1.) Vancouver/Greater Vancouver Area - Obvious reasons.
2.) Wal-Mart - A symbol of why the American economy took a giant shit. A massive corporation with huge market share starts essentially naming the price they're going to pay to suppliers. These prices, naturally, are quite low. In order to meet this price-point (which the supplier must do to stay in business based on Wal-Mart's massive market share) the supplier begins outsourcing their manufacturing to foreign countries, killing off thousands of domestic jobs. These lower priced goods continue to drive up Wal-Mart's market share, putting mom & pop stores (that sell a VARIETY of QUALITY goods) out of business, killing off even more jobs. Wal-Mart then proceeds to fuck its own employees in the ass every step of the way.
3.) Quizno's - Even if we ignore the fact that they continued charging the same price while significantly reducing the quality of their ingredients, Quizno's has a serious problem holding up their end of a bargain. After purchasing a Show & Save book as part of a high school fundraiser, the card that allowed me to get 10% off ALL purchases at Quizno's suddenly did not apply to special promotions. Then suddenly the "Meal Deal" (you know...where you pay an extra $2.50 for a watered down coke and one cookie) was a "special promotion." Then suddenly every Quizno's in the city was no longer a participating location. So they reneged on their deal with a high school fundraiser and got free marketing in the process. Fuckers.
4.) Big Bang Theory - Seriously...honest to god....this show is not even slightly nor remotely funny. It doesn't even warrant a chuckle. It's a pathetic raping of played out and boring stereotypes. I wish people would quick fucking telling me I have to start watching this show. I'm too busy watching shows that don't fucking suck. If you want to watch something funny, try It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia.
5.) Shaw Cable - "Hello...I signed up for Shaw a couple weeks ago and talked to the guy on the phone and he said that when I get my HDTV they'll switch me over to the HD package free of cost and hook me up with the 6 month promotional rate." "Well, I'm sorry sir, but that rate is only for new customers and you're not a new customer." "This was two weeks ago...I just hadn't picked up my TV when I wanted to get internet hooked up." "Yeah...but you're not a new customer." "Well fuck it....disconnect my service...I'm going with MTS."
A few days later....
"Hi sir, I understand you're not happy with your service. Is there anything we can do to make things better?" "Yeah, I signed up like two weeks ago, got quoted on the cost of HDTV for 6 months and then when I went to get it hooked up it was three times as much money as I was quoted." "Well, sir, that rate is only for new customers." "Yeah...I AM new. I've been with Shaw for two weeks." "Well, is there anything else we can do?" "Yeah...you can come pick up your fucking shit because MTS is coming tomorrow and I'm never getting cable through your shit company ever again."
6.) CIBC - "Hello...I'd like to buy a house or condo and since I've banked here since I had money I was wondering if you could inform me on what you offer in terms of mortgages, rates, etc." "Okay sir...let me pull up your account info....oh...I see you don't have a CIBC Dividends Credit Card....we should really get you signed up for one." "Sure...whatever...I'll do it later...I'd like to talk about a mortgage..." "But sir, there are all sorts of wonderful advantages to a CIBC Dividends Card..you get money back and..." "...and I would really like to talk about mortgages, which is why I'm hear." "Well...I'll print off a Dividends application form and we'll get you filled out and...."
A few days later....
"Hi, Steinbach Credit Union? Yes, I was wondering what I need to do to switch banks.....oh....and I'm going to buy a house so I'll need a mortgage, too."
7.) Flying Pizza in St. James - You know a pizza is going to taste REALLY bad when you go pick it up and you can't wait to get home and out of the car because the smell of the pizza is so terrible. The taste, surprisingly enough, was much like the smell. Not sure why I expected differently. This is not hyperbole: it is the absolute worst piece I've ever tasted. In fact, it blows my mind that someone could have made so terrible. It's just cheese, bacon, tomato sauce, pepperoni and crust... I guess you can fuck up crust, but that wasn't even the problem. The whole entire thing tasted like unwashed ass.
8.) Dexter - No real reason, other than the first 5 people that told me to watch it were super lame and uncool and I didn't want to watch it out of principle of that. Who knows...it might be good. But I'll never watch it because of my preconceived notions.
9.) Earl's - Shitty food. Priced too high.
10.) Petro Canada - I don't know if they still do it, but you used to have to have a Petro Card or whatever it was called in order to pay the same price that everyone else paid at Esso, Shell, etc. Maybe they don't do this anymore but I can't be bothered to find out.
Wednesday 7 December 2011
Monday 5 December 2011
Focus, or the Lack Thereof
I started this blog awhile ago because I thought I had stuff to say. I do....but whenever I sit down to write something, I don't really know how to say it. Or I get distracted by something else. Mostly, I think, this is due to a complete lack of focus. This has become a recurring issue for me in recent years.
I used to have a blog that had a fair amount of following. I talked about God and shit. I've since burned that blog to the ground since I don't believe in God and even if he did exist, I'd think he's an asshole. But back then, even if I had nothing to say, I'd find a way to say something. Now, however, even if I feel like I have something to say, I can't say it.
I know where my lack of focus comes from....the events that caused me to burn my old blog down to the ground in a blaze of sacrilegious glory also ended up changing me in fundamental ways. The reason I can't express myself like I once did is because while I may feel like I have something to say, deep down I really don't give a shit. That's a common theme with me these days....there tends to be very few things I actually give a shit about. I've basically learned to just numb myself with sports, music, beer and jack daniels. I'm among the least interesting men in the world.
The other problem is the shit I actually could talk about....the shit that is always at the forefront of my mind....I simply cannot talk about. I'd rather listen to Nickelback whilst punching myself repeatedly in the dick then talk about that shit.
So, I guess if I have one thing to say, it would be this: You don't listen to enough Pavement. My lack of proper focus prevents me from describing why Pavement is the greatest band to have ever existed, so I suggest just listening to them.
I used to have a blog that had a fair amount of following. I talked about God and shit. I've since burned that blog to the ground since I don't believe in God and even if he did exist, I'd think he's an asshole. But back then, even if I had nothing to say, I'd find a way to say something. Now, however, even if I feel like I have something to say, I can't say it.
I know where my lack of focus comes from....the events that caused me to burn my old blog down to the ground in a blaze of sacrilegious glory also ended up changing me in fundamental ways. The reason I can't express myself like I once did is because while I may feel like I have something to say, deep down I really don't give a shit. That's a common theme with me these days....there tends to be very few things I actually give a shit about. I've basically learned to just numb myself with sports, music, beer and jack daniels. I'm among the least interesting men in the world.
The other problem is the shit I actually could talk about....the shit that is always at the forefront of my mind....I simply cannot talk about. I'd rather listen to Nickelback whilst punching myself repeatedly in the dick then talk about that shit.
So, I guess if I have one thing to say, it would be this: You don't listen to enough Pavement. My lack of proper focus prevents me from describing why Pavement is the greatest band to have ever existed, so I suggest just listening to them.
Wednesday 9 November 2011
The Pavements
I'm pretty sure Pavement is the greatest rock and/or roll band of all time. This is almost exclusively Stephen Malkmus' fault. Sure, there were other contributors to this band, but damn near everything Malkmus wrote has become part of what I would consider to be essential rock songs. The guy was even knocking it out of the park on some of the filler songs on tour EPs.
The problem is that not nearly enough people listen to Pavement or are even the least bit familiar with their songs. They were the great underground, independent band of the 90's but were never able to achieve much, if any, crossover success. I assume this can be chalked up to a few factors: Malkmus' lyrics, while entirely brilliant, can seem quite cryptic at times and require attention span, intelligence and some level of thought. Pavement's musicianship also comes off as mediocre at best, which may be an entirely fair criticism, but Pavement guitar solos are never really the reason to listen to a Pavement song in the first place. Also, having seen Malkmus play recently with his new band, The Jicks, the guy can play guitar quite competently. I'm not sure if this is due to years of practice or whether he could always play guitar but did not focus on that aspect in his songs with Pavement because it seems he was bursting at the seams with song ideas and was simply trying to feverishly get them all out and recorded.
Regardless, discovering Pavement for myself a few years ago was a huge moment in my music listening life. I'm pretty sure a Pavement CD of some variety was in my car's CD player for about a 6 month stretch, non-stop. After the Jicks concert, I went out and bought the fantastic re-issue of their 3rd album, Wowee Zowee, and was blown away. The next day I went and bought the re-issues of Slanted & Enchanted, Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain and Brighten the Corners. And that was it...there was no looking back.
The problem with Pavement is that they don't necessarily come across as immediately engaging upon first listen. I had been familiar with them for a few years prior and never got too into them outside a few songs. But after a couple repeated listenings, I was entirely blown away by this band. And the more you listen to them, the more you appreciate Malkmus' genius. So, I've decided to attempt to spread the gospel and attempt to provide some sort of guide to becoming a Pavement fan. Over the next couple posts I'll recommend some songs, post some YouTube links and let any readers decide for themselves.
The first step in listening to Pavement is to understand that there are two songwriters in the band: Stephen Malkmus and a fellow who played under the unfortunate moniker of Spiral Stairs. Malkmus' contributions usually achieve or, at the very least, border on brilliance while Spiral Stairs' songs tend to come across as filler more than anything. He's a serviceable songwriter but is simply not on Malkmus' levels and unfortunately for him this fact gets magnified when his song is sandwiched between Malkmus tunes on the album (and I am admittedly quite guilty of simply hitting the next button on the Spiral Stairs tunes).
So, if you're new to Pavement, where do you start? I'd suggest checking out the first song you may have actually heard since it had a minor amount of success upon its release, saw some MTV play and is now the opening song to Pardon the Interruption on ESPN/TSN. That song would be Cut Your Hair which is by no means their best song but is one of their more accessible and recognizable tunes.
I'll also leave you with another tune that found a little bit of success, Shady Lane, off their Brighten the Corners album.
One of the things I love about this song, and like all Pavement songs, is that within the often cryptic narrative of the song, there are individual parts you can pluck out and appreciate their brilliance on their own merit without having to be placed in the context of the rest of the song. One example from this song is the chorus "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god......oh my god, oh your god, oh his god, oh their god....it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god...the world's collide and all I want is a shady lane." The subtle jab Malkmus takes at either the phrase "Oh my god" or perhaps even religion itself is really quite brilliant.
The problem is that not nearly enough people listen to Pavement or are even the least bit familiar with their songs. They were the great underground, independent band of the 90's but were never able to achieve much, if any, crossover success. I assume this can be chalked up to a few factors: Malkmus' lyrics, while entirely brilliant, can seem quite cryptic at times and require attention span, intelligence and some level of thought. Pavement's musicianship also comes off as mediocre at best, which may be an entirely fair criticism, but Pavement guitar solos are never really the reason to listen to a Pavement song in the first place. Also, having seen Malkmus play recently with his new band, The Jicks, the guy can play guitar quite competently. I'm not sure if this is due to years of practice or whether he could always play guitar but did not focus on that aspect in his songs with Pavement because it seems he was bursting at the seams with song ideas and was simply trying to feverishly get them all out and recorded.
Regardless, discovering Pavement for myself a few years ago was a huge moment in my music listening life. I'm pretty sure a Pavement CD of some variety was in my car's CD player for about a 6 month stretch, non-stop. After the Jicks concert, I went out and bought the fantastic re-issue of their 3rd album, Wowee Zowee, and was blown away. The next day I went and bought the re-issues of Slanted & Enchanted, Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain and Brighten the Corners. And that was it...there was no looking back.
The problem with Pavement is that they don't necessarily come across as immediately engaging upon first listen. I had been familiar with them for a few years prior and never got too into them outside a few songs. But after a couple repeated listenings, I was entirely blown away by this band. And the more you listen to them, the more you appreciate Malkmus' genius. So, I've decided to attempt to spread the gospel and attempt to provide some sort of guide to becoming a Pavement fan. Over the next couple posts I'll recommend some songs, post some YouTube links and let any readers decide for themselves.
The first step in listening to Pavement is to understand that there are two songwriters in the band: Stephen Malkmus and a fellow who played under the unfortunate moniker of Spiral Stairs. Malkmus' contributions usually achieve or, at the very least, border on brilliance while Spiral Stairs' songs tend to come across as filler more than anything. He's a serviceable songwriter but is simply not on Malkmus' levels and unfortunately for him this fact gets magnified when his song is sandwiched between Malkmus tunes on the album (and I am admittedly quite guilty of simply hitting the next button on the Spiral Stairs tunes).
So, if you're new to Pavement, where do you start? I'd suggest checking out the first song you may have actually heard since it had a minor amount of success upon its release, saw some MTV play and is now the opening song to Pardon the Interruption on ESPN/TSN. That song would be Cut Your Hair which is by no means their best song but is one of their more accessible and recognizable tunes.
I'll also leave you with another tune that found a little bit of success, Shady Lane, off their Brighten the Corners album.
One of the things I love about this song, and like all Pavement songs, is that within the often cryptic narrative of the song, there are individual parts you can pluck out and appreciate their brilliance on their own merit without having to be placed in the context of the rest of the song. One example from this song is the chorus "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god......oh my god, oh your god, oh his god, oh their god....it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god, it's everybody's god...the world's collide and all I want is a shady lane." The subtle jab Malkmus takes at either the phrase "Oh my god" or perhaps even religion itself is really quite brilliant.
Friday 4 November 2011
Time Machine
Today at lunch we talked about time machines. When asked what I'd do if I had a time machine I replied: "Travel back in time and then go and burn Vancouver to the ground. Then come back to present time and burn Vancouver back down to the ground."
Monday 3 October 2011
Love In Vain
I thought that it might be interesting to talk about some of my favorite songs and why they're my favorite songs. Not that one should care what my favorite songs are, as someone knowing what my favorite songs are has zero impact on them being my favorite songs. I just think it might be interesting because a person's favorite songs can tell you a lot about that person.
Interestingly enough, my list of favorite songs might not actually contain any songs from my favorite band. That being, most likely, Pavement. Stephen Malkmus is probably responsible for writing some of the most brilliant songs ever, however, none of them would qualify as favorites. I assume that this is because listening to Pavement takes some effort, where as my favorite songs offer an immediate connection on an emotional level. I listen to Pavement to get smarter. I listen to my favorite songs to feel things.
Now, at the top of the list of favorite songs is an old blues song (assumedly) written by Robert Johnson and is responsible for the name of this blog. The song was also covered by the Rolling Stones on their Let It Bleed album. I had been familiar with the tune for several years, knowing it both as one of the lesser songs on Let It Bleed (if you can call it that) and as a part of the limited Robert Johnson catalog. However, it wasn't until a few years ago when I was listening to Let It Bleed in my car that this song plowed over me.
See, a few years ago (three years, five months, 19 days but who's counting) I kinda got my shit thoroughly ruined. There was a girl I met and we started hanging out, which resulted in a somewhat complicated situation. She would probably say it was very uncomplicated but I maintain that there was a certain amount of complicatedness. If there wasn't I'd probably have unruined (well, less ruined) shit.
Anyways, I really liked this girl, we were in some sort of friend situation in which we seemed to be pretty awesome friends, I maintain my stance that there was something more than just a friendship, she got a job out of province and I was left wondering what the hell to do about this sequence of events. So I decided to lob up a Hail Mary and offered to help move her out there. Now, despite claims to the contrary, this was not an idea I concocted on my own, but rather the idea was planted by the girl in question. And me, crazy about this girl and willing to do whatever was necessary to win her over, jumped at the opportunity.
So I took a week off work, went out there with her, had a fantastic and awesome time and then the night before I was scheduled to leave the shit hit the fan when I brought up the issue of the girl and myself and where things went from there. Which eventually led to her never talking to me again.
Which, now, brings us to the song in question. The first verse goes something like this:
"Well, I followed her to the station...her suitcase in my hand.
Well, I followed her to the station....her suticase in my hand.
It's hard to tell, it's hard to tell, when all your love's in vain.
All my love's in vain."
Based on the preamble, one can obviously deduce the relationship between the lyrics and where the story has headed.
Second verse:
"When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye
When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye
Well, I felt so sad, so lonesome, that I could not help but cry
All my love's in vain."
It's this part of the song, listening to it the first time since the incident, that I fully and completely understood the blues. Up to that point in my life, my enjoyment of blues music was based more on the sound and the aesthetic. The blues are, and always will be cool. With the explosion of English blues in the 60's however, I've always associated blues music with badass riffing and techinical instrumental mastery. Lost in all of it was the raw, emotional power that could be conjured up by simple 12 bar blues and only a few lines.
"When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye. Well, I felt so sad, so lonesome, that I could not help but cry." It's hard to explain the emotional power in those lines unless you've actually felt it. To stand there, helpless and alone, looking someone in the eye for the last time. And I guess that's the thing about the blues....the songs are so fundamentally simple from an outsider's view that there's no real way to feel their power unless you've actually experienced the blues.
But Mr. Johnson wasn't finished. He saved the best for last in the third verse:
"When the train left the station, it had two lights on behind
Well, when the train left the station, it had two lights on behind
The blue light was my baby...and the red light was my mind
All my love's in vain."
The red light was my mind.....
To say that I handled the following days, weeks, months and years in a reasonable manner would be highly inaccurate. After the initial shock started to wear off, the empty void feeling was replaced with incredible anger. The problem was, I really had nothing specific to be angry at. I have never been truly angry at her because, well, how can I be? It's not her fault she didn't like me quite as much as I liked her. So, I got angry at the only thing I could think of: at the time this whole thing went down I was a Christian, going to church on a regular basis. Within a few months I had totally and completely rejected the idea of god. And that rejection was founded entirely on these events.
I also slid into a pretty debilitating depression. I stopped exercising, started eating like nobody's business, got fat and lazy, didn't give a shit about work. This lasted for like two years. I never really got over her in any way, shape or form. I mostly just have to avoid thinking about her or talking about her or anything like that. My friends realize this and will quickly change the topic of conversation if we start brushing up against this subject. Even still, there are times when the most innocent little thing will trigger some sort of memory and I'll spend the next day or two moping around and having a few too many drinks and posting drunken rambling rants on blogs.
To say that I liked this particular girl would be a bit of an understatement. I would've done anything or given anything for her a few years and, to be honest, I would probably still give up everything at a moment's notice. But that's a moot point. The truth is, I'm a different person now and my assumption is that's a bad thing.
There really is no worse thing I've experienced than watching that blue and red light slowly fade into the distance. The problem is, if its dark out, you can see those lights for miles and miles into the distance, getting further and further away and there be nothing you can do it about. Yessir, Mr. Johnson, all my love is in vain.
Interestingly enough, my list of favorite songs might not actually contain any songs from my favorite band. That being, most likely, Pavement. Stephen Malkmus is probably responsible for writing some of the most brilliant songs ever, however, none of them would qualify as favorites. I assume that this is because listening to Pavement takes some effort, where as my favorite songs offer an immediate connection on an emotional level. I listen to Pavement to get smarter. I listen to my favorite songs to feel things.
Now, at the top of the list of favorite songs is an old blues song (assumedly) written by Robert Johnson and is responsible for the name of this blog. The song was also covered by the Rolling Stones on their Let It Bleed album. I had been familiar with the tune for several years, knowing it both as one of the lesser songs on Let It Bleed (if you can call it that) and as a part of the limited Robert Johnson catalog. However, it wasn't until a few years ago when I was listening to Let It Bleed in my car that this song plowed over me.
See, a few years ago (three years, five months, 19 days but who's counting) I kinda got my shit thoroughly ruined. There was a girl I met and we started hanging out, which resulted in a somewhat complicated situation. She would probably say it was very uncomplicated but I maintain that there was a certain amount of complicatedness. If there wasn't I'd probably have unruined (well, less ruined) shit.
Anyways, I really liked this girl, we were in some sort of friend situation in which we seemed to be pretty awesome friends, I maintain my stance that there was something more than just a friendship, she got a job out of province and I was left wondering what the hell to do about this sequence of events. So I decided to lob up a Hail Mary and offered to help move her out there. Now, despite claims to the contrary, this was not an idea I concocted on my own, but rather the idea was planted by the girl in question. And me, crazy about this girl and willing to do whatever was necessary to win her over, jumped at the opportunity.
So I took a week off work, went out there with her, had a fantastic and awesome time and then the night before I was scheduled to leave the shit hit the fan when I brought up the issue of the girl and myself and where things went from there. Which eventually led to her never talking to me again.
Which, now, brings us to the song in question. The first verse goes something like this:
"Well, I followed her to the station...her suitcase in my hand.
Well, I followed her to the station....her suticase in my hand.
It's hard to tell, it's hard to tell, when all your love's in vain.
All my love's in vain."
Based on the preamble, one can obviously deduce the relationship between the lyrics and where the story has headed.
Second verse:
"When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye
When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye
Well, I felt so sad, so lonesome, that I could not help but cry
All my love's in vain."
It's this part of the song, listening to it the first time since the incident, that I fully and completely understood the blues. Up to that point in my life, my enjoyment of blues music was based more on the sound and the aesthetic. The blues are, and always will be cool. With the explosion of English blues in the 60's however, I've always associated blues music with badass riffing and techinical instrumental mastery. Lost in all of it was the raw, emotional power that could be conjured up by simple 12 bar blues and only a few lines.
"When the train pulled up to the station and I looked her in the eye. Well, I felt so sad, so lonesome, that I could not help but cry." It's hard to explain the emotional power in those lines unless you've actually felt it. To stand there, helpless and alone, looking someone in the eye for the last time. And I guess that's the thing about the blues....the songs are so fundamentally simple from an outsider's view that there's no real way to feel their power unless you've actually experienced the blues.
But Mr. Johnson wasn't finished. He saved the best for last in the third verse:
"When the train left the station, it had two lights on behind
Well, when the train left the station, it had two lights on behind
The blue light was my baby...and the red light was my mind
All my love's in vain."
The red light was my mind.....
To say that I handled the following days, weeks, months and years in a reasonable manner would be highly inaccurate. After the initial shock started to wear off, the empty void feeling was replaced with incredible anger. The problem was, I really had nothing specific to be angry at. I have never been truly angry at her because, well, how can I be? It's not her fault she didn't like me quite as much as I liked her. So, I got angry at the only thing I could think of: at the time this whole thing went down I was a Christian, going to church on a regular basis. Within a few months I had totally and completely rejected the idea of god. And that rejection was founded entirely on these events.
I also slid into a pretty debilitating depression. I stopped exercising, started eating like nobody's business, got fat and lazy, didn't give a shit about work. This lasted for like two years. I never really got over her in any way, shape or form. I mostly just have to avoid thinking about her or talking about her or anything like that. My friends realize this and will quickly change the topic of conversation if we start brushing up against this subject. Even still, there are times when the most innocent little thing will trigger some sort of memory and I'll spend the next day or two moping around and having a few too many drinks and posting drunken rambling rants on blogs.
To say that I liked this particular girl would be a bit of an understatement. I would've done anything or given anything for her a few years and, to be honest, I would probably still give up everything at a moment's notice. But that's a moot point. The truth is, I'm a different person now and my assumption is that's a bad thing.
There really is no worse thing I've experienced than watching that blue and red light slowly fade into the distance. The problem is, if its dark out, you can see those lights for miles and miles into the distance, getting further and further away and there be nothing you can do it about. Yessir, Mr. Johnson, all my love is in vain.
Sunday 19 June 2011
The Stanley Cup and Redemption
Wednesday was probably the most important hockey game I've ever watched. I'd watched the Gold Medal game in Salt Lake City. The Gretzky on the bench shoot out in Nagano. Countless gold medal games in juniors, etc., etc. However, Game 7 in 2011 of the Stanley Cup Finals was, by far, the most emotional investment I'd ever had in a hockey game. So much so that I almost never even went out to watch it in public, just in case the Bruins lost. Because if the Bruins lost, something was getting destroyed.
To understand, one must look not only at my love of the Bruins, but also my intense hatred of Vancouver.
My dad, who has always been a Bruins fan, converted me over at a very young age. I was d-man when I started playing hockey, the Bruins had Ray Bourque at the time, so it was a pretty easy conversion. It also helped they had Bobby Orr before that. Oh, and I should mention Cam Freaking Neely, one of the easiest to cheer for hockey players in the history of the game.
Sure, like any good relationship, the Bruins and I have had our fights. There was the Joe Thornton trade (Joe had become my new favorite player after the retirement of Bourque) and their goaltending situation has constantly screwed me over in my fantasy league*, but at the end of the day I'm always there for the Bruins and, as it turns out, they're always there for me.
*(Two years ago I invested an early round pick in Tim Thomas, only to see Tuukka Rask get a Vezina nomination. This past season I spent an early pick on Tuukka Rask....and Tim Thomas is probably going to win a Vezina and Conn Smythe trophy. This frustrating situation led me, at one point this season, to post a drunken rambling message on the league message board proclaiming I was done with the Bruins and that Tim Thomas could eat a dick. Fortunately, like any good relationship, I hope we can forget this drunken moment of frustration.)
My hatred of Vancouver, on the other hand, is quite personal. About three years ago the universe kicked me right in the dick and balls and one of the fallouts of this incident is a personal vendetta against Vancouver. I feel so strongly in my hatred of this city that, for perspective, I cheered for the U.S. in the gold medal hockey game against Canada at the Vancouver Olympics in hopes that the people of Vancouver would not get to celebrate a gold medal victory. It's quite personal.
So, if you've at all followed my updates on the Facebook during the playoffs, you will no doubt have discovered that I'm in no way shy about getting a pure, visceral hate on for the Canucks. To me, the quicker they were out of the playoffs, the better, as this would insure that they're fanbase would have its hopes and dreams dashed after winning the President's trophy. And Chicago almost pulled it off. They came fucking close and they just about embarrassed the Canucks in the first round. It was around this time that I, still frustrated with my fantasy goaltending situation, declared that whomever eliminated the Canucks from the playoffs would be my new favorite team next year and I buy a jersey of my favorite player from that team (they had not yet announced the return of the NHL to Winnipeg). So while I was pricing out my new Dave Bolland jersey, the Canucks somehow managed to win game 7.
Drawing Nashville and a battered and bruised San Jose the next two rounds, the Canucks pretty much had a cakewalk to the finals and I knew it. So while I tried my best to rally around Nashville and then watched my favorite player in Joey Thornton do his best to try and overcome the anchor that is Patrick Marleau, it simply was not in the cards and the Canucks were destined to reach the finals.
Meanwhile, over in the East, I was quietly sitting back and watching the Bruins take out the Canadiens, then the Flyers and finally, in Game 7, the Bruins defeated the Lightning to advance to the Cup finals.
So here it was: either the Bruins were the team of destiny, here to win back my love and become my new favorite team after already being my favorite team all while vanquishing my most archest of arc-enemies, or the universe had such a hate on for me that it decided kicking me in the dick and balls just wasn't enough and it had to come back and kick my dick and balls right in the dick and balls.
By this time, my hatred of the Canucks was beyond any sort of rational hate any one person could levy against a group of individuals he had never even met. There was the deep rooted personal hate of Vancouver and its people and fans, there was the hate of all the bandwagon hoppers somehow believing this was Canada's team (not having learned the lessons about the NHL being a business that the Jets leaving 15 years ago should have taught us), but there was also a genuine hate of the actual team of players. How people could get on board in such large numbers with a team that featured cowards (Lapierre and Burrows), cheap shot artists (Torres), douches (Bieksa and Kesler), ninnies (Sedin Sisters) and a turd (Luongo) didn't make sense to me. The only player I respected at the start of the finals was Aaron Rome....and he knocked Horton out with a cheap hit in game 3. (I did come to respect Jannik Hansen's game, though).
Games 1 and 2 were frustrating as hell. Bruins outplayed the Canucks for 50 minutes but stopped skating in both games with 10 minutes left. Luongo looked invincible and it looked like we might never score. It looked like the universe hated me.
Game 3 started off much the same. Then Horton got cheapshotted off the ice and the Bruins did sweet fuck all on the ensuing five minute power play. It looked like it was over. And then came the second period. Goal after goal after goal after goal and the Canucks were embarrassed right out of the building. The evening ended with Tim Thomas laying a good clean check on a Sedin sister which lit up the internet message boards with whining Canuck fans complaining it should be a penalty. (Just in case you confused Canucks fans with hockey fans).
Game 4 was also a beat down. Brad Marchand etched his name in Boston lore that evening with a tremendous game, which included The Shift. (There was also Tim Thomas' brilliant giving of the business to Burrows in front of the net.)
This set up Game 5 back in Vancouver and once again the Bruins outplayed the Canucks and once again Luongo stole a win for the Canucks.*
*(It should be noted here that all the Canucks fans that threw Luongo under the bus really showed their true colors. These people are not hockey fans. Luongo, basically of his own accord, stole 3 games from the Bruins. Without him, this series would have been a sweep. Now, I hate Luongo, but I damn near almost felt sorry for the guy after everybody blamed him and hardly anybody pointed out the Sedin Sisters being minus a billion on the series, including a combined -8 in Game 7, all while the team in front of Luongo scored 8 goals in 7 games. This was not the goalie's fault.)
This brought Game 6 back to Boston, where the Bruins had beat the snot out of the Canucks so far in the series. I planned on watching alone in case I needed to smash my Dreamcast after a Bruins loss, but ended up having Russ, Forrester and Jeff show up at my place. Russ, another true Bruins fan, was a nervous wreck during warm-ups, the anthem, the opening five minutes......then the Bruins opened the flood gates, shelled Luongo, scored on Schneider and were up 4-0 before the 10 minute mark of the first period. We put it on cruise control the rest of the game, forcing a game 7.
I was going to watch this game at home by myself, Dreamcast at the ready for smashing, since it seemed like Luongo was invincible at home and I assumed the universe did hate me and that instead of this being some sort of redemption destiny it was in fact the universe being a cruel dick. But I woke up Wednesday morning feeling good. Phoned up Russ and decided we should go to the bar to watch the game. After work we headed to 4 Play. Line-up was around the block. We saw That Bruins Guy* at the front of the line and wanted to watch the game with him but realized we weren't getting in so we left.** Went to the Tavern. Packed. Ended up going to Boston Pizza*** and they had one table left. Right under the TV. Boston Pizza it was.
*(That Bruins Guy was at 4 Play with us when we went to watch game 1. He kinda looked like Andrew Ference and was that perfect amount of crazy that, in a bar brawl setting, you definitely want him wearing the same team's jersey as you since you know he can throw 'em and you know he doesn't lose too many. When some douche Canucks fan went up to him to shake his hand after the Bruins lost "here's to good game", That Bruins Guy responded by telling him "I'll punch a Canucks fan in the face before I ever shake his hand." This guy was clearly my kind of people.)
**(Canucks fans are just like Canucks players. They pass you on the street and won't make eye contact but half a block after they pass you they turn around and make some comment. Cowards. At 4Play the comment was "Bruins fans can't handle the line." No, you dumb fuck. We're actually FANS and not bandwagon hopping gypsies and we had no intention of missing a second of action waiting in line for some bar.)
***(Boston Pizza was put on my boycott list when they decided to cross out Boston and write under it Vancouver on their website for the finals. I don't take my boycotts lightly, which is why watching the game at Boston Pizza was a fact worth mentioning. However, watching game 7 of the Cup Finals featuring the Bruins is more important than a boycott and, with the good memories forged in that place that night....boycott lifted!)
Russ was, as always, a bit of a nervous wreck. I was somewhat calm, somehow believing that this game was destiny and that, whatever way this game turned out, would be indicative of some greater thing. I knew it was entirely out of my control, yet Russ wanted to control everything. It was a weird dynamic. We ordered drinks but could not even think about food. We sat, watching intently, waiting for the first goal. With so much invested at this point, there was no other focus but the game. Finally, Patrice Bergeron potted a goal, allowing us to think about things such as the fullness of our bladders and maybe eating some food.
Brad Marchand added some beautiful insurance. Then the refs decide to call the first penalty of the game....a somewhat questionable interference call on Chara (questionable in that it was game 7 and they had not been calling that a penalty all game. Normally it would clearly have been interference.) That's when Bergeron put home a shorty and it just felt like that was the game. Which it was. The Canucks were beaten, bruised and broken. Marchand put home an empty netter, we counted down the final 10 seconds, went and hugged/high fived every Bruins fan in attendance, watched Timmy take home the Conn Smythe and then watched, almost speechless, as the Bruins passed that beautiful trophy of Lord Stanley's around. (I say almost speechless as Russ and I blabbered aimless nonsense about each player that hoisted the Cup. At this point, even the Black Aces on the team seemed like legends.)
We decided to head to 4 Play and see if That Bruins Guy was still there. We headed upstairs and sure enough there he was. We ended up in a three man bear hug, filled with joy and celebrating this wonderful moment with a complete stranger that we felt we knew for years but had only seen once before, two weeks earlier, and had only briefly talked to. The manager at 4Play had given That Bruins Guy a huge bottle of champagne on the house and we ended up standing around with him and about 4 other guys passing around the bottle, reliving the nights events, reminiscing about past Bruins moments and just soaking in the moment. We ordered some rounds of beer, talked about tattoos, jerseys, when we became fans, how gay we all were for Tim Thomas (I believe 7 out of 8 guys would have blown Tim Thomas that night if Tim asked) and how much people cried when the Bruins finally won.
After crashing at Russ', watching some riot coverage, sending e-mails and updating the Facebooks and eventually staring at the ceiling unable to sleep and thinking of the Cup, I ended up rolling into my place at 4:30 am. To sleep by 5:30. Up for work at 7 am. Then back home at 10 am, hungover as shit off the tears of Canucks fans.
At the end of the day, I couldn't have asked for a better ending. I finally received a small, minuscule amount of redemption. It doesn't make up for the past, but at least its something. And while it may make me seem like a dick, I must say that everything about this brought me joy.
Had the Canucks been eliminated by Chicago, it would have just been another early round disappointment. But, by making the Finals, getting up early and then having a 3-2 lead after 5 games, Canucks fans believed they were going to win the Cup. It seemed inevitable to most of them and you could tell by the way they celebrated and by the turd of the game the players laid in Game 6. They played that game like they had already won the Cup. So the people of Vancouver believed the Cup was theirs. And then the Bruins and Brad Marchand quite literally punched their hopes and dreams right in the face. Three years after Vancouver had destroyed my hopes and dreams, my Bruins destroyed theirs.
But it was the gift that kept on giving. I saw footage of Canucks players crying, Vancouver fans weeping and sobbing, heartbroken and distraught. It was glorious!!! And it kept coming....not only were their hopes and dreams crushed, but the people turned on their own city, destroying buildings and cars and whatever they could get their hands on. But it got even better......since everybody now has a camera, websites were set up to identify these idiots. We've already had one guy lose a water polo scholarship and other kid was arrested on his last day of high school. This is fantastic!!
So, thank you, Boston Bruins. Team of Destiny. Favorite team of for life. (Chipman has only one shot at getting Winnipeg to be my number one and Boston my number 2. If this team isn't named the Jets, goodbye Antropov Jets jersey and hello Marchand and Tim Thomas jerseys.) You've allowed me to finally get on the scoreboard.
Vancouver 586 - Brad 1. The comeback is on, bitches.
To understand, one must look not only at my love of the Bruins, but also my intense hatred of Vancouver.
My dad, who has always been a Bruins fan, converted me over at a very young age. I was d-man when I started playing hockey, the Bruins had Ray Bourque at the time, so it was a pretty easy conversion. It also helped they had Bobby Orr before that. Oh, and I should mention Cam Freaking Neely, one of the easiest to cheer for hockey players in the history of the game.
Sure, like any good relationship, the Bruins and I have had our fights. There was the Joe Thornton trade (Joe had become my new favorite player after the retirement of Bourque) and their goaltending situation has constantly screwed me over in my fantasy league*, but at the end of the day I'm always there for the Bruins and, as it turns out, they're always there for me.
*(Two years ago I invested an early round pick in Tim Thomas, only to see Tuukka Rask get a Vezina nomination. This past season I spent an early pick on Tuukka Rask....and Tim Thomas is probably going to win a Vezina and Conn Smythe trophy. This frustrating situation led me, at one point this season, to post a drunken rambling message on the league message board proclaiming I was done with the Bruins and that Tim Thomas could eat a dick. Fortunately, like any good relationship, I hope we can forget this drunken moment of frustration.)
My hatred of Vancouver, on the other hand, is quite personal. About three years ago the universe kicked me right in the dick and balls and one of the fallouts of this incident is a personal vendetta against Vancouver. I feel so strongly in my hatred of this city that, for perspective, I cheered for the U.S. in the gold medal hockey game against Canada at the Vancouver Olympics in hopes that the people of Vancouver would not get to celebrate a gold medal victory. It's quite personal.
So, if you've at all followed my updates on the Facebook during the playoffs, you will no doubt have discovered that I'm in no way shy about getting a pure, visceral hate on for the Canucks. To me, the quicker they were out of the playoffs, the better, as this would insure that they're fanbase would have its hopes and dreams dashed after winning the President's trophy. And Chicago almost pulled it off. They came fucking close and they just about embarrassed the Canucks in the first round. It was around this time that I, still frustrated with my fantasy goaltending situation, declared that whomever eliminated the Canucks from the playoffs would be my new favorite team next year and I buy a jersey of my favorite player from that team (they had not yet announced the return of the NHL to Winnipeg). So while I was pricing out my new Dave Bolland jersey, the Canucks somehow managed to win game 7.
Drawing Nashville and a battered and bruised San Jose the next two rounds, the Canucks pretty much had a cakewalk to the finals and I knew it. So while I tried my best to rally around Nashville and then watched my favorite player in Joey Thornton do his best to try and overcome the anchor that is Patrick Marleau, it simply was not in the cards and the Canucks were destined to reach the finals.
Meanwhile, over in the East, I was quietly sitting back and watching the Bruins take out the Canadiens, then the Flyers and finally, in Game 7, the Bruins defeated the Lightning to advance to the Cup finals.
So here it was: either the Bruins were the team of destiny, here to win back my love and become my new favorite team after already being my favorite team all while vanquishing my most archest of arc-enemies, or the universe had such a hate on for me that it decided kicking me in the dick and balls just wasn't enough and it had to come back and kick my dick and balls right in the dick and balls.
By this time, my hatred of the Canucks was beyond any sort of rational hate any one person could levy against a group of individuals he had never even met. There was the deep rooted personal hate of Vancouver and its people and fans, there was the hate of all the bandwagon hoppers somehow believing this was Canada's team (not having learned the lessons about the NHL being a business that the Jets leaving 15 years ago should have taught us), but there was also a genuine hate of the actual team of players. How people could get on board in such large numbers with a team that featured cowards (Lapierre and Burrows), cheap shot artists (Torres), douches (Bieksa and Kesler), ninnies (Sedin Sisters) and a turd (Luongo) didn't make sense to me. The only player I respected at the start of the finals was Aaron Rome....and he knocked Horton out with a cheap hit in game 3. (I did come to respect Jannik Hansen's game, though).
Games 1 and 2 were frustrating as hell. Bruins outplayed the Canucks for 50 minutes but stopped skating in both games with 10 minutes left. Luongo looked invincible and it looked like we might never score. It looked like the universe hated me.
Game 3 started off much the same. Then Horton got cheapshotted off the ice and the Bruins did sweet fuck all on the ensuing five minute power play. It looked like it was over. And then came the second period. Goal after goal after goal after goal and the Canucks were embarrassed right out of the building. The evening ended with Tim Thomas laying a good clean check on a Sedin sister which lit up the internet message boards with whining Canuck fans complaining it should be a penalty. (Just in case you confused Canucks fans with hockey fans).
Game 4 was also a beat down. Brad Marchand etched his name in Boston lore that evening with a tremendous game, which included The Shift. (There was also Tim Thomas' brilliant giving of the business to Burrows in front of the net.)
This set up Game 5 back in Vancouver and once again the Bruins outplayed the Canucks and once again Luongo stole a win for the Canucks.*
*(It should be noted here that all the Canucks fans that threw Luongo under the bus really showed their true colors. These people are not hockey fans. Luongo, basically of his own accord, stole 3 games from the Bruins. Without him, this series would have been a sweep. Now, I hate Luongo, but I damn near almost felt sorry for the guy after everybody blamed him and hardly anybody pointed out the Sedin Sisters being minus a billion on the series, including a combined -8 in Game 7, all while the team in front of Luongo scored 8 goals in 7 games. This was not the goalie's fault.)
This brought Game 6 back to Boston, where the Bruins had beat the snot out of the Canucks so far in the series. I planned on watching alone in case I needed to smash my Dreamcast after a Bruins loss, but ended up having Russ, Forrester and Jeff show up at my place. Russ, another true Bruins fan, was a nervous wreck during warm-ups, the anthem, the opening five minutes......then the Bruins opened the flood gates, shelled Luongo, scored on Schneider and were up 4-0 before the 10 minute mark of the first period. We put it on cruise control the rest of the game, forcing a game 7.
I was going to watch this game at home by myself, Dreamcast at the ready for smashing, since it seemed like Luongo was invincible at home and I assumed the universe did hate me and that instead of this being some sort of redemption destiny it was in fact the universe being a cruel dick. But I woke up Wednesday morning feeling good. Phoned up Russ and decided we should go to the bar to watch the game. After work we headed to 4 Play. Line-up was around the block. We saw That Bruins Guy* at the front of the line and wanted to watch the game with him but realized we weren't getting in so we left.** Went to the Tavern. Packed. Ended up going to Boston Pizza*** and they had one table left. Right under the TV. Boston Pizza it was.
*(That Bruins Guy was at 4 Play with us when we went to watch game 1. He kinda looked like Andrew Ference and was that perfect amount of crazy that, in a bar brawl setting, you definitely want him wearing the same team's jersey as you since you know he can throw 'em and you know he doesn't lose too many. When some douche Canucks fan went up to him to shake his hand after the Bruins lost "here's to good game", That Bruins Guy responded by telling him "I'll punch a Canucks fan in the face before I ever shake his hand." This guy was clearly my kind of people.)
**(Canucks fans are just like Canucks players. They pass you on the street and won't make eye contact but half a block after they pass you they turn around and make some comment. Cowards. At 4Play the comment was "Bruins fans can't handle the line." No, you dumb fuck. We're actually FANS and not bandwagon hopping gypsies and we had no intention of missing a second of action waiting in line for some bar.)
***(Boston Pizza was put on my boycott list when they decided to cross out Boston and write under it Vancouver on their website for the finals. I don't take my boycotts lightly, which is why watching the game at Boston Pizza was a fact worth mentioning. However, watching game 7 of the Cup Finals featuring the Bruins is more important than a boycott and, with the good memories forged in that place that night....boycott lifted!)
Russ was, as always, a bit of a nervous wreck. I was somewhat calm, somehow believing that this game was destiny and that, whatever way this game turned out, would be indicative of some greater thing. I knew it was entirely out of my control, yet Russ wanted to control everything. It was a weird dynamic. We ordered drinks but could not even think about food. We sat, watching intently, waiting for the first goal. With so much invested at this point, there was no other focus but the game. Finally, Patrice Bergeron potted a goal, allowing us to think about things such as the fullness of our bladders and maybe eating some food.
Brad Marchand added some beautiful insurance. Then the refs decide to call the first penalty of the game....a somewhat questionable interference call on Chara (questionable in that it was game 7 and they had not been calling that a penalty all game. Normally it would clearly have been interference.) That's when Bergeron put home a shorty and it just felt like that was the game. Which it was. The Canucks were beaten, bruised and broken. Marchand put home an empty netter, we counted down the final 10 seconds, went and hugged/high fived every Bruins fan in attendance, watched Timmy take home the Conn Smythe and then watched, almost speechless, as the Bruins passed that beautiful trophy of Lord Stanley's around. (I say almost speechless as Russ and I blabbered aimless nonsense about each player that hoisted the Cup. At this point, even the Black Aces on the team seemed like legends.)
We decided to head to 4 Play and see if That Bruins Guy was still there. We headed upstairs and sure enough there he was. We ended up in a three man bear hug, filled with joy and celebrating this wonderful moment with a complete stranger that we felt we knew for years but had only seen once before, two weeks earlier, and had only briefly talked to. The manager at 4Play had given That Bruins Guy a huge bottle of champagne on the house and we ended up standing around with him and about 4 other guys passing around the bottle, reliving the nights events, reminiscing about past Bruins moments and just soaking in the moment. We ordered some rounds of beer, talked about tattoos, jerseys, when we became fans, how gay we all were for Tim Thomas (I believe 7 out of 8 guys would have blown Tim Thomas that night if Tim asked) and how much people cried when the Bruins finally won.
After crashing at Russ', watching some riot coverage, sending e-mails and updating the Facebooks and eventually staring at the ceiling unable to sleep and thinking of the Cup, I ended up rolling into my place at 4:30 am. To sleep by 5:30. Up for work at 7 am. Then back home at 10 am, hungover as shit off the tears of Canucks fans.
At the end of the day, I couldn't have asked for a better ending. I finally received a small, minuscule amount of redemption. It doesn't make up for the past, but at least its something. And while it may make me seem like a dick, I must say that everything about this brought me joy.
Had the Canucks been eliminated by Chicago, it would have just been another early round disappointment. But, by making the Finals, getting up early and then having a 3-2 lead after 5 games, Canucks fans believed they were going to win the Cup. It seemed inevitable to most of them and you could tell by the way they celebrated and by the turd of the game the players laid in Game 6. They played that game like they had already won the Cup. So the people of Vancouver believed the Cup was theirs. And then the Bruins and Brad Marchand quite literally punched their hopes and dreams right in the face. Three years after Vancouver had destroyed my hopes and dreams, my Bruins destroyed theirs.
But it was the gift that kept on giving. I saw footage of Canucks players crying, Vancouver fans weeping and sobbing, heartbroken and distraught. It was glorious!!! And it kept coming....not only were their hopes and dreams crushed, but the people turned on their own city, destroying buildings and cars and whatever they could get their hands on. But it got even better......since everybody now has a camera, websites were set up to identify these idiots. We've already had one guy lose a water polo scholarship and other kid was arrested on his last day of high school. This is fantastic!!
So, thank you, Boston Bruins. Team of Destiny. Favorite team of for life. (Chipman has only one shot at getting Winnipeg to be my number one and Boston my number 2. If this team isn't named the Jets, goodbye Antropov Jets jersey and hello Marchand and Tim Thomas jerseys.) You've allowed me to finally get on the scoreboard.
Vancouver 586 - Brad 1. The comeback is on, bitches.
Tuesday 17 May 2011
The Red Light Was My Mind
And I followed her to the station
with a suitcase in my hand
And I followed her to the station
with a suitcase in my hand
Well, it's hard to tell, it's hard to tell
when all your love's in vain
All my love's in vain
When the train rolled up to the station
I looked her in the eye
When the train rolled up to the station
and I looked her in the eye
Well, I was lonesome, I felt so lonesome
and I could not help but cry
All my love's in vain
When the train, it left the station
with two lights on behind
When the train, it left the station
with two lights on behind
Well, the blue light was my baby
and the red light was my mind
All my love's in vain
- Robert Johnson
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