Today's Entry From...

...the Why Do I Even Care File:

First, to be clear, I found the following from this post on Fire Joe Morgan (a site where, if you haven't checked it out, they basically slam sports columnists for being stupid and ignorant).

But I had no idea what heights Skip Bayless' righteous indignation can reach until I read this.

Now, at the risk of repeating myself, I don't watch American Idol. But even I can point out a plethora of major errors in this nitwit's writing.

Examples?

Randy Jackson is a producer... why should he have to be able to sing?!?

Clay Aiken didn't win anything. Except maybe a Deryck Whibley look alike contest...

Like, shouldn't a major (to use the term very loosely) "news" outlet like ESPN at least employ fact-checkers?

Simple things...

Short background.

The Memorial Day long weekend is typically the Alma Highland Games, which are the US Pipe Band Championships and are located in Michigan. This is often the first road trip of the year for bands, but for a variety of reasons we did not attend this year.

Anyway, considering that is was the "Alma Weekend", it got us talking at the pub this afternoon about all of our memories, and such... eventually turning to experiences with American beer...

Lynda: So, have you ever had Busch?
Me: {speechless, then doubling over laughing}
Lynda: No! That's not what I meant!!!
Me: {still laughing}
Lynda: Well, Alma was the first time I tried Busch.
Me: {again, doubled over laughing}
Lynda: Noooooooo!!!
Me: Could you have possibly phrased that worse?
Lynda: {sigh} Anyway, Alma was the first time I tried Busch...
Me: {still laughing}
Lynda: ...and it tasted awful.
Me: {on the floor}

You can't make this stuff up.

With Thanks to Gibby...

I'm a bit psychic

I have no idea why I remembered this, but I can't help but share...

Arguably the two events since I graduated that should have shocked me the most, were of almost no surprise at all.

On my way to the farewell party for Greg, Pat and Neil at Greg's cottage (well, not Neil... he wasn't there... but whatever), I got this terrible ache in my stomach that something awful was about to happen sometime around when I was turning onto Hwy 8 in Waterloo. I started to wonder if there might be a surprised visitor at the cottage. Perhaps someone I didn't want to see was going to be there. No, it couldn't be. That's an incredibly long drive........

Well, when I arrived in Bayfield, I pulled up at Greg's cottage, and what did I spy? Yellow VW Beatle. Ohio plates. Turns out it had arrived about an hour previously, or approximately when I was passing through Waterloo. Much swearing ensued, though I wasn't over surprised. More amazed, I guess...?

Now, just this past July, I'm out playing golf with Oakden (and he can corroborate my story, unlike the first one which you kinda have to take my word for since I was driving alone) on Sunday afternoon once everyone else had left his cottage, and I brought up the fact that for reasons that I can't put my finger on, I'm a bit leery about calling the girl I was seeing when I got home.

Oaks: Why is that?
Me: I think she's going to end it.
Oaks: Why do you think that?
Me: I have no idea. Just a vibe.

On Monday, I got what will forever be known as "The Text Message"...

PS: Please tell me that someone knows why I have a picture of Daphne from "Frasier" up? ...... No? Crap...

I guess it makes sense....

In the last week, I've had the chance to see two of my oldest friends for the first time in a while...

I've known Teresa since we played in our first pipe band together back in the day, and she moved to Winnipeg about 9 months ago, while I've known Walter since we were about 4, and has been travelling around the world for well over a year now, and has been working in Bahrain since the beginning of last June. The past couple of weeks were their first times home in a while, and I discovered something funny...

First, let me be clear: I know I'm a dick. I know I'm moody, and a general pain in the ass a lot of the time.... but it seems that two of the people I've been close with for the longest time just don't take my shit. In fact, they throw it right back at me the same as I dish it out, if not more! If I had a penny for every time T-Money and I had an exchange like...

[random bickering, with someone eventually making an irrefutable point, in this case for the sake of argument, Teresa]
Me: I hate you.
T$: I hate you more!
[pause]
Me: Can't you just feel the love?

I'd be a rich, rich man... but she's like my sister, and basically has taken more shit from me than anyone I can think of.... while also shitting on me a considerable amount.

I don't know that I have a point anymore.

If you're ever at a loss for words

Best toast ever....

Here’s to the women we've met, and to the women we've fucked,
And to those amongst us who've had no such luck.
Here’s to beer in the glass, and vodka in the cup,
Here’s to pokin' her in the ass, so she won’t get knocked up.
Here's to all of you, and here's to me,
together as friends we'll always be,
but if we should ever disagree,
then FUCK ALL OF YOU, HERE'S TO ME!

Last Place You'd Expect To Find Something Meaningful

Yes, reading Tucker Max this morning before going to visit my grandparents (wow, that felt kinda awful just to write), but I stunned myself when I found two actual honest-to-God quasi serious comments from the third leg of his book tour this winter.

As it's an incredibly long post, so I'll cut 'n paste the pertinent parts here:

I forgot about this at first, but I want to address it:

Last night these three girls from Skidmore came out to the signing. They were 18 year old freshman, nice girls, and they had one main question for me. I'm paraphrasing:

"How is it you can get away with having so much sex and just doing what you want? I want to fuck a lot too, but I don't know, I just can't seem to do it, my friends all tell me that its wrong and that I'd be a slut, plus there is such a double standard about it. If you do it, you're a hero, if I do it, I'm a whore. It's not fair."

I want to talk about this, because I think that people sometimes misunderstand my position on the issue. This is basically what I told her:

Whether you are a man or a woman, there is nothing at all wrong with wanting to have a lot of sex. I want to especially emphasize this: If you are a woman, having a lot of sex does NOT automatically make you a whore. As long as you are honest with the other person about what you want, you are safe (this means condoms for guys) and responsible (and birth control for girls), and you do it for the right reasons, sex is a very good thing and you should not be ashamed of it at all.

The only way you will be truly happy is to figure out what your desires are, and then act on them in a safe, responsible manner. If you want to have sex, then go out and have sex. If you don't, that's OK too, both positions are right in their own way. The last thing I am advocating is a specific course of action; what I am saying is that you need to figure out what is right for you, and do that. It is your life, not anyone elses, who the fuck are they to tell you what you should and should not do? As a general rule, if you enjoy something and it's not hurting anyone else, then you have every right to keep doing it, and fuck anyone who disagrees.

Now, if you are female and take a liberated approach to sex, there is no question that some of your friends will not like it and they will castigate you for it. FUCK'EM. Get new friends. No real friend would ever get down on you for doing something that makes you happy. Chances are, if you are having a lot of sex (and are being responsible about it) and they have an issue with it, it's not you they are criticizing, it is themselves, they are just taking it out on you.

As you get older you'll see this more and more: whenever you pursue your dreams and goals, even something small like personal pleasure, some people will shit on you for it. 95% of the time, this will be because they are jealous that they aren't doing it themselves. Watching you be happy doing what pleases you only makes them realize that they aren't doing the same thing, but instead of turning that anger inwards and changing what sucks about their life, they will turn it outwards and react against you. People like that suck, cut them out of your life. You should always strive to surround yourself with people who root for you, not against you, people who enhance your life and who bring something to the table, not people who take from it (and of course, you should strive to be one of those people also).

Granted, if you are young you are going to think something is good for you when it probably isn't, and as a result you are going to make mistakes. That's OK, that is part of the nature of youth. Sometimes the only way to find the right path is to walk down the wrong one for awhile. Shit, the only reason I do anything right this point in my life is because I probably was doing it wrong, realized I was fucking up, and fixed it. The only way you can ever really understand who you are as a person and what it is that really makes you happy is by trying lots of different things and seeing where you fall. Life is not about doing what everyone else does; it's about finding out who you are and being that person.

I also want to point one thing out: I said in the first paragraph that you should make sure you are doing things for the right reasons. As an 18 year old girl or a 40 year old man or anything in between, if you feel like you want to have lots of sex with lots of partners, then be safe and responsible and honest, and try it out. Maybe it works, maybe not, but you can't know until you try.

BUT, you should ask yourself, "Why am I fucking all these people?" If it's because you just really enjoy experiencing other people and you like the act of sex and aren't ready for a committed relationship, then those are the right reasons and you shouldn't regret what you are doing. But if you are fucking people to cover up some emotional scar, or if you are doing it for validation or for similar wrong reasons, then it's not going to work and it's not a good thing. I keep telling you to be honest with other people, and that is important, but more important is to be honest with yourself. Many people use sex and drugs and alcohol as proxies to cover pain; that doesn't work. Facing that pain is the only way to actually deal with it. Covering it won't make it go away; like my buddy SlingBlade says, "FELLATIO WON'T FILL THE HOLE IN YOUR SOUL!"

And on that note, I am going out to get drunk and have sex with a random girl...fuck you, I can be a (semi-)contradiction if I want to be. The only way you can break the rules is if you know them first.

And the other item, oddly, is (if you read the backstory from the link above, this becomes slightly less ...um...? whatever...):

We fuck again, and to be honest, the second time was pretty fucking amazing. ... But for whatever reason it kinda turned into really passionate and hot sex and, well, I don't want to call it meaningful because I barely know this girl, but it was one of the closest things I've had to emotionally touching sex since I was dating Bunny. [my link, not his.. he has a link to her in his sidebar]

If you know anything about sex you know that while physical chemisty is important to sex, what really makes good sex great is an emotional connection. I can't explain what happened or why, and I am not going to spend another second thinking about it. I really do not want to consider what the implications are of me forming a quick and premature emotional attachment to a girl who wants me to [nevermind... read his post... I'm not putting that here...].

Seriously... if you haven't checked Tucker Max out, do so. He is absolutely hilarious. His stories are way funnier and crazier than anything (okay... almost anything) me or any of my friends have ever done... Seriously. It's like Tucker and his Duke Law friends are like the guys from the Pound.... only, like... evil.

Well, more overtly evil, at least.

Cocktails and Debriefing

I was watching An Evevning with James Blunt on MuchMoreMusic earlier tonight, and during his at times (seemingly) emotional performance, I was reminded of an interview I saw with him a couple of months ago. He said (of course, I paraphrase... but when sober, my memory can be quite good) that he talks about things that are far more personal in his music than he would ever discuss in normal conversation, and I couldn't help but notice more than a few times that he seems to lose himself in a song, only to almost come out of a trance at the end of the song practically embarassed that it seemed to be getting "a little dusty" in there during the song. In particular, "Goodbye My Lover" (which apparently has a new video out, starring Mischa Barton) brought this out, but that's pretty understandable, as it's pretty much right up there with Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" as far as "allergy attack"-inducing songs go. However, what got me most was his description in that same interview as to why he is like this. He says that he is "a typical emotionally stunted British male", which is so cliché that it almost hurts, but is also so completely true...

Think about it. One of the wealthiest and most powerful countries in the world has an entire gender that can only show emotion when it's related to football? And even then, only anger, when drunk? When you consider that they're otherwise completely and totally emotionally pent up, it really weirds me out...

I'm not exactly overjoyed to say that I fall into the very Canadian cliché of the guy that tends to only open up emotionally after a few drinks.... but I think it's still a step in the right direction.

The Annoyance of Long Weekends in the City

You're walking around, minding your own business, as one is want to do in Toronto... at least if you have any sense. And then you hear it. Behind you.

BANG!! BANG, BANG!!!

You promptly shit yourself, and your heart rate races..... you turn around frantically...

Then you realize... it was just fireworks.

Get out your wellies!

As I'm more often than not either on my way to band practice at this point on a Sunday, or at least screaming through Timmy's in an attempt to not be overly late, I haven't had a chance to catch the posturing media circus that is Sunday morning American TV.

Sometimes I get the feeling that the reason American's love their football so much is that it means these douchebags get less airtime!

It's just a propaganda machine featuring loud voices, spouting mostly non-sensical, party-line drivel. Nothing of real consequence is ever said, and it basically just turns into the ultimate example of answering the question you prepared to answer, rather than the one that was asked... in short, it is a platform for the most (in my mind) annoying, yet prevalent, aspect of politics in North America.

The one highlight, for me at least, is the chance to hear supposedly highly educated (and likely highly paid) pundits throw around $10-dollar words.... but use them completely and totally wrong. Just an unending stream of hilarity. Oh, and another one of my favourites is when they decide to invent words by just adding prefixes that make it sound like they're smarter.... Alas, one of their most common bastardisations is gaining acceptance, to some degree.

I hate when the idiots win.

How have I not noticed this before??

Last night, while over at Teresa's condo under the pretense of helping her to pack up some stuff and go through the stuff she's trying to sell (as transporting some of it to Winnipeg just isn't practical - FYI: King sized bed is still available... gimmie a call if you want one) we happened to notice that Rachel Bilson (a.k.a. Summer on The OC) was guest starring on That 70's Show.... and hold the phone.

Are these two not separated at birth?!?




















Please see post title. I don't like repeating myself...

PS: Yes, as you can imagine, T-Money and I did relatively little packing and such, compared to the amount of wine consumed. But it all got derailed when we decided to go on a little pub crawl up Roncesvalles... specifically when at our first stop, we ordered Irish Car Bombs.

PPS: It's 7pm, and she just called to ask if I was going to come by tonight for "cocktails and debriefing".... I just got home 4 hours ago, and have been glued to the couch that entire time. I'm scared I might say "yes"....

GET BACK TO THE 'PEG, DAMN YOU!! :)

Can't buy me love?

While I hate to be in the news game, as Lord knows there are better outlets available than this space.... sometimes I can't help myself.

It seems that Paul McCartney and Heather Mills have separated.... and have done so apparently without a pre-nup.

This is arguably Paul's biggest financial blunder, or at least on par with advising his (former) good buddy Michael Jackson to buy up the rights to famous songs, thereby leading Jacko to buy up the Beatles catalogue.

Now, in the words of TV's Craig Ferguson:

Many people will argue that pre-nups are unromantic or unsexy, but much like life insurance and condoms... sometimes they're just a good idea! Especially when you're friggin' PAUL MCCARTNEY!!

Man, I came straight home from band tonight with the express intent of going to bed early... but here we are.

Damnit...

Let's just get control of ourselves

Let's just stop the giant lovefest for one moment, shall we?

I just finished listening to the often moronic, but still somehow highly regarded Bill Walton give one of the more impressive verbal handjobs in the history of sport. Normally, I couldn't really care less about what Billy's saying.... but I can't let this go.

He went on AT LENGTH about how lil' Stevie Nash compares sooooo well to Bill Russell, the winningest player in NBA history, and cornerstone of the Celtics' astounding ELEVEN NBA Chamipionships, in THIRTEEN seasons. Yes, you read that correctly. For the record? That's almost DOUBLE the number Michael Jordan won in his career.

How many NBA Championships does Steve Nash have? That hardworking Canadian dyanmo? What's that? ZERO?!?!? Oh... huh. Little premature? Arguably, yes. But not entirely out of charachter for the ridiculously hyperbole-prone Bill Walton.... but the part that got me so riled up? The fact that while he's all but felating Nash, the guy's getting fucking killed, absolutely MURDERED in the game by... get this.... Quinton Ross. I had to actually Google him to be sure how to spell his first name. And he has 16 first half points against the two-time reigning NBA MVP??

How on earth can you call yourself the best player in any league when someone like Quinton Fucking Ross can torch you like that?

It's called defence, Steve. Try it sometime.

PS: The NBA MVP this year should have been LeBron James, and that's just all there is to it. If you have any doubts, ask the almightly Pistons that everyone penciled in as the 2005-06 Champs, but BronBron has on the ropes.

PPS: The NBA needs a Most Outstanding Player award, cuz sometimes a guy's just incredible, but is otherwise a complete jackass, and so can't inspire his team to do much... That guy? Kobe Bryant. Hands down.

Not sure why....

...but I couldn't agree more.

I'll bet you didn't see this coming

I know I have had a tendency to go on lengthy musical rants, and with that you might have a feeling you know what kind of music I tend to listen to...and while for the most part, you're probably right, sometimes I like throwing curveballs. Today is one of those days.

I am going to preface this with the fact that, apart from the absolute walking disasters they show on the audition shows, I don't watch American Idol at all. To some degree, it has to do with the fact that everyone they invite to Hollywood is pretty damned good at signing, and after that point, I have no idea. At all. Consider the fact that I thought Kurt Cobain was a damned good vocalist. I think he was a tonally and emotionally excellent singer... and he used that "I have clearly done a lot of drugs" voice of his to its maximum potential. But I digress before I go too far into a previous rant... can't get boring and repetitive, can I?

However, all that said, if you have somehow managed to avoid looking at the adjacent picture, I'll let you in on a secret: For reasons I'm not sure I totally comprehend, I really seem to quite like Kelly Clarkson.

There, I said it.

Now, in a fruitless attempt to defend myself before I am hunted down and burned at the stake by a mob of Metallica and Black Sabbath fans...

First off? The chick can sing. There's no getting around it. You can say that she's a product of the American Idol publicity machine, but you know what? With the tunes she has put out, they just wouldn't work if she couldn't pull them off vocally. Yes, I realize that I've already said I know nothing about signing, but let's be fair... could you really name one other "Pop Princess" that could even come close to making some of the vocal settings she pulls off regularly work at all? Okay, other than Christina Aguilera... but you saw how she made Pink and Mya (the rest aren't worthy of mention) sound sick on the Lady Marmelade remake? Yeah. And don't think it was by accident that Ms. Spears stayed as far away from that one as possible. For the record, yes Mariah Carey can sing just fine... but I just feel that she kinda belongs in another category... only I can't figure out where... (insert joke about being crazy here)

Again, I digress.

But moving on... yes, our dear Kelly has some pipes on her, and she knows how to use them, but her songs are also imminently sing-along-able. Her new video for "Walk Away" clearly shows that I'm not the only one who thinks so... and now that I've just typed it, the song is also stuck in my head. I guess she just has good songwriters, huh?

Naw, that can't be all there is..... after all, she's awfully cute, too. That girl-next-door kinda charm likely helps her a lot, too.

Okay, well maybe I have no idea why, but for whatever reason, Kelly Clarkson always wins the "Clicker Challenge"... let me explain: I am an obsessive channel flipper, be it on TV or the radio, but somehow I will always stop for her...

Five hundred and sixty words later, and I still have no idea why...

Gold is Overrated, Anyway!

Recovery Status: On-Going

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm just not built for this crap anymore.

It used to be that two days out drinking would leave me kinda tired, but still ready to roll when it was time to gear up and get at it. Now? One night out almost killed me, and if it wasn't for an infusion of Red Bull and the sugar rush from a veritable buffet of cake I might not have even made it out on my birthday, proper. Which, while sad when you think about it, might not have been the worst idea I've ever had.

I sit here on Wednesday night, and I'm still a little "off"... I wouldn't call it "hungover" per se, but I don't exactly feel right, either.

Monday is practically a blur. I really only woke up (mentally....) once I started downing a Red Bull during Prison Break. I was only then starting to get my head straight, and then I starting into it again.

Then Monday night proved to be another trainwreck. Turns out that my "friends" are just here to exact revenge for what I've done to them on their birthdays... Turns out karma's a bitch.

I figured that last night, between softball and piping (ie: physical activity), I had kind of taken the edge off, and returned me to normal... but lo and behold, this afternoon at the jobsite (after having to mediate a meeting between bickering adults... talk about trying one's patience), we were in the contractor's trailer because of the rain, and then they started in on me...

Corrine: You look really tired!
Me: Yeah, I think I am.
Rob: Tired? He looks hungover!
Me: Still?
Ray: Oh...did you get into the Ta-kill-ya?
Me: No, actually, I didn't..... hold on. Nope, I think I did. [pause to contemplate] Yeah, we definitely did. That really explains a lot all of a sudden.

I think getting to bed before 3 for the second time in a week might be a good idea. Of course last night was the first time.... and when have I ever been about good ideas, anyway?

With old age, does NOT come maturity.

Unique Solution

Anatomy of a Trainwreck

You can see below the beginning of Greg and I making contact on Sunday.... now here's the rest...

5:00pm - Planned meeting time.
6:10pm - Actual meeting time.
6:30pm - Arrival at the Galway Arms.
8:30pm - Details of last Sunday's conversation with Donna are confirmed. By her... not me.
9:00pm - Meet Donna's daughter. Just kinda cool. The fact that she's a mom and is the coolest bartender ever is encouraging.
10:00pm - Greg informs us that he apparently went to Queen's to attempt to become responsible, with the thinking that a "smart" school would turn him around. He apparently didn't count on finding himself 2 doors down from Neil and I, and 4 doors from Jon. The rest is history.
12:30am - I tell Donna that she can expect a whole bunch more of this again tomorrow. She is all kinds or worried and impressed... Maybe even a little scared.
2:45am - Departure from the Galway.
3:00am - We get back to my place and throw on some tunes. Not at any significant volume.
3:15am - I may have just ended the world as we know it. I showed Greg the ever popular "Tucker Max Butt-Sex Story".
3:30am - Minor disagreement with downstairs neighbours. Possibly including yelling in the stairway. Possibly a lot of yelling.....
4:00am - Meeting with my landlord. In my kitchen. There may have been more yelling. I was furious about the fact that they called him at this time of night, which is just beyond belief... but then again, at least it wasn't the cops again. I believe he understood my position. Or at least he said did once I described my position to him. I'm a long long way from the only person that hates my downstairs neighbours... A looooooong way.
7:00am - My alarm goes off. Or at least I assume it did...?
10:38am - I wake up.
10:39am - I wake Greg up.
10:40am - We collectively freak out and curse Katheryn for not waking us up (Greg had to work in London at noon....).
10:41am - We remember she paid for everything last night.... but we agree to still rag on her for not waking us up.

I can't wait to do this all again tonight. :)

In other news, I was asked this afternoon by one of the Petro-Canada guys that happened to be in our office today if there was any coincidence between it being my birthday and the fact that we had lunch at Mr. Jerk....

Sometimes I'm just speechless.

My Friends Think They're Funny

Today at the pub after band practice, I had the following two conversations:

Iain: Man, now I know how it feels to not go out drinking on a Saturday night... When I'm not dehydrated, I sweat like a bastard!
Paul (another piper): Well, now you've learned your lesson.

[Editor's Note: Greg can't make it out tomorrow night becuase he's working in London these days, and so since he was in town this weekend, we're going to the Galway tonight for (in his words) a prequel to my birthday]
Iain (via cell phone): Hey
Greg: So, where are you?
Iain: Just at the pub grabbing a pint after practice.
Greg: Ohhh..... bad call, man.

Sometimes I just can't win. Damned if I do, and damned if I don't, if you will....

Diverging Paths

On Saturday, I went to the Livingstone. For the non-pipers, that's a pretty major invitational solo piping contest held each spring in Hamilton. Likely one of the more prestigious contests in Ontario, and quite possibly Canada.

Anyway, I note one of the competitors. One of the same guys that I competed against when we were both coming up in the grades. We played against each other almost every weekend every summer from 1994 until 1999, at which point I went to university, and he moved to Open (the "Professional" grade). I even have proof in the form of the program of the amateur invitational contest we both played at in the fall of '98. The craziest part? For all intents and purposes up until the point we parted ways, if you compared all our prizes, it was likely just about a wash.

Now? He's placing at prestigious Canadian invitational contests, winning Open prizes in Scotland, and is a two-time Grade 1 World Champion with Shotts.

Me? I'm just some guy in a band in Ontario who used to win prizes in Grade 1 when he was a teenager.

I'm not suggesting by any means that I'd trade places with him. I'm quite pleased with my education to date, and proud that I'm a mere 13 months (all things going as expected) from becoming a P.Eng and getting to sign passports, and all.

But it does just make one wonder, doesn't it? What could have been.... ?

Odd Phenomenon

I don't know if it's just me, but Toronto has the weirdest thing about the general attractiveness of its people. Some days you go out, and it's just gorgeous people everywhere... and others (like today), you go out, and it seems like the circus just got into town, and the Freak Show is taking in the sights.

Does it make me a bad person because this annoys me? Cuz I really don't think I'm all that superficial, although I could perhaps see how one might think that looking through the lens of my postings here, as I tend to take every available opportunity to post pics of hot people... but, really.... I'm not. I promise.

The time Melissa and I wanted to get "Ugly People Make Me Sad" t-shirts made, notwithstanding, of course.........

Okay, maybe I am... just a little bit.....

Sue me.

In Other News...

It hasn't been a very good week for the Simpson Sisters.

It's the least you can do

If you'll allow me to be serious for a moment, I'd like to comment on the fact that Sunday is Mother's Day.

Now of course, if you've forgotten, and you don't live near your mother, it's too late to mail anything at this point (thank God my mum's coming to town this weekend anyway, or I'd be screwed), but I do think that it's important to remember the poor woman who went through (especially if you are the oldest child) considerably more pain than she was expecting to bring you into this world.

That, and the fact you almost certainly have stories similar to this is another reason to be thankful she didn't drown you when you were an insolent little rug rat...

Who the hell are these guys??

Now, I haven't exactly been watching the NHL playoffs for that last week or so, but it looks like after tonight the Eastern Conference Final is all but decided... However, in even passing observation, I am absolutely stunned by the performances by some pretty random-ass goalies.

Ryan Miller is dominating the previously juggernaut-esque Sens.

Cam Ward, after breaking Montreal Fans' hearts by replacing the suddenly incompetant Martin Gerber, is out-duelling the Devils and Martin Freakin' Brodeur.

Ilya Bryzgalov is playing out of his mind aginst the Avs, having supplanted J.S. Giguere, and setting all kinds of crazy modern day rookie records.

Now, it's not that anonymous goalies are all the rage everywhere (just ask Ray Emery), maybe it just seems like it? Or maybe it is..... after all, even the Sharks' Vesa Toskala has a 2-0 series lead, and is ahead against the Oilers as I type this!

Of course, maybe I'm a non-hockey-watching moron, but really.... where are all these guys coming from? Have they been around all season? I specifically remember the announcers contemplating whether the 'Canes should put Cam Ward in after the Habs started to make Gerber look like Swiss Cheese (hint: he's Swiss... I'm so witty, aren't I?), but thought maybe they shouldn't because he was an untested 22-year old, so I know I'm not totally out to lunch.

Is it possible that the "New NHL" (ugh, I'm always going to hate that term) is making heroes out of everyday goalies that just happen to get hot at the right time? Is there going to be any continuity anymore in net? Why I am so full of questions? Is it something I ate?

I have no idea, but somehow an All-American Stanley Cup makes me feel uneasy about everything...........

I believe the word for this is "Eclectic"

I always kinda knew I had a fairly wide ranging taste in music, due mostly (I think) to the fact that I'm a piper, and by default shouldn't be overly judgemental of other musical genres.... but, until the last few days, I guess I never fully appreciated how broad a range of music I really listen to...

Let me explain.

Sunday morning, as I'm on my way to band practice, I have the new Mobb Deep CD pumping. That night I end up staying up until about 6am downloading house music with Chris, mostly because this is when people in Europe will be up, and you can't find this stuff in North America at all. Tuesday, while having just arrived at the ACC for the Pearl Jam show (and getting floor seats because Bernard is cool beyond words), I get a call from Jenna asking me, in all seriousness, if I want to go to see Shakira in August. Then later on, when I call DC to see where he's sitting (and, okay...I'll admit it...to brag a bit), he mentions that some of the guys at work (not him) were talking about going to see Shakira, too, and wondered if I would be "in".

I'll bet I was the only person at the show last night that got two independent invites to Shakira, and then listened to Mobb Deep on the way home.

That's why they invented the word "Oops"

Well, as I sit here, that was quite the weekend.

As noted before, my dad came into town on Friday. We went to the church to do some piping stuff (it's kinda cool....in the world of piping we are able to discuss things as equals, rather than as father and son, so we end up talking more like friends..but I digress), and on the way back, my dad asks if I have any beer at home.

Well, of course I don't. He proceeds to chastise me for not having any beer OR wine, and we proceed to go get a considerable amount of both... which we consume in good time.

The following day, we're on our way to meet my grandparents, aunt, uncle and mum at some snooty restaurant in Waterdown for my grandparents' 60th anniversary, and since we made pretty good time on the QEW, we were there at like 4:15 for a 5pm reservation. Do note my grandparents are 80, so 5pm is about normal. Anyway, as we're going through Burlington, my dad asks:

Dad: "So, we have two options... go to the home [where my grandparents live] or pop into the Coachman [pub beside the restaurant] for a quick pint. Do we turn? [to go to the home]"
Me: "Keep going straight."
Dad: "Good answer."

If you ever wondered where I came from, I imagine a lot just became far clearer in the preceeding paragraphs.

That and I like being at least a few drinks in to be able to deal with my family. Just makes things easier.... you know, for me. And really, that's pretty much all I care about sometimes. Moving on...

So, yeah.

Anyway, Sunday comes around, and I have to get up early for the Police Memorial Parade. Good times. Nothing better than getting up at 6am on a Sunday. In the words of Melissa: "I haven't been up this early since I was up this late!" So the parade is just downright painful, but I do get to see a few friends in other bands that I haven't seen all winter, so that was cool.

And so I head to band practice afterwards, and the ever-present post-practice pints. I'm not sure if this is sad, or not, but everyone starts leaving, and since I know that I'm meeting my buddy Chris (who is briefly in town, and you may recall from such stories as Iain's trip to Ibiza) downtown at some point, but not soon, I ended up staying at the pub for a couple more rounds than usual. Yeah, so we'll ignore the fact that the only people in the pub I knew at that point were the staff.... Meh.

So I meet up with Chris, and we end up at Fionn McCool's, which is actually just the Toronto version of the Tir Nan Og, or Darcy McGee's (same ownership). That shouldn't be an enormous surprise, really. But as he's crashing at my place, we head to my local, the Galway Arms (which you may remember from such stories as Iain and Teresa, or Iain and Greg getting locked in). And continue on our way. Fortunately, Donna was working that night, again, so we didn't exactly have to leave at 2 like the normal folk. Good times.

Once back at my place, seeing as we had spent a significant amout of time talking about music (as Chris and I are want to do) we get onto Limewire... and to make a long story short, I now have a significant folder of amazing dirty house tracks.

I also found I had a problem when I woke up on my futon at like 7 or 8am, and proceeded to just go to bed. Next thing I knew, it was 10:45am. By 11, Chris and I were at Timmy's, and I dropped him off to go galavanting around TO for the rest of the day, but as for work this morning, refer to this post's title, and that's the consensus as to how to deal with the situation.

Life just keeps rolling on.... :)

The Things I Do

This evening my dad is getting into town.

Normally, this is cool... but see, there's a catch. I like to keep up the facade to my parents that I maintain "adult" living conditions. Now, I by no means live in a pig sty... but it's what you might call "Bachelor Clean" or high level "Student Clean" ...not "Parental Clean".

So what have I spent this entire week doing? Cleaning. I've actually foregone any post-practice pints this week (both Tuesday AND Thursday... now THAT's self-control!) in order to get home and do some cleaning. You might think this is sad, and you might be right.

To be honest, it's not that the place is all that disgusting, it's just that since Greg moved out, I've reverted to my usual ways. Basically, I leave stuff everywhere. Hallway, living room, bathroom, kitchen. When I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. It's not that I didn't do it when Greg was living with me, but I didn't have the daily "Work Clothes Explosion" in the living room like I do now. Oh, that and he was also really good at doing dishes. I hate dishes. In some ways having a quasi-absentee roommate who regularly does dishes is great.... but once he moves out, you forget that you still have to do them. Like, at all.

The other major issue is that I'm not entirely sure the bathroom had a thorough cleaning during his entire tenure with me.... and for those faint of heart, I'm not going to specify when he moved in. Especially seeing as it was getting twice the use it was used to... not that that overly matters, but it is worth noting. It was the main impetus for my skipping out on Tuesday's pint(s), leading to this exchange with my Pipe Major:

John: So, Iain...are you coming for a pint?
Iain: Uh, no. I think I need to get going.
John (obviously thrown by this response): Oh, um...okay....
Iain: I have to go home and continue getting my place Parent-Ready... especially the bathroom.
John: HA! I understand...I guess I'm lucky with that right now, our bathrooms are all gutted cuz they're being redone.
Iain: I'll bet they're still more sanitary right now than mine....

I wish I was kidding.

Dear Toronto Blue Jays:

Please stop starting Josh Towers.

I'm begging you.


In fact, he's making enough and sucking badly enough that I think you need to release him.

Like, soon.

That is all.

Subliminal Crappiness

I've often wondered why so many people seem to have a natural dislike of "Soft Rock", or whatever you want to call it....

And this morning, while getting my teeth poked and prodded, I figured it out!

Every dentist's office is tuned to a channel like 97.3 EZ Rock (or your local equivalent), and so you quite literally develop a Pavlovian aversion to soft rock!

Maybe we'd all like soft rock better if the dentist still gave us lollipops?

If your still does, tell me..... I'm SO there...

Clearly not a tour guide

I was recently asked by a friend about what sights and such to show someone who has never been to Toronto before.

Now, you might think that having basically lived here all my life (barring some brief forrays to Kingston), I might be brimming with information... turns out my response of "Uhhh...iunno...?" was somewhat disappointing.

Sadly, this was not the first time something like this has happened to me. In first year, my friend Melissa stayed with me in TO for a few days during reading week, as her parents were away, and thus gave her no reason to bother going all the way home to Leamington (the Tomato Capital of Canada!). Anyway, when she was here I had practically no idea what to do with her. She had seen the CN Tower, and after that? I was stumped. I ended up taking her to see the giant LCBO at Weston Road and the 401 (the thing is the size of a damned Wal-Mart!), and then past my high school on the way to visit Neil. When I get there, mostly to make conversation, Neil asks what we've been out to see. When Melis tells him about the LCBO and Richview, I was relieved to hear that Neil's response was: "Yeah, after that, I'd be stumped, too..."

We are not the poster boys for the Toronto Board of Tourism, to say the least.

Imagine That

In case you didn't catch TMQ this week, you might be amused to read this.

But before you book your trip to Norway, read the whole article.......

Ultimate WFC

Okay, I think I've just about had it. I thought I had taken as much as I could handle before, and I thought I could get by without having to actually acknowledge it, but the last straw has been placed, and camel's back is broken.

Fuck off about the NFL Draft.

I don't care. And I can't understand people who do. It's a crap shoot, at best, and nobody really knows what the hell they're doing. Now, that's the case in any major sport, but at least in most other sports the draft is either hilarious to watch (NBA), or basically not covered at all (MLB). For some reason, every day from Super Bowl until this past weekend has been all about the NFL Draft at all times.

If it was actually some kind of scientific marvel, I could almost understand the big hulabaloo... but the actual results vary wildly. From "Mock Drafts" to "Post-Draft Grades", I just can't stand it. Who knows for sure? I assure you Mel Kiper, Jr. doesn't, or he'd make a mint working for a wildly successful NFL team. Fuck you Mel Kiper, Jr., and fuck your hair, too.

For every Peyton Manning, there's a Ryan Leaf...and the best part of that comparison? Everyone had them rated just about dead even in the draft. Indy basically looked like geniuses by dumb luck. I wouldn't be surprised if they flipped a coin on draft day.

For every Barry Sanders, there's a Ki-Jana Carter. By the way? Ki-Jana Carter was drafted higher. You can't project a (for all intents and purposes) career-ending injury.

What about Tom Brady? Sure, there's all kinds of talk now about the Hall of Fame, and comparisons to Joe Montana. But where was he drafted? The SIXTH (ie: next-to-last) ROUND!

So to everyone who thinks that Houston was retarded for drafting Mario Williams over Reggie Bush: How do you know? If Mario becomes the next Reggie White or Bruce Smith, the Texans will look like geniuses. If Reggie Bush becomes a gamebreaker, then they'll look like morons. Just because you or I think that Bush is a "can't miss" prospect doesn't mean that he won't miss. In fact, it's almost more likely he won't live up to expectations, if only because they are so high (see: Vick, Michael).

You can't really even evaluate a draft for 5 ,or even 10 years. Why grades are given out a matter of hours after the draft is complete is beyond me.

My point? Nobody knows anything. Stop pretending you do.

Especially you, Mel Kiper, Jr.

You'll get yours, Raja!

For anyone that missed the brutal flagrant foul by Raja Bell on Kobe Bryant last night, check here.

The announcers started going on and on about whether he was going to get a suspension for it, as he is about the only guy that can even come close to guarding Kobe. Of course, you could argue as to how good a job he's doing seeing as the Lakers were up 3-1 in the series before Phoenix won last night, but that's neither here nor there.

My point is that after seeing Kobe's reaction to the clothesline/headlock/take-down move by Raja Bell, I'd be shitting myself if I was the Suns. He got that "who the fuck do these people think they are?" look on his face, gave the crowd a disdainful look (the game was in Phoenix, and the crowd cheered when he went down), grabbed his jersey near the left arm hole, and just gave it a quick pull and let go (kind of like the Jay-Z "brush your shoulders off move"). If he doesn't have a transcendant game on Thursday to eliminate the Suns, I'll be shocked. Home court, killer instinct woken up by Raja Bell (yes, he's one of those players you always seem to have to call by his full name...), and I'd be ready for a very Jordan-esque "I'm pissed, and I'm going to take it out on you" explosion from Number 8. Should be fun to watch!

Incidentally, I'm glad I'm not the only person who is inexplicably cheering for Kobe these days....

When I come back like Jordan, wearin' the 4-5

I'm not usually the type to make self-agrandizing announcements, but sometimes I just have to.

Today marked my first public performance with a Grade 1 band since September of 2001.

Granted, it was just a piddly little graduation ceremony for the Peel Regional Police Services, but it was still my debut in uniform with the band. It'll be June 10th (at Georgetown) before I get to re-enter the competition field, but it still felt good to put on the uniform.

I felt this warranted mentioning.

PS: The title is a Jay-Z lyric making reference to the fact that when Michael Jordan came back to the NBA after his first "retirement", he didn't want to wear his traditional 23, which had been retired by the Bulls, but chose his baseball number of 45. MJ went on to win three more championships before retiring again. His wearing of 45 didn't last overly long, but it's symbolic to me of an early retirement when you could have still been on top, but chose to take time off.

Two and two finally get put together...

As kind of sad as this is going to sound, I've actually been finding it slightly harder than usual to come up with things to post in this space for the last week or so... And not being one to avoid self-analysis, it interested me as to why.

My first thought was that I haven't been reading nearly as much as I was a couple of months ago (Sports Illustrated and other blogs don't really count), so maybe my brain was underworked, and thus not coming up with anything? Dubious, at best. Though I was impressed with my own attempt to guilt myself back into a reading kick again!

Another, and likely more plausible, scenario could be that I haven't been going out much. In fact, if you lump my adjacent trip to Kingston in with Mexico, and disregard any post-band practice pints (they practically don't count, anyway), then until DC's birthday on Saturday, I've gone out for exactly ONE pint since my trip. But I've gone through dry spells like that before... I usually just call them "busy" periods... So I guess things have been kinda dull around here. For example, while I know that there are a few other pipers that read this, you are sorely outnumbered (as far as I know) by those non-pipers, and so any detailed accounts of the trials and tribulations relating to my tying on a new pipe bag would be mostly wasted space.

Then it hit me: Greg's gone.

The living, breathing devil who slept in the next room (rather than purch on my shoulder...and if you just pictured that, I hope you laughed as much as I did) no longer has a quasi-daily impact on my life. Okay, so "daily" might be stretching it, considering we'd regularly go days or even a week (exactly zero exaggeration) without seeing each other, but the spectre of bad ideas was there....lurking.

Conclusion? I have to remember how to come up with bad ideas on my own again....

Step One: Finish reading Tucker Max.

Maybe we're just getting old?

In case you were not aware, it was my buddy Dave's birthday on Friday, and to celebrate, his gf Marisa organized a surprise party at our friends Jason and Sonia's place.

Dave had no idea, and was genuinely surprised, so that was great. :)

After a few drinks at Jason and Sonia's, we then proceeded to a pretty cool pub around the corner (Dupont and Spadina area) called the Pour House (get it? it's a pun!!).

Anyway, since then, every single person I spoke to has echoed my sentiments of "I didn't think I drank that much, but wow did I feel awful on Sunday!"

No, really....

Every. Single. Person.

Without exception. And the best part? We mostly agreed with each other's self-assesment! "Yeah, you seemed fine" has been a common response...

The only possible explanation? We're getting old.

Shit.

I will now spend the next two weeks in utter fear...

If you like to laugh at evil things

Then this guy is for you.

I can't even being to describe, but his stories are hilarious...in that evil, "I'm-almost-ashamed-to-be-laughing" kind of way. Kind of the same as "Thank You For Smoking", which I believe just greased the rails to hell for me....

Good times!