Way Back When...



I caught myself doing it again... Here I am, listening to music at work (ah, the luxuries, eh?) and suddenly "Rock This Town" by the Stray Cats comes on. Instantly, I'm catapulted back 21 years into the past...



It was a time of Rugby Pants and T-Shirts with glittery iron-on decals. A time when I could get out of bed, smooth down the parts of my hair that were standing at attention, and go off to school. A time when said school was still in the same neighborhood as my house, so Mom could force me to walk there, regardless of the blizzard raging outside.



And, it was Grade 6... That final year of Elementary when you are the kings and queens of the school, the fear of going to Junior High and being nothing but a peon again still distant enough to ignore. The Commodore VIC 20 was enjoying the distinction of being one of the most popular Home Computers (with color! Eat your heart out Apple...) and we never missed an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard.



I can still picture the inside of the library at Terrace Road Elementary the day of my Grade 6 "graduation"... 20 boys and girls bragging about where they would be going for summer vacation and showing off their photocopied certificates of achievement... Big Tupperware bowls filled with chips and cheezies... Styrofoam cups and 1 litre glass bottles of Coke and 7-Up... A stack of LP's (that's right, good old vinyl records) to dance to... Where was I going with this? Oh yeah! Stray Cats...



So, it turned out that "Rock This Town" was one of the most popular songs played that day, along with "Thriller" by Michael Jackson (who wasn't nearly so white back then). And who was the cool kid who brought the Stray Cats to the dance? Well, that would be yours truly. Unfortunately, that's all there is to this little trip down memory lane. Nothing really exciting happened... It wasn't a defining moment in my social development... No, it's just the image that pops into my head when I hear those rock-a-billy sounds.



I tried to share this experience with my co-worker, the guy I share an office with. He just turned around in his chair and said, "Yeah, I think I was born then..." Well, now that I know he thinks I'm old, I guess I won't bother telling him that today is my birthday... Nah, I'll just smile and go back to listening to my tunes. Hey! "She Blinded Me With Science"! Cool!





P.S. My humblest apologies for the shameless way I slipped my birthday into the blog. I promise not to let it happen again for at least a year...

Two Minute Penalty for Boring the Fans



Today's blog will have to be a rant, but I promise to keep it short for you...



At this very moment, the Flames and Canucks have just retired to their dressing rooms for the first intermission of Game 4. The Canucks (as I pointed out yesterday) are leading the series 2 games to 1, but the score for this game is still tied at zero. Lots of great skating, awesome passes, and amazing goaltending... But here's the problem: The NHL Officials.



Ever since the playoffs began, all we've heard from the color commentators is how the referees have been instructed by their organization to crack down on "obstructions" in the game. These are instances where a player does something (tripping, hooking, interference) to illegally interfere with an opposing player's progress. So, what we have now are a bunch of guys in striped shirts who are too paranoid to miss a call (one can only imagine what punishment they've been threatened with) so they call anything that even resembles an obstruction. It's getting right out of hand! I'm not sure about the rest of the fans out there, but I know that I tuned into watch the finest that the NHL has to offer, not the Best and the Brightest of the Whistle Blowers. You wanna talk about obstructions? How about stopping the game every 2 minutes for pointless penalties?



In my opinon, these playoffs would be a lot more entertaining if we could just get back to some good old 5-on-5...

This Just In...



Okay, just a quick update today... I've got a million things on my mind, but not an ounce of desire to put them into fancy prose. So, hold onto your hats because here we go!



First of all, for those of you wondering how my Great Decaffeination went, I am happy to report that I not only made it through the seven days, but today marks my 11th day without coffee. Actually, I haven't had tea or cola either... I thought those might be considered cheating. Anyway, it looks as if I'm going to try for a full two-weeks with this little java-free gig. Kinda makes the name of this blog a little inappropriate...



And there is great rejoicing in the land! The NHL's Stanley Cup Playoffs are in full swing! The hiss of sharpened blades on white ice... The crack of wood meeting frozen rubber... The lights... The horns... This is the time of year that every Canadian lives for! I'm once again glued to the TV every night as teams battle for hockey's ultimate prize. And this year is a little sweeter still... For the first time in 8 years, the Calgary Flames (my home team) have made it to the post-season! Now, all of us fair-weather fans who have been avoiding them for the better part of a disappointing decade are back on the band wagon, baby! Windows are filled with "Go Flames Go!" signs, Flaming C flags are flying from the tops of cars, and the Saddledome (our appropriately named arena) is packed to the rafters.



However, I am a little worried... The Flames are trailing the Vancouver Canucks 2 games to 1 in this opening 7 game series so far. Usually not much to worry about with a team as hot as the Flames have been of late, but a couple strange things happened on the weekend that have me doubting... First, I was watching the sports highlights and they were talking about the Flames. All of a sudden, the picture changed to a shot of a couple guys competing in the Master's at Augusta (golf). It lasted all of a second, most likely someone setting up the tape for the next story, but I saw it. Now, for those of you who don't know, it is often said when a hockey team is eliminated from the playoffs that they are "gone golfing". Eerie... Later, I was watching a documentary about the explosion of the Mont Blanc in Halifax Harbour in 1917. The narrator was telling about the families out for a stroll that day that never knew what hit them, and they showed a stock-clip of some families out for a walk. Now, for some reason, this particular clip was modern, not set in the period as every other one was. Again, it was only on the screen briefly, but a little boy walking at the front of the soon-to-be-dead oblivious people was wearing a Calgary Flames sweatshirt! Spooky... You know what they say: If it sounds like an omen and feels like an omen...



In other news... I have been checking out my regularly read blogs, well, regularly, and I've noticed a drop in the frequency of posts on most of them (though there are a few exceptions). It got me to thinking that I don't sit down at the old Blogger nearly often enough, so... Even though I am a firm believer that one should stay silent when one has nothing good to say, I'm going to make an attempt to get on here once a day for the next little while. I may not have anything of great entertainment to share, but I figure I can at least come up with a two- or three-sentence thought for the day, right? Well, we'll see how it goes.



Well, I'm off for now... Gonna go grab a beer and settle in for some hockey.

Day Four



Today is Day Four. It has been four days since I made a life-altering decision. This is the fourth day that I have gone without coffee. This is the first day that I've been able to talk about it...



It began last Thursday.



My girlfriend came by to pick me up from work, as usual. I was exhausted from a long day of trying to look busy, as usual. Untold milligrams of caffeine from uncounted cups of coffee were coursing through my veins, as usual. We kissed and then proceeded on our way, my knee bouncing triple-time to whatever song was on the radio, as usual.



After the typical, "How was your day?", "Good. And yours?", "Fine.", she got to telling me that she had been talking to her Mom. Now, that conversation opener never ceases to send a shiver down my spine. As a man, you have to perk up, pay attention, and be ready to defend yourself, or defend your mate, depending where the damage has been inflicted. So, steeling myself for the worst, I put on my most casual smile (knee now bouncing wildly out of control) and said, "Really? What's up?" She took my hand the way you would if you had to tell someone that their dog has died and said, "She thinks you're addicted to coffee."



Well blow me down! What a revelation! I almost burst out laughing... What was the first clue? The 7 or 8 trips to the coffee maker a day? The pile of empty Tim Horton's cups on my desk? My constant state of vibration? Or maybe that "I haven't slept in 3 days" look in my eyes? Of course I'm addicted to coffee! Everybody knows that! I've been going hardcore with the ol' java juice since I was 16... Drinking it black since I was 21... That's 17 years of serious Joe Time!



Okay, in all fairness, she's a sweet lady and she's only just gotten to know me in the last few months, so I shouldn't be too sarcastic. In fact, it turns out that it was the "I haven't slept in 3 days" look in my eyes that tipped her off. Apparently, she was a big coffee-addict in her day, so she knows the signs, and she had to give it up under doctor's orders. I knew there was a reason I don't like doctors...



Well, I've been told many a time before that I should drink less coffee, but I never listened. Why should I? It wakes me up in the morning, it gets me through my tedious workday, it's the perfect social drink, and it keeps my point of view just enough off-center to keep me amused. It's a vice, but one I've accepted with open arms. Still, I got to thinking... If someone who doesn't really know me can tell by looking at me that I'm a coffee junkie, maybe it's time to cut back a little... or a lot.



So, I've decided to do a little de-tox routine. I decided to give coffee up completely for one week. Seven days without my crutch. Drink lots of water, flush out the system, and start fresh. This is Day Four... Here's what you've missed:



Day One: Woke up fine, as usual, and went to work where I promptly began falling asleep. I yawned more times that day than I think I ever have in an 8 hour period. My brain felt foggy, the day seemed to last an eternity, and the headaches began. My favorite part? That would have to be my encouraging co-workers. The ones who laughed and kept offering to get me a coffee. Ah, my support group.



Day Two: If you've been keeping track, you'll know this was Saturday. The headaches came on with a vengeance, as did my bitchiness. I think I have been given a glimpse into the world of PMS and Nic Fits (my apologies to all my smoker friends who I've teased over the years as they've tried to quit). Everything annoyed me. Sound annoyed me. Silence annoyed me. Newton's Third Law of Physics pissed me off (and I've always been rather fond of that one). Even being annoyed at everything was getting on my nerves. My family began referring to me as He Who Should Be Avoided.



Day Three: Awoke after a restless night of back aches and leg cramps. It was a day spent alternating between vegging out to movies, arguing with my girlfriend over nothing, and soaking in hot baths. The pain settled somewhere in my hips (man, I sound like a woman) and didn't go away until I took a heavy dose of Motrin and Tylenol. By this point, even my loving girlfriend was urging me to have a cup...



And today is Day Four. Surprisingly, the headaches have become little more than mild sinus pressure (child's play), and my mood is greatly improved. Of course, being a Monday, I was back at work and surrounded by people carrying all forms of take-out cups, travel mugs, and coffee cups. Each time I was forced to walk past the coffee maker was a true test of my will. But, with many trips to the water fountain and keeping myself occupied with work (it's amazing how fast the day passes when you actually do something...), I was able to stick to my resolve.



I'll try to keep you updated on my progress. Of course, if I never write another word on this topic again, I think you'll all understand and never mention it, right?

Shameless Self-Promotion



You see that little grey box just to the right? There, just below the links to my email... Yeah, that's the one! Well, for those of you who have been wondering what that is, let me tell you...



That is a genuine blog belonging to someone that I have never met, nor am I ever likely to meet. In fact, odds are, I've never even heard of that particular blog before, let alone read it. Never the less, there it sits, proudly displayed for all my loyal reader (note the humorous use of the singular "reader") to see. Why, you might ask, would a seemingly random blog (for that is what I've labeled it) be displayed, nay, touted as noteworthy in the sidebar of "Musings"? Well, it's quite simple, really... I'm a BlogSnob.



Easy now... It's not as bad as it sounds. Although I would probably have come up with a better name for the idea, it is a great idea, regardless. And here's how it works...



Now that I have joined the ranks of BlogSnobs (BlogSnobbers?) world-wide, each time my blog is viewed, two things happen. First, the blog of another BlogSnob member is advertised on my page (Remember that little grey box I was talking about? Good. Just making sure I hadn't lost you). And second, my blog is advertised on the page of another member. Simple, no? In this way, people such as yourself are presented with the chance to expand your Blog horizons while tireless Bloggers such as myself get the chance to attract new readers.



So, now that you're done reading this boring Blog (there's better stuff to come, I promise), why not click on that one to your right and see what it's all about? What's that? It doesn't look interesting to you? Well, just keep refreshing this page until you see one that does! Meanwhile, I'll be here trying to think of something clever for next time... Wish me luck!

%@&#$!



I'm in a bad mood. In fact, I'd have to describe my current attitude as foul. At this very moment, my keyboard is taking quite a beating, I can assure you. I can feel the pulsing in my neck, my brow is furrowed, and my teeth are clenched. My brain is scrambling around in tight little frustrated circles...



This is me when I'm pissed off.



The worst thing about feeling this way has to be the underlying helplessness of the moment. I can analyze how I'm feeling, I can understand how I'm feeling, I can even paint a vivid little picture of how I'm feeling... But I can't stop it. I can't break out of this funk, no matter how hard I try. What's up with that, anyway?!? Am I not master of my own mind? Should I not be able to flip my mental middle finger at that which annoys me and be done with it?



Apparently not.



So, I play a little Unreal Tournament to ease the tension and take my mind off things... You'd think that spraying rocket fire around like Silly String to the chants of "Double Kill!" and "Multi Kill!" would take the edge off. But, it turns out that virtual violent bloodshed in outer space isn't an effective method of anger management. All I've done is add a less-than-healthy dose of adrenaline to the mix. Looks like my imaginary shrink was right again...



Then I try to write a blog, but everything comes out sounding bitchy (What's that? You hadn't noticed?). Four times I log into Blogger, get two sentences in, and close the window. Four more times I relaunch Explorer, only to glare at Google, becoming more and more irked by that stupid "I'm Feeling Lucky" button... Twice I get up from my computer, then sit right back down again. More teeth clenching, more brow furrowing... I'm a prisoner and my anger is my prison cell.



It's 11 o'clock at night and I should go to bed. Of course, if I do, I'll just lay there staring at the ceiling until the streetlights make taunting little faces out of the stipple. Then I'll grab a book, read three pages, realize I can't remember a single thing from the last three pages, and put it down again.



Toss, turn, re-adjust pillow...



Before long I'd be right back here at the computer, suffering my tension by its eerie glow. So, I might as well skip a few steps and just stay here until this passes, right? I better go put on some coffee... But before I do, I guess I should end the suspense. You want to know what's got me so riled up? Would you like me to tell you what's got my knickers in a knot? My computer... of course.



AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!

Oh, the agony...



I once read somewhere that women don't remember the pain of childbirth. Supposedly, this is nature's way of ensuring that they will go through the whole process again and our dominant species will continue to pillage and plunder its way across the face of this great blue marble. Nifty little trick, don't you think?



Well, just the other day, as I sat at my tiny little desk in my tiny little office, suffering the effects of the previous night's alcohol-induced escapades and wondering why I put myself through this torture, it hit me. Maybe Mother Nature doesn't reserve this "Now you remember it, now you don't" routine for our life-givers, our childbearers... Perhaps she also smiles upon this hapless imbiber of spirits, allowing me to revel in my stupidity, free of the fear of what the morning will bring. Blocked from my mind are the hours spent in head-pounding agony as my body shivers uncontrollably from what must be my insides attempting to become my outsides... Gone, too, are the memories of the waves of nausea that banish all thoughts of food, bring me to my knees, and leave me as weak as a kitten. Most of all, completely forgotten are my countless past pledges to "never drink again".



Not that I don't remember ever having a hangover, mind you. But even as I write about the terrible trials and tribulations brought on by a night of excess, I feel a certain detachment. I know I suffered these things, but I don't remember the actual suffering to be all that bad. Interesting... Perhaps there is more to this connection with bringing a child into the world...



Most certainly, hangovers and childbirth share similar origins as both begin with very pleasurable and exciting events. These events tend to make the participants lose themselves in the moment with much giggling, funny faces, and proclamations of, "I love you". Quite often, people will even achieve new levels of boldness, saying or doing things they would normally be too embarrassed to consider. And, ultimately, the end arrives with an uncontrollable and undeniable urge to sleep. It should be noted, however, that one of these events is traditionally shared between two people, while the other can involve as many people as the venue will support. Which is which would depend upon your lifestyle, I suppose...



Now, here is where the differences begin to surface. Although both will spend some time huddled over a toilet bowl, an expecting mother has the better part of nine months to prepare for her big day, while the drunk has mere hours... hours which are typically spent sleeping instead of preparing. The mom-to-be is out taking Lamaze classes, eating healthy, and arranging which hospital to use. The drunk, on the other hand, is drooling away his last few ounces of moisture in a bed that tips and spins like some evil carnival ride, without a single thought for how to deal with what awaits him. She enters childbirth with excitement and anticipation, surrounded by loved ones. He awakens to find himself already in the midst of his personal hell, with no one there to make it better.



And, when all is said and done, Mom will be pampered and loved. She will be told to rest. Gifts and flowers will be lavished upon her, as will words of congratulations. As for our other guy, well... He'll have to drag his dying body out of bed and off to work. There, he'll not only have to endure the longest hours of his life, but also all the ridicule and mocking his co-workers can throw at him. Still, just as the memory of childbirth will fade, so will the memory of his pain. And they are both likely to go through the whole thing again...



So, in the end, is there a "bigger connection" between childbirth and hangovers as this blog would seem to suggest? Have I stumbled across some greater truth that will bridge the gap between the sexes? I don't think so. As a matter of fact, if this blog proves anything, it's this: Drinking kills brain cells.