The Villain-Penguin Committee, or How Pennsylvania Twice-Screwed Quebec

Ladies and gentlemen: Exciting times! The Hall of Filth has hereby trebled in size.

Prologue: It should be noted that "The Great One" Wayne Gretzky was never drafted into the NHL. He chugged into the league aboard the Pompous Peter Pocklington Profiteering Express and together turned the NHL upside down in terms of rule changes and player salary dynamics. But excuse me; Pocklington is not on trial today. Maybe another time. Don't leave town, Peter.

The biggest draft anticipation of hockey's modern era came in 1983-1984 with the "Magnificent One" Mario Lemieux the undisputed Number One Pick headed for draft day. The Pittsburgh Penguins, under the ownership of Mafia Scumbag Edward J. DeBartolo Sr. reacted by hiring new General Manager Eddie Johnston who had a reputation for excellent goaltending in his playing career and a knack for finishing last place as a GM.

Sure enough, Johnston did not disappoint and led his new team to a 16-win season; currently the 18th worst in NHL history (bottom one per cent) thus assuring the Pens would acquire Lemieux.

Predictably Lemieux was a super-star, challenging legends Gretzky and Orr in any conversation regarding "best player of all time" but in six years could not bring Lord Stanley's Cup home to Pittsburgh for it's first ever visit.

No problem. It's 1990. Enter new GM; former headlining goaltender Ron "Hot Head" Hextall; a man and mouth who played by their own rules! But he's no Eddie Johnston. "The Joker" Jaromir Jagr is the creme de la creme of the coming draft but best pick ol' Hexface can come up with is fifth overall. So he calls up Jaromir in the barely-still-existing Czechoslovakia and says, "Hey, Joker-Baby! I know you want out of that poop-hole-ovakia. But you want to come to Pitsburgh don't you? So you can play with the best player in the world; Super Mario. Right? He can teach you how to be a proper super star!"

"Why yes," says the Joker to the Penguin. "Yes I do!"

"Great. So here's what you do. You tell everyone, No, I won't come to North America if you draft me. I'm staying in Europe to play with my friends, my family, my countrymen. Then we draft you anyway! And then you show up and say, Ha ha! fooled you Faggots! You fell for my little joke! Then you play for us, and you and Mario will be the best duo since Lefleur and Cournoyer!"

So that's what they did: leveraged the Magnificent Acquisition they earned by being the worst team in memory and then ran over the league with two elite superstars and immediately snicker-snatched two Stanley Cups!

In fairness it was the Quebec Nordiques who should have had the privilege of drafting Jagr. Instead they landed Mike "The Italian One" Ricci who whelmed the NHL with his Pasta Offence (he got few pucks past-a goalie).

And to make the Quebec story a little more hilarious, they drafted newest sensation Eric Lindros in the very next draft; the guaranteed Gretzky-Lemieux Heir Apparent - what "One" was he? I honestly forget. The "Bull-Headed One" maybe? Or "The Egoist?" And his reaction was "Fuck those losers, I ain't playing for Quebec! Send me to the Pennsylvanias where they know how to manufacture Stanley Cups and Yankee Bucks!"

"Oh. Okay. Whatever you say, Boss." said the league, and he went to the Pencildelphia Flyers and Petr Forsberg went to Quebec as compensation and both players were awesome and both spent half their career injured and the Nordiques sans Jagr or Lindros, fizzled and were dragged away to Denver. Au Revoir mon freres.

Fast-forward to the turn of the century and Penguins fans are still hungry for a third drink from the Cup. Thanks to their glorious bankruptcy accomplishment and rather sensible buy-out arrangement, our old Magnificent friend Mario now owns the team and he and Hextall preside over another toure de farce; another bottom-twenty season in NHL history with "The Sexy One" Sid-the-Kid Crosby gathering everyone's attention.

Things got weird with the following lockout season and a special lottery arrangement in which The Penguin Committee made out with another steal, nabbing superstar Evegny Malkin 2nd overall and still qualifying for best ball entitlement for the following year, sans season, snapping up Crosby first overall. And with the most privileged NHL duo since Lemieux/Jagr they won cups in 2009, 2016 and 2017.

Let's look at the best 16 players of the modern era by point-production on a per-game capita.

1. Mario Lemieux  PITTSBURGH
2. Connor McDavid  Edmonton
3. Sidney Crobsy  PITTSBURGH
4. Peter Forsberg  Coloraado
5. Joe Sakic  Colorado
6. Pat Lafontaine  Buffalo
7. Evgeni Malkin  PITTSBURGH
8. Steve Yzerman  Detroit
9. Eric Lindros   Philadelphia
10. Leon Draisaitl  Edmonton
11. Artemi Panarin  NY Rangers
12. Nikita Drunkerov  Tampa
13. Pavel Bure  Vancouver
14. Jaromir Jagr  PITTSBURGH
15. Alex Ovechkin  Washington
16. Patrick Kane  Chicago

the Penguin Committee managed to acquire 2 of the top 3 players all-time, 3 of the top 7 and 4 of the top 14! None were made great within any superior Penguinese development program. All were drafted pre-great and under peculiar circumstances.

It's a terribly sketchy distribution. 

Broadening the scope above to top 32 players all-time, where in a 32-team league the average organization should have experienced one player at this level in their entire history, here's how long it took teams to acquire fastest multiple examples:

• Edmonton: 5 in 37 years

• Pittsburgh: 4 in 21 years

• Colorado: 3 in 15 years

1. Boston: 2 in 2 years
2. NY Islanders: 2 in 3 years
3. St. Louis: 2 in 11 years
4. Buffalo: 2 in 21 years
5. Chicago: 2 in 24 years

• Anaheim: never
• Arizona: never
• Calgary: never
• Carolina: never
• Columbus: never
• Dallas: never
• Detroit: never
• Florida: never
• Las Vegas: never
• Los Angeles: never
• Minnesota: never
• Montreal: never
• Nashville: never
• New Jersey: never
• NY Rangers: never
• Ottawa: never
• Philadelphia: never
• San Jose: never
• Seattle: never
• Tampa Bay: never
• Toronto: never
• Vancouver: never
• Washington: never
• Winnipeg: never

HoF Proudly inducts the Villain-Penguin Committee to the Hall of Funk:

• Edward J. DeBartolo Sr
• Eddie Johnston
• Mario Lemieux
• Ron Hextall

Indictment: Greedy Hornswoggling

Sentence: 15 months each

What do you think? Who were the worst offenders? The Penguins or the Hitler-Schnitzel Death Machine? Comment, like and subscribe. Just kidding. Take a hike!

A brief chapter from history

So I did some reading about this guy from the early 20th century and concluded he wasn't very nice. Here is his story very briefly:

Adolph Hitler was born in 1889 in the Austrio-Hungarian town of Braunau-am-Inn. He could never make friends because he was terrible at sports and came from a town with a silly name. One day he met Schnitzel the Cat and something clicked. But Schnitzel hated Jewish people and told Adolf they could only be friends if he promised to get rid of them all.

Adolf discovered he did have one talent; he could scream at people and make them feel angry, especially German people. So he pretended to be German and screamed at them and they loved it so much they put him in charge, without even bothering with an election.

He and Schnitzel got to work and killed about six million Jewish people along with some handicapped people and gay people and anyone else Schnitzel didn't like, while the Germans meanwhile were very very careful not to find out what the strange couple were up to. In the German's defense, they were being wooed by the big plots of land that Adolf gifted to them which he stole from Slavic and Polish people.

Luckily some nice people from nice countries (but not Italy or Japan) got together and tried to stop Hitler and Schnitzel's hijinks. They had a big big fight in which things got carried away and a lot of other people with various axes to grind took sides and another 80 million people died from burning, starving or choking to death or from boys shooting each other 'til they bled to death while shitting their pants and crying for their moms, not understanding that they were "heroes" and it was all going to be fine.

After six years of this skirmish some surviving Russian people had Hitler surrounded in his Fury-Bunker so he married his only human friend, Eva Braun, and the very next day, a jealous Schnitzel ruined their honeymoon by murdering them both and fixing the scene to look like suicide.

Fiendish period: 1939-1945

HoF Indictment: Delusional Megalomania

HoF Sentence: 5,950,000,000 years 

HoF stands for Hall of Filth by the way. As HoF Society Admin person I'd like to thank you for attending our very first induction ceremony. I hope you approve of our first ever inductee.

Hitler, Adolf and Schnitzel

My holiday gift to you

I hereby give you...

My humiliation.

For your enjoyment.

You should probably be ready with earplugs so that you don't bleed out.

Nugget of Wisdom #707

According to Make It magazine; a product of "world leading" news channel CNBC, Harvard researchers report that, "Hi. How are you?" is the worst thing you can say when greeting an associate. They advise that this is too vague and not likely to generate an authentic connection.

Hard to argue that, I say. But what if it's an associate we don't exactly crave an authentic connection with? Maybe it's perfect?

Three superior options, claims Make It:

• “Hi. What are you looking forward to this week?”
• “Hi. You remind me of a celebrity, but I can’t remember which one — who’s someone you relate to?”
• "Hi. What are your three favorite colors?"

Um. Yeah.

Confession: Only two of those were recommended in the article and one of them is my own throw-in. Though I can't imagine using any of them. Also, I find it a bit odd that they issue their number one piece of advice; "be authentic," right before providing canned dialogue.

Oh and here's their actual third suggestion. Ready?

• "Hi. What's your current state of mind?"

Can you imagine?

Pretty sure my response to that would be, "Suddenly cringed the fuck out, actually. Will you excuse me?"

The preceding nugget may or may not contain authentic wisdom. Either way it is not endorsed by the army of monkeys known as Fantasy Writer Guy. 

Everyday Heroes

I was 17 when I met two particular cousins for the first time. Their mom had rescued them from a not-great dad and my uncle took them in as his own, gave them solid love and shelter, this during a 12-year period when I was separated from the whole family at large. All four made me feel extremely welcome (as did the whole excellent family) at a time when unfavorable high school dynamics had turned me socially inward. The cousins, being my age, took that opportunity during our somewhat-brief association, to respond to my demeanor effectively; with a slightly puzzled respect. They marveled at my "mellow" manner and interpreted it, whether mistakenly or strategically, as something rare to be applauded. When introducing me to their friends it was often revealed that the reputation they conceived of me had preceded the introduction, and not that of a "loner", as some kids mistook me as, but as more of a confident outsider, like a tame Clint Eastwood perhaps, minus all the guns and bravado! And though this interpretation was also off the mark, it no-doubt drove my social turnaround, at least initially. They were the first to coax me out of my shell, whether by fluke or by design. I never did ask; never got to speak my loving gratitude.

Meanwhile Aunt K, who I was only just meeting, accepted me at once like family. I remember her saying "You are welcome in our house ANY time!" I've never been specifically told that before or since.

The boy, who struck me as an extremely pleasant and friendly dude, had a tragic knack for trouble of the wrong-friends variety, and gradually dissolved into some underworld apart from my understanding. In hindsight I would gladly go back in time, and decline that gift he gave me, if only I could trade it for the privilege of supporting him instead, and boosting whatever strength he needed so that he did not need the support of his unworthier allies. If only I could have helped tip that equation. Maybe we'd still be friends. I don't even know if he's alive.

"I hope he stays out of trouble now," said his sister to me one summer day in our youth.

'He will!" I said, like it was obvious.

She laughed. "You're so confident!" But I was a fool. I also later assumed she would defeat her breast cancer. She did not.

I was told there was no funeral and not told of a memorial celebration that happened later. I was very disappointed. If it was too late to praise her for her kindness, I wished at least to tell her loved ones.

Years went by, never getting to see Aunt K. I wanted to. I wondered if she was upset with me (and other family) for not supporting her daughter enough. K's absences from small family gatherings were always attributed to the great physical suffering she'd been enduring.

The other day, as I pushed my walker up the ramp to the little handicap bus, I sensed another guest on board. Sometimes we share.

"Hi Rich," she said. I looked up, but already knowing that lovely gritty voice. I was completely disarmed, as if caught in a long long exhale.

"It's so good to see you," I managed to say. Such an understatement. It was so good to see her I could barely form the words.

She did not seem upset with me at all. We caught up in a hurry. I was teary. There was a hug of sorts, as much as possible given the logistics. I got the chance to praise her daughter. It didn't surprise her. She knows her daughter. The pain of losing her... I can't imagine.

But she continues to put one foot in front of the other, as hard as that must be at times, or maybe all the time.

 

Homework? Really?

I've started the medical diet through the bariatric clinic as a weight-losing measure to better prepare me for the surgical program which will create significantly more permanent weight-loss. I'm on robust prescription meal-replacement shakes and non-carbonated, non-caloric fluids and nothing else; nothing resembling food until week thirteen. If I last until then. This seems like torture at times.

The program includes weekly Zoom classes. I'm about to do my homework which I think consisted of three questions. Excuse me while I go find them.

Let me think carefully and answer honestly:

1. To avoid diabetes. To avoid heart disease/heart attacks long enough that my Mom doesn't have to bury me. To increase my chances of being able to properly walk again so I can better pursue my goals rather than giving up on some of them.

2. My mobility, my mortality and... people will not worry so much about me.

3. None. I no longer have any confidence that I will succeed. I am really, really, REALLY not liking this experience. What I would like is some FUCKING FOOD.

What abilities at least give me hope of possible success?

Great question.

My ability to be at peace with my circumstances, which... I have not utilized very well up to now. Can I summon it? Surely I should be able to but I WOULD RATHER EAT.

Going places

Dear Diary:

I thought about getting out of bed eventually, and then finally did. I'd showered and laundered yesterday so today would be a breeze. And only one bus to take. Well, two if you include the little DARTS bus.

I'm in clean clothes with Jim Morrison shirt anchored under my Jabba-the-Hut belly. Got my standard gear, two bottles of wine, birthday card, notebook, pens. Forget the coat; its like summer almost. And forget my Presto (transit) card because it's lost and therefore I must buy a GO ticket from a machine and swiftly because DARTS was 22 minutes late picking me up. But both machines at the GO station reject my purchase attempts (three times each) and I can't seem to stop myself from loudly cursing though I've no wish to draw attention. I cannot miss this GO bus! and at the last minute I'm on it and pleading my case to the driver who lets me in with no ticket.

Another nice man gives up his roomy front seat so I can sit there with walker before me, clinging to it, even with its ornamental "brakes" supposedly engaged, trying to keep it from crashing around the wide aisle as the bus careens around corners.

My folks and I converge at the park-and-ride and they haul me and my gear to brother's house where we celebrate Pops' 76th birthday with booze, nibblies, excellent coffee and of course a hockey game on the toob. And eventually dinner and cake. The niece is two now and starting to gab, and its a joy to finally communicate with this beautiful creature. I gape and snicker at anything she does and she giggles at me delightedly.

The boy is now in grade one and a veritable encyclopedia of animals and dinosaurs. He reads me a simple story about fire trucks before springing into his typical hyper hijinks. Mom, Dad, Grandpa and Nana all take their turns admonishing him and on some occasions he seems hurt. I never do that. Surely we need at least one good-cop; no?

He squeezes onto the couch between my mom and I while she reads a storybook aloud. I make one teasing gesture at him and he's off on a wrestling/boxing campaign against me. I do my best to survive for some time and then beg a reprieve. Dad barks at him. "It's my fault," I say. "I wound him up."

"Stop trying to take the blame for my kids' behaviour!" he says. I didn't know I'd done that before.

The night gets on and the boy wants me to come see his room. I remind him that Uncle has bad legs. He suggests I could at least try. And I do. I climb the damn stairs and arrive at his room. "I have to sit!" I say.

"He points at the comfy armchair; he and mom's reading chair, and says, "I have a chair for people with leg problems!" Later the others would have a great laugh at that.

Soon its time to leave and I struggle and rise. The boy looks sad and presses his cheek to my hip. I cup his shoulder. "I'll see you again soon. Okay buddy?"

The bus home features a more typical arrangement at the front. Two trios of inward-facing seats which are hinged. One set is up, out of use and blocked by bulky luggage. On the other is a young white athletic man, a black woman and a little girl of middling complexion, my niece's age. I cannot possibly sit on my walker seat or leave it alone to become a loose cannon. And I cannot fit it down the narrower aisle toward the rear where there might be a couple available seats. I hesitate and look around.

"I'll move," says the black woman and she jumps up and moves a few strides down to the first empty seat.

"No, I don't want to split you up!"

"It's okay," they say. Their stop is coming up soon. I sit down gratefully and try to rein in my mechanical beast.

"That's what these seats are for," says the guy, nodding at the beast, his daughter on his lap.

I nod at the stroller and say, "Well you've got your burdens too." As if to explain, I then add, "I just came from my brother's place. He has a girl the same age." Dad and daughter have much fun together and I am very happy. These colourish kids strike me very dearly. It's like looking into the future. It's like they carry the flame for a better humanity one day. 

At the end of my ride he wishes me well and I can't resist touching him on the shoulder and saying, "You have a very beautiful family." He thanks me and his expression is that of surprisingly real gratitude.

Thankful part 2

 

Thankful

Yesterday

I accept a meeting request with the VP of the Tigers, along with the new fundraising specialist and the new game-day specialist who has worked with the local pro football team and the local pro lacrosse team. Their resumes are superb and their appearance should be a load off my mind. I can concentrate on writing articles, producing videos and running the web site. Our social media guru is still on board.

But this is the first time in three years I have made a commitment to a volunteer organization. I've been on hiatus. There's a dull shadow of nervousness back in some recess of the mind.

Coincidentally I have graduated from the wait list and will go on the bariatric medical diet within two weeks. This day I attend my first virtual class. The other participants seem very reserved, many too shy to undarken their cameras. This will be a weekly commitment for about 24 weeks.

I also attend a phone appointment with another doctor. I have the hardest time with his accent. I gather though, that I will have to take blood sugar readings every other day and go to my doctor's for a weigh-in every other week.

All this just after committing to my dearest writing pals that I will join them for live November write-ins. The commitments are piling up all of a sudden. Over-commitment has proved a very dangerous threat to my health in the past. It leads to neglect. I know I have to be careful. It weighs on me. The doctor is full of bravado and talks about changing the doses to all my medications. I'm thinking he can go to hell, this stranger, and no one is changing my meds except my family doc who I trust with my life.

I sense all this weight but it's not demanding; just lurking. And ah, the miracle of facebook and it's glorious insights. This day I gain the insight that my regular sushi friends are celebrating an outing at our fave sushi joint and I wasn't invited. Well, I can't complain. If they didn't choose me then that's on me, not them. I have not been the kind of person they want to sushi with currently. So be it. Oh well. I do not suffer the illusion that when I am de-grouped it is someone else's fault. 

But it's a little haunting, and the feeling brings back that from a couple weeks prior, on Thanksgiving day. Me sitting on my walker on the driveway, getting my daily dose of outdoors, planning cheese sandwiches for dinner because I have not received my October assistance payment due to some problem; a problem which adds more weight.

And through the open window of my next door nighbours I hear the celebration going on. A bunch of folks I thought were my friends, who I have thanksgivinged with several times before, are dining without me. It's a little shocking but I'm okay. Maybe they'll send a plate home with my housemate who is there. But they didn't.

At darkfall I call Mom and we skype. She loves me like a rock. And the faint little pit of hurt is diminished.

Today

I hear from my caseworker finally. She releases my October payment. I'll have it in a day and a half and then my November payment right on it's heels. And she tells me there is a $150 benefit languishing on my profile and though it is not properly triggered she's sending it to me anyway. She tells me to treat myself to whatever I want before graduating to Disability benefits within a month, and by the way, Disability will have a nice retro sum waiting for me as well. Just in time for my new diet launch with a very pricey bill attached at the outset.

Today I shower, go for a walk, do laundry, make a healthy meal, dog-sit, read a chapter, work on projects. I'm feeling better and it's a banner day. The shower is barely painful at all. I am physically improving and it's not fully understandable why. I've hit no real milestones yet, only improved some habits.

So I'm thankful this thanksgiving season.

For being alive. For the biosphere hanging on still. For being human and not a cockroach or a lobster.

And for knowing more clearly who my friends are. Or aren't.

And even for those who are not but who used to be. My failures have not diminished special memories.

Yes I'm still a movie junkie

I'm just rolling over the half-way hump of film Kate (USA 2021) starring Mary Elizabeth Winstead as the nasty Mercenary/Pin Cushion/Walking Bruise, Miku Patricia Martineau as the headstrong Japanese teenage crime boss daughter (and the only thing resembling a good guy), and the sparingly-used Woody Harrelson as the subtly-creepy sidekick; the supposed-supporting role.

Looks like a great flick if you want to pick someone to root for and then celebrate the colour red in the form of fountains of blood gushing and splashing all over the goddam place in every scene. Personally I'm having trouble staying awake.

I'll give it zero blood-splashy stars out of five. Probably. If I make it to the end.

The champ

Six hours into this day I have:

• slept in magnificently
• brushed my teeth
• made a coffee
• took my pills
• went for a walk
• solved a crossword puzzle
• created a crossword puzzle for my collection
• read a chapter of Dark Tower book 8
• met a new dog named Tonks and told her pet human Tabatha the Tale of the Squirrel Invasion
• took in recycle and trash bins
• made pork chops, tomatoes and tator salad for dinner
• checked email and messenger, charged phone and updated calendar
• watched a documentary about the America's Cup
• won a game of chess
• may or may not have lost a few games as well. Shut up.
• listened to two Lemon Jelly albums

How's that for a list of accomplishments? I'm probably the champion of the world now.

Levelling up

 Here's a neat tool I've been using for a couple months, rarely missing a day: lvluplife.com

At first glance it's a cute way to turn life into a Dungeons & Dragons styled role-playing game and a motivation tool with regards to your goals, whether it's getting out of bed in the morning, acquiring your MBA degree or everything in between. But you'll see it's more than that.

A selection of fairly simple goals are available, sorted into categories such as Creativity, Social, Health etcetera, and each goal has an experience point (XP) value plus one or more ability points in one or more of the six categories above. You'll find three of those ability categories familiar but with Culture, Environment and Talent in place of Wisdom, Dexterity and Constitution. With each level increase, more goals are unlocked and at increasingly higher values.

But you can create custom goals any time, at a maximum value commensurate to your level at the time. 

Collecting XP moves you up levels. But your ability scores are not really numerical and move on a floating scale. Your most-exercised ability is automatically 100% and the rest are at the appropriate ratio. So volume of achievements moves you up levels but only life balance improves your ability meters, which is very wise!

Balance is also encouraged as follows: The higher the goal's point value, the less frequent it can earn points. The minimum goals are each once per day. Some of mine now are once per week. This stops you from loading up on "Play Grand Theft Auto for one hour" and scoring it eight times a day!

So it serves as a daily planner. You can mark which goals are "current" (intended) and filter on those as a to-do list. Any goals that are not point-scorable are greyed out. So the goals available for points are the goals that are "due."

It's so much more useful than it looks at first glance.

From the office of the Search for Terrestrial Intelligence: email of the week

From: Support Prime ID:834614608 <no-reply@gozagoza.com>

Sent: September 21, 2022 2:29 PM
To: nathanael_13@hotmail.com <nathanael_13@hotmail.com>; eladmarom@hotmail.com <eladmarom@hotmail.com>; mzrray@live.com <mzrray@live.com>; marcsearllegend@live.com <marcsearllegend@live.com> +95 others

Subject: Re: Reminder: [Activity Report] Your account is sign in on a new device. Wed, September 21, 2022 6:29 PM #[5024281770]

A Message From Amazon Prime!

Hello.

There is a forced login on your account that we think is suspicious, we will include details of the suspicious login:

Date : Wed, September 21, 2022 6:29 PM
Country : Texas, United States

Our system has canceled all your pending orders. Your account will remain on hold. To fix this problem, please verify using link below.

You need to verify your account before "September 23, 2022" or your account will be permanently suspended.

___________________________________________

To: jong-un.kim@korea-dpr.com

Sent: September 22, 2022 1:15 AM

cc: Support Prime ID:834614608 <no-reply@gozagoza.com> nathanael_13@hotmail.com <nathanael_13@hotmail.com>; eladmarom@hotmail.com <eladmarom@hotmail.com>; mzrray@live.com <mzrray@live.com>; marcsearllegend@live.com <marcsearllegend@live.com> +95 others

FWD: Re: Reminder: [Activity Report] Your account is sign in on a new device. Wed, September 21, 2022 6:29 PM #[5024281770]

Dear Kim,

These cowboys who I told you about: Not content with roping calves and squeezing Bronco's testicles and all that yee-haw nuttery, now they tried to penetrate my Amazon-Prime account on "September 23, 2022" and now my pending orders are cancelled! I can't take it anymore. Please send all of your nukes to Texas, pronto.

Maybe spare the children if you can?

Thanks Kim and congratulations on the "heinous isolation" campaign and your recent coitus with the Nukes goddess. Say Hi to Jinping for me next time you're at the Great Hall! 

jigeum-eun annyeong,

NDR

Let's be brief

So much to talk about I suppose but still I'm in no hurry. Let's start at the bottom tier for today and then see what tomorrow brings:

The... League of Slither. Nope. The... Professional Schizoid Slither League. Yeah that's better. Here's a random profile of the day:

This is Bluebird Sausage. He's the newest member of the tour, finishing 30th of 31 entrants in his first pro competition; the prestigious Gotham City Tourney earlier this month. A very tough venue to start a career at, and this week, his second appearance, it gets no easier with another Grand Slam event, the Torneo Strangiato. After two rounds he sits in 18th spot. With just a little more improvement he could finish in the money. 

Speculation around Bluebird being a blood-relative of tour-favourite Earlybird Pancake (now sitting fourth at Strangiato) does not fly. They've never even met until this week.

Kiss Me You Tool and Mister Squishy are the surprise leaders at the mid-way break in Macedonia with a stunning 4K lead over the rest of the field! 

And that's it for all the sports news that matters. Everything else is baloney. Good luck in your two final rounds in Macedonia Blue!

How I survived the war

Miraculously I did not procrastinate in my preparations for leAvIng tHe hOUsE and did not suffer a bout of anxiety and regret and did not cancel at the last minute. Hurray!

The Gimp Bus ride was mildly problematic as was navigating this alternate new-to-me train station but I made it aboard and rode for free because I couldn't figure out how to pay! Believe me, I tried and tried until I thought they would leave without me if I didn't give up.

At Destinationville Station the walk to the city bus area was a real chore but nothing compared to the walk to the church from the "nearest" stop. Thank god I had over an hour to kill and a seat-on-wheels to repeatedly stop and rest on. 

Father/Pastor/Minister Jim saw my arrival at the rear loading door/gimp access area and ushered me in, gave me water, elevatored me up to the sanctuary and installed me on the wrong side of the gallery which was fine! Groom #2 is also a friend, just of less seniority.

The ceremony was magical with a couple goofy moments and I teared up of course.

Another rickety elevator ride, another slogging journey 'round...

to...

the front...

of...

the church...

where my first post-covid mob of humanity awaits and I'm late-oh-well for the photo shoot. 

Sweet Michael is Roddie's best man and we fall in together, laughing. It's been too long. He's giddy and inaudacious as always and introduces me to his charming and gentle partner (now co-homeowner). He seems to have grown up and not changed! They are a gorgeous couple.

I've anticipated asking Roddie's daughter if she remembers me (with little hope) but so surprisingly she sneaks up from behind me and says, "Hey, you probably don't remember me...!" Oh but of course I do, sweet one. Of course I do!

Her little brother must be... 19 by now? He's at home with brand-new Covid and the separation is hurting he and Dad.

Roddie remains unclear about the plan to get me and my walker to the distant reception hall until the parking lot empties along with my will to protest. The driver demands the walker which he easily deposits in the yawning trunk and I am ushered into the limo. I'm in nice casual (but not quite dressy) trousers, aging black dress shoes, spiffy shirt (not well pressed) and blossoming tie. The five-guy wedding party are decked out in snappy greys, bowties and actual flowers. I really don't want to infect the onboard wedding photos but I relent, enjoy the company and the champagne and try to cling to the shadows when the photographer, riding shotgun, spins and fires.

At the hall I make friends and play at the illusion of conversation while choking on the DJ's pounding din.

The meal is too good to be true , highlighted by decadent fresh raviolis, ample filet mignon and the best crème brûlée ever. The red wine is premium and the cute considerate waiter delivers bottle after bottle seeing that I have mobility issues. I drink copiously of that and of the Stella Artois (because it's not Coors or Keith's thank god) and of the Johnny Walker for some goddam reason. Because it slightly reminds me of real scotch? I knock back four doubles in total. Maybe I thought I'd grow accustomed to it. I didn't. I sure hope I didn't think it would make me look cool. I do realize that nothing makes me look cool. Look I hate to sound like a snob but I don't know how you people drink that swill!

Ah I'm sorry! Personal taste is so arbitrary I know. But it's fun to complain.

Fucking swill drinkers...

Spending this night with Roddie and Michael and their marvelous mates was... just brilliant. The best time I've had in years. How did I manage to stay away from such lovely friends for so long? I must be nuts.

The next day I feel the pain. My body is broken. Ah well. I feel like a hero home from a journey to the kingdom to romp with royalty. And this is despite the gentlest return possible. Those sneaky devil friends would not hear of me bussing and training home. "Your carriage awaits!" said Michael, when the party was undeniably over.

"What are you talking about!"

 An Uber of course. They're too sweet.

Not a typical hide-at-home Saturday morning

I managed to snooze for a couple or three hours with Seinfeld providing a soothing white noise. I have to go pick out a goofy tie, perhaps a tie clip, maybe even a ring. Have to give my hair and beard a trim, spiff up some goodish shoes, shower and brush. Lay on some Old Spice (or is that Olde?)

Pack a small briefcase with my relevant notebooks, crossword mag, wallet, keys, mask, pens.

Get dressed, and lumber outside and sit on my rollator walker seat for about 11:15AM to soak up some fresh air before the DARTS bus comes to pick me up.

Catch the train out of the harbour station. Transfer to local bus, exit a couple blocks from the church at about 2:25PM which gives me an hour to migrate the two blocks on foot to get to the 3:30PM wedding.

Remember Rockin' Roddie anyone? He's finally marrying his sweetheart after fifteen or twenty years of dating. Crazy kids.

Knowing Roddie there will be very decent red wine and scotch on hand so I plan to drink like an absolute boss monster and catch a morning train home again. I'll figure it out as I go. It'll be an adventure. I got $20 in the bank and another $25 in my Presto (transportation) account. I can't imagine anything going wrong.

Cheers

No one wants to get killed I guess

So I promised to try again tomorrow, which has magically become today but in eleven minutes will become tomorrow; otherwise known as the day after. And I can already see that this is going to be a hopeless pool of drivel to be deleted or just never posted.

Whatever I wanted to say yesterday and put off until today - I don't remember what it was. And now there are nine minutes remaining.

I watched a Netflix flick called Kindergarten Teacher and it started a little tame I thought but then snuck up on me and grabbed me by the nuts toward the end. One of those well-crafted character pieces that really resonated. Great film if you're blessed with empathy. If you totally don't get it that's okay. You're probably just one of those empathy-starved monsters that seem to be arising more and more often in society. Or maybe I'm just one of those people getting really good at spotting them. Anyway don't worry about it. It's fine to be a monster. Monster is just a label. Don't worry about it. You're as entitled to life as anything. It's not your fault that society was built with the lame assumption that everyone has empathy. Sometimes I have seen myself as a sort of vampire assistant who falls in love with a person starved of empathy (it's a real pattern) and I know how to help them fake it and make life better for them but we never get to that point because I'm too scared to talk about that subject with them. Insulting a person without empathy - well - that might get you killed. Who knows?

Cheers

Entry #1213

That seems like a big number. Twelve hundred and thirteen blog posts since... 2006 I think. And what have I accomplished in all this time?

A lot of research. A lot of semi-intellectual recreation. A lot of movies and documentaries. And a lot of trifling work on so many unfinished projects. Like more than two hundred for sure. I get too many ideas too quickly. But these aren't accomplishments. I've actually completed more than 75 videos, mostly for distribution within my own small circles; rarely using my own footage. And some of them are quite good but they're private in essence, serving my own small associations. Some people are still shy about the internet. So it's my goofy fun-time stuff that goes on YouTube, such as The Flatus Trilogy, or in that narrow zone where YouTube machinations will enact music copyright blocks but Vimeo won't, then on Vimeo.

Well, I feel like this is getting boring already. Whatever I had intended to say, we'll try again tomorrow, eh?

Cheers.

OH my GOrD he's Writing a blog pOsT

Yes he is, ladies and gentlemen. He's hunting and pecking away at his little keyboard and pecking the wrong key twice in every five pecks and drumming on the backspace key more than anything else.

And now, ladies and gentlemen he's marched it all the way back to "hitting" and changed it to "drumming on" because, Holy Noodles Batman, he's a writer don't you know!

And he's living the dream. He stayed up ALL NIGHT because he knew there was no use trying to sleep. He did some championship level laundry in the early dawn gloom. OH YES boys and girls, the early dawn gloom! What a wordsmith. Unrivalled I tell you.

He crashed mightily come morning, awoke after an hour and a half, PROMPTLY FORGOT he slept an hour and a half and would later tell a filthy scheming evil lie about not even sleeping a second.

Oh and what's this? He's speaking in the third-person perspective now! Wait. Check the records. Check the.... the.... thing. Whaddaya call it? What the court reporter... transcript?? Let's say transcript. Okay, never mind. Turns out he's been speaking in the third person since the very beginning.

Now where was I? I mean, He.

So after a good bout of confusion where I almost cancelled the Big Outing I actually got together with The Ponderer. She picked me up; me freshly showered, Santa-nian beard trimmed way back, newish clothes, teeth brushed etcetera, in shoes even... And we hit the Dollarama for bread, some chili, some noodles... what Caramilk bars? Who said anything about Caramilk bars? Some crackers what will make my lonely cheese happy...

We went to Tim's for coffee, tea, hot chocolate and bagel-muffin food and talked about dead and dying people but in a good way and was reminded how much I love life and love my friends to pieces. The Ponderer of course and even the ones once close who I don't see anymore. Even the ones who I loved so dearly with all my heart, such that every day was either blissful or aching. I wonder sometimes if they read this blog even though they've had enough of me in person. Well, if you're reading... I still love you with all my heart, as I have every single day, even the days when you were sadly mistaken, and thought that I didn't.

Peace y'all.

I don't want to die in the city

He was perhaps the last of the old-fashioned lumberjacks.

He worked through old and new and crippling pains, through vicious weather, through the irritants of weaker men, through loneliness.

He survived injury and trees that tried to kill him and dullards who dared to talk at the dinner table.

He befriended the forest, the wind, the horses and dogs.

He succumbed to narrow thinking and... temptation.

He soured in prison, aged in captivity, eroded in the city; a new prison: confined to the streets, the basement market and bookshops, an apartment in the sky with his bookshelves and little gardens. He stared out the windows for years at the grid of rooftops and grey horizons and never a forest in sight.

"I don't want to die in the city," he said, but it had to be inevitable.

He respected women and indigenous peoples and animals and tired drearily of men but he took to me for reasons I don't understand. And so I tolerated him for reasons I don't need to understand. I promised we'd take a trip when it became possible. We'd go see the trees (that tried to kill him). But then I too fell to physical ruin.

A new friend took up his cause. They won a reprieve. She had a car. They fled the city, saw the trees and the lakes.

They left the shore on a boat. He left the boat and in the water he was free of the tyranny of useless legs, but not of an old tired heart. "I don't feel good," he said suddenly to her; the woman on the boat. And the water moved over him and secured his escape from the city.

I haven't spared as much thought for the Lonely Lumberjack because Grandma passed away the same day and frankly she was dearer to me.

I remember that day when Carlos brightened and dropped a shield and declared a revelation; it's okay to ask for help. And soon thereafter he released this poem; my favourite.

My entire life
I have walked
Whatever path alone
Forged ahead
No matter what
Emotions not ever betraying
My stern face

Lately, I have made
A pleasant discovery
It sort of
Crept up on me

To always be alone
Is not
Who I have to be

To bend; accept help
Is to develop
A trust

Not to be like
An old machine
That gradually
Submits
To
Rust

- The Lonely Lumberjack

Today is the first day...

... of a new era: life without grandparents. 

I was blessed to have six of them, and blessed to have one who outlasted the rest by decades. She was a living great great grandmother. Five generations living at once; four now.

She was simple, kind, loving; ever dependable in these traits; as unpretentious as it gets. She liked bingo and phone calls from relatives. She played her Nintendo (NES) for decades after the rest of us moved on. We used to meet for breakfasts on a regular basis and we thought we were near the end of the long pause; thought we were gonna finally get together again soon. But time ran out. That's okay. Little pains and hardships had long grown into major ones. She was ready to call it quits I think.

I'm grateful for all the time and love she gave me. I'm glad she is not suffering. I'm hoping my aunt and uncle are... okay. It must be real hard to lose a great mom.

Love you.

NDR

Scrambling

 Anyone remember the Avitable Scramble? Well I do. And I say we're overdue. Someone hit the timer:

1. I have a rental CPAP machine now and I'm getting 5 hrs sleep per night; that's about double my previous output over the last two or three weeks.

2. I'm hungry but I don't like going upstairs where the kitchen is generally located because stairs make my little leg hurts and I am a little suckie baby.

3. Maybe I should have tried to get some more sleep instead of trying to write words this early in the morning.

4. There is no 4.

5. HA! I love that joke. I got it from Monty Python. I use it way too often and no one can stop me.

6. Speaking of too many Bruces. Our formerly favourite Bruce; the Boss; Mister everyman-lovin' Springsteen is charging $4000 at the high end of his concert ticket pricing. Hmm. Maybe he's become a libertarian fuck-wit of the sort he would have hated back when he still resembled a human being. Or... maybe he's just senile and doesn't know what's going on.

7. There is no 7. Ha ha ha ha. It gets funnier every time.

8. So I got sad about the Lemoncloud minecraft server. My friends all seemed to disappear and my goals seemed to be looking unrealistic as they are so long-term and player turnover seems too high in this world. So I never logged in for over a month and when I came back some of my claims had been expired leaving key properties unprotected. A fair amount of vandalism occurred and the top 80% of my resources are gone. The 80% at top value. Plenty of dirt and old rusty swords were left behind. However a little bird tells me that an acquaintance may have emptied my vault and may be storing my major valuables for me. That's the kind of thing I have done for friends in the past...

9. Did someone set a timer? No?

10. Speaking of Dynamic Pricing, sometimes; rarely, it is used benevolently: In Finland speeding tickets are calculated based on your income. This is a concept which should be stunningly obvious but which never occurred to me until I was seventeen; about seven years after I became smarter and more human than the life-size petrified dog turds that we call politicians in this deliriously fucked up country that looks so great on the surface if you have not the slightest idea what is going on around you.

11. I forgive you for not knowing what is going on around you. You probably have a job or a life or kids or something so what chance have you got at doing the 48 hours or research per day it would take to unearth enough truth from the mountains of bullshit we call society in order to have sufficient awareness to - to what? To live nobly? To make all the right moves? To find legitimate happiness? Just what IS the magic formula? It changes from time to time, doesn't it? Because the planet and our flawed societal schemes continue to degrade with time, and so the "right" answers become more and more compromised.

12. Well. I hope that cheered you up a little, imaginary readers!  

P.S. I've done a little nibblet of research and can't find any reason why this Canadian baby and her hard-working mom should be booted from Canada:

Petition · SIGN TO STOP THE DEPORTATION OF FATUMAH NAJJUMA AND HER DAUGHTER FROM CANADA. · Change.org

Please go fax yourself

Dear aliens:

Still stuck on this cute but withering planet named something akin to "Dirt" by its most bombastic inhabitants (who treat both it and each other as such) where in accordance to their kooky machinations I was pushed to sending the following communication today:

Dear person or other:

I received your very excellent and efficient ambulance care on 6 June 2022 while subscribed to Ontario Works system. I currently face severe mobility and transportation barriers and not being a proprietor from the previous century, I do not own a fax machine. Thus my inquiries to the automatonic telephone nexus were met with no applicable response.

 

Would you please do me the biggest favour and fax to yourself the following info?

patient XXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXX XXXXX

OHIP# XXXX XXX XXX XX

acct# XXXXXXX (balance $45.00)

Ontario Works# XXX XXX XXX   

your fax # XXX-XXX-XXXX

Otherwise I will wait to hear from a collections entity and I guess have someone to talk to.

Thank you again for the excellent health care; as always professional, effective and unhindered by superfluous human connection. I hope you all have a great day.

Sincerely...,

Feel free to swing by any time.

There comes a proud moment in every young man's life...

... when you become so technology-dependent you'd be dead without it. I couldn't have been older than 45 when I hit that mark. Maybe it was earlier. Maybe a lot earlier.

My CPAP machine died a horrible death about two weeks ago. Thanks likely in part to supply chain issues and likely in part to wild demand stemming from a huge recall event, my wait for a new one will probably be counted in months. My friend Super Priest has already been waiting months for his. Mind you he still has his old (cancer-causing) one in working condition meanwhile. Lucky jerk.

Anything resembling normal sleep is now impossible so I've been sitting upright for the last 300 hours hoping to fall asleep and hoping to stay asleep for more than a minute. This comes true once every 24 hours or so, usually between sunrise and noon and lasts for two or three hours. I survive on that and little catnaps here and there.

That said, I've been feeling great. Not tired at all. Yesterday I cleaned the house from top to bottom. Saturday I performed a surprise concert on the roof, and the day before that I took a flight on the Hindenburg. Also this paragraph is bullshit. I am a zombie most of the time and trying not to be miserable about it.

Hoping to land a rental unit soon. Surprisingly there are some available.

Media late to the party again: Governments' Dirty Tricks

The title of this video reads:

How Fossil Fuel Giants RIG International Law To Ensure Their Profits Are Protected

Pretty cute. It should read How Industry Uses the Federal Governments They Own to Establish International Law Which Protects Their Profits.

Industry does not create law on their own, and governments are not "Scrambling to not get sued..." as this reporter suggests. Governments created this situation intentionally through so called "trade deals" which they pushed through as undemocratically and secretly as they possibly could so as to support government sugar daddies while pretending to be on humanity's side. 

I used to protest these conspiratorial "trade agreements" whenever their creation was leaked and we had just barely enough voices to get them knocked down for awhile but I never thought the governments (both righties and lefties) would give up and of course they didn't and of course they were ultimately successful.

The migrations continue. Governments gradually shed transparency and saddle us with it while stripping our privacy and taking it for themselves. 

Keep up the great work, voters.

A Symmetry of Thumb

So this is my proudest moment.

I have used my amazing all-star creative and influencer powers to bring together some of the most brilliant minds in music today to produce the next We Are The World basically. I'll include brief bios below but they're redundant. These are household names of the highest echelon okay.

The project is called A Symmetry of Thumb and if that title doesn't quite seem grammatically sound to you, that is only because WE ARE ALL SO MUCH SMARTER THAN YOU! Anyway, enjoy. 

The Symmetry of Thumb Collective:

Jens Lekkman

Songwriter, storyteller, shit-kicker and honey-lipped vocalist. Sweden's answer to ABBA.

sssnacksss

Wielder of two opposable thumbs and YouTuber of sixteen years with 1,401,735 views. Hey. You could be the one million four hundred and one thousand seven hundred and thirty sixth. What are you waiting for?

Reprise

Tiefling, ranger, beast-master, revenge-conspirator, cat-lover, sexual legend, alcoholic and friend to children and other smallish people everywhere (except dwarves). All this before the age of seventeen!

Julie Andrews

Actor, singer, author and official Disney Legend. Fifty-ninth Greatest Briton of all-time and Hasty Pudding's Woman of the Year for 1983; the same year Queen Elizabeth II went into space, only to be replaced by the alien doppelganger who returned in her place. COINCIDENCE ??  

Rick Astley

Dancer, Internet prankster, two-thumbed guitar enthusiast, man who will never give you up and presumably one of the top 68 million Britons.

New Day Rising

Video editor, Crip, Gordon Ramsay fanboy, competitive eater, laundry-day nudist and guy who doesn't actually realize what "Crip" means.

 

[insert clever title]

Hah! Punked you. I did not return next month. Or the next. And now it's July and the day after the We're So Great We Rock Nuthin Wrong Here Day Holiday Fun Day and I am not hung over 'cause I can't afford to drink anymore. But maybe some day. Also I spent the day at home alone doing some real honest to god writing and hosting an event on the LemonCloud Survival-1 minecraft server AND... I ate some tuna sandwiches, worked on a video and sneezed riotously; making my back twitch and seize like a fucker. Same things I do every day.

Hey! You want to know what's on my mind! Well of course you do! All my imaginary readers are dying to know what's on my mind.

It's July Camp NaNoWriMo and though I'm probably done with NaNoWriMos for the foreseeable future I am happy that my buddy Chess Champ is participating and I am very much with him in spirit as I pursue my own challenge which is just 250 words (minimum) each day.

And for the record I am not counting any blog content; only my serious fiction project; a collection of related short stories which I very fully outlined a few years back.

Yesterday was day one and I wrote 650 words and even though I was not particularly well-rested it was not difficult. I'm happy with the work and also free of my usual perfectionist trip-traps. If things start to go sideways, big whoop. I can carry on in some not-quite-right direction, let the project evolve and edit it into the right shape when the time is right. How did I just spend years not writing and thinking I couldn't do it? What an idiot.

That's it for today. And don't worry. I am not calculating my word-count here! These 312 words shall not be logged!

Love you.