Freestyle Haiku

R.I.P. Crocodile Hunter

2006-09-05T00:05:00.000-07:00

I thought this deserved its own post.

I know everyone sort of expected it. Every time you tuned in, you thought to yourself, "one day, that goofy bastard's gonna get it..." But at the same time, it was what he did... If anyone could juggle some scorpions while jerking off a croc with his left foot, it was steve... (ok, i dont think that ever happend., i'm just trying to make a point here. he did some pretty crazy stuff, even if that didnt exactly include juggling some scorpions while jerking off a croc with his left foot.)

The crocodile hunter met his end doing something he loved, in a way that was completely fitting. And even though he didnt want to die, that might very well be the way he would have wanted to go. Death by stingray.

None the less, i was surprisingly sad when i heard this news. i cant explain it, but i sat up in bed last night at 3am when i heard the news and thought, "what the fuck? Cmon... not the god-damned crocodile hunter!"

(you need to put that in a sad, depressed tone... not an angry one)

i'm not sure why it made me sad... but it did. and i'm not entirely sure why, but i'll miss him. i didnt watch his show very often, but he was entertaining. and he seemed like a nice guy too... at least i'm gonna assume he was a nice guy.

And so now, we, the unclean masses, are left to brave this cruel world, without the knowledge that somewhere out there, theres a crazy bastard with a think australian accent attempting to circumcize a hippo, and we'll get to watch it all next week.

all sarcasm aside, that makes my heart just a little bit heavier.

so long crocdile hunter. godspeed.

Helipad Progress

2006-09-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

You're not done yet?

I'm not gonna lie to you, it isnt the first time ive felt the bitter sting of those harsh four words. In the past, i've replied with a number of well calculated retorts, ranging from "i just need five more minutes", to "i'll catch up with you later", to "maybe i'm just not that attracted to you". On a clever day, when a question makes me wince, i'll throw out a comeback that will hopefully make the question-asker wince back, or at least think about asking such a dumb question the next time... obviously i'm not done, or you wouldnt have to ask.

In the case of my deck, i dont really blame anyone for asking, its just getting tiresome. While i'm sure there are many sarcastic or clever answers to the question, i've decided to stick with the ol' tried and true, "nope".

I'm thinking from now on, i'm just going to tell people i'm building a helicopter landing pad. I couldnt find any definitive dimensions off google, but 28'x25' is definitely big enough to land a small helicopter on...

i dont have great photo-documentation of the progress, but i do have a few photos:

This was the only photo i could find on my computer of the original deck. it looks alright here, but it was in pretty nasty shape... and the garage roof was leaking in about 20 places so it had to come off.

After all the rotting black 2x4's were peeled off, and the nasty rotten 4x4's they were sitting on, there was the shitty tar, gravel and fibreboard to deal with. Whoever thought of tar and gravel as a roofing strategy, didnt think ahead to the clean up stage.

I was in a big hurry to get that gravel off the roof... but in hindight, the all gravel roof was kind of a cool look. if the deck doenst turn out, i'll miss the gravel.

here's the frame... turns out all the cross bracing was a little bit of overkill... live and learn. i'd do a lot of things different next time... but i'm not real sure i'll ever want to build a deck again after this.

It took a while, but i did finally get to start putting down deck boards.

You know, i thought i'd get checked out by a lot more good looking women during this project... i guess i could have been more forward whenever girls walked by... and in hindsight, i think i may have been playing too much sarah harmer while i was working...

"look anna. he's hot" (ok. the choice of wording might be wishful thinking)

"no use saying anything melissa... he's listening to sarah harmer, wearing a wife beater and camo pants... he's gay."

"hmmmnn... i guess youre right"

this last photo is where i'm at now... just starting the middle portion of the deck now. it may not exactly look like it, but im thinking its about 60% done in this photo. i'm not sure exactly how im supposed to go about this last part... so im just gonna start laying down deck boards and hope for the best.

i also build a devastatingly kick-ass wood bin out of some of the warped wood and scraps from the deck... so that i could put all the other waste wood from the deck in.

you might be thinking that my choice of descriptives might be a little over the top... but no. its not. at all. it is without-a-doubt, the best wood bin ever made. i'd include a photo, but no photo could do it justice... its sort of like an amusement park, in that you really have to experience it first hand and in person.

In the event that you want to feel like you're here building the deck with me (which would be strange, since noone came out to help except my dad), Sarah Harmer's Around the Corner is currently my favorite deck building song... the deck has also heard a lot of Audioslave, Dwight Yoakham, Waylong Jennings, Pearl Jam, Corb Lund, Cub Country, Ryan Adams, and Jets to Brazil.

Bowling Team Photo Night

2006-08-31T20:28:00.000-07:00

Last night was the first night of league bowling... The league doenst officially start until next week, but on this, the first night of bowling, the teams are allowed to come out, bowl for free, and get a look at how the team's shapin' up for the up and coming season. Aaron and I used this opportunity to hold try-outs for the open two positions on the team this year. It went well all things considered. We now have 3 positions solidified, with the fourth a toss up between Brett, should he want to return to the lineup, and Grant, should he feel he can make the season-long commitment. As it is too hard on either myself or aaron, we will leave it to them to fight it out for the much covetted position, on perhaps the greatest bowling team in north america.

After we finished up on the lanes, myself, aaron and mainprize were discussing that it would have been nice to get a team photo in commemeration of the start of season 5 of the "Balls of Justice". With no access to a camera, it took some quick thinking to figure out how we were going to get that team photo, but in the end, we did manage to come up with a plan.

State of the Union

2006-08-29T22:33:00.000-07:00

Bloggin'

I'm not gonna lie to you, I havent done all that well with the bloggin'. I'm not exactly sure how to remedy the situation... I think I will start limiting the size of every post... if i wasnt seven beers to the wind right now, i would really be giving this some honest thought... but i am, and at the moment, i'm writin something... so for now, im going to consider this a small victory, and reward myself with numero 8...

which brings me to the next sub-chapter of this entry...

Holidays

Yup, I'm on 'em. My first holidays of the year... So far, I've been waking up between 9 and 10 every morning (except that one morning i was really hungover)... I then stumble around for about an hour, sometimes lay back down again, listen to the radio... maybe crank up some waylon jennings, and get up... shower. eat. and then its up to the deck... and allow let me to offer this to the masses. if you have a 25x29 foot deck, never let anyone tell you its only a couple days work. it is not. the deck is coming along, but as of tuesday, its far from done.

Myself and Mr. Matiushyk started our holidays together, but he has soured of late... perhaps it was when i slammed the movie theatre door into his achilles tendon last night... perhaps its just that he's stressed out about his garage project... perhaps life has just got him down... or maybe its me (i have noticed a few people distancing themselves from me lately, but i wrote it off to paranoia)... regardless... bowling starts again tomorrow night, and ol' tushy cant stay mad at me during the bowling season... every wednesday night is like christmas.

ive decided to drink a lot more during this, the holiday season... ive become pretty god damn responsible lately, and while i cant really rebel, i can spend the greater part of my holidays partially intoxicated.

Beerfest

Fantastic.

The Love Life

Lonely and Celibate. I'm guessin that the the two girls i once thought i might marry, will probably get married next summer. thats really not gonna make me feel too shit hot unless my situation changes sometime soon.

Jaswal

Well, Jay got himself married and moved out... He wasnt really a clean roomate, and he wasnt much for initiative when it came to housework, but ill be goddamed if i dont miss him.

The wedding was quite the experience... cracker that i am, i was sort of in awe of the sikh wedding. and while i have had my fill of indian food for the next year or so, i still throw on the turban and robe and stroll around the house from time to time.

Transportation

I bought a Land Rover. A 2000 Discovery. I didnt feel like spending anymore money on the ol' Accord, and since of late, I've felt a little souless anyway, i thought i might as well as have the gas guzzlin SUV to go along with the absence of soul. I can use it for work though, so if i do find my soul again, i can still justify the purchase, and the shitty gas mileage.

And Lastly

Check out Fred's blog... I'm quite excited about his new project. My new dream in life is to be a video game consultant on fred's game... I'll wake up really late in the afternoon, sit around eating snacks, and criticize or compliment, as the situation dictates, and help test the game code when necessary. then when the game gets off the ground, he can pay me to write new game content, test the game itself, and/or lead the online support team. naturally i cant reveal the details of the game itself, but believe me when i tell you its going to be goddam fantastic. otherwise, obviously, i wouldnt have endorsed the project, and graced it with my blessing and eventual presence.

Household Traditions

2006-06-27T22:59:00.000-07:00

It has occurred to me that i actually spend more time thinking about what to blog about than I do actually bloggin'. I've had several fantastic ideas come and go, lost somewhere in that void between drunkness or soberness, or morning and night. I had hoped that I would be a little more free and spontaneous when I started this, so in that spirit...

The time-honored house tradition of "yardwork sundays" was extended to include thursday, friday, saturday, and sunday this past week to prep the garage for a new roof and deck (there's a deck on the top of the two car attached garage) . Apparently the roofer miscalculated with his initial estimate... so, naturally, he has now doubled the original price... to try and save a few bucks, i'll be paying some bikers cash to refinish my garage roof, and taking out a line of credit so that i can put a new deck up there and actually pay for all the work... i'm sure theres no way this could end poorly for me...

At least I didnt have to pay Grant, Jaswal (or Sam) for their help...

I have yet to post about any of our fantastic achievements on yardwork sundays... we've gotten drunk raking out the dead grass this spring and caused an accident by waving at passing cars, we cleaned out 50 years of spruce needles from the giant tree in the front yard, built some planters, and have now stripped the tar, gravel and fibreboard off a flat-roofed garage... but many years from now, when reminiscing over the time that Grant and Jaswal lived upstairs, while i definitely wont forget the invaluable assistance they gave me with the yard, who could ever forget the image of three heterosexual men (allegedly) rollerblading together with a weiner dog. Yup, today marks the first (and possibly last) Rollerbladin' Tuesday.

Until a couple of years ago, I was happily unaware of the bad rap rollerblading had acquired. I enjoy rollerblading... its good excercise, and a nice change from jogging. Apparently though, at least according to some of the feedback shouted at me over the past few summers, its no longer considered the most heterosexual of activities... I find this strange, particularly due to its relation to hockey. I thought maybe i was misinformed at first, but several people have confirmed the public opinion for me now. i still rollerblade, im just unfortunately aware what at least a few of the people who see me rollerblading may or may not be thinking when they see me roll by.

This evening past, the dog guilted me into some recreation time, and feeling a little too lazy to go for a run, i figured she could tow me around on the blades... right as i was strappin' on the ol' boots, jaswal comes home and decides he wouldnt mind coming along... so jaswal goes for his blades, and who strolls up but old "Sags" Masson, who unbeknownst to anyone but the gods, had felt the urge to do a little bladin' for some time now himself. And so it was settled... the three of us would rollerblade through mill creek ravine, at a pace set by a small black weiner dog with bad front legs... the gayness of the situation was not lost on us by any means, but secure in our hetreosexuality, we plodded on.

If only we would have all worn speedos

As I have no photo of the event, I can only offer this photo in an attempt to illustrate the joy Rollerbladin' Tuesday has brought us.

Life ain't easy. There's alot of people I know going through some pretty heavy shit these days. People are losing family members, ending relationships, struggling with shitty jobs, and fighting to make ends meet. At the end of the day, we're all left trying to figure out how to make ourselves and the people close to us happy... and not many things are as hard to attain as genuine, prolonged happiness. Personally, I'm pretty fucken miserable and lonley, so i'm the last guy to offer any advice... And quite frankly, there are too many people out there who think they have good advice to offer, but i did actually hear some good advice today... do your best to enjoy the moment your living in, and maybe, just maybe, itll make it a little easier to start looking optimistically to the future, and/or accepting the past.

Well, i'm here to tell you that its pretty tough to worry about all the shitty things in your life while your coasting along behind a weiner dog on a pair of rollerblades...

(for the record, rasta isnt actually a weiner dog, but she looks like one)

Stay Poor. Stay Happy.

2006-06-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

Amen Brother.

I'll blog about money and happiness and fulfillment a little later. i do have a thing or two to say about that topic, but lets get to the really important stuff first, and thats a really cool band getting the fucken screws at the iTunes Music Store.

Note: I'm viewing the Canadian version of the iTunes Music Store.

I suppose the fact that you can now download Cub Country's latest album, Stay Poor. Stay Happy through the iTunes store is extremely positive, my only complaint is with the album review they chose to use their. I've only listened to the album once from start to finish so far, but its pretty much what i expected, and i like it alot. Anyone who enjoyed the first album, High Uinta High will also more than likely enjoy the new(er) album. Unfortunately, if you use the review currently provided by the iTunes Music Store to help you make the decision, you might not choose to give this album a chance.

I appreciate the criticisms provided by Ronnie D. Lankford Jr. of the All Music Guide. I'll even go so far as to say he makes some valid points. Some valid, yet critical points. Which is fine. But how often do you see the official, non-user album review commit over half the text to the more negative aspects of the album? Pick a band you hate and look them up on Amazon.com or iTunes and try to find a negative initial review.

So a really cool indie band, writing songs that actually have some artistic integrity, and say something and/or tell a story, gets a review that dissuades people from buying the album? Meanwhile, a piece of fucken horseshit band like Nickelback gets a series of album reviews that blows sunshine up their unoriginal collective ass.

So alright, some of the songs on Stay Poor. Stay Happy might seem a little long, and they might start to lose your attention if your not in the right mood, or not a fan of that particular type of song... but where the hell are the overwhelming number of valid criticisms one could provide regarding your more popular mainstream bands.

According the review over at the iTunes Music Store, Chad Kroeger fills that crappy "Photograph" song with "brooding nostalgia, and their most recent album "clinches Nickelback's claim to rock's top ranks".

Sweet jesus whats wrong with people?

I decided to go some through Nickelback lyrics before I wrote anything about them... they remind me of a kid in grade 9 english trying to come up with short lines that rhyme. It doesnt really bother me that people like the band, its that they have the nerve to defend the bands shortcomings... because compared to a band with well thought out, intelligent well arranged lyrics, Nickelback lyrics might as well be written by a string bean. And I'm not going to go to the trouble of actually listening to a Nickelback song, but im pretty sure from what i remember from the all too many times i've come across them on the radio, that they tend to steer away from making any songs that stray too far from the sound of any one of their other songs... So if songs over 5 minutes long can start to lose a listener's attention, im thinking so can an album full of songs that all essentially sound the same.

I could trash Nickelback for many many more pages, cause i just dont like them at all. I watched a documentary on them once. I already didnt care for them, but the documentary really intensified my passionate disdain for them. Then they fired Ryan Vikadel, who used to play with Corb Lund, and i hated them some more (although i'm happy i no longer have to split my allegiance, and i can dislike the band in its entirity), and rally, i didnt think that was possible... However, I'm really starting to get away from my point here.

Cub Country's Stay Poor. Stay Happy may not be for everyone, but it pains me to see a relatively unknown band I appreciate and enjoy get such a relatively crappy review, that the iTunes masses will happen upon, and possibly use to make a decision whether or not to buy the album. If anything, shouldnt our multimillionaire pop stars be held to a higher standard than a struggling independent band? It wouldnt be hard for me to put together a slightly more accurate (if a little more critical) review of Nickelback's last album... Ofcourse, I might have to listen to it, for which i would require some sort of payment.

As I attempt to conclude this blog entry, I'm not sure where I was initially going with this, or where I ended up? At the end of the day, perhaps I just wanted to document my feelings about Nickelback?

Let me summarize by saying that I like Cub Country... I wish more people would listen to them. I dont like Nickelback. I wish a lot less people would listen to them.

Stay Poor. Stay Happy is really good. I highly recommend downloading If We Should Fall, or Be Your Own Hitman, or at least listening to the tracks they offer for free on their website... And if you like what you hear, perhaps you can wonder over to the old iTunes Music Store and write a review.

var health:value = low;

2006-05-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

So I figured it was time to healthy up for a few days here... we've got a few days off before the oilers start up their drive for the cup again, and ive got to do something to make my organs happy... (yes liver, i did recieve your memo)

i like to think that i'm the sort of fellow who'll throw back a few beers when he feels like throwing a back a few beers. And... I like to think its all on the up and up. I'm a pretty peaceful and fun-lovin drinker, so at the end of the day, everbody wins if you ask me. But, I guess every once in a while, you have to step back and examine your life in a more sober, contemplative state. And quite frankly, things could be a lot better. I feel like hell these days, and the combination of the beard, unkempt hair, and monstrous beer gut arent exactly teaming up for an impressive aesthetic presentation... seperately, each of them is a thing of beauty... that goes without saying... but together, i guess its just too much to take in all at once.

waking up to a daily anxiety attack is getting old fast too. the only think i want creeping into my brain at 5am is how glorious my 7am bowel movement is going to be.

but i digress...

against my own wishes, ive decided to set some goals for myself. i'm not going to write these goals down this evening, cause its boring me just thinking about all this, for some reason, i just thought i should document this crossroads. Then, when im laying on my back on the floor two sundays from now, fatter, shaggier and ridiculously hungover, i can read this, and say "shit, i remember that night... i sure had some good intentions."

and, 10 years from now, when im still single and alone... right before i start an evening of applying the dewey decimal system to my vast collection of internet porn, i can read this and think, "dammit, if i only would have followed through...".

who am i kidding... a collection of internet porn big enough to require library like shelving and the dewey decimal system would be fucken awesome. it looks like my list of goals for the summer just got one item longer.

The Old Playoff Grind

2006-05-26T19:32:00.000-07:00

You hear a lot about how hard the playoff drive is for a professional athlete, particularly with sports like hockey and basketball where the teams play every other night. Nagging injuries never really get a chance to heal, and essentially, i suppose, the body starts to wear down. I dont follow basketball very closely, but i know every year at the end of the NHL playoffs you hear about some guy who played with a broken foot, or a dislocated shoulder, or a severed liver, or a really really bad papercut. You read or hear those stories, and quite frankly, its tough not want to buy-in to the old cliché that its no longer about the money come playoff time. As a sportsfan, I choose to put my cynicism aside and believe that the love of the game and a general desire to win take over come playoff time, and thats why our favorite players are able to play through such grievous injuries and ailments.

Thats all well and nice, but I'm hear to tell you that its not just the players who are sacrificing themselves on a nightly basis. In fact, I'm here to tell you that its not the players who face the toughest grind at all...

Earlier on in this the 2006 NHL playoff run, Ryan Smyth of the Edmonton Oilers took a puck in the face and lost 3 teeth. He only missed 3 shifts. When me and my friends witnessed that spectacle, we had no choice but to crack a beer and toast the motherfucker. And when he stepped back on the ice and the crowd started to chant his name, we cracked another round in his honor. "Smytty" would later assist on the overtime winner, and not just any overtime winner, but a triple overtime game winning goal. At that point it was pretty much our duty to celebrate, and celebrate we did. Responsibility and career be damned... youre gonna wake up for work every day for the rest of your life, but Smytty and the 'Oil' are only gonna take down the mighty Red Wings in triple overtime during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, once, maybe twice in a lifetime. That was a great night... but a shitty morning.

As the playoff run continues, it has become my duty to drink a certain number of beers every game... to celebrate every goal with a beer, and even to increase my drinking when the need arises to change the momentum of the game if my team starts to look unmotivated. A lot of people dont know this, but the inspiration and motivation level of a sports team is directly tied-in to the cosmic aura and energy of every one of its fans. We are all one... and therefore, my enthusiasm and superstitions will effect this universal oneness. When I cheer at home in my basement, it adds to the amount of positive energy, and somewhere, deep within the subconscious of each one of the Edmonton Oilers, they are affected by this increase in positive energy, and will actually play better as a result. You dont necessarily have to believe this, but its why we scream at the TV screen during sporting events, its why we curse at referees, and its why we yell out coaching strategy with no chance of ever being heard by anyone who could implement our sage-like advice. And contrary to popular belief, none of these things are done in vain.

And that is why when Steve Staios blocked a puck with his balls the other night, I shotgunned a beer for him and bellowed my approval and sympathy in the general direction of the tv screen. If you were watching closely, he looked right at the tv camera on his way off the ice and thanked me for my approval sympathy with an all-knowing glare. It was as plain as day if you knew what to look for.

So, I think we can all agree... As a diligent fan, i dont have any choice but to stick with what works... if the Oilers win when I drink, Ive got no choice but to drink... and if the Oilers need me to head down Whyte Avenue after every win, drunk as a fish, screaming and chanting, I'll do it, but I'll be damned if it isnt starting to get to me. In an attempt to get up for, and drink the appropriate volume of booze every game, i am starting to break down... I cant remember the last time I felt this completely worn out and unhealthy. Between the booze, the lack of sleep, and ofcourse the buffets and fast food required to fuel the booze-filled sleepless nights, my liver and heart have both officially filed for workers compensation.

The professional athlete pushes his body to limits he or she didnt know they had in times like these. I know my body's limits, and we're way fucken past them. Will I continue on this path of destruction? Ofcourse. I'm sue as hell not going to be the one that cost the Oilers the Stanley Cup. We all have to do our part. Thats what the playoffs are about. Sacrifice.

So when I look over in the gridlocked traffic during the 8:30am-late-for-work weekday rush, and see a pale and sickly hungover guy in the car next to me, drinking water and slugging back tylenol with a beer stained oiler jersey draped over the passenger seat... i'm salutin' that motherfucker.

Drunk and loyal fan... it is you that is the true unsung hero of this years playoff run. Godspeed brother. See ya at the unemployment office.

Assassinatin'

2006-05-09T22:50:00.000-07:00

as·sas·sin

n.

One who murders by surprise attack, especially one who carries out a plot to kill a prominent person.

Assassin - A member of a secret order of Muslims who terrorized and killed Christian Crusaders and others.

So, I went to see Lucky Number Slevin tonight, which I liked... and afterwards, I thought perhaps I would write a review of the movie, so that one day, many days from now, i could look back (read my old blog) and say, "hmmn, looks like i enjoyed Lucky Number Slevin, lets see what i liked about it...".

As absolutely fantastic as i predict that moment could have been, I was looking over my previous two blog entries, and i realized that i couldnt follow up somthing as personal as a social commentary on my own matters of the heart with just a simple movie review. i couldnt follow up a post about my troubles with love and life with a couple of thumbs up and a plot summary. Nope, I was gonna have to give a lot more of myself to keep the theme of this blog consistent... Keep peeling back the emotional layers of the onion that is nickel if you will. And therefore, this evening, as a special treat, I have decided to write a few paragraphs regarding my thougths, personal recollections and experiences regarding assassins, assassinatin' and the art of assassination.

I should start by saying that eveything youve probably heard by now is true. I used to be an assassin. Only my almost overwhelming talent and ability allows me to announce that here in this public forum, without fear of revealing my identity to those that might do me harm. i am retired now however, so you can all sleep a little easier (ya, i mean you matiushyk). I know you all have questions at this point, ive heard them all before a million times... Have I ever stared into another man's eyes while i pumped 5 bullets through his skull? You betcha. Have I ever had a mans head in a vice while his 4 children stood by and watched me pop his bloody eyeballs clear out of his head? Ofcourse. And have i ever used a long range sniper rifle to make a eneuch of a high ranking official who may or may not have cheated on his vengeful scorned wife? I think that goes without saying.

I was probably one of the top three assassins in the world for quite some time, even though I was only awarded the title once (the IAORA shoud be fucken ashamed of themselves). But after a while, you just start to ask yourself "am i still the assassin i was a few years ago?"; "Can I still maintain the level of assassinatin' that i used to?"; And, "Do i want to besmirch my name and legacy amongst the assasin community by holding on too long?" Ofcourse I didnt want to.

Well, there was all that and the tendentitis in my ankle.

Anyway, I'm not really sure where i was going with this...

I'm not going to lie to you, I was never really a full-fledged assassin in the more rigid, more tradional sense of the term, that is (this will probably come as a surprise to those girls i was talking to at the bar last night. The business cards were a bit of an embellishment. The "deadlier than a cobra" part is the gods honest truth though). When i say I wasnt a full-fledged assassin, i mean i was an assassin, just not the stereotypical hollywood type of assassin'... I'm only telling you all this because I dont want anyone to think i was trying to pass myself off as something i'm not. Quite frankly, thats just not what i'm about.

The truth is, back when i was 8, Leanne Schmidt gave me half her peanut butter and jam sandwich to kick Michael Irving in the shins... Ya, it still haunts me... and ya, i do have problems sleeping at night. I probably always will. It goes with the territory. You live with it and move on. Thats all anyone can do.

I gave it all up a few years ago though, cause the truth is, that lifestyle is pretty hard on a guy. That, and there just comes a time when you ask yourself "dont i have more to offer than this?" and maybe you want to tell people "god-dammit, theres more to me than just this cold-blooded killer you see standing before you, i'm a human being too." and every once in a while you just want to scream out "fuck, i can be a fucken positive role model for the fucken kids, just give me a fucken chance."

Sure, I still assassinate a few beers on occassion... but am I still the guy you need to worry about when your old man comes up a few hundred thousand bones short to the wrong people, after a bad day a the track (ya, i mean you matiushyk)? No. Thats not me anymore.

Can I help you when your girlfriend steals your savings and your '87 Reliant to run off with a lesbian crack whore, named Bethanie, to start a booster juice franchise in some small mexican border town (ya, i mean you matiushyk). Yes. I can. But only because its happend to me before. Twice. These days though, my help will come in the form of advice, not assassinatin'.

I think we can all agree that i have some pretty good insight into the world of the assassin, even if the morenarrow-minded people among us dont consider me a full-fledged assassin, per say. And so, as you all run off to watch Lucky Number Slevin over the following weeks,you'll have some questions... and i guess what i'm trying to say in this blog entry, is that i'm here as a resource for you. Unfortunately, I'm sure many of you will even consider a career in assassination, and i'll warn you right now, i'm not going to encourage you... but if youre that passionate about it, i might be able to steer you in the right direction and/or write you up a letter of reference.

I really hope i cleared some things up for those of you who have seen the movie already too. Hopefully I've managed to paint a more accurate picture of the lifestyle, cause lets face it, Hollywood is a little full of shit when it comes to this stuff.

You can contact me at superkickassworldclassassassin@darkandstormynight.org with any further inquiries or discussion you might have or want to pursue.

___________

"I'm a world-class assassin fuckhead"
- Mr. Goodcat

Life is a Jug of Beer with a Girl that Broke Your Heart

2006-05-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

Life isnt really all that funny. I'm thinking that whoever originally coined that pearl of a cliche was being a little short-sighted. Life can be funny, but i dont think life is necessarily keeping the majority of us in stitches these days... The most that i'd be willing to concede, is that perhaps "Life is clever". I've had more than a few beers with Life, in fact, and she was always pretty droll and somber... sure, she did have a great ass... and we always respected each other... but in the end, we never really saw eye-to-eye on things.

Many, many days from now, when I look back and think about the time I spent with Life, I'll probably think that life was sort of amusing in a strange way, but i'm certainly not gonna forget what a pain in the ass Life was either.

And Life was in fine form last night...

Apparently, Life thought it would be funny if i went for a beer with an old friend, who i may or may not have dated, and who i was pretty convinced i'd still be with right now. Life, ofcourse, knows all about my plight, and the difficulty I've had putting that little flame behind me, so life waited until i had no plans one evening, waited for my phone to ring, then kicked back with a plate of nachos and a cocktail, and enjoyed the show.

The combination of consistently and simultaneously making me laugh and want to have sex has only been really abundant in one girl i've ever been with, and she had just invited me me for a drink. Despite her faults, and the fact that she tore out my heart and stepped on it... several times... she's possibly the most engaging person i've ever met, and one of the prettiest... And i've missed her. I've definitely tried not to, and i'll deny it, but i have missed her. I dont pine all that much anymore, and i like to believe that i dont necessarily want her back, but there are less than a handful of people who havent been in my life for a long time that i still miss on a daily basis, and I've reserved a spot for her on that list.

and so, i went for a drink with her.

The way things ended between us was ugly (and i was definitely on the recieving end of the ugly), but i've always tried to rationalize and sort of forget about about that, focussing more on the good times. Back in those days, i'd see Life, pat her on the back and tell her how funny she was. "Good ol' Life", i'd say, "you've definitely got some issues, but youre alright".

Last night, as i was sitting on that barstool, drinking my beer, listening to some pretty mediocre music and trying not to admire how pretty the girl i was sitting with was, or how much i liked her new haircut... when something in the back of my head subliminally threw out that all too familiar phrase...

Life's alot of things, I thought, but life isnt all that funny. Sure, Life has provided us with some hilarious moments, such as "man gets hit in the groin by football", but i dont feel that Life's ever truly sustained a steady, reliable level of comedy.

Perhaps "Life is a Pain in the Ass" just wasnt quite optomistic enough.

"Life is like a Box of Choclates" has gotten a lot of press in the past, but it has a few too many gaping holes in it to be all that credible. There's a pretty wide range of interpretation there, from the choclate addict, to the poor schmuck who's mortally allergic to choclate. And while a box of choclates may generally have positive connotations in our culture, i think we've all encountered that one really shitty box of choclates full of crap that noone likes. "Life is like a box of choclates" just doesnt quite pin it down accurately enough. And contrary to old Mrs. Gump's philosophy, occassionally you know exactly what youre going to get.

I knew long before i got to that old neighborhood pub that i was going to be happy to see her again, that she'd make me laugh, and that she was probably going to look really pretty, and that i'd inevitably sneak in at least one sarcastic and slightly bitter remark about her dumping me. I also knew that i'd probably be a little sad when the night was over, and i knew that i'd spend a good part of the next day thinking about her. i knew that i'd be really angry at some point today, and then sad, and that i would inevitably pack my gym bag at some point, then sit on the couch with a six pack of beer and tell myself i'd go the gym tomorrow (i definitely underestimated how tasty those beers would be).

I also had a hunch i wasnt going to have to pay for my beer.

When you dump someone, it is common courtesy to pay for as many as their first three beers if you choose to take them out for beer afterwards. There are certain schools of thought that would have you beleive you shouldnt pay for a single beer if you are the scorned party, but that really is relationship specific.

There was a point I remember being as lost in the moment as i could possibly be, simultanously remembering every fantastic conversation we had ever had, and every touching moment we ever shared. But, unfortunately i suppose, it was right about that time, that the combined voice of every logical, rational, and pessimistic thread of my being reminded me that she wasnt mine anymore, and forced me to reflect on that fateful day less than 24 hours after we broke up, when i saw her car in front of her new boyfriend's house... that imagery is generally how i snap myself out of any blissful longing period i might encounter. if i could have taken a picture, that single image would perfectly and intensely sum up pain, misery, deceit and a complete loss of hope and faith. i would frame that picture and keep it for the artistic geniuos and merit, but it would have to go in the back of the closet, cause it would kill me to have to see it again.

And so, in hindsight, I offer up "Life is a Jug of Beer with the Girl that Broke Your Heart" as the Life metaphor of the next generation; Its full of a lot of nice memories, and at least a few intensely shitty ones... its awkward at times, but not entirely unpleasant... you find yourself desiring that which is completely beyond your means... the constant glimmer of hope is always present, but overwhelmingly unrealistic... someone else will inevitably end up with the things you want... and you may not regret it at the end, but you'll probably be forced to wonder if there was something more enjoyable, or at least productive, that you could have done with your time...

I'm thinking that there are probably a lot of us who spend more time scowling at life than laughing at it. And as good of a time as you can have without going home with the girl that broke your heart, you will probably be more inclined to scowl at the memory of that evening than laugh at it. It might not be a bitter scowl, it might be a more of a "why did she have to look so good" scowl, but its a scowl none the less.

The greatest moments of my life havent necessarily been associated with any sort of achievment or accomplishment. And I cant exactly describe the moments i've been the happiest in my life, nor can i remember them all. Probably because theyre not quite as vivd as the more painful ones. They've represented contentment, hope, faith and some degree of heightened joy. Theyre those moments when life doesnt feel quite as heavy... the nights when you stay up all night because you dont want them to end. The days you forget to worry about that next mortgage payment, the bad relationship, shitty job, or sick relative... possibly because youre too busy drinking beer and arguing about hockey or music or the best way to catch a mouse that is too intelligent for any mouse trap ever devised by man. Theyre the times you cant stop laughing at things youre sure noone else would find funny. And... theyre those fleeting moments that youre too lost in the moment to think about all the unfunny shit that life is about to deal you.

So if we choose to share a jug of beer with the girl that broke our heart, who can blame us? Because no situation better represents life than the hour youre about to spend with that girl. Sure you might rehash some pretty shitty times in your mind, but its also a reminder of those times when everything seemed like it might just go as planned... those mornings when you woke up with a beutiful girl sleeping beside you, a dog asleep on the end of the bed, some grass to cut, and a dinner with the girlfriends parents that you got to skip because it was your best friends birthday. We spend a lot of time, money and energy to create those moments when we get to escape from everything shitty in life, and therefore we'll ineveitably spend a lot of time, money and energy to re-live them. A lot of the best times of our lives are the times we spend sitting around talking about the best times of our lives, and so, i guess, there are those of us willing to endure some pain if it means we get to relive those times.

We drag ourselves through a whole lot of shit to experience the all too infrequent good times life has to offer. So the next time I'm sitting in a bar and see some guy awkwardly hugging a girl he's obviously attracted to, but not "with", with a jug of beer on the table and a genuine but almost forced smile on his face, i'm going to raise my glass to that poor fucker, and silently remind myself that that's what its all about... its not funny, its not a beach, and it sure as shit isnt a box of choclates. Sitting at that table, confused, hopeful, sad, happy, a little optomistic, but mostly pessimistic, with both the greatest and worst moments of your life flashing through your brain... thats Life.

A Loss of Innocence

2006-04-29T23:14:00.000-07:00

on this, the twenty-ninth day of april two thousand and six, i can no longer claim that i have never attended a bikini carwash.

it was a pleasant day. a day that started out like so many days before it... the phone rang a few times, the dog made me get up to let her outside, i drank some iced tea, turned on the radio and went back to sleep. i wasnt feeling all that great, and i knew i'd need my strength for the afternoon's hockey game. playoffs, round one, game five... i needed to bring my 'A' game.

my dad came over right before the hockey game started (the oilers beat detroit, 3-2) and helped himself to one of our beers. the old man, like any father might, assumed that his single, 30-year old son, was a veteran of many, many bikini car washes. there was really no point in tarnishing his opinion of me regarding this matter, so i went along with it. he then went on to proclaim that he had noticed a bikini carwash on his way over to the house, and that this particular bikini car wash was staffed with some particularly attractive young ladies. its worth pointing out that all guys placed in this situation will initially act like theyre going to rush over to the bikini carwash, but in reality, statistics have shown that less than 2% of guys will actually follow through with it. as the conversation moved back to hockey, it looked as if we might once again fall into the all-too-predicatbale 98% who do not attend the bikini carwash.

my dad left before the second period of the hockey game started but he had accomplished what he came here to do. long before the second period was over, jaswal and me had realized what we had to do. it was an unspoken knowledge that there business we needed to attend to... on this day, things would be different... on this day, we would draw a line in the sand... and on this day, we would go to the bikini carwash... my 65-year old father had essentially thrown down the proverbial gauntlet, and we were not the type of men to allow gauntlets to be thrown down without doing something about it.

in commenting on the car wash, he had stated his challenge, essentially claiming that he was more of a man than us for even noticing the car wash. and with the coy subtelty of an old grey fox, he had cleverly implied that we were not fit to call ourselves men if we allowed this opportunity pass us by. when he went so far as to provide us the directions, he had left us no alternatives... in poker terminolgy, we had no outs.

and besides all that, it was a good excuse to go and buy some more beer. we were getting low.

having seen both "bikini carwash 1 and 2" i had some pretty high expectations for our upcoming adventure. i cant remember if the bikini carwash movies were based on true stories, but i was pretty sure that they represented what happend there pretty accurately. and so, there was certainly a nervous air of anticipation as we pulled down the driveway and started down the street towards the carwash. at one point, jay even offerered up the option of just picking up the beer and skipping the carwash, but if this was going to be anything like the bikini carwash in the movies, it was going to be the best day of my life, and i sure wasnt going to let a few nerves scare me away from all that. The oilers were winning, i slept till noon, and now, i was about to let scantily clad women, who would undoubtedly want to have sex with me, clean my car while flirting with me and spraying soapy water at each other... life really doesnt get much better than that.

i was starting to wish that i would have made it to the gym a couple times over the past week. this was gonna be a big day.

we sat at the entrance to the carwash for a good minute, waiting for our anxiousness to pass, and silently considering the many wonderful thigs that were about to happen to us. finally, i nodded at jaswal with a sheepish grin and pulled into the inpromtpu wash bay.

the first sign that this might not be the beautiful and life altering experience i was hoping for was the absence of anything resembling a smile on the faces of our vehicle sanitation engineers-to-be. we pulled up, rolled down the windows, and endured an awkard moment of silence before we were informed that we now owed the young ladies twenty five dollars. now, while twenty-five dollars might seem like a lot for a carwash, i dont feel in any way that this is too much money to pay for a bikini carwash... and thus, i quickly ponied over the dough. the ladies didnt take credit cards, so jaswal said he'd cover the beer. i was fine with that.

i'm not gonna lie to you, i disregarded the lack of smiles and witty firltacious conversation and was still a little giddy at first... while my old man's claims were a little lofty, the girls were quite attractive, and while something felt a tad sleezy about girls in bikinis washing my car in the parking lot of a crappy neighborhood pub, the car was pretty dirty, so if questioned, i could always claim i was only there for the carwash, and that the "chrome girls" had a widely acknowledged reputation for their car washing abilities and prowess.

my expectations and excitement started to fade just a little bit more as the complete lack of waterfighting and playful carwashing hijinx hit me like a brick wall... where were the water fights, and sexy slow motion hair tosses? where were the fake breasts pressed against the windows of my car? where were the dripping wet girls flirting with me and asking me to have sex with them and their two friends in the back seat? and where the hell was the cheezy 80's metal music, setting the mood for this whole scene? i'm willing to take some responsibility for the lack of 80's metal playing in the background, but i can only blame the "chrome girls" for all the other shortcomings. i was starting to think that maybe the bikini carwash movies had misrepresented the bikini carwash. unlike the movies, these girls seemed pretty serious about washing the vehicle, quickly none the less, and did not look so much like they were having the time of their lives. i tried one last time to experience the carwash i remebered from the movies, but as i looked longingly at one of the girls, waiting for her to do something sexy or motion me into the washroom of the pub, she caught me looking at her, we made eye contact, and she frowned at me... i'm not entirely sure what the emotion that came over me at that point in time was... it could have been shame, or embarrassment... i dont know, but it sure as hell wasnt unbridled joy.

i had yet to count one sexy hair toss, or even half a breast pressed against my windshield, and now i was being frowned at. something inside of me began to feel very empty.

there would be no soaking wet, sexy hair tossing, water fighting girls, or flirtacious prancing around my car to the sounds of poison's "unskinny bop". I'll admit, the bikini carwash might have been a lot more fun if i would have put more effort into striking up some conversation... as with almost all things in life, a few extra beers might have really helped things along... but the bikini carwash was not supposed to be like a relationship. i didnt want to have to put an effort in to make it work. i wanted the bikini carwash to give, without any effort on my part. i did not want to drive away feeling like i let the bikini car wash down, or that i was not good enough for the bikini carwash.

i am sure that all of the "chrome girls" are lovely young ladies, and im sure i would have to consider myself quite lucky to get a date with any one of them... but i will never forgive them for ruining the bikini carwash of my boyhood dreams.

we drove away from the carwash knowing that we were no longer the innocent and naive young men we had been when we left the house that day. we might still load up the bar fridge with beer, slap on some speedos, and wave at cars from the garage balcony, but we had lost something we could never get back, something that would forever effect every action and event in our lives from this day forth. there are things in life you dont forget, lessons you cant unlearn, memories you cant chase from the back of your mind, no matter how hard you might try. i dont consider myself a better or worse person for experiencing what i experienced today, but i will wake up every morning for the rest of my life, with one less strand of hope, with one less dream, and because of that, my heart will feel just a little bit heavier.