(Hockey greeting and reminder...)
My fellow Dragons:
Another Friday night. Another soccer practice for my older son. And me once again at Starbucks coveting the comfy chair.
The thing is this: I don't even like Starbucks. Oh I know that's horrible to say and I risk their free Internet service detecting the words "hate" and "Starbucks" in the same sentence and somehow doing permanent, horrible things to my iPad, but I'm honestly indifferent bordering on dismissive of Starbucks. I'd much rather go to Second Cup, but (a) it's not as convenient, (b) I'm not sure if they have free wi-fi, and (c) it doesn't have the comfy chair.
I don't know if it's a Pee-Wee's Playhouse thing or a Blue's Clues thing or a 'remember that poster from the movie 'Scandal' that was the famous image in Britain' thing, but I like the idea of the comfy chair, I covet the comfy chair, I want the comfy chair.
But I've decided in 2012 to be not only more plodding but also more patient. Like the Margaret Thatcher haters who will wait until she's dead to tramp the dirt down, I figure I can out-wait the two 20-something women who are hogging the chairs and using the word "like" an awful lot: "He said to me, like, 'You can't mean it.' And I said to him, like, 'Yeah, I do.' So he was like all upset and everything." I don't even know if they like the word, but they sure use it a lot.
And yet as I wait patiently (and wonder if I should switch chairs so I don't appear over-eager, but at the same time I don't want to risk someone scooping them up when my back is turned, but if I look anxious there's a chance they'll realize I'm observing them and -- oh my god, I just realized that the comfy chair has somehow become a symbol of my pathetic days as a young man who was perhaps uncertain, perhaps unconfident and perhaps a wee bit desperate when it came to women)...
And yet as I wait patiently, I know that my time will come. Patient and plodding -- that's me. Or maybe it is patient and *plotting* and I'm merely presenting a charade of plodditude? After all, I'm one-eighth Italian so perhaps I'm more Machiavellian than even I myself suspect. Could I be so Machiavellian that even the other seven-eighths of me does not suspect my own 0.125 percent's motives? Was Machiavelli even Italian? I don't care; I'm gonna go with it anyways.
As for HOCKEY....
Sunday night at 10:00 my friends. And as I write that I think "ten o'clock" and as I type this I think I'm writing it because "writing" sounds infinitively more creative than "typing" and I'm thinking about scoring and assisting and winning and all of those things. And if I'm thinking about all of those things as I compose this email, I simply must be *writing* because typing is just qwerty-fying to communicate while this, THIS, is oh so much more.
Oi! Does this guy got his eye on my comfy chair? Oops, he's just been told by his I-guess-it's-his mom that Starbucks doesn't have the hot chocolate that he wants, so he says "screw it". He's now trying to convince her to go to EB Games. He looks like he eats at Burger King / McDonald's / Pizza Hut for breakfast, lunch and dinner and eats his ice cream with gravy instead of chocolate sauce. I will slap his face silly if he even thinks of encroaching on the comfy chair, slap him so hard that his jowls will vibrate in such a violent fashion that a sonic boom will occur. Do not even think of looking at the comfy chair!!!
And with that he leaves to once again dwell in his mother's basement. And I quietly thank god that I'm drinking decaf or I might have got really upset.
Hockey! Sunday night against Shock. I don't know if they are collectively known as "the Shock", "the Shocks" or just "Losers" but somehow we were defeated by them back on December 11th so I think it'd be a wonderful idea to beat them this time. They were beaten by CIP two weeks ago, and we hammered those reprobates last week, so I think it's our mathematical destiny to get a wee bit of vengeance on Sunday. Or is that a wee bit of revenge? Do we 'extract vengeance' and 'get revenge'? Is that the way it works? -- Either way, victory shall be ours.
And so, just as the comfy chair has been mine for the past half hour, so too shall sweet, sweet victory be ours on Sunday.
Damn I'm glad I'm drinking decaf. Cuz can you imagine one of these emails on an espresso or two? Now THAT would be a ride.
Gentlemen! Sunday at 10:00. Send your regrets if you're unable to attend. Otherwise I look forward to seeing you there.
All the best,
Kevin.
Sent from my iPad (and the comfy chair)
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
No Drive, No Shame
Oscars, Oscars, Oscars.
A couple of years ago my friend Tim and I came up with this test for the Academy Awards and it was beautiful in its simplicity: the question must be asked, how would Tony Curtis vote?
(Yeah-yeah, Tony Curtis passed away two years ago. But stay with me on this one.)
How would Tony Curtis vote? -- Would he nominate a movie that had a German actor playing an American in New York who sleeps with lots of women, shows off his massive schlong but should be pitied because he is emotionally cut-off from the world? --> Tony might *watch* "Shame", but he wouldn't admit to liking it.
Would Tony nominate the actor who played the chimp in the 7th version of a movie that he didn't like back in 1969? -- Hell, Tony wouldn't even watch the movie let alone realize that it was Andy Serkis in an award-worthy performance as Caesar in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes".
And as for the Ryan who was completely shut out for his performances in "The Ides of March", "Crazy, Stupid, Love" and the brilliant but oh-so violent "Drive", Tony would probably get Gosling mixed up with Reynolds, and Tony hated that "Green Lantern Hornet" movie, so who cares anyway.
To sum up...
Michael Fassbender overlooked after *his* amazing year with "A Dangerous Method", "X-Men First Class" and "Shame".
"Rise of the Planet of the Apes" not getting the acting nomination it deserved.
One of the two Ryan's will just have to be satisfied with it being the Year of the Gosling.
And Albert Brooks, so very powerful as the bad guy in "Drive", is ignored. They like him funny; don't like him psychotic.
(Oh and I thoroughly enjoyed "Moneyball", but passing over Albert Brooks or Andy Serkis for Jonah Hill is a real... well, I was going to say 'shame', but I'll just stick with 'letdown'. The guy who starred in "The Sitter" and the upcoming "21 Jump Street" was good in "Moneyball", but nowhere near as powerful as Brooks and Serkis in their movies.)
So, yep, I guess I have to watch "The Help" now.
A couple of years ago my friend Tim and I came up with this test for the Academy Awards and it was beautiful in its simplicity: the question must be asked, how would Tony Curtis vote?
(Yeah-yeah, Tony Curtis passed away two years ago. But stay with me on this one.)
How would Tony Curtis vote? -- Would he nominate a movie that had a German actor playing an American in New York who sleeps with lots of women, shows off his massive schlong but should be pitied because he is emotionally cut-off from the world? --> Tony might *watch* "Shame", but he wouldn't admit to liking it.
Would Tony nominate the actor who played the chimp in the 7th version of a movie that he didn't like back in 1969? -- Hell, Tony wouldn't even watch the movie let alone realize that it was Andy Serkis in an award-worthy performance as Caesar in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes".
And as for the Ryan who was completely shut out for his performances in "The Ides of March", "Crazy, Stupid, Love" and the brilliant but oh-so violent "Drive", Tony would probably get Gosling mixed up with Reynolds, and Tony hated that "Green Lantern Hornet" movie, so who cares anyway.
To sum up...
Michael Fassbender overlooked after *his* amazing year with "A Dangerous Method", "X-Men First Class" and "Shame".
"Rise of the Planet of the Apes" not getting the acting nomination it deserved.
One of the two Ryan's will just have to be satisfied with it being the Year of the Gosling.
And Albert Brooks, so very powerful as the bad guy in "Drive", is ignored. They like him funny; don't like him psychotic.
(Oh and I thoroughly enjoyed "Moneyball", but passing over Albert Brooks or Andy Serkis for Jonah Hill is a real... well, I was going to say 'shame', but I'll just stick with 'letdown'. The guy who starred in "The Sitter" and the upcoming "21 Jump Street" was good in "Moneyball", but nowhere near as powerful as Brooks and Serkis in their movies.)
So, yep, I guess I have to watch "The Help" now.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Coffee and chairs and eyes, oh my!
(the hockey reminder...)
My fellow Dragons:
I'll be honest: what slays me is the fact that he's not even drinking his friggin' tea.
I've dropped Gee off to a soccer practice and I've got some time to kill. So I've headed to Starbucks to grab a coffee and use their Internet and then wander through Chapters to look at books and potentially bump into and then heroically resist the French-accented bespectacled librarian of my childhood dreams.
And as I walk into Starbucks I see one of the comfy chairs just sitting there, waiting for me -- or is it just waiting there for me to be sitting? Regardless / Irregardless, there's a comfy chair awaiting me to be a-sitting.
"Did you throw your jacket on the chair in order to mark your territory?" I hear you ask. No, I reply. Why would I do that when karma had so generously nodded in my direction?
Alas karma (like fate, luck, destiny and my brother's girl friends one, five and eight) is a fickle bitch. And perhaps I, in my Doctor Who t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt and jeans did not seem as attractive to karma and the comfy chair as this pocket notebook writing, tweed-pant wearing, heterosexual-ish Oscar Wilde-looking dandy. He got the chair but I, according to my doctor, have good cholesterol, strong kidneys, wonderful electrolytes and a fabulous prostate!
So screw you, you not-drinking-your-tea bastard. You may have the chair, but I've got a moderately wonderful bill of health that is sure to act as an enticing and irresistibly powerful aphrodisiac for Swedish stewardesses around the world.
Oh and one more thing: did any of you hear the story on CBC radio about the Canadian artist who went to Panama to get her eye colour changed? She got some kind of implants to permanently change her eye colour from brown to green, but it turns out the operation has had the nasty side effect of effectively leaving her blind.
A couple things spring to mind: who the fuck flies to Panama for an operation? Why the fuck would an *artist* pay a doctor in Panama to mess around with her vision and thereby mess around with her livelihood? Who the fuck has eight thousand dollars for elective surgery like this and still thinks that Panama is the best place to go for the surgery? And didn't this candidate for the Darwin Awards ever hear Crystal Gayle's song and take heed of the warning: don't it make my brown eyes blue?
(Oh and as a side note -- my teammate VR said that he heard the same story, but "I didn't actually feel that bad for her though. Is that wrong?" To which I replied "Yes, it's wrong that you don't feel bad for her. But you're right not to. And by agreeing to both of those seemingly contradictory statements, we prove ourselves to be geniuses!!!")
And with that, and finally!, the 21st Century middle-aged dandy has left the Starbucks and the comfy chair is mine!! Karma delayed is still Karma received as she has smiled upon me and my magnificent prostate once more!
(Hmmmm, is Karma a woman for women, too? -- I wonder.)
Hockey! Sunday night!!
We take to the ice down at the MCC at 7:45 against CIP.
No, I don't know what "CIP" stands for, but I'm glad you asked. It could be the "Canadian Institute of Planners". It might be the "Certified Insurance Professionals". But I suspect it stands for "Certifiably Ignorant about Passionately-pleasuring-partners". In my mind they are therefore known as CIP-PP. And that of course is ridiculously close to "See my pee-pee" which is a goofy name for a hockey team (if forced, I would have chosen, CWS, which would of course would stand for "See my Wonderful Schlong") but, hey!!!, it's their bloody team name, not ours.
Sunday night we shall defeat them and silently mock them because we know their Rumpelstiskin-like hidden name and their anti-Casanova hidden shame. They deserve to lose because of their lack of partner pleasuring prowess. And they deserve to lose because I've discovered that winning is tons of gawddamn fun and I'm not about to give up on it now.
Hope to see you Sunday night. Let us know if you cannot attend. I'm now going to leave the comfy chair and tempt fate as I resist the fantastical siren call of the illusionary French librarian of my dreams.
Oh how I love coffee shops that have bookstores next door.
All the best,
Kevin.
My fellow Dragons:
I'll be honest: what slays me is the fact that he's not even drinking his friggin' tea.
I've dropped Gee off to a soccer practice and I've got some time to kill. So I've headed to Starbucks to grab a coffee and use their Internet and then wander through Chapters to look at books and potentially bump into and then heroically resist the French-accented bespectacled librarian of my childhood dreams.
And as I walk into Starbucks I see one of the comfy chairs just sitting there, waiting for me -- or is it just waiting there for me to be sitting? Regardless / Irregardless, there's a comfy chair awaiting me to be a-sitting.
"Did you throw your jacket on the chair in order to mark your territory?" I hear you ask. No, I reply. Why would I do that when karma had so generously nodded in my direction?
Alas karma (like fate, luck, destiny and my brother's girl friends one, five and eight) is a fickle bitch. And perhaps I, in my Doctor Who t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt and jeans did not seem as attractive to karma and the comfy chair as this pocket notebook writing, tweed-pant wearing, heterosexual-ish Oscar Wilde-looking dandy. He got the chair but I, according to my doctor, have good cholesterol, strong kidneys, wonderful electrolytes and a fabulous prostate!
So screw you, you not-drinking-your-tea bastard. You may have the chair, but I've got a moderately wonderful bill of health that is sure to act as an enticing and irresistibly powerful aphrodisiac for Swedish stewardesses around the world.
Oh and one more thing: did any of you hear the story on CBC radio about the Canadian artist who went to Panama to get her eye colour changed? She got some kind of implants to permanently change her eye colour from brown to green, but it turns out the operation has had the nasty side effect of effectively leaving her blind.
A couple things spring to mind: who the fuck flies to Panama for an operation? Why the fuck would an *artist* pay a doctor in Panama to mess around with her vision and thereby mess around with her livelihood? Who the fuck has eight thousand dollars for elective surgery like this and still thinks that Panama is the best place to go for the surgery? And didn't this candidate for the Darwin Awards ever hear Crystal Gayle's song and take heed of the warning: don't it make my brown eyes blue?
(Oh and as a side note -- my teammate VR said that he heard the same story, but "I didn't actually feel that bad for her though. Is that wrong?" To which I replied "Yes, it's wrong that you don't feel bad for her. But you're right not to. And by agreeing to both of those seemingly contradictory statements, we prove ourselves to be geniuses!!!")
And with that, and finally!, the 21st Century middle-aged dandy has left the Starbucks and the comfy chair is mine!! Karma delayed is still Karma received as she has smiled upon me and my magnificent prostate once more!
(Hmmmm, is Karma a woman for women, too? -- I wonder.)
Hockey! Sunday night!!
We take to the ice down at the MCC at 7:45 against CIP.
No, I don't know what "CIP" stands for, but I'm glad you asked. It could be the "Canadian Institute of Planners". It might be the "Certified Insurance Professionals". But I suspect it stands for "Certifiably Ignorant about Passionately-pleasuring-partners". In my mind they are therefore known as CIP-PP. And that of course is ridiculously close to "See my pee-pee" which is a goofy name for a hockey team (if forced, I would have chosen, CWS, which would of course would stand for "See my Wonderful Schlong") but, hey!!!, it's their bloody team name, not ours.
Sunday night we shall defeat them and silently mock them because we know their Rumpelstiskin-like hidden name and their anti-Casanova hidden shame. They deserve to lose because of their lack of partner pleasuring prowess. And they deserve to lose because I've discovered that winning is tons of gawddamn fun and I'm not about to give up on it now.
Hope to see you Sunday night. Let us know if you cannot attend. I'm now going to leave the comfy chair and tempt fate as I resist the fantastical siren call of the illusionary French librarian of my dreams.
Oh how I love coffee shops that have bookstores next door.
All the best,
Kevin.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The New Year of the Dragons
(for the team...)
My Fellow Dragons:
Sixty-four from twelve equals today.
And I know Iknow IKNOW it has nothing to do with hockey, but there you are.
It's funny. As a child/teenager I was such a comic book/sci-fi geek (and oh how things have changed!) that 2001 seemed like a hugemassiveenormous year in the future. I remember reading Arthur C. Clarke's book (and reading the book well before I ever saw the film) and thinking "Holy fuck. I'm going to be 37 in 2001. Holy fuckedy-fuck-fuck that will be old." And now it's 2012 (and because of Clarke and Kubrick I still think of the year as "Two Thousand and Twelve") and 37 doesn't seem that much anymore.
Strange how the future just... happens. And then it just keeps going. And then, here we are.
Do we get older, or do we just become more like we are?
If I had a time machine, I'd go back, tell myself to buy The Killing Joke page I saw in London, buy another Vess Sandman page, buy a couple more Totleben pages, warn myself that eventually I'd go grey and hair would grow in my ears and advise myself to have as much sex as possible and never say "No" to the opportunity.
Hmmm, come to think about it, I don't think I've ever said "no". Wait -- correct that! There was a friend's wife some 17 years ago and that woman in Vegas 20 years ago. So, yes! I have standards!! Holy shit, I have standards! Yay for me!!!
But enough about all that and the additional ring around my maple trunk...
Gentlemen, welcome to the new year and the return of the most fun you can have on a Sunday that doesn't involve religion, television or farm animals. I'm speaking of course about Dragons hockey!
The Dragons take to the ice at 6:20 in #1.
The final game of last year was against the BLACK Dragons; the first game of this year is against the MAD Dragons. It's like a CFL game where the Rough Riders will win.
After a careful analysis of their past record, I've determined that the Mad Dragons suck and deserve to be defeated. I could go into more detail, but that's the undeniable conclusion of my study and I won't be bogged down with facts. Because facts are for people who refuse to dream of the fictional wonders that they can create and turn into reality. Fact are simple and facts are straight facts are lazy and facts are late, facts all come with points of view and facts don't do what I want them to. And home is where I want to be but I guess I'm already there.
So, welcome to the new year -- a year sure to be filled with all sorts of wonders and confusions and surprises and hopefully the occasional delight.
And heck here's a crazy thought, but with a 6:20 start time on Sunday, maybe we can head out for a beer afterwards. A slightly delayed seasonal celebration of good cheer. Or something like that.
I hope your holidays were the perfect balance of naughty *and* nice. And hope to see you Sunday.
Let us know if you will be unable to attend the game. Otherwise, look forward to seeing you then.
All the best. And welcome to the new year of the Dragons.
My Fellow Dragons:
Sixty-four from twelve equals today.
And I know Iknow IKNOW it has nothing to do with hockey, but there you are.
It's funny. As a child/teenager I was such a comic book/sci-fi geek (and oh how things have changed!) that 2001 seemed like a hugemassiveenormous year in the future. I remember reading Arthur C. Clarke's book (and reading the book well before I ever saw the film) and thinking "Holy fuck. I'm going to be 37 in 2001. Holy fuckedy-fuck-fuck that will be old." And now it's 2012 (and because of Clarke and Kubrick I still think of the year as "Two Thousand and Twelve") and 37 doesn't seem that much anymore.
Strange how the future just... happens. And then it just keeps going. And then, here we are.
Do we get older, or do we just become more like we are?
If I had a time machine, I'd go back, tell myself to buy The Killing Joke page I saw in London, buy another Vess Sandman page, buy a couple more Totleben pages, warn myself that eventually I'd go grey and hair would grow in my ears and advise myself to have as much sex as possible and never say "No" to the opportunity.
Hmmm, come to think about it, I don't think I've ever said "no". Wait -- correct that! There was a friend's wife some 17 years ago and that woman in Vegas 20 years ago. So, yes! I have standards!! Holy shit, I have standards! Yay for me!!!
But enough about all that and the additional ring around my maple trunk...
Gentlemen, welcome to the new year and the return of the most fun you can have on a Sunday that doesn't involve religion, television or farm animals. I'm speaking of course about Dragons hockey!
The Dragons take to the ice at 6:20 in #1.
The final game of last year was against the BLACK Dragons; the first game of this year is against the MAD Dragons. It's like a CFL game where the Rough Riders will win.
After a careful analysis of their past record, I've determined that the Mad Dragons suck and deserve to be defeated. I could go into more detail, but that's the undeniable conclusion of my study and I won't be bogged down with facts. Because facts are for people who refuse to dream of the fictional wonders that they can create and turn into reality. Fact are simple and facts are straight facts are lazy and facts are late, facts all come with points of view and facts don't do what I want them to. And home is where I want to be but I guess I'm already there.
So, welcome to the new year -- a year sure to be filled with all sorts of wonders and confusions and surprises and hopefully the occasional delight.
And heck here's a crazy thought, but with a 6:20 start time on Sunday, maybe we can head out for a beer afterwards. A slightly delayed seasonal celebration of good cheer. Or something like that.
I hope your holidays were the perfect balance of naughty *and* nice. And hope to see you Sunday.
Let us know if you will be unable to attend the game. Otherwise, look forward to seeing you then.
All the best. And welcome to the new year of the Dragons.
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