favourite, which I really can't wear anywhere, even to the mailbox.

It's a shirt Bucholtz had made and gave to me prior to our last trip to Merritt MusicFest about three years ago. He made himself one too. It's a simple white T-shirt emblazoned with what was our motto for the week. On the front it says "Drink Everything" and on the back reads "Fuck Anything."

Yeah, we're classy like that.

:: Up, up, down, down, left, right, A, B, A, B, Start ::

Remember the codes back in the old school video games like Kid Icarus, Super Contra and Bubble Bobble? The kind of codes that would leave you with unlimited lives or all the guns in the game in exchange for a lifetime of carpal tunnel problems?

Well, apparently - even with all the technological advancements in video games since the original Nintendo - some things never change.

We found this out last night, trying to unlock all the songs on Sean's Rockband 2.

As Sean punched buttons on the controller madly...
Chris: That's still how you do codes?
Sean: Uh, yeah, how did you think I'd do it?
Chris: I don't know. I just thought by now you'd just download some program, transfer it to the XBox, run it, and we'd get all the songs.

The only difference, I guess, is that we Googled the codes, rather than searching through pages of some old Nintendo Power magazine.

Because that's so 1990.

:: Don't steal music, dick ::

One thing I don't do very often on this blog is tell you what to do (lie), or suggest that my taste in music/movies/TV/clothes/lifestyle/etc.. is better than yours (lie). However, because I'm feeling generous, I'm going to give you all some suggested downloads that I've come across in the last couple weeks.

I have a permanent file in the memo section of my BlackBerry called Tunage, which is where I jot down any songs I hear that I want to download once I get home. Ever since I got hooked up to Sirius radio last year - with its numerous channels and wide range of songs - I've been discovering a lot of good stuff, some old, some new. And some I'd heard plenty before but just forgot about. The selection really runs the gamut from rock, more pop-ish rock, to some rap (which most of you will hate), and even a Willie Nelson song.

So, without further adieu, here's some stuff you should find online or elsewhere.*

MGMT "Time To Pretend" "Electric Feel" "Kids"
Poppy rock that's catchy as fuck. The first song plays during the opening montage of the movie 21, and I discovered the rest after that. It's sort of Killers-ish, I guess, with it's poppy/electro feel, which makes it odd that I'd recommend it, because I really dislike The Killers. However, these three songs are pretty rad, especially Time to Pretend, which promotes illicit drug use and sleeping with models (and then dumping the models when they're old and pregnant). It's a good message for the kids.

Kings of Leon "Sex on Fire" "Use Somebody"
I'm sure you've heard Sex on Fire on the radio, but Use Somebody may be better. Everytime I hear Sex on Fire, I think of my Kamloops road trip last fall, and that makes me happy.

The Mars Volta "The Widow"
No idea how old or new this song is, and all I know of The Mars Volta is that some of the guys in the band used to be in At the Drive-In. Also, I know that I really like this song.

Willie Nelson "Blue Skies"
This is a weird, low-key cover of a song originally done by some dude named Irving Berlin (I Googled it). I have no idea why I like this song - I guarantee nobody else will - but I do. Maybe it has something to do with my general good mood, of late. Who knows.

The Raconteurs "Consolers of the Lonely"
Not the best Raconteurs song I've ever heard, but I still like it, and still turn it up every time it comes on the radio.

Counting Crows "A Long December"
I know, I know - everybody on the planet has heard this fucking song before. But I hadn't heard it in a long time, realized I didn't have it in my iTunes library, so I went out and got it and quickly realized why it's probably my favourite Counting Crows song. Best listened to while drunk.

Spacehog "In the meantime"
Old song from the 1990s that I heard on Sirius's grunge channel. Maybe you think you don't recognize it, but once you hear it, I'm sure you'll realize you have.

T.I. "Whatever you like" "Live your life"
Yes, here's the aforementioned rap that many of you won't like, but I do because a) it's catchy, and b) like the Kings of Leon, it reminds me of my Kamloops road trip, and Whatever you Like has actually become something of an inside joke amongst a few friends and I.

Yellowcard "Rough landing, Holly"
Don't have much to say about this song. I just like it.

One Day as a Lion "Wild International"
If you listen to this and think it sounds familiar, you're right - it does. Sounds an awful lot like Rage Against the Machine, right? That's because it's former/current? Rage guy Zach De La Rocha and the ex-drummer from The Mars Volta. As far as I know, it's the only song they've released so far.

So there you have it, ladies. Don't ever say I never did nothing for ya.

*Classic Times does not condone the illegal downloading of music. Buy it on iTunes or something. Or just drive over to Lars Ulrich's house and empty your pockets.

:: Casual conversation ::

Earlier this week, Lanette wrote about her office's dress code, or lack thereof, and how even though she could dress like a slob, she chooses not to.

Very admirable.

If I was in her shoes, I'd probably wear slippers, track pants and my Boston Red Sox hat to work five days a week. And I'd only shower on Tuesdays (as opposed to my current schedule, which is Wednesdays only, plus every second civic holiday).

At my office, there is no official dress code, although I'm expected to look presentable. My boss has stated previously that he doesn't notice nor care what we wear, but did say that the boss directly above him does notice. Which basically boils down to business casual for all of us.

I basically rotate through three or four golf/polo shirts and about five dress shirts, and I wear jeans probably two or three times a week. And once in awhile, I dress up a little bit, for the sole purpose of making sure my boss's boss notices, and realizes that I'm not a complete slob. That way, on a Friday, I can wear my old college hoodie overtop of a T-shirt without anyone batting an eye. (And if anyone does bat an eye, the old 'it's way too cold in here not to be wearing a sweater,' excuse works every time, because the heat in our office sucks).

But this all brings me back to today.

In an effort to look like I can dress myself, I'm wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt underneath a nice black and grey (or charcoal, for those of you who read labels or are gay) argyle-ish sweater. Plus I'm wearing some black leather dress shoes.

Keep in mind, there is no reason for me to look this way. I could've easily worn my green Nike golf shirt (untucked) any one of my nine pairs of American Eagle jeans, plus my beat-up Adidas sneakers, and I'd be fine.
But I thought I'd look more professional, for one day at least. Other than a regular compliment from my boss, who liked my sweater, it took all of five minutes for me to wish I hadn't got dressed up at all.

First person to see me in the morning, right at the back door: "Ooh, look at you, all fancy."

Yeah, thanks.

Second person: "Why are you are gussied up today?"

No reason. (And yes, they said 'gussied')

Third person, a few hours later: "Ooooh, nice sweater. Why are you all formal and fancy today? Why no jeans?"

My answer? A lie, of course.

"I have a job interview right after work. With (insert name of our competing company)."

That shut them the fuck up.

:: The more things change... ::

"You have to make your own entertainment. I'm like an amusement McGuyver." - Christene

"You and Christene are so much alike, it's like I cloned her and now I get twice the fun." - Kristyl

Watching football...
Jenna: Hey, why does that referee have a big "U" on the back of his jersey?
Nick: He's the umpire.
Jenna: Ha, that's funny.
Nick: If you like that, wait 'til you see the Back Judge.
(short pause)
Jenna: Ooh, I get it.
Chris: I love back judges.

"I know what it tastes like if it comes from a box." - Kristyl, discussing the merits of store-bought cake versus homemade.

Skytrain drunk: I'm kinda drunk. I could definitely drink for another 3 to 6 hours.
Friend: 3 to 6? That's quite a wide range... why not 7?
Skytrain drunk: Don't be ridiculous.

"I hate that bitch. It should be illegal to suck that much dick." - Skytrain drunk, loudly on his cell phone.

At the end of every year, it's common - expected almost - for people to think up a bunch of things they want to change about their lives, and then go out and do it. Last year, as you may remember, I had a pretty excellent year, and wasn't looking to change that much. And while a couple things have changed already, I'm not complaining.

And last night, after I'd polished off a couple caesars (double caesars, actually) plus at least a half bottle of wine, I realized that the 2008 version of my life and the current '09 version could be summed up quite accurately simply by looking at my Saturday nights, past and present.

A pre-2009 Saturday night usually involved some late afternoon beers with whoever was around (or just by myself, if people were busy), which would then be followed by a trip to a pub to watch some type of sporting event on TV, drink a bunch more and eat some nachos.

At that point, the drinking would either continue at the pub, or we'd hit up a liquor store and end up at Ian's house or my parents house, or Jer's, where we'd polish off however many beers we had just purchased while playing Wii or PS3. Then suddenly, once Ian began talking nonsense or Chris became his drunken ornery self, we'd realize it was 4 in the morning, and find ourselves a way to get home.

Then, once I'd get home, I'd usually stumble up the stairs, throwing my jacket and shoes wherever I felt like, make myself a grilled cheese sandwich, watch some sports highlights for awhile, then go to bed.

Then I'd wake up at 11, chug some water, take some Tylenol, and go back to bed until at least noon, at which point I'd peel myself out of bed, ready to face what was left of the day.

But yesterday, Saturday, was different. Although I was no more productive than usual, I did go to work for a few hours, then came home by mid-afternoon, at which point I didn't pre-drink by myself, but instead took a delightful nap.

Then I woke up, had a shower and generally made myself presentable, waited for Christene to arrive, then went to Kristyl and Jason's stone-cooking soiree, which originally was meant to be for 6 people, but once the list was pared down to A-listers only, turned into just the four of us, which was much better.

And unlike previous Saturdays, I wasn't already half-cut upon arrival, and instead of the sounds of sports and yelling in the background (which are just fine, by the way) there was overly fancy jazzy "dinner music" playing in the background because I think Kristyl was trying to impress us.

Then we cooked our own food, drank wine instead of Jagerbombs, and then hung out for awhile. Then, around midnight, we grabbed a cab and went home, at which point we did not make any grilled cheese sandwiches, nor watch sports.

And we woke up at 9 instead of noon.

Now, keep in mind that I don't prefer one Saturday over the other - both versions involved getting pretty drunk, and both were a definite good time. They just seemed like polar opposites of each other.

One on hand, I really like grilled cheese sandwiches. But on the other, I'm not sad, drunk and alone at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Actually, now that I think of it, maybe things aren't that different. Even though I woke up early today, I still required Tylenol, and I did in fact go back to bed until 12:30.

And I think I'm gonna make a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

:: Quotes, quotes, quotes, quotes, quotes ::

From work to Beer Day to any number of events, here's some quotes from the past week or so...

"People put so much lame stuff on their Lavalife and Plenty of Fish profiles...so and so likes long walks, lattes on a cold Sunday... that's such horseshit. If I was on there, I'd get so much attention - 'Kristyl likes BJs and barbecues' is what my profile would say." - Kristyl, who is married. (and pregnant, too)

"The only reason I didn't eat half that (pot) cookie was because I was already wacked out on a bunch of other drugs." - Sean, reminiscing about his past habits, as well as a now famous trip to the Okanagan from years ago, in which a gas station stranger handed out some free baked goods. (editor's note: haha..baked. I'm so clever)

"After I book this trip my credit card is going to continue to cry and be emo, and my savings account is going to punch me in the box." - Meghan, going to Cuba.

"The bathroom is upstairs but I'd let it air out for awhile. I was just in there and I purposely didn't turn the fan on." - Bucholtz, pleased with himself during Beer Day at Scotty's.

"People who say you can have fun without alcohol are lying." - Kristyl, who can't drink since she's knocked up.

"I'd let Matthew McConaughey blow me if he asked." - Bucholtz, drunk on Beer Day.

"If you saw this puppy you would die of love." - Amanda, looking at a picture of a Shiba Inu puppy.

Watching a football game, where the team punted instead of trying to kick a ridiculously long field goal...
Buchs: I could kick that.
Sean: I know nothing about football, or kickoffs...or yards, but you could not kick a 62-yard field goal.

"If that fucking gecko tells me to buy insurance one more time I'm gonna punch him in the eye." - Bucholtz, watching TV.

Sean: Whose idea was it to watch Space Jam?
Scott, not impressed: I don't know, probably one of the three-holes' ideas.

Lance: I had to watch the worst chick flick the other night. It was so bad that I'll lose all respect for you if you say you like it.
Kristyl: What was it?
Lance: P.S. I Love You
Kristyl: Oh, I love that movie! Didn't you cry?
Lance: Only because of the time I had wasted in watching it.

:: 365 ::

"If I get sick this year, I'm kicking God's ass." - Kelsey

"Rachel has some strange obsession with the gym. It's really weird, but I'm not complaining - it makes her ass tight." - Sean

"It looked like he washed his face with a dirtier face." - Jer, talking about some dirty guy who was fired from his company.

"A girl throwing something to another girl, what did you think was going to happen? There were only two things wrong with that - throwing ability and catching ability." - Bucholtz, after two of our friends apparently failed to connect when passing each other something (I can't remember what or who)

Bucholtz: Why does everybody think I'm such a dick?
Me: Well I like you, but I've known you since you were 12 so I've gotten used to you.
Bucholtz: And by "used to me" you mean "adjusted to my wickedness."

"My mom's talking about pearl necklaces!" Kristyl, New Year's Eve at the Greek restaurant a bunch of us went to for dinner, talking a little too loud in a public place.

"I wear shorts in the summer because it's hot." - Sean, auditioning for the role of Captain Obvious.

Ian: Heeeey Nick, whadda you think about Rachel's tits?
Me: Uhhh...what?
Rachel: It's OK, they are pretty nice. And I get to touch them every day.
Ian: I get to touch them every day in my mind.

"I never say anything funny!" - Katie, aka The Wet Blanket aka WB, sad that she doesn't make enough appearances on this blog.

"I'm having an affair with your wife!" - unknown. I can't remember who said this, as I was in the other room at the time, but it obviously came after somebody obviously kissed somebody else's wife when the clock struck midnight. I heard it in the background and just thought it was funny at the time.

"I smell like vomit and maple syrup." - Christene, after hangover breakfast at Ricky's.

Bucholtz: It's about time stupid, ol' 2008 was over. I was getting pretty tired of that year.
Me: Yeah, it's old news.
Bucholtz: Straight up. Fuck 2008.

So...that was 2008.

I don't have too much to write about the past year, to be honest. It was a pretty good year for all intents and purposes. Nothing earthshattering happened to me personally - there were no groundbreaking moments or anything, but all in all, it was just a solid, entertaining 12 months. Maybe the best in recent memory.

Went to a couple weddings. Made two trips to Vegas (with a third booked for March!). The Cannons finally won Funtastic (editor's note: Fuck ya we did!). I got to spent some serious time watching my favourite hockey team from the press box, which checked off one of my life goals.

I got to be there in person to see Trevor Linden's number raised to the rafters, I went rafting, camping, curling for the first time and did plenty of golfing, too. Even bought some sweet new clubs.

And I expanded my social circle considerably as well, which is probably the part of the year I'm happiest about. As lovable as I am, I don't always meet a lot of new people that I like or that like me, and now between all my pals at the office and the patrons of the WGP, well, I have quite a few more friends than I did at this time last year, and that's good.

There was the odd shitty thing, of course. We had to put poor old Digby down, and now, for the first time since I was about seven years old, I don't have any dogs. I miss that little guy, and every time I go to my parent's house, I still open the front door slowly and carefully because I expect him to be curled up against it on the inside (that's where he slept). Old habits, I guess.

And more recently, my aunt passed away, causing immeasurably sadness, stress and grief for all of us. And though it obviously (obviously) pales in comparison, last Monday I blew two tires out on my car when I couldn't swerve to miss a pothole on my way into work.

So, no, it hasn't all been good things. But mostly it has.

As for what I expect from 2009, I don't really know, although I expect a good year. I think I'll have a bit more money to blow this year than last (thanks to the aforementioned second job, covering the Canucks), and I may end up with a new townhouse or a new truck, although I'd bet less on the first thing than the second.

And I'm planning on dropping a few pounds before we head on vacation in March, and though I know I sound like a broken record when I say it, I think 10-15 pounds is reasonable. Am I going to lose 50 or 60 like I've sometimes stated I would?

No, probably not. But that's OK. 10-15 is a good enough start.

As for the rest of the year, it has promise. Like I mentioned, a few of us are going to Phoenix and then Las Vegas in the spring to watch a Canucks game against the Coyotes, soak up some sun, drink some beers and watch some spring training baseball in the desert, which allows me for the second straight year to check off another item in my life-long goals to-do list.

Of course, there's more to that list than just baseball and hockey games, and maybe I'll check off a few of those other things too, we'll see.

Whatever happens, happens.

Should be good times.

I was going to write something about this chick right here (who I'd totally do) but then Dan at [redacted] already did, and did a better job that I would do.

Worst Bargain of 2008: Natalie Dylan's virginity

Oh those crazy whores....

:: Missing Christmas ::

An Abbotsford basketball team was trapped in San Francisco for 3 days, and very nearly had to spend Christmas at the San Fran International Airport Duty Free Shoppe.

Kelsey missed her connecting flight to Kelowna, which actually worked out fine for her, but likely fucked a number of other people, who then couldn't get another flight until after Christmas.

54,000 people were stranded at Chicago's O'Hare Airport as of last night.

And then, these are the Facebook statuses of people I know:

Amanda S. is really upset we had to turn around because of the frickin' snow. Sorry Mom and Dad :( (For the record, this morning her name said "... is so excited to spend Christmas with her family)"

T. is spending Xmas snowed in with Captain Morgan

J. is hoping I can somehow make it through the snow to get home in time

Alyssa is missing out on everything today because she's trapped

Kristine is stuck at home

Sean is snowed in

Jenna is snowed in and cold and trying to get her car from out of the middle of the street

C. missed her flight

Still lovin' that white stuff, folks?

Oh, and when I used to glance out my balcony door, I used to be able to see the townhouses across the road. Now, I see this:

For the record, although I've complained about the snow a lot this week, and got my car stuck more than few times, which then leads to a new personal record for how many times I can yell "Fuck!" in a 10 minute span, I don't mind the snow so much today because a) It kept me home from work, and b) I don't have to really drive anywhere for the next 3 days.

I just think it's sad that it's fucked up so many people's Christmases so far.

Merry Christmas, guys. May your day be filled with plenty of holiday spirit(s).

Trevor Linden, Part II

(Click here for Part I)

:: No crying in the press box ::

It was the roar that never stopped.

Four times, ceremony emcee John Shorthouse - a man who speaks for a living - tried to do just that, but was unable; each time he tried, the noise from the crowd swallowed him.

"We are...."

"We are fortunate tonight..."

Nobody listened. By the third attempt, it became something of a game - let's see how loud we can be when Shorty tries to say something. Eventually, the seasoned broadcaster just gave up, turned to the man of the hour, shrugged his shoulders, and said the only thing he could say that wouldn't be drowned out.

"Sorry Trev, I can't do it buddy..."

And then he let the crowd have its moment. Let them do what they came there to do.

Cheer.

And so they did, for as long as their lungs would allow.

Earlier in the ceremony, the proceedings seemed not to be only about No. 16, but also a tribute to the 1994 team that came within a Nathan Lafayette goal post of winning the Stanley Cup. Geoff Courtnall was there, and recieved a loud cheer, as did Kirk McLean, who famously made "The Save" off Robert Reichel in those playoffs' first round.

And Shorthouse introduced next, "Greg Adams! Greg Adams! Greg Adams!" imitating Jim Robson's famous call, when Adams sunk the Toronto Maple Leafs in the Western Conference finals.

The crowd cheered loudly for everyone, as the line blurred between player and team. At one point, you wondered if the No. 94 would be lifted up alongside 16 and 12. It was no slight to Trevor. In fact, it was somehow fitting. Nobody was about the Team more their their captain.

But after the '94 team members took their seats - including Gino Odjick, who had to buy a suit just to attend, he said - it became again about Trevor.

Eventually, he spoke.

He started by thanking the fans, insisting - as one would expect - that he was somehow unworthy of the honour being bestowed upon him. It was the fans he owed, not the other way around, he said. He thanked his many teammates, too, and management past and present.

And then, just moments before his banner was raised to the rafters, he spoke of how he wanted to be remembered. Remember this night, he said, and later on, when you come back to a game, and your brother or sister, or husband or wife, or son or daughter, asks you about the No. 16 banner that is hanging from the roof, tell them just one thing:

"Tell them he was guy who had the time of his life playing a game that he loved."

It was at this point I expected some type of reaction from the mugs in the press box alongside me. My section of the box was surprisingly empty, save for a few radio reporters and some Canuck staff members who snuck out of the in-game production office to catch a closer glimpse of history. The beat reporters who had followed Linden since Day 1 were at the other end of the rink, and maybe they got emotional, I don't know. But near me, it was fairly stoic.

Rule 1 is, after all, that there is no cheering in the pressbox. I've always stood by that rule, wherever I was. It was tough for me this time, though, because I'd only been on the Canucks' beat for three months, but had watched the team from my living room for 20 years.

I remember liking Trevor Linden as a youngster because I thought it was cool that his birthday was just one day after mine. I still recall standing in line at Safeway, just to get his autograph during some kind of promotional event. I was probably 10 years old at the time, and I wish I could remember that brief meeting in more detail, but I don't. I just know I was there, and that will have to be enough.

I remember the night my novice team played during the intermission of a Canucks/Buffalo Sabres game back at the Pacific Coliseum. I remember getting dressed in the largest dressing room I'd ever been in, and thinking that the Canucks must have been kings among men considering the luxurious surroundings they were afforded just to lace up their skates.

I remember, too, the night Trevor Linden put Jeff Norton through the glass; and I remember Game 6; and I can't forget, either, the day he left town, making himself a martyr and Messier the mosted hated man in town. To this day, he likely still is, and I'm on board with that.

And I also remember the day that Trevor Linden came back. It was in 2001, and I was still living at home. I came home late one night, it was about 1:30 in the morning. Before I went to bed, I plunked myself down on the couch to catch the late sports highlights. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the sports ticker scroll across the bottom of the page: "Vancouver Canucks acquire Trevor Linden from the Washington Capitals for a 1st rd pick."

I leapt from the couch, and woke up everyone in the house to tell them the good news. I don't think my mom and dad were too pleased to be jarred awake, but I didn't care that it was 1 a.m. Some news can't wait.

Then I went back downstairs and switched from sports channel to sports channel until I heard the news a number of times from a number of people, just to make sure it was actually true.

So yes, last Wednesday, when Trevor Linden was given the highest honour he could ever be afforded by his team, I was still much more a fan than an impartial observer. And I won't apologize for that, either.

And then, as the banner slowly ascended to its rightful place, the crowd started again. There would be no stopping them. It was, and likely will remain, the loudest and longest standing ovation I've ever witnessed

But fan or not, I did not clap my hands or raise my voice. Still didn't think it would be appropriate. There is no cheering amongst the media, remember.

There are no tears in the press box, either.

Good thing it was dark.

Trevor Linden, Part I

:: The importance of being there ::

I spent nine hours yesterday at a three-hour hockey game.

Take a minute and figure that one out.

Well, no, I wasn't necessarily at the game itself for that long, but it was all in the getting there and coming back. Yesterday, the Vancouver Canucks retired Trevor Linden's No. 16. Raised it to the rafters, never to be worn again.

Since it was announced, Dec. 17 vs. the Edmonton Oilers has been the hottest ticket in town, almost impossible to find. Being the possessor of a certain all-access pass, however, I was going. Obviously.

But then, on the morning of the big day, it started to snow. A lot – and for a very long time. And though snow and its accompanying problems are rarely long-lasting here in Vancouver, when they do happen, there's chaos for a day or so as road crews do their best to plow and salt the roads, and fellow drivers struggle in vain to remove their tuque-covered heads from their snow-covered asses.

All morning and early afternoon, I kept checking the weather and road statuses (statusii?) and never did they improve. I complained and complained, and tried to justify to myself the prospect of just going back home and watching from the comfort of my living room.

Yes, all the work required of me for my job could be done from home. No, it was not necessary for me to spend nearly 20 minutes in a blizzard unearthing my car from under five inches of powder. And nobody forced me to wear improper footwear, which left me with soggy shoes and soaking wet socks from late afternoon until I got home just before 1 a.m.

No, I didn't really have to go.

But, yes, I really did.

It was Trevor Linden.

My will-I, won't-I waffling, which culminated in my Facebook status complaining of how I didn't want to travel downtown to the game, was brought to my attention by my brother – and brought forth in stark relief, I may add, as Chris is rarely one to mince words. He would've killed to have been able to be at that game. So would've a lot of people. And we both knew it.

"Wow," he text-messaged me.

"Could your Facebook status make you sound like any more of a jerk? First of all, everyone loves snow, so get over it. Second of all, it must really suck having to get to GM Place tonight so you can sit in your free seat and watch the best game of the damn season. You ungrateful bastard."

Well said.

So I got out the ice scraper and began along my merry way.

For one hour and 20 minutes I turtled along the ice covered road, determined to stop at the first SkyTrain station I could find, and hop on.

The first station, I soon found, was a mess. Cars splayed randomly in the lot, parked like loose change tossed into a jar. So I continued on to the next stop – which I actually couldn't find, as side streets and snowbanks hampered my navigational attempts. So I went one more – my usual stop – and parked the car. Finally.

The train trip there was fine, without incident. The trip home? Not so much.

The game, scheduled to start a half hour later than usual due to TL's pregame ceremony (which was awesome, by the way, and will be subject to Part II later this week), but, as could be expected, even that cushion wasn't generous enough.

Eventually, after the ovations subsided, the chairs and carpets were folded up, and the various dignitaries and ex-players tucked snug in their VIP suite (editor's note: I had a nice, albeit quick, moment in the press box with ceremony emcee and legendary broadcaster Jim Robson, and bumped into – quite literally – longtime Canucks colour man Tom Larscheid as we both came around the same corner sharply, but in opposite directions), the game began at 7:45 – 45 minutes past the usual time.

With the delays right off the hop, I knew it would be tough to meet my 10 p.m. deadline, which I managed to get pushed back a bit. The game, and the deadline-meeting, was uneventful and successful, but I still got out of the game about an hour later than I usually do.

And when I trudged out into the cold and the slush to grab the train home, there was still, for some reason, an abundance of fans milling about. Usually by the time I leave, the trains are quite empty and peaceful.

Not tonight.

I got stuck in a train car with about 8 coke-fueled meatheads, two of whom were actual coke dealers (I know this because I heard them talking, and each had about $2,000 in cash on them at the time. I know this because one guy took out the stash and paid a kid $20 for his seat, and another dropped his wad of bills on the floor, because he was tackled by his similarly coked-out buddy.)

After about 15 minutes of getting jostled about by the aforementioned d-bags, I'd had enough. I hopped off the train at the Joyce station, planning on hopping on a following train soon after. Good idea, in theory. But, of course, the trains stopped coming.

Something about ice on the tracks a few stations ahead. Delays. Sorry for the inconvenience, a SkyTrain cop said. Thanks for your understanding, a recorded voice blared.

Fuck. You.

I stood on the train platform, shivering, for 20 minutes until the next train came. For those unaware, usually the wait is about 3-4 minutes, tops. I hopped on, and again it was busy. But at least not rowdy. Considering I'd been up since 6, at work since 7:30, and still soaking wet from the knees down, I couldn't do rowdy.

Now, the fun part.

Because of the threat of icy tracks, the train stopped at each station for 10+ minutes, while workers inspected the tracks for ice and any snow that had accumulated throughout the day. Considering I was in Burnaby and had to ride nearly to the end of the line in Surrey, this took some time.

With only 11 minutes to spare on my SkyTrain pass before it expired, my station was finally next. As the train approached the platform, it became clear that it was not going to stop. Ice on the tracks, I guess. The operators, without warning us via the loudspeaker, apparently decided the best course of action was to use the emergency stop procedure.

So the train literally screeched to a halt – imagine pulling the E-brake on your car while doing 90 km/h down the freeway – and, well, it got a little messy. People fell, bags got flung. It looked like an earthquake drill, there were so many people on the ground and in seats that did not belong to them.

I was standing at the time, and was tossed practically onto the lap of the guy in the seat next to me, my laptop bag being crushed all the while.

Then, as I suppose is customary with emergency procedures, the doors remained shut. Couldn't be opened for another five minutes – the longest five minutes in history, possibly - as the system reset itself.

Eventually, however, I hobbled out and down the stairs, and found my ice-covered car in the parking lot. By now it was well after midnight. Being so late on a Wednesday night, everything, of course, was closed – I usually grab a really late dinner at Subway on my way home – which meant I went without dinner, too.

By the time I eventually got home, at 12:45 a.m., I was too tired, too cold and too frustrated to make anything to eat. I had to be up in 6 hours for work, anyway, so I took a hot shower and crawled under the covers.

At work today, I relayed my adventure to some co-workers. And though the story ignited a fair amount of "I hate public transit" responses, some people were less understanding.

"You should've just went home. I told ya...." was a common response.

I tried to explain the game's importance. That it was an event I'd remember the rest of my sports-watching days. Twenty years from now, there will be a hundred thousand people who will purport to have been in the building the night Trevor Linden's number was lifted into the sky, desperate to feel included, desperate to say they witnessed something great.

But I was actually there. And 20 years from now, the last thing I want is to be that guy who tells people that he could've gone, but passed up the chance because he was afraid of a little snow.
I've never seen a Stanley Cup game in person, never been to the World Series or the Master's. Never seen a lot of things I wish I had.

But to add Trevor Linden Night to that ever-growing list, well, I couldn't live with that.

My co-workers still didn't understand.

Then one woman, from another department, wandered over to join in the conversation.

"You sports guys and you're 'I had to be there to see it,' nonsense," she said, shaking her head.

"I'll never understand..."

:: Hushed voices in hospital hallways ::

Last week, one of my close friends ended up in the hospital for what could have been a very serious issue, but thankfully turned out OK.

On Thursday, after work, I drove out to the hospital to visit her for a few hours. I realized as I pulled into the parking lot and found a space, that the last time I was in a hospital was when Brad had his accident and we all spent countless nights there, sitting, waiting, whispering - hoping for good news.

I'd forgotten what that was like. What it was like to be stuck in a place between good news and bad. Or, in many cases, in a place where the chance for good news had long since left the building.

It was mid-evening when I arrived. As I traipsed lazily through the hallways, trying to find my way to Ward 4D, I passed numerous other hospital visitors. I'd nod politely as I would walk past, or smile and say 'Hi,' if I happened to be sharing an elevator ride with someone. Just bein' polite, I thought.

But I forgot, I guess, where I was. A place where people come to softly whisper goodbyes to dying loved ones, or where people pace the halls, worried sick that their brother or sister or mother or father comes out of surgery still breathing.

Or the place where people huddle, quietly playing cards while keeping their darkest thoughts to themselves, waiting for a friend to wake up.

I got very little response from my pleasantries. At most, I'd be returned a nod of one eyebrow, followed by eyes fixed on the floor. At worst, I'd get daggers stared back at me, or a back turned.

But always, there was silence. I couldn't blame them.

Some people, I soon remembered, are in no mood for my good tidings.