| (no subject) |
[Aug. 23rd, 2007|08:18 am] |
I am updating my livejournal using the powers of ~history~.
~History~ activate! |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 4th, 2007|12:01 am] |
Livejournal still exists?
Huh... |
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| A sneak-peak at next week's Bulletin! |
[Jan. 17th, 2007|10:51 am] |
Remember the Go-Fastinator
I call this one, “Ode to Peter Duffy.”
It has been some time since I last went sledding. The winter of 2004, in fact.
At that stage of the game, I was spending my time mostly in Fredericton, New Brunswick, with a jolly, ramshackle crew of individuals.
None of us had been sledding in years, but that season was a particularly stormy one in the great white New Brunswick, so we decided we were best-advised to take advantage of the snowy climate while we could.
With global warming and changing climates and all that, who knew when such copious amounts of snow would cover the ground again?
There were a few sledding implements at hand — some had crazy carpets, others had those plastic discs that look like garbage can lids. Still others had taken it upon themselves to “borrow” lunch trays from the St. Thomas University cafeteria.
The trays were very effective, if somewhat brittle in the cold. I’m sure that none actually made it back to the caf.
As excellent as those sleds were, and as much fun as they proved to be, there was one device that defeated them all. Its size, speed, design and name made it the foremost sled-like apparatus of them all.
“It” was the Go-Fastinator.
The name said it all — not only did it go fast, but it had the bad-ass quality of the Terminator or the Dominator or an alligator.
The Go-Fastinator was the meanest sled of them all, but it came from humble beginnings.
The brainchild of Lunenburg County’s own James Bowles, the Go-Fastinator wasn’t so much a sled by design as it was an inflatable mattress.
But it was a thing of majesty.
She had originally begun as a time-travelling gadget, nicknamed the Time Sled — part of a running joke related to the song “The Final Countdown” by Europe.
You see, rumour spread like wildfire in my fourth year at St. Thomas that one of my high school chums, Bruce Cameron, had travelled back in time.
Bruce’s name, or so it appeared, had been discovered on the Town of Mahone Bay’s cenotaph and it was presumed, rightly or wrongly, that he had accidentally gone back in time during a botched scientific experiment at the University of Toronto and perished during the First World War.
The Time Sled was the successor to our previous device designed to travel to the past and rescue Bruce — a pop bottle with a watch and some freezies taped to it.
After some careful analysis, however, we encountered a problem: the Time Sled was, in fact, not able to travel through time.
But, undeterred by the setback, we decided to assess the craft’s capabilities as a sled.
Royal blue and able to seat eight or more people, she had promise.
On her first run, there were whiteboards taped to the bottom to give her extra glide.
Sadly, the whiteboard experiment failed, as they tore off on the initial trip down the hillside.
Going back to the drawing board, James and his team of scientific experts, of which I was a part, came up with a modified design — which was basically the same mattress without the whiteboards.
The new concept looked promising and needed a new name to reflect its nature.
After some discussion, once we had gotten her fully inflated, we took the time to spray-paint “Go-Fastinator” in white lettering on each side — a legend was born.
“The Go-Fastinator’s trip down the hill behind Connaught Street school was a rousing success,” James recalled recently.
For those of you wondering, yes, she only lasted a handful of runs down the hill before slowly deflating from a small leak.
But, even with the air gone from her, the Go-Fastinator was a force to be reckoned with.
Whether packed with people, or ridden by a solo artist, she was the queen of the hill behind Connaught Street Elementary School, much as Lunenburg’s Bluenose was once the queen of the sea.
The icier it got, the hotter she’d run.
Most folks think of childhood days coasting down old farmer what’s his name’s hill, when the first winter’s snow blankets the ground.
Not me though — I remember the Go-Fastinator. |
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| This is one of those moments of clarity people talk about |
[Jan. 15th, 2007|04:36 pm] |
My life may have just peaked.
I think I have written the best column ever.
And by best, I mean most outrageous, hilarious son'bitch ever.
Everyone in Lunenburg County's going to think I'm on the funny bunny.
What's it about?
Wouldn't you like to know...
... how about a hint?
Let's just say...
"Remember the Go-Fastinator" |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 21st, 2006|07:03 pm] |
So, how's this for a conspiracy theory?
The facts:
Earlier this fall - Jim Balsillie, Canadian businessman made rich by the Blackberry, agrees to buy the Pittsburgh Penguins. He says he will not move the team, so long as a new arena is built - something that seems to hinge on Isle of Capri receiving a casino licence: a seemingly minor detail, but something that is not scheduled to be sorted out until December.
December 8 - The NHL, in conjunction with the current owners of the Pittsburgh Penguins, slap restrictions on their tentative agreement with Jim Balsillie. The restrictions, should the deal for Balsillie to purchase the team go through, would mean that he is bound to keep the Pens in Pittsburgh indefinitely, regardless of arena problems.
This takes place literally days before the Isle of Capri - which has agreed to build a new arena for the Pens at no cost to anyone - finds out if they get their slot licence. No slot licence = no arena.
December 10-15 - The NHL Board of Governors are supposed to hold a vote to approve or deny Balsillie's purchase of the Pens, but for an unaddressed reason, this vote is delayed.
December 15 - The Balsillie purchase formally falls apart, following the restrictions of purchase imposed on December 8.
December 20 - Isle of Capri does not receive its slot licence.
December 21 - Mario Lemieux says that he and his partners will begin exploring other avenues, and that the Penguins may, after all, have to move away from the Pittsburgh area.
The theory:
The NHL MUST have known, as early as December 8, that Isle of Capri was not going to get its casino licence on December 20 and, as such, they HAD to find a way to destroy the Balsillie deal in order to keep the Pens franchise based in the United States. (If the NHL had known IoC would be approved for the licence, or thought there was a reasonable chance of approval, why would they go to the trouble to so blatantly alienate a potentially stable, hockey-savvy owner?)
So... knowing that, if IoC wasn't going to get its licence, Balsillie would be free to relocate the team to a centre of his choosing (Kitchener/Waterloo, Winnipeg, whatever) as soon as the purchase was completed, the NHL and Mario suddenly slapped these "terms" on what Balsillie can do with the team, knowing full well that Balsillie would pull out of the deal. (After all, who in their right mind would buy a team that may not have an arena to play in next year? That's not an asset, that's an albatross and a potential money pit.)
With Balsillie out of the picture, the Pens current owners and the NHL can begin formulating a 'Plan B' days before IoC fails to secure its casino licence, and they can do so knowing that they have retained full control of the franchise, something that would not have happened without Balsillie's purchase offer being forced off the table by the last minute restrictions.
Now, ala the Gary Bettman creedo, rather than worrying about the prospect of a franchise migrating NORTH to Canadian soil under Balsillie's ownership, Lemieux, Bettman and the NHL owners can concentrate on finding an AMERICAN market, with AMERICAN owners, a new arena and a lukewarm local hockey interest (i.e., Kansas City) to move the Pens franchise to, within a matter of hours after the failure of IoC's attempt to secure a casino licence.
Conclusion:
The crisis has been averted - a rich Canadian has been shooed away from a potentially profitable NHL franchise and the team will be kept south of the border. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 17th, 2006|03:32 pm] |
Oh my God, I'm back on the drug gum.
Friggin' xylitol.
It's all downhill now!! |
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| Speculation: |
[Oct. 17th, 2006|10:22 am] |
So, last night at around 11 p.m. I get back from a leisurely, chilly stroll around town.
I walk up the driveway marvelling at the little solar-charged lights I recently purchased to light the path and, on approaching the door, I decide to skip briefly around back of the house to make sure the three lights in the ground next to the barbeque survived the rain and wind last week. I take about ten paces around the backside of the house and see that, yes, all three rear lights are working. Just as I'm turning to go back inside, about 40 feet away near the edge of my property I hear a raucous in the trees. It stops... I glare... I see nothing in the darkness. A moment passes and another raucous ensues... rustling of trees, cracking of branches. And let's keep in mind, I'm quite a distance from the source of the sound and I can hear this noise *over* the rumble of the river across the road. To put it in context, if I was ambling angrily through the woods, that's roughly the amount of noise I would expect myself to make.
Anyway, I'm hoping it was a deer. We have apple trees at the top of the yard, so maybe it was out for a late-season feed, though deer are generally graceful and quiet.
Other speculations? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 19th, 2006|10:37 am] |
Frrrrrrrrredericton, New Brunswick!!
Whatchya gonna do when Pat-a-mania runs wild over youuuuuuuu??!? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 17th, 2006|04:55 pm] |
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There is a possibility I may be coming to Fredericton to meet with my thesis supervisor between September 29 and October 1, pending her schedule. |
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| Today's adventures: |
[Aug. 27th, 2006|08:47 pm] |
This morning I got up at 9, packed up my goalie gear and headed to Lunenburg to get Bowlesy; from there, I went to the Bay where we met with Hiltz, wrestled with hockey nets and proceeded to play "10 Goals" for more than three hours.
Eventually, Vicky showed up and it took me, Vicky-Bobby and James just over 25 minutes to score 10 goals on Hiltz. That's just about the longest time ever, falling short of the 26:19 mark established by my father when I was in Grade 4.
After that exhaustion, I dropped Hiltz off in Camperdown. Following that, I fell asleep for an hour before deciding that I should do some packing, since, after all, I am getting a house tomorrow.
Most recently, during a break in the packing, Jana started watching the Emmy Awards. I decided that watching the Emmys made me want to punch kittens, so it was best to go back to packing.
Instead I went to the computer... but now I think I'll pack. |
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| Ode to Fredericton |
[Aug. 9th, 2006|11:00 pm] |
We are never that far apart.
When we get together, it will always be like old times.
We will never miss a beat.
Through days, months, weeks, years, time and space, nothing will ever really change.
We have that bond.
We have those memories.
We have each other.
Even across the vast and differing distances of the universe.
Good night, my friends, wherever you are. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 1st, 2006|08:48 am] |
Today I am a man: I had piping hot Quaker oatmeal for breakfast.
And I might just do it again tomorrow.
Then, the day after that, I'll likely have cereal...
but the day after that?
You guessed it.
Probably more oatmeal. |
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| This week's amusing(?) tale |
[Jul. 29th, 2006|09:15 am] |
Okay, so, they need to change the name of moon mist ice cream. Immediately. And it has to be something cool, like "Awesome Cream" or "Nebulon" or "Purple Haze" or something, because...
...during my afternoons at the Big Ex this week, at one point I decided it would be a really great idea to get me some ice cream at the ol' 4-H barn canteen. I checked out the list of flavours and decided it would be really cool to have Moon Mist, as I haven't had it in years.
So, I stepped up to the counter and said to the 400 year old woman waiting to take my order, "Hi there! I'd like a small Moon Mist please."
Well, she didn't even try to keep her giggles to herself. I guess the idea of a 6'3", 240lb guy ordering Moon Mist was just too much for her, and she started cackling with her one-toothed, ancient mouth.
So, in short. Awesome Cream. Or Nebulon. Or Purple Haze. Just not Moon Mist. It caused me way too much pain. I should sue 4-H for emotional trauma. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|08:18 am] |
As part of my weekly duties, I'm covering the South Shore Exhibition beginning, well, yesterday, through Sunday. That means lots of animals, feces, country singers and other assorted goodness for me.
And I'll get two colour pages of photos in the middle of the paper. I guess that's not so bad. In fact, neither is the Big Ex really, when you keep in mind its historical significance: this is Nova Scotia's largest agricultural exhibition, and it has been taking place annually in Bridgewater since at least 1892. And, much like in those days, people still truck in from miles and miles around - from Walden, to Chelsea, to North River, to Rose Bay.
So, let's go Big Ex it up... oh, and I'm going to see Bill Clinton speak in Hali on Wednesday... that's pretty cool... does that make this Big (s)Ex week then? |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 21st, 2006|10:48 am] |
Yep...
... storm a brewin'. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 17th, 2006|12:55 pm] |
I used to be an award-winning journalist, ya know.
Now I get excited when someone gives me a golf ball cleaner that looks like a pocket knife.
I miss being arrogant, obnoxious and outrageous.
It was much more fun to be one helluva bull in a government china shop. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|01:03 pm] |
I'm listening to Moby today.
I know, I'm a wuss.
Get over it - it's good music to write to. |
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