C'MON NEW DECADE - LET'S DO THIS

What news, what life, what a time we are a part of. 2009. The two thousands. A year littered with death, disgrace, tragedy and scandal, heightened by the ways of an ultra intrusive and insensitive time - a 'need to know right now' time seen like no other. Has '09 been the penultimate year of the untimely celebrity passing, the free fall fluttering from grace, the liar, the cheater and the redeemer alike? The air of '09 is thick with controversy on the biggest of scales - and the outlets that eagerly and unabashedly promote them. MJ, Tiger, A-Roid. A T an M, a Z, an S.I. and a self proclaimed, "Queen of All Media." Blogs, Twits, spaces and faces. Faces are the key. Every face has a story, every story an audience, every audience a potential dollar sign - no matter how mundane, ridiculous, irrelevant or unnecessary, as long as it has bite. Every letter, colour and Internet connection is worthy of such attention. What did '08 have? Kwayme, Obama and bail-outs. The hype surrounding the election of a first ever black president was huge, but not as huge as the King of Pop's 'untimely death' - or rather his 'overdue overdose.' Does the turning over of a decade promote an increased desire to or rather addiction for turning over stories, whether they be true, half- false, rumoured or speculated hearsay? The 'real' dig deep truth of the matter doesn't well, matter any more - just as long as there are photos/videos and or/printable evidence to prove or disprove and a site to upload them onto in record speed - it's definitely believable, no matter how deceived or falsified they appear to be. If it can be seen it can be believed. Believe me. I do. C'mon new decade - let's do this.

I hope you have fun The near and the dear one - The old and the young. -

So this is Christmas. And what have you done? Well John, I received nothing on this December 25th except a Christmas Cold. Literally. (We are doing the gift thing on Boxing Day b/c the whole family has not yet arrived). Anyhow, yes...it's a weird feeling I'm feeling on this all hallowed of holidays. No Katie, no snow, no sister, no sleep. Nothing but the sniffles, sneeze fits, sore throats, Mom's meds and drizzly grey boo-hooey nonsense. Oh well. The holidays are slowly but surely losing their luster for this guy right here. Something needs to be done to get it back to how it used to be. A time machine decked in holly that runs only on cookies and milk? A spike in the popularity of trading cards? How about some god dang snow already? That would be a nice start. Mom says I need to fend off my cold with some sleep and whiskey. Dad says I should try vodka. I wonder what Grandma will suggest. Blank stares and careless laughter? Oh well. Got to get back up into the spirit of the season. Hard to do when the dullest of days is more mirror than view. Maybe Katie will call soon. Shit. Happy Christmas World and Beyond. Gotsta go and catch another countdown/best of/top what ever bullshit of '09.

C'MON MAN

Well, well, well. My, my, my. Ho, ho, ho. Christmas time is here again and once again I'm broke - already! It's here (the holiday) and I have no money (the bills), that is. It seems like Santa just broke into my house last week, slid his rotund behind down my chimney yesterday and and ate all my food a couple of hours ago - but isn't that how it goes nowadays? A year is a few months like a day is only seconds long. Time flies when you're jobless, thirty and cold. Once again I have no money to buy anybody I care about anything, but since giving and receiving and selfish greed is not in the spirit of the season, I'm in the clear. But where is the dang snow already? C'mon man. Toss me some of the white stuff and I'll give ya the right stuff. The Holiday Spirit I mean... NKOTB forever.

DANG

Chris Brown is no longer involved in tweeting. Even though I've never been on a twitter-type-page-thing-a-ma-jing, I know this. How you may ask or not even care? Well, last night as I watched one of the few channels I receive sort of clearly on my trusty 12 inch early 90's tv - he told me. No, not Benny Hinn, Rick the Temp or that googly eyed sham-wowin', slap-choppin' product pitchman. No, it wasn't even mega nuisance, super bitch, "I'm gonna getchya," Nancy Grace. Nope, none of those losers. Conan O'Brien it was. Everybody's favourite goofy looking, goofier acting super tall red-headed Irish late night television host. What is this world coming to?!?! I get the news from Conan and none from CB? Which zero list nobody is next I ask? Hailey Duff? Lindsay Lohan's psychotic/pathetic father? Pete Wentz, Tara Reid or a Kardashian? If CB isn't tweetering anymore, then what's the point? If I can't follow in real time, the goings on of a nineteen year old, Ri-Ri beating, half ass dancing hack of a rapper - then what's the point? C'mon endless and mindless unfiltered entertainment, I'm thirstin' for the juice over here! This is what you think about when you've been studying all day, it's cold out and you've drank way too much strong coffee. Dang. Well at least we still have twenty four seven around the clock tales of Tiger transgressions. Too bad I'm losing interest quicker than Elrick is sponsors. "Breaking News! Tiger has not yet been spotted but Elin has - and without her wedding ring! So help us God!"

That is ALL

She sure is a blowin' out there tonight. And I'm not talking about number twelve. Or is it thirteen? Go Tiger! Anyways, it's windy as all hell and I'm glad as all shit to have some thick plaster walls, functioning heat and a secure roof to sleep under this 'eve. Dangit! Today would have been an awesome day to surf or fly a kite or sail a boat down the boulevard at twenty knots (37 kph) starboard, port, and then starboard bound again - because without any flowing water, the only current to toss my ship is the reckless swaying of the thrashing wind. I could go outside and catch a cold, frostbite or some stray street trash in the eye or on the cheek - but I'm inside...remember?!?!?! I'll go out when I have to. Like, when I have to walk to school. Or go to the store for margarine. Or put out the trash/recycling box. Or check the mail for unwanted bills and/or junk/joke/trash mail. (PS - the only mail I like to receive is that which is sent from Kingsville) There is no use to go outside into the dying death of Dr. Cold when you pay for a place to live in that is warm. And furnished. I am not homeless. I do not plan on competing in any ultra-psycho-death-before-quitting-no-chance-in-survival marathons - and therefore do not need to train for such an event. No one has to place me outside, tightly bundled and toasty so as to help my blood circulate better. I've never iced fished and don't want to start today. The river down the street from me is not frozen over, but I'm not so sure pedestrian entry is allowed anyhow. With all the freighters, deadly currents, crappy fish and such. That is all.

A LA BREAKING NEWS!!!!

Yes, okay... so Tiger has had a few extramarital affairs. Maybe more than just a few. A bunch? A wack load? Too many? Not enough? A double bakers dozen? I don't know. Well one is too many in the eyes of morality, truth and righteousness, so ten plus and counting must be absurd, hell-bound, uncalled for - or one expansive tally des booties. Good for him. Well, good for his sexual drive, curiosity and locker room bragging, but not so good for his marriage, million dollar endorsement deals, (he'll lose some but not all, and probably get a few new ones too) and overall squeaky clean image and reputation on the course - give or take a few pissed off outbursts, club smashes and evil peers into gallery. Everyone in America cheats and divorces and shoots and shoots up and fills up and eats and smokes and drinks and pukes and fights and well - who cares? Losing money is not an issue to Tiger but losing face (the face he has built up with hard work, time and a lot of back swings) and the trust of his Swedish wife and mother of his children are. He could pay off ten million random chicks at a million a bang and still be left with over four hundred million in the bank. (Facts do not include factual information or the amount Eldrick will eventually have to pay off Elin - but he is filthy f'n rich alright!) Oh well. You win some you lose some. There's always the next hole, the next round, the next tournament, and there's always a lot of blonde haired and blue eyed beauty's in Sweden, but... These days, aren't there more important things to waste precious thinking power on other than Swedes, cheats and hush money? Do we really care this much about Tiger's private penile performances? Coast to coast conquests? His 'round the world whirlwinds? His unrelenting desire to have sex with someone other than his wife? I understand he is golf's best player and one of black America's most recognizable and influential living faces (eg. Oprah, Barack, Tony Dungy, Bill Cosby, Osama, and Wesley Snipes)- but there has to be something else out there. Baseball. Like how the Yankees are ruining the game I love with their astronomical and untouchable pay roll. It's the New York Bronx Bombin' unbeatable All-Stars vs. the rest of a league full of joke-loser nobodies with no chance in hell of winning. Play Ball! Yes, as December and Christmas roll in I'm worried about a golfer and baseball. I should be worried about the two essays and exams I should be delving into, but instead I'm delving into this blog. Ahhhhh! I should be counting my pennies, working the crowd or making a list and checking it twice! Instead, I'm glued to the TMZ or the MTV or the OMG for news of a new one. Another porn star? Vegas party slut? Are any of them black? Elin's best friend? His mother in law? This all means something. I must find out. No, but seriously...Isn't anyone worried about global warming anymore? Has Al Gore's relevance left town along with his will-power, self-respect and scientifically backed theory on atmospheric pollution and natural sources which will produce higher temperature changes in turn melting the glaciers? Aliens? Candy apple razor blades? How about the threat of nuclear and/or terrorist attacks? The Russians? Quebec? Tom Cruise? Bad cholesterol? Good cholesterol? Teacher/Student romances? What the hell have John Gosselin and Michael Lohan been up to in the past week? Is the tale of Tiger's wayward wang not only news but an even more perverted form of up to the minute ticker tracking trashy tv and magazine watching pure entertainment? Of course it is. Par for the course is the enrapture of America and beyond with Woods' wild tee-shot, for we all love a spectacular meltdown, especially on Sunday, on the last hole in front of everyone - a la Greg Norman, who just recently split from former tennis ace Chris Evert. Coincidences? The Shark? Tiger? Former blond star athlete? Former blond bikini model? The parallels are uncanny. Someone get Perez Hilton on the line. Now, or at east Katie or my mom, 'cause I have breaking news!

Back, back, back...up against the wall, he jump's and he's got it!

Hi... Back again after a little turn in the spin cycle. Of life. And boy am I sore. Been busy playing hockey, writing papers, shredding riffs, getting cold, also tired, laying out, skating hard, pulling ribs, doing shows, staying up, taking meds (for my ribs) reading books, switching computers, walking fast, cooking vegetables, colliding hard, spending nothing, sleeping less and moving friends - next door. Anyways, yeah...I haven't typed any thoughts out onto computer screens in a while because well, I didn't feel like it. But today I do. It's cold and getting freezing. Soon it will be unbearable. An ice funnel pouring colds chilly breath over my body like a nasty wind of tongues. Rigid hands, frozen feet and numb faces galore. Thank goodness I have a big and warm insulated goose down woman's winter coat, a nice fitting Ireland toque and some killer boots. Thanks Mom and Dad and Mom again, because I'd probably still be running around with a baseball cap, old hoody and hole-filled sneakers complaining about the cold. Anyways, besides the pursuing madness of winter, something that is beyond my control, I have yet another nagging injury (ie. pinched sciatica nerve, tender hip, etc.) that is a result of my lack of control, age and my inability to realise this [my age]in time to stop what now hurts a lot. A number of head first dives, too many awkward and reactionary twists and turns, and two hard core, head on chest and rib smashing on ice collisions later - I find myself in tremendous pain in the rib area - but still with the urge and desire to play. What do I do, I ask my self and Katie and then myself again? Do I still play, which I very much want to do? Or take some time off? Needless to say, Katie and I differ in opinion on this matter. It's [ice hockey] extremely fun, great exercise and I'm getting better with each trip to the rink. Besides the puck off the cheek, burning lungs and lack of goalies - it's the best ten bucks I can spend. While my ability to accept a pass, take a one timer and make smart, on the spot decisions are getting better - my health is not. It makes sense. I finally find something to do during the winter months that doesn't involve eating, sleeping or drinking and this happens. I may have to take a little time off from some puck if I am to heal up, perhaps a 1-3 week stint on the IR depending upon the x-ray results (which were, surprisingly negative. Meaning, I must have teared the f out of my rib muscle or something because it f'n hurts big f'n time). Sure, the adrenalin and macho-ness on the ice helps minimize the pain, but where's all that adrenaline when I'm trying to get out of bed or bend over and tie my shoe? It's gone. All of it left on the ice with my sweat, skate grooves and the screw that I knocked out of that guy's helmet when I smoked him in the a slot a few Friday's back. For the record, I had the puck and was about to shoot. And for two, the guy was on my team. And for three, he was skating way too fast and cutting too close no matter what he was trying to do. Relax buddy. We all know you're a speedy guy with some half decent moves who really likes break-aways. We know this because you cherry pick even when there are no goalies. How exciting it must be to break in alone on an undefended net. Wow. Good for you man. Why don't you try playing some defence or passing once and a while, you know, to someone else besides yourself. Because, it's also fun to set some one else up from time to time with a sweet feed, like real hockey players do. Or back check. Or skate back wards. I actually feel pretty good about standing you up during a no-contact mid-day pick-up game and staring over your motionless body in pity. Well, that's what's up's with's me's. We'll talk again, I'm sure of it. Bye.