Who Were The Four Asschunkers?

Recently... Mia Hamm was voted into the the U.S. National Soccer Hall of Fame along with fellow player Julie Foudy and builder Alan Rothenberg. As a prelude to my inevitable ramblings and rages which will make me seem like the biggest soccer fan this beautiful country could be blessed with, I'll admit that I was unaware of the existence of the Soccer Hall of Fame. I mean, I assumed there was one, and by assumed I meant that I never gave it a blade of thought, I just wasn't really surprised to hear that there was one. So hopefully you don't dwell heavily on that, I admitted it, lets all just be grown ups and move past that and onto the matter at hand.

Mia Hamm is no stranger to records, her 158 career international goals is the highest total by any female to ever play the game, and so it came as no shock to this sports "enthusiast" (why did I put the quotations over enthusiast? Not sure but I'll just leave 'em there) that she was inducted into the Hall on February 27th, 2007 with a record number of votes, 137 out of 141 possible votes, an unprecedented 97.16% (beating the previous record of 95.77%). My question is simply this. Who in hell were the four asschunkers that didn't vote for her?!? Are you serious? You sit on the board which elects Hall of Fame members for the sport of soccer in the United States, and you do not have enough sport knowledge, patriotism, or awareness of life itself to vote this woman in unanimously? I realize patriotism might be a stretch, but Ms. Hamm is, arguably (and its a damn good argument with few water leaks, and those leaks may only be there because the argument is too damn heavy for whatever the hell holds arguments. The argument bucket?)... where was I? Oh yeah. She is, arguably (see previous sentence), the best female soccer player to have ever played the game. I would even say she is one of the best, sex organs aside, to have ever played the game in the history of the sport. 158 goalies and 158 twine nets stressed by the immaculate strength of her shot can't be wrong. Immaculate? Thats right. I went there.

137 out of 141. Lets take a look at a few more of her credentials. We have discussed the 158 career international goals; there is the 1991 and 1999 World Cup victories; 1996 and 2004 Olympic Gold Medals; at 15, she was the youngest person (notice this doesn't specify just female) to ever be a member of the U.S. National Team (where she ended up playing 17 years); at age 19 she was the youngest player to win a World Cup; 4-time NCAA Champion (only 4 years of eligibility right? Right.); led the nation in scoring in '90, '92, and '93; graduated with an all-time record for most conference goals (103), assists (72), and points (278). There's more, but lets just stop there. The argument reservoir (the bucket just wasn't big enough) is already reaching critical levels.

137 out of 141. Mia Hamm accomplishes all that while starting her very own foundation (Mia Hamm Foundation) which raises funds for bone marrow research.

137 out of 141. I'm going to go ahead and tell myself to believe that the 4 muffgobblers in question were told not to vote for Mia, and apply some sort of reasoning to it (although its absurd that she didn't get 100%, as previously stated, so I can't guarantee the reasons will be any less absurd). It is possible that they were told to do so, for the simple fact that the perpetual bar could, in the future, always be raised, or so the universe wouldn't implode on itself or something... something to put my mind at ease dammit.

137 out of 141. That statistic is going to stick in my head for a while now. Thanks a lot you short-n'-curly-hair-gaggers. You are fully and solely responsible for any and all insane rants and rages I go on over the course of the next 24-48 hours and whatever deaths they may cause. Think about THAT. Sleep well, and with one eye open. Or I'll Mel Gibson your ass (think Braveheart... the scene with the mace and the horse.) There are 4 of you that need to sleep lightly. There were also 4 "lords" in Braveheart that had their asses handed to them if my memory serves me correctly. I'm not saying coincidence but...

Ok Universe,.. You Win This Round.

An Explanation is Needed on This One...

I've come to the realization that the only reason they make statues to pay tribute to a great person is that the honoree probably had to put up with a lot of shit in their time, and whoever erected the statue needed something there to keep the birds busy, while tourists and locals could worry about something other than having to pack an extra hat for the day. They got shat on in life but still persevered, so its a safe bet they're going to persevere now. The fact that they're dead and unable to complain about the smell is irrelevant, isn't it?

More and more recently I have noticed that nice guys, and girls, finish last more often than they finish first. And even if its not a last place finish, they have definitely hit the wall and are trotting embarrassingly towards the finish line, with maintaining a shred of dignity their only motivation. More often than not they'll still have a smile on their face, or at the very least they won't be frowning.

"Well Colin, thats just life" some might say, to which I reply "ERRONEOUS!" And it really is.

These are the people that keep the world running smoothly, the type of person who will see the silver lining on the dark cloud, the type of person who tries to see the good and the bad in, under, around, and on everything, the bird shit as well as the statue. I cannot comprehend that these people sometimes end up being that statue.

Recently, the store that I work in, owned by a member of the "nice guy team", if not the damn captain, was closed for a good 5 weeks due to a fire that was started in another store two floors above. This guy-of-all-guys busted his ass for those 5 weeks to get the store back open. While I'm sure part of the reason he worked tirelessly to get the store back up and running was to generate the income he was so sorely lacking, thanks to the birds upstairs, I also believe that he wanted to get the store back on its feet so as to provide his customers with the shoes they need and his employees (students) the money they practically salivate for.

Greg is the type of person that you never, ever, want to disappoint, ever. Not just for the completely unselfish reason that you wouldn't want to disappoint HIM, but also for the narcissistic, egocentric reason that you wouldn't want to let YOURSELF down. I'm guessing it would feel like growing up in Boston in the 70's, but end up playing for the Lakers in the 80's. You let down people around you, die hard Celtics fans, but dammit all if you didn't let down yourself by donning the purple and gold. If there were a million more "Gregs" in the world, well there would be a million less assholes.

As I walked down the street and around the corner while on my way to work today I stopped, speechless, outside the store's front window. All the stock was gone, and a sign on the window read, simply, "Unfortunately we have had another fire." Apparently the idiot who owned the building didn't have his electrical sources fixed correctly since the last fire, and on Friday night one of the fuse boxes actually exploded, shooting a ball of flame up a stairwell and knocking out power to the entire block. This leaves Greg with another couple weeks of paperwork and working out an empty shell of a store trying to get special orders and unique requests filled for customers, all the while battling the strong, piercing stench of smoke which the fire ungraciously left in the store.

Yet another example of how life can teach you, no matter who YOU are, to never, ever, ever take anything for granted.

He'll pull through, I'm 97% sure that he will. As for the remaining 3%, well lets just say that I'm glad I'm a friend, and the chances of me staring down the business end of an AR-15, autoloading, centrefire rifle with his twitchy finger on the trigger are slim. But still, if I catch wind that he's on any kind of a warpath, I'll be the first to sign up for a 3 week fishing trip with George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg, perfect storm be damned.

The sea can be cruel, but I'd rather take my chances with her. As complex as women can be, there's something so simple about a man with a gun and a reason that is chilling, viciously chilling.

Seaman Colin reporting for duty. Where do I sign?

Kate Hudson Knows What I'm Talking About...

I'll be honest, I didn't expect to read what I did.

I had mixed feelings as I read each paragraph, and there were quite a few to read. The past two weeks have been a quick sprint down memory lane thanks to Facebook, a couple beers with Jenny M., and Tellie's recollection of Piccadilly Porch. I remember standing on that porch the day I moved out and thinking that I wasn't just stepping off the porch for the final time, I was taking my first steps in the direction of uncertainty. In that house, for that one whole year, everything had made sense. The good (jam sessions), the bad (jam sessions after too many drinks), and the ugly (Jim joining in on our jam sessions). It had been comfortable there, and before I could take those last two steps down off the porch and onto a sidewalk that would lead me to another stage of my existence, I had to realize that I was, for the time being, stepping outside of my comfort zone, which, I might add, had the thermostat set at 71 and a healthy portion of a case of beer still cold in the fridge. The Bleacher Life post was no different. An individual very comfortable in being himself stepped outside of that warm, safe, and well-stocked environment to convey that message, and that floored me.

I have to be completely honest and say that during the ceremony I didn't notice anyone being absent because, quite simply, I didn't notice anyone else except Emily and our reverend, John Lescard. I think that was his name. I had never met him before the rehearsal day, a concept that has just recently started to bother me. Here is a guy that books 4 weddings to perform in one day. He drives in, stands around and makes small talk with the groom so as to calm his nerves, or it could be out of complete boredom that he initiates conversation. He then waits for the bride to walk down the aisle, starts talking, and 17 minutes later he's out the door and off to the next wedding, driving with the top of his convertible down, at peace with the fact that he, if you extrapolate his earnings in 17 minutes, makes a shade over $700 an hour. Anyways, I'm on a tangent and will continue that thought in my next post. The point is, Em and John were the only two people I noticed during the time I was walking up the aisle with my mom, to the time when Em and I turned to face everyone, Reverend Guy-Off-The-Street announcing we were now officially married. I had two uncles, an aunt, and a cousin who got lost, missed the entire ceremony, ended up in Oakville and had a small chunk of the guests on my side a shade over "mildly concerned". If I was so oblivious to anything else other than the wedding ceremony that I didn't notice family missing, I definitely wasn't going to notice anyone else missing. So I hope he doesn't take that as an insult.

It was only when Emily turned to me, after we were back inside and ready to sit down to dinner and speeches, and brought to my attention "Brian didn't make it to the ceremony." We invited 140 people to our wedding and to the reception, and every person that confirmed that they were coming showed up, which is, so I've been told, almost unheard of. So the news that one person didn't show for the ceremony didn't affect me for long, I couldn't allow it to. Moments after Em had said this I was laughing at some joke, or listening intently to Kelly (our planner), with Emily's news long gone from my thoughts. Again, no insult meant, thats just how it has to be on that day. I thoroughly enjoyed my wedding day, but I definitely could've used a couple more hours in there in order to really, fully, and truly appreciate the day and how amazing Emily looked in her dress. It was over in a blur. I told myself before the day arrived that whatever happens, I was to relax and let things happen, to not get worked up about anything.

That split second, however, after Emily brought that to my attention, I felt my insides twinge. Its tough for me to describe... placing words in aesthetically pleasing arrangements is not my forte. I'm guessing its how each and every 6 foot plus Orangeman with size 15 feet felt today after learning an NCAA tournament would be played without the influence of a Syracuse presence. Perhaps it is akin to the feeling Phil Mickelson got each time he blew up on the back nine of many Majors (until he finally stopped the bleeding and cauterized his career with a Major victory). I will even go so far as to say that Kate Hudson would understand the feeling after someone else walked home with a shiny bald guy and a ripped envelope, with Kate's performance in "Almost Famous" judged NOT to be the best performance by a leading actress that year. If you ask me, and I'll display my common arrogant prickedness and assume you should ask me, it was the single most greatest performance of any actor I've seen. Throw Drew Barrymore or Scarlett Johannsen in there and the entire movie changes, and not for the better. I'll bet you most people don't even know who won that year, but they definitely know that Kate Hudson lost. Another tangent, I know. Anyhow, Kate Hudson, Phil Mickelson, and the entire Syracuse Orangemen 2006-2007 basketball team could possibly describe it better, so ask them.

After you've asked them and they've explained it, you probably wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, and neither do I. What happened, well, it simply just happened. There is no going back to change it. A hard step was taken with that post, and I'll put my arrogant prickedness suit back on, 'cause it just fits so well, and assume that if I were to shrug off the apology and the years of friendship I would invoke the same feeling in the same person who was big enough to put those thoughts into words. I can't do that. I don't want to do that.

Apology accepted. Now, I don't want to hear another word about it. We paid good money for a photographer, well actually we didn't but someone else did, but the point is, good money was paid for a photographer and the reason he was there was to capture the day in as many pictures as he could take. So trust me when I say this, after going over the pictures and talking to Uncle Jack, it'll be like he was there. Hell, we'll even open up a laptop and photoshop him into a couple pictures to make it "official". Perhaps we'll replace the reverend's face with his, trading someone who I could've cared less whether he was there or not, with someone who I truly wanted to have there.

I'm finished school in a month. Something needs to be set up for late April.

Shamone!

A good friend of mine regularly sends me texts which mean absolutely nothing but, more often than not, leave me either with a smile on my face or an embarrassed look because I've just laughed out loud in a crowded store. I try to return the favour when I can and hope he experiences the same pick-me-up to his day as I do, although as a true friend I hope there are more embarrassing moments.

This morning I received a text and opened it... my usual interest in its contents aroused. There it was... the first word in the text.... Shamone. To get a full appreciation for this word I believe telling the story of its inception is appropriate, if not a necessity.

I recommend taking a cross country trip on a Greyhound once. Thats it... just once. As in, one way. Fly home. I guarantee you will see things you always wanted to and some things you wish you never had. A certain butch looking transvestite and his very diminutive, very senior cowboy escort come to mind. That, however, is a campfire story.

There were two of us and we wanted to travel to California and do some serious bouldering, and Bishop, being the bouldering mecca of the US, was the destination. Our usual day consisted of waking up at 6am, it was just too hot to sleep any later than that, and pack our gear for a good solid morning of climbing. We were usually on Highway 395 by 6:30am with a pack filled with 5 or 6 bottles of water; a crashpad (that doubled as a sail on windy days); and a first aid kit. It was approximately a 3 mile hike up into the desert to our climbing spot. After about 4 or 5 hours of ripping the skin off our fingers, sitting naked on rocks, and dodging rattlesnakes, it was then time to head back to the camp and get showered up before grabbing a well deserved bite to eat. From the campground to the edge of town was about a mile hike down Highway 6. One particular day I was really really really hungry. Like the wolf. I really wanted to get moving but Bri seemed content to relax. I don't blame him... we'd been climbing for a few straight days now and killing ourselves doing it. Then it happened. I don't know where it came from or what made me combine the words "come" and "on" in the way that I did, but SHAMONE was the command that Bri got. I'm not sure why his reaction was as such, but I distinctly remember him losing it. Laughing that is. It was the word of the trip and, if my memory serves me correctly, that camp season too!

I love that word. Its one of the things I'm proud of. Seriously. Is that weird? I don't think so... it is what it is.

Here's to a great word.... SHAMONE!

I Need a Beer.

I really do. So I guess I'll get one.

One More Strand of Gristle Goes Pop... and Voila! You're a Pedestrian.

Well, nothing popped... this time. But an old injury came back into the mix when I tried to go snowboarding a week ago. Frustrating doesn't describe it, seeing as how I now have to sell all my snowboarding stuff.

I had a chronic condition due to overtraining about 7 or 8 years ago called compartment syndrome. It basically involves a buildup of pressure in one of the bodies muscle compartments. In my case it was the lateral compartment of the lower leg, and I had the surgery to correct it for good. Or so I thought.

Last year while snowboarding (and even a little bit while climbing) I experienced the symptoms but not to the degree that I did before the surgery. Basically, the symptoms involve intense pain on the lateral side of my leg just above my ankle; a small herniation which you can see and push on; red, shiny skin; and my feet go numb. Fun stuff.

Last week I tried snowboarding but the pressure of the boots on my feet, especially my right foot which is permanently attached to my board, brought back the original symptoms. I couldn't even do one run. Had to slide down most of the hill on my ass while holding my board. By the time I got back to the car my feet were completely numb.

Connective tissue. Thats what gets us all in the end. But I'll be damned if it gets me now.

Hell, I've strained muscles, sprained ligaments, broken bones, had surgery just to be able to run, but nothing would ever deter me from doing the things I love. If you wanna focus on specifics, then yes, you could argue that these recent events will keep me from snowboarding for the rest of my life, unless I go under the knife again. You know what? I've been sliced open just so I could go for a run again. Oh, and the condition was so bad originally, that I couldn't walk up a hill or walk in snow without being in agony, but that is beside the point. I did it all for that feeling you get when you're zipping along a trail during the summer or an empty sidewalk at night, the feeling you get after an 18 miler... when the rest of the day is spent bumping into random items (basically being Tellified) because you can't control small movements, the feeling you get after a workout where you have figuratively and literally kicked the shit out of yourself.

So far it has only affected my snowboarding. I'll admit... its hard when your head and your heart are into an activity, and your body, maddeningly out of your control (although it should be in your control... there's the next evolution), says no. If it continues and affects other activities like climbing or, God forbid, running... well... I'll be doing a lot of research on the success rates of second procedures. Here's hoping it doesn't come to that.

I Could Never Be The President of the USA.

Trust me. Its true. I wouldn't do a good job. Qualities a President must have include the ability to maintain a calm demeanor and exude confidence, no matter what major event is happening.

Lets take a show like "24", where the President is faced with a constant crisis. He (so far its always been a guy... so no ripping me apart for being sexist) must not let any situation affect his judgment at all. I can't do that. Today started off with a bit of a sleep in, and then to the gym (on my schedule) to have a workout with KP. My body didn't feel right... my arms would not coordinate with my legs or any other part of my body. It was annoying. All in all it was a decent workout... between easy and medium but definitely closer to medium. But the fact that I wasn't "on" bugged me. I also found out that a good chunk of my reading week in going to be spent in the dirty taint of Ontario... Windsor. It was then I realized this was not going to be my day. So I get home and try to put some music on my new phone to use it as an mp3 player and my phone wouldn't play the music I put on it. This upset me. Minor eh? Then, my mailbox key wouldn't work. This pissed me off too... along with the idiot who lives across the street from the mailbox. My question "Do you know if there is another mailbox in the complex?" His reply... "Call Daniel's as they come around in the afternoon to fix things." I'm sure he thought I was screwing around with the mailboxes, but after my explanation fell on deaf ears I told him to shove it and got in my car. Now I was really mad. Two episodes of 24 didn't help at all. They didn't worsen my mood, but they didn't have their usual therapeutic effects. ARRR!

I drove to my usual evening locale in a foul mood. If someone wasn't going as fast as I thought they should be on the highway, I cursed them. When I got to said place, I saw someone I didn't want to see at all. This person's voice annoyed me to no end.

February 26th, 2007. I'll remember that. If I ever get the chance to relive a day I have to remember NOT to say that date. August 12th, 2006. There's a good day. NOT February 26th, 2007.

I definitely could not have addressed any size nation today, let alone one the size of the US. I couldn't have addressed Vatican City and its population of 920. (isn't that a crazy stat... a country with a population of 920... Google it... its true). Hats off to the President.

The day is over, which is nice. A vanilla vodka and coke helps too.

The Buddy.

Yes, he is the Buddy. The cutest kitten I have ever seen and the best shit disturber around (I hear the common phrase of "OLLIE!! NO!!" from my wife in another room all the time). We were on our way back from the cottage almost two years ago and we had to take a detour to pick up my birthday present from Emily. We had to get it in Orillia. I was confused to say the least. So we get off the 400 in Orillia and proceed to go thru Orillia and into the boonies. We turn down a dirt road and end up on a farm that had recently had a fire. For a split second I thought we had just bought a farm. For the record, there was no way I was getting up at 4am to milk cows. That wasn't happening. The lady who owned the farm made a phone call and said "They're here. We're coming over." I was worried. We walk across the road into a barn, and noticed the kittens right away! SWEET! I was getting a cat. This was going to be the very first pet that I owned. For the record I don't consider him a pet anymore... he's just the Buddy. Of the three kittens that were there he was the coolest. He let me pick him up and just looked up at me like ... "Hey, whats up? Those other two are nuts but I'm cool." It was the obvious choice. When we first took him home he ate some McDonald's in the car! I took the day off work that Monday as I was scared he'd get into something he shouldn't in the house! He was 2.2 pounds. Exactly 1 kilogram.
Now look at him. 18 pounds of cute, snugglyness. The Purr-Button, the Buddy, Regal McKingsley, Fatty McLipid, Boldy McTakeriskerson, Styles, Punky Brewster, Punkies, and Ollie are just a few of his names. He has the potential to become the world's first schizophrenic cat and Em and I take full responsibility for that. Honestly... after looking at those two pics... how can you not love him to death? We do! And as much as Chuki tries to let us think he doesn't.... he does too!

Communication.

There is a problem with communcation. People have lost the meaning of the word. Two examples spring to mind.

#1 - we were supposed to meet with a VP of a large company to discuss "issues" we had with her company. She got snowed in and sent us an email but did not call. In her email she said she was going to call. She did not. Poor communication.

#2 - I was supposed to go to the Post Office to pick up the keys to my new mailbox in the complex I live in. I got there and was told that I needed something with my name AND new address on it. Here is the conundrum (yes I just used that word)... everything with that address is being MAILED to me. I cannot get at it since I do not have the key. I had to bring my lease. Who the hell would've known that?

Anyways... communication. Its a lost art. People believe that email and MSN's suffice. They don't. You don't have to speak to someone for very long on the phone... a minute is good... but honestly... are people afraid to talk to one another? I'm venting. I know. But hey, its my blog.

I love my new house.

Yes, I have a house. I don't own it per say, but its still amazing. The last apartment building we lived in ended up being a dive. It was the nicest apartment I've seen in a long time... hardwood floors, a fireplace, 2 bathrooms, 2 bedrooms, den, huge living room area. The problem with it was that nothing was ever done. No maintenance of any kind. From the simplest stuff like having our name on the buzzer list (11 months and you can't print off a new list?) to huge problems like a water main bursting and spilling 20,000 gallons of water into the building. Luckily Em was home and my sister and Carlos showed up to help out and kept the damage to our belongings to a minimum. To be honest, I don't believe anything of ours was damaged. Lucky, I know. We went searching for a new place right away and ended up living amidst boxes, missing drywall, missing floors, and a cat that thought it would be fun to hide in boxes that were being packed, only to have himself sealed shut in one before we heard the meowing. He was playing hide and seek, and he won. But now the three of us are living in a townhouse and it is amazingly better. Amazingly... its a word. From my desk in the office I can look out the window and see our friend's house. Its scary because Adam likes beer as much as I do, and the Beer Store/Boston Pizza combo is dangerously close. It'll be good to be close to Tellie again for random cokeonversations. Yes... I meant to write that. She knows what it means.

All in all, I'm finally relaxed. And it feels good.

The Streak Remains...

Today was a slight challenge. It was the end of the week, hockey was on, worked out like crazy this week, and wifey is havin' a few wobbly pops. Then there was me, with my water. Oh, I had a glass of milk too. A beer would've gone down nicely tonight! It was also a shock to my sister to tell her that when she and Carlos visit, they can drink all they want but I shall have, at most, a Coca Cola Classic. Straight. I'm beginning to see (after only one weekend) that waiting until a Saturday to have a beer or two is much more rewarding than having a couple every night or every other night during the week. I feel good about this weekend. First dry weekend in a while! Not that I got drunk every single weekend for the past while, but it sure felt like it. I'm actually beginning to look fitter too! Thats the motivation I need... haha... its Saturday night and I'm looking forward to getting up relatively early tomorrow to get workout #1 in before breakfast! Dang.

The End of the Dock is "Chad" Free for 35 days.

I like beer. Not just Chad... but all beer. I also like speaking to Uncle Jack, Uncle Jim, and occasionally the Captain. This month, however, I felt the need to change. I was tired of looking at myself in the mirror and not seeing what I wanted to see. I am tired of the odd pair of pants not fitting or JUST fitting. More importantly I just plain don't feel good. So until Em's birthday party (Feb. 10th) I am not having anything to drink and I'm also working out like a fiend. Two-a-days mostly with my "off day" being just one workout. Run 5 times a week, weights/plyos/basketball stuff another 3 to 4 days a week. Long run on Sat or Sun. I like the plan... I'm 4 days into it and already I feel 73% better. The remaining 27% will be spread out over the next 4 weeks I'm sure, but I'll definitely feel better after I change this part of my life. Not to say that I won't have the odd beer here and there once Em's party has come and gone. I just definitely won't be having as much. On the bright side, this should make the beer taste that much better!

A Moment Of...

To this day I still can't describe it. That feeling when I realized I had been let down by the same person who had done it before. You could call me selfish for having and accepting this feeling, but I'd disagree. On the biggest day of my life I was let down. That hurts. I've heard the phrase "You only truly know someone once you've traveled with them", and I would have agreed with you 100%. I would have. I would say this is true 95% of the time now, maybe less, I don't know. There is much simplicity in making a phone call, typing an email, writing a letter. As someone who would step in front of a moving truck for a friend, I can't imagine what could keep someone from attempting the simplest means of contact.

It was good. Great at its best.

College strike apparently for the student's benefit???

March 7th strike begins and both sides don't speak again until March 20th... how is not talking improving the quality of education?

Faculty asking for more money... they work 14 hours per week maximum! The only prep time they need is for classes with topics that change... and really is it that drastic? Marking exams should be easy as you can do everything in a multiple choice... I mean... lets be honest... universities do it and degrees are seen as better than diplomas. Do the math. Also, this basically means my tuition goes up... AGAIN.

There was talk of having replacement teachers... while I was not a supporter of this to begin with because it contradicts everything this strike is about (improving education), I am seeing it as the only option we have left and hope it happens. Hell, I'll even carry a baseball bat and help replacement teachers cross the picket line. I'm dead serious.

Faculty want smaller class sizes... look at it this way... in university I was in a class of 1200... Health Sciences 021 was held in Alumni Hall at UWO. You have 35 people... thats 1165 LESS students... WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!?

No news coverage supporting faculty... I don't need to support this do I?

Students in danger of losing semester... how does this improve our education?

This is all I can post right now without completely losing it. I'm sure I'll have more later. This is complete bullshit and I can't understand how the strike has gone on for so long.

The Need for 7-Eleven's...

For starters, I really like living in Oakville. There are a ton of trails, its pretty clean, and we hardly get any snow. However, there are a couple things that piss me off about Oakville. Number one... the cost of housing. I'm not in any real position to get super pissed, seeing as I'm going to be broke for the next couple years, but its still annoying. Number two... not enough bars. But probably the most annoying thing about Oakville is the lack of a 7-Eleven. The closest one is in Burlington... 16 kilometres (10 miles) away. The last house I lived in was within 100 metres of a 7-Eleven, and it was the greatest thing ever. Thanks to my insulated mug (purchased at 7-Eleven of course) I could buy 1.53 litres of cool, refreshing fountain soda and it would stay cold for 6 glorious hours! While I was moderately happy with their chip selection (7-Eleven doesn't stock Humpty Dumpty) it was the fountain soda that I went there for. I am now stuck with a Hasty Mart, and the not-as-satisfying bottled soda. Oakville NEEDS a 7-Eleven! So if anyone has an extra few dollars sitting around and is looking for something to do, purchase a 7-Eleven franchise and make us Oakvillians happy. Bring on the fountain soda!

Its been a while...

There haven't been any posts in the last while for one reason. I didn't know what to write about. Thats it. Simple. I was also trying to think of a way to make this blog a bit different and all that... but then I thought... its a blog, its supposed to be about random thoughts and all that stuff. So here are some random thought like stuff...

... Pearl Jam continues to amaze me. Even their early stuff which I've heard quite a few times in my day. How can a band be that good? Not one day have I regretted my tattoo.

... For $6500 of my own hard earned money, I should not be busting my ass to find myself a placement. The title "Placement Coordinator" means something... doesn't it?

... Some people amaze me. Not in a good way. I'll leave it at that.

... Almost went to my first strip club last night, but they were closed.

... I am loving running right now. The fact that this winter has not really been a winter and its 11 degrees out today could be a couple reasons, but I love it. Took a while to get back here, but its here and I ain't slowin' down for nothin' this time.

... I cannot wait for "Again to Carthage" to finally come out! Its the book I've been waiting about 7 years for.

For now, that'll do. You may see other stuff posted in line with the above "observations", and you may not. Depends on how productive I feel. Although, it being 11 degrees and sunny outside, I can guarantee you this is the only post today!

Pierre Maguire.... WHAT?

Pierre Maguire - What a knob. This guy cannot commentate to save his own life. He's awful. I'm sure he knows a lot about hockey and thats great... way to go Pierre. But honestly. Do I have to listen to him describe Mark Staal as a "human eraser" or other such tripe? I shouldn't. Gord "Three Chins" Miller isn't that bad, but I swear all they go by each game is a piece of paper with a couple tidbits of information on it that they keep repeating. Its the only reason I know that some Finnish acne-laden teenager named Tuuka Rask is a draft pick of the Toronto Maple Leafs. 'Cause thats all he knows. I'm done with him.

I just don't like commentators who are hired just because they know something about the sport. I know a bit about running, but I would never be a commentator for the World Championships or Olympics. Why? Because I'm not a commentator. I know that. I'm alright with that. Pierre thinks he's good, along with a bunch of others who rely on stupid comparisons, similes, and mindless dribble that means absolutely nothing. Its annoying. Its fake, and people can tell. You can't make it as a coach? You can't make it as a commentator? Take that as a sign!!! You know a lot about the sport but are not good enough to be in it. FIND ANOTHER HOBBY!!!

The Big Bad Bachelor Trip (3BT!)

In less than one year I will be married. While for some guys it seems like they feel its the end of life or they can't have anymore fun, I don't. Em and I have a killer time together... partying, climbing, whatever... we have fun. However, getting married does entitle me to a sweet bachelor party without my bride-to-be. My friend Bruce (Adam) is also getting married. This entitles HIM to a sweet bachelor party too, without his bride-to-be. Since we're great friends we have decided to have our bachelor trips at the same time, to the same location, involving the same people. So here are the details, the involved parties (please send a pic when you email your reply if you're coming or not... so by the time the trip comes around... we'll all know each other!)

Name: Big Bad Bachelor Trip (3BT!)
Where: Calgary, Alberta
When: Early July, 2006
How Long: 5 - 7 days (still up in the air)
Staying: Hopefully rent a house in Calgary for the week or completely wreck a Holiday Inn
Who: RSVP and you're in!

Those Involved So Far:

Colin - That would be me. I know a couple hounds in Calgary and I'm hopin' they're gonna show us the sights. Bringin two things when I go... my running shoes and my drinking hat.





Bruju - Bruce... Adam... he has so many names. But he's all fun. He'll be in for anything once we get there... unless its naked amputee frisbee. He says he's tried that once and never will again. You can send congrats to Bruce while you're at it, 'cause he's the other bloke gettin' hitched next year.


Kais/Calgary/Chris - You can bet this guy will be firing on all cylinders when we're there. One of the hounds from Alberta, he'll be able to show us around. Family business is Big Rock, a brewing company. No doubt it will receive generous support from 3BT and will be the unofficial sponsor of good times.




Aiden/K-Dawg - First met this guy in Grade 9 gym class. I didn't like him. We had a wrestling match. We tied 2-2. I liked him. Got to know each other well over the next couple years, then lost touch. Then got back in touch and toured the Emerald Isle with him in 2000 for 5 weeks. Then lost touch. Then got back in touch and now he'll have me buggin' him for life. Poor bastard.


Brent - Bruce's cousin. Will always be remembered at 1473 as the guy who put his foot thru the wall while walking down the stairs. While I heard there were rumours of this upsetting people... well... that is complete bullshit. I just wonder to this day how it happened. It was the wall to the SIDE!! Anyways... this guy is an animal. We'll be draggin' him kicking and screaming out of the bars. Seems like the perfect fit for this trip!

Slice (Adam) - Another groomsman and lover of beverages. Known this guy since Grade 7... 14 years. Crazy. When Adam comes to town you know there's a party. He has never been to my house and stayed sober longer than half an hour. So I'm always happy to see him! Loves charred mammal flesh too and can work a BBQ like its nobody's business.


3BT is a new idea, and has just gone into its early stages. As soon as confirmations and pics come in you'll see who will be involved.

14 Shots Makes For A Good Night

14 shots. Many beers. And I still wasn't the drunkest person at the party! Wow. As with any drunken debacle, there are a shitload of good stories to tell. These include...


- Kais bombin' around a hospital in a wheelchair... loaded...

- Kev getting slammed, losing his tie, passing out on a couch, and still making it to class...

- Tara's MSN messages to Kais, me, and whoever else... Tara... you gotta see what you wrote. So funny...

- I bought 14 shots of tequila rose.... no clue why.... and I'm not sure how many of those I drank, but I'm guessing it was at least half...

- I slept on a plynth, in my nice pants and shirt... no socks... no pillow... no blanket... face down with my head in the hole and arms hanging over the sides...

- Walkin' into Kais and Grolla's apartment the next morning and seeing Grolla bent over the toilet yackin' his guts out. I leave the apartment and in the time it takes me to get home Kais has yacked and told me about it on MSN...

- I didn't think I actually pulled off that much wallpaper...

- Chris knockin' on the neighbors door at whatever time in the morning and getting shit from the lady who lived there...

- I don't even remember how we got back to the apartment building... I was told it was in a cab... sure... I'll go with that...

- Jen "Don't Let Me Get Drunk" E. ends up more drunk than anyone else, other than Kev, and gives 'er like a rockstar on the dance floor...

If anyone has any other good stories... fill me in and I'll throw them up here. Yeah... good night. Can't wait to do it all over again in about 14 days.

Oddballs (Vol. 1)

Alright... not sure if I'm gonna stick with runners or if I'm gonna branch out, but for this Oddball post, I'm gonna fill ya in, quickly, on Gerry Lindgren.

In 1964 he became on Olympian while still in high school. During that year he also set a world high school record of 13:44.0 for 5,000m. Ridiculously quick considering it was only '64, and he was only in high school. He won 11 NCAA championships in X-Country and Track and Field while attending Washington State University. While in high school he ran 25-35 miles A DAY! This is 175-245 miles per week. Then, just to prove it could be done, he ran 50 miles a day, for six consecutive weeks! He got married, had kids, bought a house, all that.

Then one day he up and leaves. His family couldn't find him. No one knew where Gerry Lindgren had gone, except for Gerry Lindgren. YEARS later he's tracked down in Hawaii. When his family went to visit and confronted him he denied he knew who they were. They left baffled. Then he said he remembered who they were and apologized. Then later he denied he knew them.

My opinion... this guy is messed up. He still lives in Honolulu, no clue whether he's remarried or what. Ha ha... what else can ya do but laugh and shake your head?!?