Letter - p.s.

I don't normally do this sort of thing, but I thought it was interesting that this sort of thing should explode during the release of my letter last week:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/08/30/AR2007083001834.html

Updated information points to at least 13 wrestlers getting suspended due to violations of the WWE Wellness Policy and one former performer, now a member of the backstage management, has already been fired.

Mr. McMahon, I think this only proves the point further that something radical might be called for to adjust things.

-Steve

Letter completion

Of course, I’m no business major. I admit I’m just a fan and this is just a thought. It’s a way to help new performers before putting them on live TV. It’s a way to reduce travel time for the performers so that they can spend more time at home. It’s a way for performers to rest themselves and heal up. At the same time, I believe there is an opportunity to make money while doing this.

This is an opportunity to really have a division between the brands. This is an opportunity to tell some different stories. This is an opportunity to do something visible for the wellness of the performers. This is an opportunity to get some attention, a buzz, around the business by doing something radical, something different. Obviously it doesn’t need to permanent and in five, ten or twenty years, maybe it’ll be time to be different again and reform the big touring groups again.

Eitherway, it’s just a thought.

Thank you for your time sir,

-Stephen M. Wolterstorff

Letter continued

I’ve watched a number of ‘shoot’ interviews with older wrestlers, many of which worked in the territory system. Many of them expressed the same thought; that they learned more about the business during the car ride to the next town than they did in the ring. In these days of iPods and Gameboys and such, I wouldn’t expect that a car ride with a mix of veterans and new guys would necessarily lead to an educational conversation. My hope would be that each territory would act as a smaller classroom. I am sure that this sort of guidance is occurring in the current set up. In the relatively smaller ‘classroom’ of the territory, a new performer could receive more one on one training, receive less conflicting advice and work on that council. Once a newer performer has had a chance to learn in one area, he or she can be moved to another region, gain guidance from another set of veterans and add the one set of advice to the next, rather than get all the differing views at once, building up their own style based on all their training.

This may work towards repairing one of the primary problems I’ve personally had with your current product. I’ve seen a number of young men in recent years receive pushes that their skill level cannot match; young men that often have talent but aren’t clear how to use it. On the other side of the equation are a number of battered veterans, men who have had exceptional careers, men who no doubt have a love for the business, men who can still entertain a crowd, men who can get a pop just from their entrance music but are also men that probably shouldn’t be working the schedules they are working. How much longer until the majority of the upper card retires? One year? Two? How many will survive another five? How many of the new guys will be ready to fill those gaps when the time comes? I’m not saying that things can’t work out in their current configuration but I think they’d work better in this suggested configuration.

Restoring the territories should also reduce the amount of travel. I don’t know if the ‘E’ pays for all the plane tickets or if the wrestlers pay for their own transport. From a purely monetary standpoint, the territories should reduce costs. Increased car travel and gas expenses, yes but less plane travel and fewer hotel stays due to more time spent at home should more than balance that. With teleconferencing being so easy and relatively inexpensive, you could check in with every territory on a daily basis and never leave your office.

Letter continued

This would require some changes to the presentation of the shows. My thought was to have RAW live from one region in its league each week, rotating between the three regions in the RAW league. Footage would be presented from the other two regions during the show to keep viewers up-to-date on their storylines. As Smackdown is currently a taped show, it could just become a digest of its three regions, perhaps giving it an ESPN Sportscenter type feel.

This may result in an overflow of recorded matches in each region. This could be utilized in syndicated programming available only in that region. In an effort to defray the cost of syndication, these shows could be made available for sale on DVD or, better yet, available for download for a fee. Hardcore wrestling fans will be keen to check out detailed events from other regions or to follow their favourite wrestler. This would be a good way to get into iTunes or something similar.

This process would also allow for more dark matches, more opportunities for newer wrestlers to solidify their abilities in front of a crowd without having to worry about television or ratings. It would further mingle the house show and the televised programming. Since the regions wouldn’t generally be in direct competition with each other, it could mean recording Smackdown’s programming over a weekend and airing them during the week. Currently, news of what will be aired on Smackdown is available on the Internet as soon as the show is recorded on Tuesday. With this new plan, the results of those shows would no doubt still appear on-line but no one would know what matches would make air.

The question pf Pay Per Views is an important one as I know this is a great source of cash. Two paths show promise in my eyes. One gamble is to cut the PPVs to the big four: Wrestlemania, Summerslam, Survivor Series and the Royal Rumble. These are the PPVs with history and are the ones that the more casual fans will gravitate towards, feeling these are the important ones. If these are the only opportunity to see the entire roster together, they’ll attract further attention and, hopefully, an increased buyrate just from that. Also, with only four shows to purchase in a year, the average fan may be more inclined to purchase them all.

On the other hand, that is putting all the eggs in one basket. As there are six regions, each could have their own PPV in between the big four. If the big four are evenly spaced three months apart there could be a single region based PPV every other week. If this option is preferable, I would recommend making them two hours long and $20-$25. This differentiates them from the big four and may encourage more buys.

It also seems clear to me that each individual region will have a smaller crowd than the average RAW or Smackdown taping attracts. Yet, each region could certainly draw part of that expectation. In this way, if one region becomes weak or burned out, it can be balanced by the others. Performers that may have worn out their welcome in one region can be ‘fired’ or ‘traded’ to another region, building storylines from the movement, similar to what occurs now.

In specific area, this will result in ‘smaller’ numbers, but, due to the increased number of possibilities, to the increased number of shows every night, it could increase business overall.

Letter continued

I said it was a big idea but let’s think about it before dismissing it as too big.

By ‘break up’ I don’t mean ‘shut down’ or ‘dismantle’ but I do mean breaking up the massive touring groups that RAW and Smackdown have become and turning them into smaller groups covering specific area of the country; in other words: territories. I recommend breaking both RAW and Smackdown into 3 groups each, making six regions in all. Speaking very generally, this would probably break down into the NorthEast, Mid-Atlantic and Midwest for RAW and the Pacific Northwest, Texas (Southwest) and Mid South for Smackdown. What about ECW? I would suggest moving it to Canada. Since you now own many of the old territory names, perhaps some of those could be reused. Texas could be WCCW, perhaps the Midwest referred to as the AWA, maybe Canada as Stampede and so on. While this would not be necessary, it would be a nice nod to the past and could stimulate DVD sales for footage of the original territories.

I would recommend a separate booking committee for each territory that would be based in that area. You have many individuals on your payroll that used to work these territories when they last existed and have some understanding of the variations of interest in each area. Place Dusty Rhodes and Ric Flair in charge of the Mid-Atlantic region, Roddy Piper in the Pacific Northwest and so on. All these groups would report back to the main offices in Connecticut and would get their general guidance from there. Picture the challenge: trying to keep six (or seven) territories running separate storylines while still building them all to a common storyline.

Common storyline? Of course we can’t dismiss the big four Pay Per Views as they are there for a reason and they rake in the biggest buy rates. The storylines begin to build themselves for some of these shows: tournaments challenging to qualify for the few spots each region gets to send to the Royal Rumble, qualifying to send a team to the Survivor Series and so on.

Let’s follow this concept through a year. Let’s say Mr. X is a mid carder in the Midwest region. He wins a tournament to qualify for the King of the Ring tournament to be held at Summerslam. He doesn’t win but does make it to the finals. He returns to his region elevated enough to challenge for belts and is encouraged to assemble a team for the Survivor Series. He is seen observing many matches he doesn’t participate in before selecting a five man team which includes Gran Kuma, a man that defeated him the week before. One of Mr. X’s friends, Rappin’ Red Smith, is offended that he wasn’t selected for Mr. X’s team so he assembles a team of his own, jockeying to take the Survivor Series position. Battles between the teams culminate in a Survivor Series preview match, which Mr. X’s team wins. At the Survivor Series, Mr. X survives to the Final Survival Match. He doesn’t win but Gran Kuma does. This provides the region with an advantage in the Royal Rumble, guaranteeing that one of the Rumble qualifiers from that region will receive a low number entry (somewhere between 25-30, if we specify 30 it would shutdown storytelling in the other regions). Struggling to qualify for the Rumble begins almost immediately, highlighted by Mr. X and Gran Kuma battling. Both qualify for the Rumble. In a ceremony at the PPV, Mr. X pulls number four whereas Gran Kuma receives twenty-eight. As normal, the Rumble is a long battle. Mr. X and Gran Kuma are in the final four. Mr. X eliminated Gran Kuma and goes on to win, earning a shot at the WWE World Title at Wrestlemania. Gran Kuma accuses Mr. X of cheating to win and manipulates events so that Mr. X is willing to put his title shot on the line in a match. Mr. X wins, finally decisively defeating Gran Kuma and earning his respect. Mr. X goes onto Wrestlemania knowing that winning the title will mean touring the world, defending the belt in region after region until he is defeated.

Obviously every region would have different main storylines and each region would probably have a number of smaller storylines running through them. This is just A general storyline path idea.

Continuing the Letter

Mr. Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr.

Sir,

Allow me a few moments of introduction so that you can grasp my perspective on this matter. I’m in my thirties and have been interested in wrestling for about twenty years. My first real exposure to the sport was your syndicated ‘Superstars of Wrestling’ programme. For a few years I fed my interest with that, ‘Saturday Night’s Main Event’ and the reading of your magazine. I grew weary of the formula of the program and jumped to WCW where I found the wrestling to be more technically inclined. Over the years I bounced back and forth, often returning to your product. I own over 250 wrestling related DVDs, many of which are your product and that doesn’t touch on the magazines, books, figures, etc that I own or the cards I’ve attended. I think it’s safe to refer to me as a fan that makes a modest but regular ‘donation’ to your coffers.

With that said, the last couple months have been especially rough, haven’t they sir? The bad publicity, the increased scrutiny, the whole circus around the Benoit situation has been a problem. Public opinion is including the industry as part of the problem leading to the tragedy, blaming all sorts of things whether or not they were an influence.

Before we continue, let me make one thing perfectly clear: this letter is not meant to try to understand or blame anyone for the situation or any other wrestler that has gotten ill or died. I am NOT here to blame you for everything or anything that has ever gone wrong in wrestling. There’s no point in that blame game.

However, we must face facts. Ratings have been down. This may well be the summer lull or it could be a sign that even the hardcore fans are starting to abandon the product. The government has already been pestering you regarding the wellness policy. Business is weak at the moment and, it could be argued, has been weak for some time.

You need something to stir things up, to challenge your creativity. Historically you’ve done your best work when you’ve been challenged. Additionally you need to do something for the benefit for the workers’ health or, at the very least, something that looks good. For it to work, it needs to be something big, as anything less will be treated as ‘nothing’, a token effort. Isn’t that what some critics have called the current wellness program?

With all that in mind, I do have a suggestion.

I think you should break up the WWE.

An Open Letter

An Open Letter to Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr.

Dear Vince,

Oh, that sounds far too familiar; let me try that again.

Dear Mr. McMahon,

No, wait, that’s the name of your character and your character is dead. Was dead? Pretended to be dead. Whatever.

Dear Junior,

Definitely can’t start like that; it’s so disrespectful.

Starting over tomorrow.

Sunday was a new day and almost as wet as the old day had been. Considering that it wasn't raining constantly and that I had $20 in beer tickets, I had to go back. So I did, despite the fact that my feet had gotten badly blistered from the first two days and walking had grown painful.

Once inside I made a beeline for the Sprecher Beer booth, the nearest beer to the entrance I'd used. Instinctively, the accent kicked in and I asked for beer. "Could I have a Stout please?" The lady on the other side of the counter asked me to repeat myself so I did, a bit louder the second time, figuring she couldn't hear me. She smiled as she reached for a glass. She expressed her amusement for the way I'd expressed myself and asked to hear it one more time. I obliged. She had an accent as well. "Where are you from?" she asked as she pulled my beer. "Here," I responded simply. She seemed rather disappointed at that.

Wandering around by myself at Irish Fest is fun but I often find it hard to get settled, even with my feet bothering me. I visited the Rock Stage for an acoustic set that turned out to be the final performance at that stage. After listening to Scythian for a few songs, I went and bought one of their CDs. Under the circumstances, they were working hard to get the crowd to enjoy themselves and I wanted to reward that however I could. The CD is quite good as well.

Eric's clan was still all wet from the night before and weren't coming. As that news came during a spattering of rain, I didn't blame them. I hobbled around and finished my quests for the year: bought a CD (as already noted), had a baked potato, had my tea and shamrock cookie and listened to a few more bands for a bit.

As I wandered and listened, I had a moment. Irish music is so full of passion, full of life, even for the bad things in life, that it can't help but raise the spirits. Even in the rain, there was joy. It's as if the music asks "What's your problem? Ah, that's not so bad. Have a bit of a drink and realize that life will go on. Until it doesn't anymore. No point in worrying about anything too much. You'll just hurt yourself. Relax, have a bit of fun and enjoy yourself. Trouble will catch up with you soon enough and you'll have something new that's not worth worrying about."

Well, the longer songs ask that anyway.

After a few hours and the spending of the majority of my drink tickets, the rain started to come back. I took it as a hint and headed for home.

It had been a good time.

     Saturday started off rainy. This was a problem as a lot of Irish Fest is outside and my other plans for earlier in the day involved being mostly outside as well. The rain didn't stop but had slowed by the time I headed for the Summerfest Grounds at about 3:30. When I arrived at 4, the rain had stopped, just in time for my arrival. As a result, I felt a little smug. As I was expecting the rain to stop (why? I don't know) I didn't dress for the weather, being in my normal thin overshirt and no jacket or anything.

     I arranged to bump into Callie and her friends for a bit. We did our best to catch up with one another, drink a bit and be silly, all about normal. They'd been at the Fest since open and were therefore a little tired and wet already. They left around 5, promising to return later and hoping I'd since be around. As they left, the rain returned. This time, it wouldn't leave.

     This was a problem as the rain influenced the beer within me to want to left me on a speedier basis than normal. While I hid in the Irish Entertainers test and watched a video about Irish rock bands, I kept having to dash into the rain in order to visit the bathroom. This quickly got annoying. I also nipped out for food once. In the midst of all this, Eric, Katy and Colin were on their way. The weather was slowing their progress and I'd get text messages detailing the reasons behind the slowdown. Just before 7 I got the 'arrived' text and headed out of my hidey-hole.

     The problem here was that I was on the South end of the grounds and they were up at the Rock Stage on the North end. I walked the length of the grounds in the rain and started getting really wet. I found them (including Eric's sisters and one of the friends of said sisters) quickly enough and stood talking to them with my back to the lake, the direction that the wind and rain was coming from. It didn't take long before I was nicely soaked.

     Finally, teeth chattering, I noted that, before this, my mother could at least say I had enough sense to get out of the rain. I needed to get out of the open, expressed this and started moving. We visited a nearby merchants tent where I seriously concerned buying any sweatshirt or sweater I saw. From there we headed to the large 'Tea Room' and used Colin's stroller to carve out a spot for us. After drying out slightly, we returned to the rain to get food. While I got shepherd's pies for myself and Eric, he went and got coffee. This was a brilliant idea. Between the two, I shook off the cold.

     This also allowed us to bump into Eric's friend Mike, his wife Emily and their friend Kurt (Curt?). A spirited, moderately inebriated conversation sprang up from this meeting as we got caught up and chatted with each other.

     Seven Nations were scheduled to start at 8 and we were keen to see them play. We tried heading back to the Rock stage but the rain persisted. We made it to the Sprecher Beer booth and refueled. The Celtic Roots tent was nearby and we ducked in there as the rain was too intense. Once there, our energetic conversation resumed. Eric's sisters ducked out to check on the concert and returned wet a few moments later to inform us that they'd cancelled the show due to the rain. We just kept talking.

     By the time Colin had finished eating, it was a bit after 9. The rain was still falling and we took that as a sign. It was time to go home and we did.

     It was miserable weather and should have been a rotten time. It wasn't. It was still fun. Even an unpleasant day at Irish Fest with your friends is still a surprisingly good time.

     People who have had a chance to speak with me on any kind of regular basis probably know that I like silly voices and accents. I've been a mimic since I was little, parroting weird expressions as soon as I heard them. I managed to get this aspect of the process under control before I ever got beat up for it.

     When I was younger, I thought I was quite brilliant at this sort of thing. As I grew older I decided that I was good at it but probably couldn't fool someone that actually had the accent I was mimicking. I figured my British accent would sound to British ears like most British people sound when they mimic Americans: off.

     When I'm at Irish Fest, the Irish accent kicks in instinctively. Once it or any other voice gets a firm hold on my speech patterns, it's very hard to shake off and return to normal sounding speech. Add beer and this return to normal becomes nearly impossible. By ten o clock Friday night at Irish Fest, I don't think my speech made sense to anyone around me due to the thickness of the accent I was using and the speed at which I was speaking. It's very possible that Katy and Eric understood me but it's just as likely that they were humouring me. They know I'm not well in the head.

     About this time we had to sit down and let young Colin feed. Out came the bottle and he patiently ate. On the other side of the table was another group of people that also had a young lad with them, only about two weeks younger (maybe older) than Colin. We had conversations that were separate, would mingle briefly and then spilt apart again. It was quite fun.

     The whole time my accent is totally out of control. After a long burst of gibberish from me, the young lad next to me just started staring at me, a totally logical act under the circumstances. His dad smiled and noted "I think he likes your accent."

    I smiled and shrugged my shoulders broadly. "And it's fake." I noted.

     Everyone laughed and that's what was most important to me.

Friday Night at Irish Fest

Friday night at Irish Fest was providing rather complicated. On the one hand, I was expecting to spend most of the night hanging out with Eric, Katy, their young lad Colin and whatever other members of Eric’s family that were near us at the time. On the other hand, my parents, one of my aunts and a couple of her adult grandchildren were going to there as well. As a result, I was trying to meet up with both groups. For about an hour, I was failing at both.

You see, Eric’s group was down at the South gate, working the door, whereas my family was up at the Rock Stage on the North side of the grounds to see the band that my second cousin’s boyfriend plays in. It’s at least a fifteen minute walk to go from one to the other. After gaining entry at the South gate and getting a status from Eric on when he expected to arrive, I headed up to the Rock stage looking for my family. Not finding them, I returned to the South gate to check for Eric and then back to the Rock stage. During this process, I noted at least a few nice looking young ladies and one red-headed young lady that was very nice looking indeed. As Eric and I are both fond of fiery hair, I mentally marked her, hoping that we’d see her again so I could point her out to Eric.

The band that my cousin’s boyfriend is in started playing at 6pm. About 6:15 as I stood at the Rock Stage looking for my parents and enjoying the music, my phone buzzed with a text message. Eric had arrived. I scurried to the South Gate, there was much rejoicing, more beer was purchased, I spoke to him of the red-haired young lady and then we collected Katy and the boy before heading back towards the Rock Stage.

Not far before the Rock Stage is a Sprecher Beer booth and we needed to pause there to refill. As we completed this transaction, my mother called wondering where I was. As she was still at the Rock Stage and it was loud in general, neither of us heard the other very well. I tried to communicate our location and that it was nearby but held little hope of finding them quickly. Thirty seconds later, my parents had found us.

We exchanged greetings, the baby was cooed over and then it was noted that the band was nearly done. We wandered over to the Rock Stage for the last song and a half, trying to talk. I looked for my aunt, as I know what she looks like and I didn’t know what my second cousins looked like. I didn’t see her. I was informed that she wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t come. My cousins had and, as the music ceased, my mom started leading me to them to say hello. As we walked down the aisle, I scanned the crowd, not clear as to where we were going. To my delight, I saw the attractive young red-haired lady, pleased that I would be able to point her out to Eric afterall.

Math flashed through my head, proving that the beer had yet to addle it. I added our general course to our reason for walking this way with the young lady I saw. Moments later I was being introduced to the red-haired young lady who, as it turns out, is my second cousin.

After we chatted for a minute or two, my father expressed that he had a headache coming on from all the noise and a lack of food. As they had this as a quest, we separated and I quickly located my friends at the back of the stage, sitting on bleachers as they rocked Colin in his stroller. From this position, I pointed out the red-haired young lady, using her slightly larger sister as a reference point. Despite our distance from them, they were easy to make out. Once he had spotted her, I followed with “That’s my second cousin.”

Eric immediately started laughing. Katy did an excellent slow burn turn towards me, look of distain on her face, and noted “Ewwwww.” I protested my innocence. “I didn’t know at the time!” Eric, for his part, continued laughing and rightfully so.

This very quickly became the Best Joke Ever.

Eric would make a comment to the effect of ‘maybe if you dressed her like a second cousin she’d be okay’. My punchline was similar in construction, like my text message to Eric on Saturday: ‘The attractive young lady at the restaurant just complimented me on my sideburns. Hope I’m not related to her.’

To be fair, ‘Hope I’m not related to her’ has got to be one of the creepiest ways to call a young lady attractive. After this weekend, it seems like a reasonable check to make.

Flashback to '02 Review of a Movie no one else will watch

'Guru The Mad Monk' - 19??
Story in Brief: Guru is in charge of the spiritual health of his island community. He is also a judge and warden of a prison. He has the power to give last rites and execute the punishment. Unfortunately for those who look to Guru for help, Guru is mad and out for himself. When it's time for Guru to be replaced, well, he doesn't take to the thought well...

Thoughts:
This is the first film by Andy Milligan I've ever seen. I've read about him for years, how his productions were cheap, movies strange. None of this seemed like a bad thing as many of the films I enjoy are described as such. So what did I think?

This film is a nightmare. I mean that in good and bad ways. It's bad because the movie is cheap and awkwardly acted by many of the participants. The effects are cheap, the film used was probably cheap, the actors were likely cheap, the script was probably cheap as well. It is a cheap movie. It is so cheap that it does start to take on the feel of a dream, a nightmare, a strange world were things don't play out correctly, but you know you'll be safe at the end.

There's a trailer for this movie and an interview with a gentleman that worked on some of Andy's last films. He's politely disposed towards the Andy he knew, an Andy near the end of his career and life, but admits those films were garbage. He also notes he hasn't seen most (any?) of Andy's earlier work, including the movie on the disk. Strange.

Video: The video is full frame and heavily damaged. The colour is faded. Considering the cheap nature of the film it's unlikely it's managed to survive this long anywhere else in a better copy. On the positive side, I didn't notice any digital problems, so it was mastered well.

Sound: Again, this is probably as good as it gets. It's not good and it's often tinny, but that's likely more a problem with the recording of the film when it was made as opposed to a problem with the print used.

Not recommended. It's only $10 but if you're curious, try renting it first. If you are a fan of Andy Milligan films, you probably already own this, so never mind my opinion. This is not the sort of movie the average person would be able to watch, let alone finish.

A Bedtime Story from Uncle Steve

All tucked in dere? Okay, tonight I’ll tell ya da story of Goldylocks and da Tree Bears. Tree. Yeah, Tree. Wun, Two, Tree. Got it? All right den.

Once upon a time dere were Tree Bears; a Papa Bear, a Mama Bear and a Baby Bear. Papa Bear liked to drink and would yell at Baby Bear dat he was an accident. When he would say dat, Baby Bear would cry and Mama Bear would slug Papa Bear. But he didn’t really mean it and mosta da time dey all got along just fine.

Every morning after making breakfast, da Bears would go for a walk. Papa Bear needed da exercise to work off his beer gut. Baby Bear needed the exercise ‘cause he had the childhood obesity from too much sittin’ ‘round playing video games and such. Mama Bear didn’t need the exercise so much but she knew if she didn’t go with ‘em that they wouldn’t actually go for the walk, they’d just get outta sight of the house, sit down and come back in a half-hour. So, off dey went.

While dey was gone, Goldylocks stumbled upon dere house. She wus out camping with a bunch of her friends and wus lookin’ for the bathroom. She’s onea dem gals that just can’t ‘go’ in the middle of the forest ‘cause she’s scared that a bug or an animal are gonna crawl into her nether regions while she’s takin’ care of business. Why woulda bug or an animal head upstream is what I don’t understand.

Now Goldy is onea dem broads that drinks so much that she passes out at parties and guys take advantage of the situation. She’s simple, got blond hair and a big rack so she attracts attention. At eight in the morning, she’s still drunk, that’s how drunk she gets. When she stumbles on the Bears house, she mistakes it for a Ranger station and in she goes.

Once da pressure is off, she realizes she’s hungry. She sees the Bears porridge sitting there cooling and heads for it. She tries Papa Bear’s porridge but he likes it with Tabasco sauce and it was too hot for her. She tries Mama Bear’s porridge but Mama Bear has a canker sore that the heat bothers so her’s was ice cold from the ice cubes in it so that was no good either. Baby Bear’s porridge had cooled off just right and she ate it up.

Now dat she ate, she got tired again and headed for the bedroom. Papa Bear’s bed was no good ‘cause he’s got a rock hard mattress ‘cause of the support he needs for his bad back. Mama Bear’s bed was all filled with pillows and junk so that was no good. She fell into Baby Bear’s bed and wus soon fast asleep.

Dat’s when da Bears come home. They walk in and immediately see da dere house has been invaded; dere’s toilet paper dragged from the bathroom to da kitchen, the breakfast is all messed up and dere’s a trail of knocked over furniture dat leads to the bedroom. When dey get dere, Goldy is still fast asleep. Baby Bear’s been crying dis ‘hole time ‘cause he’s scared and Mama Bear’s is all worked up ‘cause Baby Bear’s crying and Papa Bear’s mad ‘cause of all dis yelling. So he climbs up on the bed, bones Goldy to death and den dey eat her.

Da Moral of the Story is: If you drink so much dat you wander away from your friends dat are looking out for you, you might get screwed up so bad dat you die.

Night kids. I gotta cold Pabst waitin’ for me downstairs.

Won't Somebody Think of the Children?

I went to Best Buy yesterday and, as it's been awhile since my last visit to Best Buy, I found a number of things that interested me that got purchased. I got carded buying a video game.

That was weird. I don't believe I've ever been carded for a video game before. I didn't see the display on the register to see what question it asked the employee (it looked like something along the lines of 'does the customer look...' moreso than 'is the customer...'). I don't believe I look too young to purchase a M rated game (17 or older).

I'm not disappointed in the employee or the company for having this in place. The employee was very friendly and I have no problem showing my ID to prove I'm the old man that I am. If this is the price I have to pay in order for people who have NO clue about video games to feel safe that 'mature' games are been kept away from children, I can handle that.

So, if that's the case, why didn't I get carded for the R rated movies I bought? The register said nothing about those. In theory, if I was a 16 year old trying to get into a R rated movie in the theatre, I would be carded and prevented entry (in theory anyway). Why was I carded for a video game and not a movie with the 'same' rating? There are thousands of R rated movies with all sorts of 'adult concepts' in them and a relative handful of M rated video games. So, why the difference?

Video games are more interactive? It's one thing to see these things on a screen but another to 'participate' in them. I don't think the difference is that significant. I could be wrong but, going back to the comparison between movies and games, the greater percentage of movies must create a larger influence.

Is it because that 'video games are for kids'? Just like comic books are for kids, huh?

Like kids can afford comic books... what hooey...

Rules/Lessons from the water park:

1) If you are a female and can be in any way referred to as attractive, you will get looked at/admired/leered at in the water park, no matter how demure your swimming costume. Even men who normally would be very respectful of a lady, or would at least try to be subtle about ‘checking out’ a female, will lose that restraint at a water park. There is too much flesh on display. It can’t be helped; it’s instinct.
2) Put on sunblock. Then put on more sunblock. If you are swimming all day, refresh the sunblock as the day goes on. Not doing this can lead to sunburn. It did for me at least.
3) If you are a female and are in any way could be referred to as attractive and choose to wear a two piece bathing suit, you will get looked at by men. Again, it’s a flesh thing; if you show that much of it, the eyes will come.
4) While I lack a strong level of physical fitness, I am not grotesquely overweight. If I stand up straight I can almost pass as merely pudgy as opposed to having a beer gut. I’m sure the sight of my pasty belly doesn’t draw the ladies but I don’t think it’s overly off-putting either. Men really only have the option of trunks. If the gut is big enough, wear a shirt. I saw many that took this option during my trip. Saves on the sunblock as well.
5) If you are a female that has reached a certain age or weight or … sagginess, do not wear a two piece bathing suit. You’ll still draw the eye but not in a good way. A mother and daughter wearing matching bikinis is a dangerous thing, especially if the daughter is of a legal age. It’s less cute at that point and more asking for trouble. Think first. Consider what people might think about your choice of outfit. If you decide you don’t care what people think, you cannot be offended when they think it. Or stare.
6) There is no rule 6!
7) If you decide to wear an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini, people should be allowed to sing at you.

Checking in

Let's see: Had nothing simple to say for a bit. Been on vacation a bit. Been recovering from said vacation since. Am now swarthy, sunburned and in my glasses. Hopefully most of that will be switching back to normal soon. I don't mind the swarthy so much.

Yesterday I was at a wedding and then over to the East Side to catch up with friends, one of which I hadn't seen since his dad's funeral this past winter. I'm glad I did. For one, because it was fun, and also because I hate having a layer of friends that I only see when something good (wedding) or bad (funeral) happens. This was just hanging out and the request came at the perfect time as opposed to days where I'm triple booked. How can I have nothing to do for a stretch and then, suddenly, everyone wakes up one morning looking for me? Instant popularity. Weird.

Transformers - thumbs up
Simpsons - thumbs up

More reviews to come. I found a batch of old DVD reviews I did before this blog was even a thought and I might repurpose them here. I haven't checked to see if they still amuse in any way yet.

Eitherway, I haven't forgotten about you. More to come.

What are you?

As humans I think we always work to define the world we see around us. Each of us defines it a little differently due to our unique experience on the planet. Sometimes we accept the definitions of others in our perception of the world. Take this definition if you like.

Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, everyone has an interest, a something that fascinates them to a degree that they are eager to devote time to it, whether it’s flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever. In every hobby group I’ve seen, been near or been part of, I’ve seen enthusiasts and snobs.

The enthusiasts are generally fun people. They enjoy their hobby and can talk about it at some length given the chance. Often they can be so enthusiastic that they can talk you into investigating their hobby at length, even if you previously had no interest in it. They may not make you one of them, but you can respect their energy for their hobby, seeing how it matches your energy for your hobby. Sometimes they can be a bit boring because they won’t notice their energy for their hobby doesn’t match your energy for their hobby and they talk about it too much. They focus on the happier aspects of their hobby rather than the negative but they are often not blind to the negative. On the whole, they are a positive group.

The snobs are generally annoying people. They are not bad people but something in their personality causes their expressions regarding their hobby to come out twisted. They want the best for their hobby, whether it is flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever, but very rarely find the best. They often note the problems with the physical manifestations of their hobby or the other people that also participate in that hobby, noting how they are doing it wrong. They use their critical thinking skills, which is a good thing, but often express their concerns in a manner that is more critical than helpful. Their reaction to their hobby may cause you to wonder why they bother with their hobby as it seems that they get no joy out of it. Their expectations for their hobby are sometimes not realistic. On the whole, they are a negative group.

Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?

Fresh Fiction - Wrapup

That was an experiment and, from my perspective, it was rather fun. The primary part of the experiment was the speed with which it was written. Normally I construct the entire story and start releasing it as a section is completed or once it is entirely complete. I wrote the first segment over the course of a couple days. It was completed Wednesday and uploaded that Friday. That rapid turn-around time was interesting to try to accomplish.

My question to you the reader (all three of you): what do you think happened? We really have so little data to go on but what happened? Why did it happen? Do we really know? All questions I find too appropriate for life in the past week.

Anyway, as regards this story, we might be able to answer some of those questions eventually. I'm working on it anyway (that's the other part of the experiment). Janie and Psmith's story together has ended but it may not be the end of the story.

Thanks!

Fresh Fiction For Friday - Final (Blog Entry #100)

There was a pause.

She was unable to understand the pause. It seemed to be lasting forever but part of her brain argued that only seconds had passed since her statement. Still he did not speak, had no response for her. How long did it take to think of saying “Me too?” His eyes had widened in surprise and his jaw had loosened, his mouth remained closed but his jaw had definitely dropped as part of his surprised, but yet he had no verbal response for her. Why not?

Finally his lips moved. They twitched, he moistened them and then managed to speak. “No you don’t.”

She shook as if slapped across the face. “How… how can you say that?” Janie questioned. Tears escaped her, threatening to make the dance floor a slip hazard. Her knees grew weak; were it not for his physical support, she may well have collapsed.

His mask of calm returned to his expression. “My apologies, I did not express myself as clearly as I normally strive to do. The emotion you are experiencing is not romantic in nature but is a reaction, a sign of appreciation for the small part I have been able to play in your recovery. I have been able to provide you with a level of stability and you feel that my continued presence will only increase your stability. I must inform you that this is not the case. There are others that also need my assistance and, at some point, I will have to depart you in order to assist them. Does that clarify my earlier statement?”

They continued dancing. Janie stared ahead blankly at his collar, trying to stem the flow of her tears. His words felt so meaningless. Quietly at first, but with increasing strength, she found words. “How? How do you know how I feel? When have you ever asked me what I feel? I thought I understood how you felt for me. Even when you were being strict with me when I wouldn’t be strict with myself, I always felt an underlying kindness. You did everything I asked to help me and would never let me further harm myself.” Expressing this drained her. She attempted to lean in, rest herself on her shoulder to regain strength but he held her upright, supporting her in this regard but denying her the comfort of further contact. This resistance further confused her. “How can you tell me that you don’t love me?”

He stopped their dancing. Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand and directed her gaze upward to meet his own. “This is what you feel?” he inquired. She smiled a watery smile at him. Further words failing her, she nodded, shaking loose trapped tears. His voice was still calm but had an added gentleness when he spoke again. “If that is the case, then I am afraid I must tender my resignation from your employ.”

He released her chin which allowed it to droop in shock. A thought occurred through her haze of confusion. “Are you quitting because you couldn’t date an employer?”

“While I do indeed feel that way, it is not my motivation in leaving your service.” He stepped back so that he could bow slightly to her. “Goodbye.” With that completed, he walked away.

Janie watched as he strode away, her heart begging him to stop and walk back to her. He did not. As he disappeared into the crowd, she lost sight of him. She tried to call after him but her voice betrayed her, emitting as a whisper rather than a shout. “No, please, don’t go.” There was no way from him to hear her over the music and his lack of return seemed to prove that he had not heard her emotion filled whisper. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you have no feelings at all.”

Disillusionment

Well, what a difference a few hours makes.

The early coroner's reports are pointing to Benoit killing his wife and son before hanging himself.

I should have better words for this. All I have is shock and disappointment. There may be a 'reason' for this but I cannot see one that makes sense of this.

I won't take down last night's post as it was written in good faith, before the details were known, and is a snapshot of my feelings at that moment.

Right now I'm just mad that I wasted tears on him.

Later.

Thumb Across the Throat

No matter what your interest is, there are performers that are your favourite. More often than not, they are people you’ll never meet in real life but you read their work, listen to their music, watch them act or whatever it is they do on a regular basis. You’re a fan. You feel a connection to these people that, really, you don’t know. At the same time, you do know them but you don’t. What happens to them in real life shouldn’t matter to you that much. Sometimes it does.

Chris Benoit, his wife and one of their young sons is dead. Chris had just turned 40 about a month ago. I can’t ever remember meeting him. I know I had the opportunity to cheer him in person more than once. I even have a faint memory of being excited to see him perform live the first time. When was that? A WCW house show in 1997, 1998? Can’t remember. It’s probably not important.

Benoit was one of the performers I became specially fond of when my interest in wrestling revived in the mid-90’s. He was one of a crew of relatively smaller sized performers that displayed a unique talent in the ring. They were truly fascinating to watch and many still are: Rey Mysterio Jr, Eddie Guerrero, Chris Benoit, Chris Jericho and I would be remiss if I didn’t include the Chairman, La Parka. Rey’s half a step away from crippled, Jericho is currently retired, Parka’s still wrestling in Mexico, Eddie died a couple years ago and now Benoit’s gone.

When Eddie died it was a surprise and yet it wasn’t. Eddie had a history of problems and injuries. While he’d been good for so long, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to have it catch up with him. Benoit didn’t really have that history. He had neck problems but what little information there is currently doesn’t point to his passing being related to his wrestling history and the injuries that accumulate from that.

Chris wasn’t a flashy wrestler. He didn’t talk well. He was hard nosed, technically minded and just gave off this feeling that he had no quit in him. His first nickname was the Crippler, earned after ‘breaking’ Sabu’s neck. Being Canadian he was later called the Wolverine, a name I could certainly get behind from my comic book perspective. He was a member of the Four Horsemen for years. He was a guy that I always thought should succeed based on his skill and was afraid he never would. A few years ago, at Wrestlemania XX, we all cheered as he won the Heavyweight Title. Eddie Guerrero, also a champion at the time, came out to celebrate with him. For a moment, all was right with the world.

Tonight’s RAW is the first I’ve watched since, well, since Eddie died. It’s all about Benoit, moments from his career, his friends speaking well of him and it fills me with joy and sadness all at the same time. A few matches ago I verbalized a Benoit cheer and it almost made me cry.

Chest chops. The Diving Headbutt. The Sharpshooter. The Thumb across the Throat taunt. The Crippler Crossface finisher.

Like I said, I remember met Chris Benoit. I can’t claim to have spent time with him or called him family or any of the things that would make his passing that much more real. I am a fan of his. And I miss him already.

Rest in peace Chris Benoit.

Fresh Fiction For Friday - Fifth Fragment

They spun. Her heart lept. She smiled. “And you said you were rusty,” she teased.

“I don’t believe I said any such thing,” noted her dance partner. “I said I was out of practice.”

“Isn’t that what rusty means?”

“I am not so out of practice that I qualify for ‘rusty’.”

He dipped her. His expression remained blank while hers grew brighter. “What are you like when you are in practice?” she breathed.

They rose up from the dip. “Better than this I expect.” He felt the need to change the subject and did. “I do wish you had told me of your plan for this evening. Had I known this was the expectation I would have dressed myself better.”

Janie scoffed at this concept. “Oh please. You wake up in the morning dressed better than most of the people here.”

“When have you ever seen me wake up?” he questioned.

Her expression dimmed. “Why did you have to say that? You know I didn’t mean that literally. It was just meant to be a compliment on your clothes. Tonight’s not supposed to be about my… problems.”

“Your problems are why you hired me. It is my job to be concerned with them,” he stated.

“But not tonight,” she enthused. “Tonight we’ll dance and you’ll keep me away from the bar.”

He raised an eyebrow at these words. “Really? You desire to not drink tonight?”

She nodded and smiled as her eyes watered. Rather than look at him, she found herself staring at her shoes. The sternness of his expression had softened into one that started to look pleased, almost happy. She so rarely saw him like this and knowing she was responsible for this made her heart race. While she had already provided her response to his question, she repeated it verbally to emphasis it. “Yes. Help me not drink tonight.”

“Very well.” Still staring at the ground, she could hear how his expression had further softened. It called to her mind the early days of their relationship when she had a desire to change but no ability in herself to do so. He had been so stern, so forceful, so direct in his desire to assist. The pain of withdrawal had been intense and he could very well have locked her away in her room to sweat things out. He had not done so. He had soothed. He had encouraged. He would help her in any way possible apart from letting her relapse. Through the pain of that experience she had a clear memory of him sitting at her bedside, holding her hand and smiling at her. Now they were on the dance floor, he was holding her as they danced and she just knew he was smiling at her to some degree. “I will do what I can to assist you to reach this goal.”

“I know you can do it,” she responded softly. She felt very warm. Finally she found the strength to look at him again. Her vision lacked clarity and she quickly realized it was due to the tears in her eyes. “I love you.”

Fresh Fiction for Friday - Fantastic Fourth Fragment

“Are you surprised?” she asked.

They had arrived at a ballroom this evening as opposed to the normal dance club. “A little,” he admitted.

“Are you pleased?” she checked.

This made him pause. The question did not make sense to him. What difference would his being pleased or not make? Eventually he responded “I am not displeased.”

A smile lay claim to her face. She calculated the double negative to be a positive. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gentle music washed over them as they were directed to their table. There was the occasional look or rushed whisper as they walked. Janie understood all of it without hearing them. ‘Is that?’ ‘It can’t be.’ ‘What is she doing here?’ She didn’t care. Let them wonder. Let them gawk and stare. Tonight was not about them.

Upon reaching the table, Psmith pulled her chair out for her. She smiled at him and accepted this offer. This was good. It all felt so right, so … ladylike.

Psmith stood at her right side, his hands clasped behind his back. After a moment of observing the scene before them, he spoke. “Well now, this is a distinct variation from our normal night out. It is still dancing, just a different sort of dancing.” He stopped speaking. Janie looked up at him with a gentle smile on her face. She did not speak. After a prolonged pause he coughed gently and continued. “I must admit that I am unclear as to how the process functions in this establishment. There may be a dance card required. It may well be that all a gentleman will need to do is approach and ask in order to dance with you. Alternatively, I may need to act as an intermediary. If that is the case, do you see anyone you would like to have approach? The gentleman standing by that pillar on the other side of the room looks nice. Shall I approach him?”

Janie continued to observe him despite the uncomfortable position in which she need to place herself in order to do so. “No thank you,” she stated.

“Does that mean you have someone in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Whom would that be?”

She smiled. “You of course.”

This comment generated a pause in the conversation. Psmith terminated the pause with “Me?” She nodded. “You wish to dance with me?”

“That’s the reason I wanted to come here,” she noted. A thought occurred to her and she quickly added “You can dance, can’t you?”

“I am versed in the terpsichorean arts,” he stated, straightening his stance even further. “It is not a skill I am often called upon to utilize. I am quite out of practice.”

This statement did nothing to perturb her. “That’s okay. I’ve no idea what I’m doing at all so you’re still ahead of me.” She offered her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

He visibly pondered these statements. After this consideration he took her hand. “Perhaps it will be fun at that.” She beamed with joy.

Did some math. Was surprised.

I took a look at the computer mouse that 'Flipper Sr.' displayed to me. It was round, semi-clear, semi-silver and appeared to have eyes imbeded in it. "Looks like a Cybermat," I noted before turning to walk away.

This statement caused him to examine it further. Having apparently come to a mental conclusion about my statement, he chuckled. "I suppose it does." He then extended the chuckle to me. "You're very focused."

We had conversed enough about Doctor Who in the past that I guessed he would get the reference and obviously had. By now I was back in my office, thinking about sitting down. "Yeah, well, I've been swimming in that sea for..." Quickly I did math. I first started watching Doctor Who when I was 8 and now I'm 33 so that makes...

I didn't sit down. "25 years now." Good grief! I have friends younger than that!

This is my silver anniversary with Doctor Who. I'd say I deserve a present but the show's been back on TV for 3 years now and, really, I'll take that. More episodes please! At least another 25 years worth...

Fresh Fiction For Friday - 3 (Free?)

Wearily she wiped the sweat from her brow as she continued to exert herself on the stepper fitness device. She knew the time she had remaining was limited as she only exercised during the brief periods when Psmith was not with her. While he had often encouraged her to exercise whenever she wanted and would not have observed her doing so if she had asked him, she felt uncomfortable sweating with him so nearby. It didn’t feel right. Psmith was so cool that she couldn’t picture him sweating. She had tried to do so and could not. Somehow, she felt that he would find a way to talk himself out of it.

The machine beeped loudly to inform her that the cycle of exercise was complete. Eagerly she climbed down and began her post workout stretching. Her everything hurt but in such a good way. She did her best to focus on the stretching and nothing else; to think past the good pain for the form of the stretching. Nothing could stop her now.

Nothing could stop her apart from herself. What was that noise? It disrupted her focus. It was a rustling, crinkling sound not unlike… tissue paper. It was tissue paper! As she leapt to her feet, her muscles eagerly informed her of the stupidity of this movement. All the same, she made herself go to the sound of the tissue paper: the island in the kitchen. This is where Psmith was calmly rooting around in a package. Her package! “What are you doing going through that?” she cried.

Psmith whirled around in surprise at the suddenness of the volume from her. After the moment faded, his expression was left with a mild confusion. “I go through every package that enters this suite. I go through our food. You should be well aware of this as it is one of your orders. It is part of your rehabilitation.”

She spoke quickly. “I take it back. Cancel the order, for this package anyway.”

“By your order you cannot cancel that order.” His eyes narrowed. “What is so special about this package that you do not want me to investigate it as the others, hmm?” Carefully, he raised the item from the box in order to look under it.

Angrily she snatched the blue dress from his hand, for the moment not caring if she damaged it. Surprise returned to his expression, providing her with the opportunity to claim the box as well. She crammed the dress back in the container as she stomped off towards her room. Stomping hurt her legs and made her even more upset.

As this new shock wore off, Psmith returned to a state of confused crankiness. “I do not understand what is the problem. I have faithfully investigated every package that has passed this way, some with garments of a secretive nature, without complaint or concern. Why should this item cause such a reaction?”

In the doorway of her room she paused. With tears in her eyes she exclaimed “It was meant to be a surprise!” She punctuated her displeasure by slamming the door behind her.

Psmith stood there and pondered this. He considered it backwards and forwards. Just for fun, once her considered it sideways to see if it would help. It did not. The result of all this pondering was a deep sigh. “I cannot wait until she gets older and starts to make some sense.” He wandered into the kitchen proper. “At least the package was clean.”

No One goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline

While dealing with the reasons why we didn't enjoy 'Spider-Man 3' as much as we should have, one of my primary discussion points is that it didn't feel like there was enough Spider-Man spread throughout the movie. I do understand that there was a Spider-Man fight of some significant length near the end of the movie and I understand the concept of building to your payoff but this was more of a pacing problem in my opinion, something caused by adding the Venom storyline to a movie that didn't originally feature the character.

You must meet expectations. People expect to see Spider-Man in a Spider-Man movie. Marvel publishes three primary Spider-Man comics a month, twelve months a year. In the space of 36 comics a year, you can afford to have a couple that focus more on Peter Parker or show events through the eyes of a different character. In fact, if simply for the sake of variety, you need to change things up in order for those books to stay fresh every month. When there's one movie every three years, it's a different combination of events.

No one goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline. No one goes to McDonald's for a gourmet meal. No one watches American Idol for the death-metal songs. No one watches 'A Night at the Opera' for the singing, it's all about the Marx Brothers.

Despite it being a neat moment from a number of different perspectives, no one goes to a Spider-Man movie to watch Peter Parker dance. It's not that you can't go beyond the expectations but you must at least meet them. McDonald's could serve gourmet food but if the quality of the fries suffered because of it, would people be happy? No. If the monster wrestling in a Godzilla movie is awesome and the human love interest story was good, well, that would probably be the best Godzilla movie ever.

If you want to do something new in the entertainment world, to mix things up in a long running series so that you're not just repeating yourself, at least bring the basic stuff you promise in the title. When you have a movie called 'Werewolves on Wheels' there should be more than a few seconds of a Werewolf on a motorcycle.

Or is it just me?

Fresh Fiction for Friday - Further

She emerged from her room moaning and holding her head. Entering the suite proper she shuffled towards the expansive couch and comfy chairs, looking for sympathy. “Why does my head hurt so bad?”

The gentleman sighed, raising his eyes just enough from the crossword puzzle in the newspaper to observe her. “You are hung-over from drinking too much,” he stated. “This is why your head hurts. Are you familiar with the concepts of cause and effect?” Looking pitiful, she shook her head no, stopping only to wince. With a sigh of exasperation, he put down his pen and newspaper. “To recap, because you drink so much every night, the effect is that you wake up the next morning hung-over, forgetting that we had a conversation regarding cause and effect the day before, as well as the day before that, as well as nearly every morning since I’ve been in your employ.”

“Not every morning?” she checked, looking for a silver lining.

“Some days you do not wake until the afternoon,” he noted coolly.

She pouted. “But Matt…”

This statement was very quickly terminated by a hard look and a sharp retort from the gentleman on the couch. “Ms. Van Howell. To you my name is Mr. Psmith, the P being silent as in ptarmigan and Ptolemy. If you must insist on a certain familiarity, you may refer to me as Psmith. You have yet to earn the right to refer to me by my first name. I believe your continued hang-overs are evidence of this. Have I been clear?” She nodded. She shuddered under the coldness of his statements towards her. There was something in his British accent and deep voice that made his words feel that much sharper. “I am glad. The light breakfast you prefer has been prepared. The coffee is fresh.”

“Thank you.” A thought proceeded. “No special secret hang-over cure?”

Psmith was once again working through the crossword puzzle. “That is correct. Resolving this problem so quickly for you is retarding your progress in this regard. For you to learn, you will have to suffer so that you will understand the effects of what you are doing.”

“But I have suffered, lots of times before I hired you to help me with my issues. Can’t that count? You know I’m trying,” she pleaded. He looked up from his puzzle. She lacked the normal ammunition of her feminine wiles what with her bed scrambled hair and the smeared remains of yesterday’s makeup twisting her features. It was the hint of light in her eyes that caught his attention. At this point in the day her eyes were normally dull and lifeless but today they held some life and she used that life to plead with him. “Please Mr. Psmith?”

He returned his gaze to the puzzle. “How very wise of you to utilize my correct nomenclature. I will… consider your request.”

She smiled, brightening her expression despite her current physical state. She knew him well enough to know that this response meant yes unless she did something to change his mind. “Thank you Mr. Psmith.”

He continued with his puzzle, his pen rapidly moving over the paper as the squares were filled in. “Certainly. Go take in some breakfast it gets cold.”

She resumed her walk, heading for the kitchen. “Also, thank you for getting me home alone last night, Mr. Psmith.”

“You are quite welcome. I am glad to see you make the progress you desire in this regard.” As she entered the kitchen, he placed his pen and completed puzzle on the table before him. He rose to make the cure she had requested.

30 Years of Big Budget Popcorn Flicks

I suppose I spent the 30th anniversary of 'Star Wars' in an appropriate manner: I lined up for a movie. It was one of that movie's 'descendants', the latest 'Pirates of the Caribbean' movie. Short review: its a bit long but I only really noticed the length once and then things picked up so I forgot all about it being long. It's a lot of fun.

I've expressed my general disinterest in 'Star Wars' previously but must touch on it again. It's the deification of the original trilogy as some masterpiece that eludes me. 'Star Wars' was nostaglia when it was released in 1977, just like Lucas' first big film, 'American Graffiti'. It is the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers newspaper strips come to life in ways that special effects couldn't replicate in the 1930's and 1940's. It is good old fashioned space opera, a throwback after films like '2001: a Space Odyssey'. In and of itself, none of these are bad things. I just don't understand why Lucas should be a genius because he got enough of a budget to spend some on effects.

Anyway, one of the things 'Star Wars' locked in was the big event popcorn movie. The historical epics of old were cast aside for good natured action movies that hoped you wouldn't think about them too hard. 'Jaws' started the concept and 'Star Wars' made it a trend. It is in from that mold that the 'Pirates' movies come from with big action, awesome heroes and villains and complicated plots that sometimes manage to hold together despite themselves. The third 'Pirates' movie is full of jockeying for position and each character has a plan that they're trying to make work, even if it means temporarily betraying a friend. It is quite fascinating to watch.

I may not be the first person to make this next declaration but I'll say it anyway: The 'Pirates of the Caribbean' trilogy is what the 'Star Wars' prequels wanted to be. They are densely plotted, action packed films with a central romantic story at it's heart. It's not hard to start imagining the pirate ships in space rather than water. The variation is that the effects are better in the 'Pirates' movie and there is chemistry between the romantic leads in the 'Pirates' movies. The 'Pirates' trilogy is also has the generation spanning popularity that 'Star Wars' once had as well as being immune from criticism insomuch that bad reviews will not halt people from seeing the movies.

To be fair, there are also no expectations for the 'Pirates' trilogy. It came from nowhere to be as popular as it is. The 'Star Wars' prequels had heavy expectations based on the fact that we knew where the films had to go from the evidence in the original trilogy and when they failed to meet the expectations of years of fan dissection of the original movies, the backlash became impressive.

All I know is this: during all of these movies, I always have a moment when I daydream about a big screen 'Doctor Who' movie. Perhaps I could be a space pirate in that. Oh, wait, the show already did that in 1969. Nevermind.

Fresh Fiction for Friday

She leaned forward, laughing energetically. The fluid in her glass slid forward as well, balancing precariously on the lip of said glass, threatening to spill. In her amusement, she never noticed, nor did she notice it teeter in the opposite side of the glass when she leaned back. Continuing to laugh, she rested her free hand on the leg of the fellow that caused her mirth. Calmly, the gentleman standing over her leaned down and removed the hand from the leg. The young lady, still amused, did not notice. Her entertaining companion shot a dirty look in the direction of the kill-joy, hoping to prevent any further interference on his part. For the gentleman’s part, he remained expressionless under the gaze. There was nothing to indicate that The Look had in any way proved effective as a corrective act. As a result, he gave up on dealing with the handler and returned his attention to the handlee.

It was difficult to continue communicating his clever comments over the clamor of the crowd in the club but her continued chortling indicated that he was succeeding. At the same time, he realized that she had drunk quite a lot of wine tonight and that this could be the primary source of her mirth. It was indeed possible that he could be reciting the phone book in order to receive the same response from her. If this was the case, tonight would indeed be a special night. A grin played about his lips as she laughed once again. He was in.

Having identified all this, he decided it was time to play his hand. It was late, he noted, and the day had been a long one. Perhaps, he suggested, it was time to call it a night. He could easily and gladly transport her home. What did she say to that?

Calmly, still lacking expression, her handler rested his hand on her shoulder. This contact seemed to activate her. While she concurred with his assessment regarding the lateness of the hour, she politely but firmly rejected his generous offer. At the same time, an evening spent in his company had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, so perhaps they could do this again soon.

She rose suddenly and he stumbled to his feet to join her. In a manner that he could only describe as polite, she reached across the table to hug him, barely making contact between them. For a moment, he considered trying to sneak in a kiss but, before he could act on this theory, she was gone. He stepped to follow her but her handler gave him a glance that froze him in his tracks. In a flash, they were lost in the crowd outside the VIP section of the club.

Insanity! The plan was foolproof. He’d gotten her drunk. She was known to be a ‘party’ girl. He’d asked to take her home. It was a formula that had been successful for so many before him, so why not him?

It wasn’t the plan for the plan was good. It wasn’t the girl for she was easy. It was the handler. It was his fault!

How had this handler stymied him? It was not through muscle for he was not abundant in that area. It was not with height for he was average in that regard. It was not with words for he hadn’t spoken to either of them all night. Perhaps it was hypnotism? She had reacted rather oddly to that touch on her shoulder. Yet, that failed to explain why he had done nothing to resist the power of the handler.

That was exactly it; his power. The handler’s presence had been so strong that he had derailed the plan completely. It had been the briefest of glances yet it had accomplished so much.

It occurred to him that now was not the time to ponder these things. Perhaps it was not too late to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He quickly made his way to the edge of the balcony, casting his eyes on the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her.

His heart raised. There she was! His heart sank. She was at the coat check room, right next to the exit. There was no way for him to get through the busy crowd in time to reach her. As he watched, she wandered out the door, closely followed by her handler as he shrugged on his tan trenchcoat.

Then they were gone.

Shoot Some Golfs

One of the problems with being a crummy golfer, as I am, is that you plan every shot with failure in mind. I don’t approach a 100 yard shot expecting to loft a casual shot onto the green; I smack at it with my 3 Iron hoping that it gets some air and doesn’t skip across the ground like a rock on water. As a result, when I do succeed, it’s an accident and I over achieve, often sending a ball flying over the green.

I’m not going to detail the 9 holes George and I played last Saturday. The most interesting golf story to tell is that of the perfect shot you made and the most tedious golf story to hear is the story of the perfect shot that someone else made. As a result, I’ll not detail my drive on the 14th hole that went far and true. It felt good. Every round of golf needs that hit, the one that feels good. If you don’t get one shot like that, there’s no incentive to keep playing.

I believe it was Mark Twain that noted ‘Golf is a good walk spoiled’. It’s not a concept I can totally argue with especially considering the frustration I have expressed on occasion on the course. At the same time, golf is a good excuse for a walk and I can use all the excuses for exercise that I can get. You may not have noticed but I can be a bit lazy.

I’m not very good at skipping rocks on water either.

Sleep = Good

I’d forgotten how my attitude to sleep changes when I’m on 3rd shift.

When I’m working 1st shift, sleep happens when there is time for it. I know I need sleep because a lack of it makes me cranky and dumb. Given the opportunity, my body would choose to sleep from 02:00 – 10:00. As a result, going to sleep at 22:00 – 23:00 in order to wake up at 05:30 is not a natural choice for me but my body did figure it out eventually. The weekend is often a time to catch up a bit on my sleep, sometimes even to the point of curling up on the couch while Spongebob or Oddparents is on and taking a little nap. It’s not that I find those shows boring but that I’ve seen most of them so I’m not struggling to watch them as I doze off, afraid I’m going to miss something.

When I’m working 3rd shift, sleep is a necessity. In fact, I feel I need more of it to survive the night. I do not tolerate myself dozing off at work so the more sleep I get, the better. The first week or so was no problem; I got home, ate a little something and would pass out on the couch watching the Muppet Show before waking up enough to go to bed. After that, I started over-sleeping, sleeping for 10 or 11 hours straight, waking up tired and grumpy. I started setting the alarm on non-busy nights to stop this. In the last week or so, I’ve started under-sleeping, not unlike being on 1st shift and only getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep a day. I keep myself busy during the weekend nights, afraid that I wouldn’t nap but sleep and be unable to sleep during the day. That would just lead to a screwed up sleep schedule during the week.

Long term that plan isn’t viable. There’s stuff I have to do during the day and, if I was going to stay on 3rd shift, I’d probably try to learn how to sleep in chunks of time, get up to do stuff and sleep more, rather than sleeping all at once. My buddy the cop does that and it seems to work for him. Luckily, this shift isn’t a long term plan. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this is my last night on 3rd. Hooray! Now my friends will no longer be scared by emails I send at 03:00, at least until the next time I stay up too late drinking…

Speaking of which, don't post drunken comments on people's MySpace pages in the middle of the night. It's like writing down all the stupid stuff you say when you're drunk so you can see how dumb you really are at that moment. And no one wants that. Well, except me because I think it's funny. That's just me I guess.

Another update from third shift

News flash: still not enjoying third shift.

I'm not all grumpy like last week but third shift is definitely eating away at me. I've started oversleeping during the day: almost 10 hours Saturday and about 11 on Sunday. I wake up tired and unable to get in the swing of things speedily. When this happens on a normal weekend it's not that big a deal but when you don't wake up on Saturday night until 20:00 and you're not up and going until closer to 22:00 it can impact plans a little bit. Missed out on a concert Saturday night and last night I just sat around being groggy until it was time to go to work. No fun.

That said, Saturday night/Sunday morning TV is better than Friday night/Saturday morning TV. Fuse had a 'The Whitest Kids U Know' marathon on Saturday night and I followed that with a surprisingly good episode of 120 Minutes on VH-1 Classic. 'Whitest Kids' is decent sketch comedy that occasionally becomes brilliant and 120 Minutes is two hours of 'alternate' music videos. So I had fun.

Been rewatching Season One of the Muppet Show before I go to sleep in the mornings. Season Two is supposed to be out late this summer. Cannot wait! Love Muppets. Steve tired. Want to watch Muppets now.

Stupid third shift.

Ramble Mode Activated

My one week stretch on third shift got extended to one month, maybe even one month and a couple days. I got the dreaded 'thing stuck in my eye' problem Saturday morning and removing my contacts didn't help as said item remained in my eye to torment it. This doesn't seem fair to me. As a result, I'm tired, cranky cause I'm wearing my glasses and my eyes are sore. Driving into work last night was no fun at all because I felt blind in the dark and the wind was so strong that it kept blowing my hat off. I am cranky Steve and, in general, just not pleased about stuff. So, let's ramble.

I considered tossing my two cents in the ring about the whole Don Imus thing but I decided against it. I've read my own position enough times to no longer feel the need to express it in length. In short: Don Imus made his living for years saying stupid stuff like this and, while I believe he has every right to say stupid stuff, other people have the right to be offended by him saying stupid stuff. On the other hand, while I can understand being offended by his statement, was it really that big a deal? How does his comment stack up against the images in rap music videoes depicting women? My conclusion: everyone involved on both sides is too eager for attention and I'm already given them too much of mine already.

Switching gears, late night television has gotten worse since the days that I worked nights regularly. Somehow it seems that the amount of 'paid programming' at 3 in the morning has increased to where I was scanning through pages and pages of it. I don't understand why there is 'paid programming' anyway. I have cable tv. All my programming is being paid for already. There's plenty of old programming that's gone into public domain that could be broadcast relatively cheaply. Stupid infomericals.

I don't know why I'm complaining about tv in the middle of the night when I didn't end up watching it anyway. This is why I have DVDs and the whole 'convert my old tapes to DVD' projects to keep me entertained. The bad part about that is that I have all this stuff I can watch and, at 3 in the morning, nothing strikes my fancy. It's not unlike being hungry, not knowing what to eat, going to look at a full cupboard and then going out for fast food because you don't what to eat anything you already own. Worst yet is going out to get food you could make yourself. I have all the seasons of 'Futurama' on DVD. I never watch the DVD but I watch the airings on Adult Swim all the time. Why? I can watch whichever episode I want but I let the broadcaster decide for me. I have too many options. Sometimes they overwhelm me and I watch what they give me. Saturday night I sat at the Compound and we watched the 'Lost in Space' movie from satellite. Why? It caught our attention and it's really quite a good movie, certainly better than I remembered. Did we have better options? Probably but we accepted what they gave us and went from there.

Does any of this have a point? Not really.

Working Third Shift

I'm on Third Shift this week at work so that I can train a new guy. In a few minutes I'll be leaving home for night two. It's already been rough and messed up my flow. I haven't sleep enough. It takes a lot of energy to stay up all night, even though I'm inclined to stay up late given the opportunity. Last night was relatively busy and that helped me keep moving as well as giving me things to show the new guy. That said, I'll be happy when this is done. There is a possibility that this need may stretch for a month and I hope I won't be doing this for that entire month.

The one thing I've learned so far is that little chocolate donuts do go well with beer.

Ideas Continued

One of the problems with announcing that you have an idea is that people want to know about it. This is not the worst thing in the world, having people being interested in your ideas is not a bad thing at all. The problem is that I have the idea but then found out that I wasn't ready to go with the idea just yet. I have the story plotted out on paper, as well as the basic characters, but I lack the 'key' scene. I don't have that first scene to write that lets me put all the other pieces in place. So that's still stewing in my brain.

I have another novel that I've started and I've been making good progress on another story featuring El Hombre de Silla. The El Hombre story is actually an expansion of a scene I wrote awhile ago. The story is written in the first person from the perspective of Patrick Thompson, 'hero' of the first novel I wrote. The novel idea is a 'what if?' of sorts based on an unfinished concept from years before.

I'd like to say my delay in posting has been due to being really busy but, at best, I've been busy. The rest is just lazy and Wii and new Doctor Who. Mmm, new Doctor Who...

I think it would be a very good idea

Most people I know have good ideas at one time or another. Perhaps it’s an idea for a project at work when they suddenly realize how to accomplish a piece of the process. It might be an idea for a story. Occasionally people have an idea on how to improve a product or for an item that should exist. Sometimes while talking I’ll hear a good idea on how the world should work.

The problem with a good idea is that a certain responsibility comes with it. Ideas are relatively easy to come by, certainly easier than you think. Doing something with the idea, actually using the idea for whatever purpose, investing the time and energy needed to make the idea come alive, now that’s the tricky part.

I’ve been visibly writing for … seventeen or eighteen years now. By ‘visibly writing’ I mean to say that I’ve been sharing my works with others on a regular basis. My friends tend to know that I write because they have the opportunity to read my works. Whether they have the time to do so is another conversation altogether but they do have the opportunity. As a result, people like to share their ideas with me. Sometimes it’s as a ‘here, you should use this’ sort of comment but often it’s an ‘I’m working on this idea, what do you think?’ comment.

The majority of these ideas aren’t bad. When it comes to stories especially, ideas in and of themselves tend to not be bad in and of themselves. Most ideas are good. It’s when you reach the execution of an idea that it can seem bad due to the execution.

A lot of the ideas that have been presented to me over the years don’t even get a chance to be ‘bad’. Most ideas rot because the time, energy or ability to develop them properly isn’t possessed by the individual with the idea.

I had an idea Sunday. I think my responsibility towards it will mean writing a screenplay and I’m not well practiced at that. Maybe this will change that, unless of course I lack the time, energy or ability. Now that lack would be a Bad Thing.

Yesterday I got a Wii

Yesterday I got a Nintendo Wii (thank you Moppy) and spent a good chunk of the day playing Wii Sports because that comes free with the system and I didn't buy a game for it. It's also a lot of fun.

The Wii controllers are motion sensitive and so the majority of your interaction with it involves movement. As a result, I am very sore today from swinging at baseballs and playing tennis and such. This is a good thing. I'm not a particularly active person, being a sitting reading type person, and this time motivates me to get up and move around some. So, again, this is a good thing.

Don't get me wrong. I don't expect to post in six months going: 'Hi there. I was an overweight bum until I got the Nintendo Wii. Now, I have six pack abs, my hair's grown back and supermodels beg to go to bed with me.' I know that ain't happening. Unfortunately. At the same time, if I can drop a couple of pounds and be a little less lazy while enjoying myself, that'll be a good thing.

I also got books yesterday so I'm reading between games. The book I'm reading now (well, not right this second, I'm not so clever that I can type and read at the same time. Yet) is about John Belushi, a biography composed of pieces of interviews from those in his family, his friends, people he worked with, etc. It's a very interesting way to tell this story because the points of view vary depending on the person.

It's March 5th 2007 and John died 25 years ago today. Personally, I think he's funny. If he were still alive he'd probably still be funny. I lot of people that are funny would be funnier if he were still alive. But he's not because he couldn't stop meddling with drugs. As funny as I find him, that annoys me. Dumbass.

At the same time, I look at my lazy self, the beer I'll drink once I'm done with this and wonder if, in some small way, I'm doing the same thing, if we're all doing the same thing and we're trying not to think about it. In a way, he was just a little quicker about it.

...

The heck with this, I'm going to play more Wii before I depress myself.

Last Night I Dreamt of the Doctor

For a moment, I am lost. Entirely lost, which is an impressive level of lost, even for me. Now, why would I think that? Who am I? I spin and catch a glimpse of my trenchcoat. Yes of course, I'm the Doctor, whoever that is.

Even with a bit of concentrating I am lost. My location is strange, fluid, shifting. My mind feels much the same. Certain things seem right but I can't grab hold of thoughts. My memories are shattered. My identity is distant.

I move, more floating than walking and bump into another man. This man is tall, with an impressive coat and scarf. He's all teeth and curls. He is me, I feel sure of that. He is me in my fourth incarnation. That was some time ago. How long ago I'm not sure. Which incarnation am I? Eighth sounds right but so does Tenth and Eleventh. Other people, possibly also me, briefly flash through my brain and are quickly gone again, with their companions. This doesn't help.

The other me explains that my first three incarnations are trapped in the Matrix. This is what is eroding my memory. If I can free them, I shall remember everything. He can't do it by himself. I need to go with him. We float along to the interface area.

Instinctively I can work the controls. On a panel the heads of my first three incarnations display: the elderly figure I was near the end of my first incarnation, my Beatle haired friendly second incarnation, the proud mature vision of my third incarnation. See, I'm told, this proves that they are trapped. I must free them!

The screen continues, refreshing to show my next three incarnations: the wide-eyed fourth, the innocent fair haired fifth, the strange sixth with his blue-gray greatcoat with matching hat. Wait a moment, if they are trapped as my first three incarnations, then who is...

I turn and see the man I thought was me posing dramatically, arms outstretched, scarf billowing, radiating power like a Jack Kirby drawing. He announces himself as the Lord Emperor of Gallifrey, High...

I slip past him, into the Matrix to free my other selves. The Matrix is a small room. I am somehow told how to manipulate the thread and paper found within in order to resolve the situation.

When I emerge, my memories swirl within me. The opponent, he who wore my former form and was no doubt the Master, is gone. I bounce down, from bed to bed, the thoughts of my second incarnation ascendant within me. Oh dear, that is quite a distance down. I do hope nothing happens. Oh my, that's quite a cliffhanger, isn't it...

And then I woke up.

Making a Xbox fun again

‘Would you like to mod your Xbox?’

It was a question I’d heard a few times before from those with the enthusiasm of the converted. The details had always involved people I was unfamiliar with, the attachment of extra equipment to the processing equipment and the primary benefit of the mod being the piracy of games. I’d always politely begged off. None of these concepts particularly appealed to me.

This time the question came from a buddy at work that could do the work himself and it would involve hanging out at a mutual friend’s house that I hadn’t seen much of in the past few years. There would be no case cracking involved. Most importantly, the goal was to turn the Xbox into more of a media center than a game system. I was intrigued. This time I said yes.

A few Saturdays ago I visited with my Xbox and about an hour later we were done. Files had been updated, some added and an application or two added to the machine. Upon startup it defaults to a ‘media center’ screen instead of the old green dock. Most important is what the machine can do now, things like play AVI files from a DVD as well as play my Region 2 PAL disks.

I like my ‘new’ toy. The DVD drive is still a little flaky but that’s something to fix later if need be.

Confused

What are there currently more candidates for: the next President of the United States or the late Anna Nicole Smith's baby daughter?

I've lost track.

Fair Enough

I believe it's important for a person to admit when they are wrong. I was wrong. I have noted for some years that the Colts would be unable to win a Super Bowl with Peyton Manning as quarterback. Evidently I was wrong. His inability to perform in the playoffs was not enough to prevent the Colts from winning.

It rained pretty much the entire game. It looked miserable out there, not only the field but the play. Messy, sloppy nasty game.

I don't agree with Manning as MVP either. His stats for the game weren't bad but Adam Vinaiteri, the field goal kicker, scored more points than he did, kicking in the rain with a lack of proper footing. Sure he missed one but big deal.

I didn't see an Apple ad. This morning on the website they announced that they bought the trademarks from Apple Corp and were leasing any items Apple Corp would need to use back to them. Weird. Wonder if they are still working on a 'Beatles on iTunes' contract or if that was just someone misinterpreting what did happen.

Eitherway, the game wasn't Super nor were the ads this year. Those of you reading this that care not for football should be safe for a few months anyway.

Bah.

Go!!! nobody...

Today's the Super Bowl. Can't honestly say I'm too excited about the game itself.

I live in Milwaukee, WI. As a long time Green Bay Packer fan, it's not in my nature to cheer for the Bears. When they went to the Super Bowl in 1985/1986, the team had momentum and you just knew that they were going to win. I don't have that feeling this time round. The Bears have been a very uneven team this season but have found ways to win. I can see that happening again today.

I have no real love or hate for the Colts. As a player, I'm not fond of Peyton Manning. As a person he seems like a nice enough guy, at least the commercials he's in give the impression that he has a sense of humour. I've spent a few years explaining how Peyton Manning would never win the big one because he couldn't get it together in the playoffs and, until the last half of the championship game, I could argue that didn't change this year. After saying all that, I'd be a hypocrite to cheer for them.

So, I'm cheering for Apple. Rumour is that they have something interesting to announce during the game. Perhaps it will be the new style video iPod or that the Beatles have been added to iTunes. Eitherway, go Apple! Hooray!

Blue Warrior needs beer badly

One of the only disadvantages to my current assignment at work is that the site I'm at has no cafeteria. Oh there's an eating area with machines with food in them but there isn't a staffed 'will make you stuff while you wait' sort of cafeteria like I'm used to having access to. There are places in the area outside of work to get food from but I don't like leaving work on a regular basis to do that. I'm on call. Sometimes I'm the only one around and can't leave in good conscious. On those days that I haven't planned well or just plain forgotten, sometimes you have to look in the machine, at the wheel of death, and think 'which sandwich seems the least poisonous today?'

That happened today. In an effort to be less lazy, I decided to stop on my way home and get something lunch-like for the next few days. I also needed beer. This greatly assisted in the decision making process.

I generally go food shopping at odd hours so being in a grocery store at 16:30 was a bit weird, mostly for the fact that there were people in there, people that were in my way. The other side effect was that the lane in the liquor section was an express lane, a fact I really didn't notice until the register lady pointed it out to me. She could have told me straight-away and sent me to the main section of lanes and I would have gone without a fuss. In fact I probably would have apologized for blocking the lane. Instead, she informed me of this halfway through ringing me up. At which point I failed to see the reasoning for the information. Unless she was going to stop checking me out at 15 items, what difference did it make? I apologized and noted I hadn't really seen the sign on the wall (I had noticed it but not really acknowledged it as I was watching her strange manner in bagging items and dealing with the customers ahead of me). She finished checking me out and didn't prevent me from buying anything so it was just a weird moment.

Lunch will be important tomorrow. Right now I have my Sprecher Abbey Triple beer. This makes me happy.

Old time Hockey eh?

The details of the story elude me. Often losing the details of a story can ruin it, can turn it into ‘we did stuff’. I hope that I have recalled enough of the story so that this is not the case here.

As I remember it, it was Stacy, Nick and myself at the Admirals game. I no longer recall who they were playing. What I do remember was that the Admirals weren’t winning. They were playing hard but couldn’t get things together. Their opponents were managing to fight off their intense attack and, despite not having the advantage on the time of possession, were winning.

We sat on the end of the ice that held the goal the Admirals were attacking two periods out of the three. We were tucked in the centre of the section known for cheering and leading the rest of the crowd in the cheers. Even in this area, Nick was the loudest of them all. Whether he was just wound up or sensed that the team needed all the help they could get, he was in fine form with his cheers, jeers and yelling. While he might have been rude, he was never vulgar, being aware of the families around him.

At one point, staggered by the ‘rage’ one gets during a sporting event, he demanded I get him a name. It didn’t matter which of the opponent’s team I found for him, he just needed someone other than the goalie to work on. I found ‘Smithikov’ (whomever, this being another detail that eludes me) for him. “Smithikov!” he announced, “you suck!”

About halfway through the game, Nick suddenly became aware of his volume as well as the presence of other people around him. As he was already standing in order to deliver his verbal assaults, he spun and began to apologize to those around us for his volume. As a group those around us not only politely dismissed his apology but he was encouraged to keep up the good work. So he did.

Despite Nick’s efforts as well as our efforts to assist him, the Admirals lost a close game. As the teams began to exit the ice, Nick turned to me with a playful gleam in his eye. He had been riding the goalie all night and had managed to get under his skin a bit. Should he run down to the glass and continue to sass him as the man left the ice? I said yes, he had to do so. Nick did, getting the goalie’s attention and repeating the comparison between a vacuum and the goalie. As he left the ice, the goalie acknowledged him, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing towards the scoreboard as if to note ‘who won?’ The man’s coach enthusiastically waved him in to the locker room, encouraging him to ignore us.

We laughed at the reaction. It was awesome. It was all ‘heat of the battle’ fun. If we’d have seen the goalie in the hallway afterwards, we’d have congratulated him on the game and told him he still sucked. All good fun, a great moment in sport from our opinion.

Around about a year ago, give or take a few days, Nick died. Cancer had riddled his young body and he had taken all that he could take. Hockey, like a lot of things, is not the same without him.

Normal Service to Return Shortly

We apologize for the delay. All operators are currently assisting other customers. Please stay on the line.

(I've got some stuff written but not yet typed up. My temporarily broken car is fixed and I'm really to roll again. First, sleep.)

(Soon, honest!)

Its a New Year, I suppose I should say something

Happy Belated New Year!

Lots going on but very little of interest. After spending so much time getting used to sleeping as long as I wanted to I had to go back to work. Didn't sleep well all last week. This week's starting better. Of course I also spent most of last week working on my year-end assessment for work. Of course, I knew when this was due a month ago and could have started on it ages ago. Did I? No, of course not. I was on vacation! I used to do the same thing in school so it's nice to know some things don't change.

Did some more work in the archive while I was off. Neatest thing I found (from my point of view anyway) is the original art for the cover of a story I wrote just after I got out of high school: 'Psychotic Reaction III: Homecoming'. I've had a copy on my wall for years but hadn't remembered where the original was. It's dated 1993. I feel old again.

I should have something interesting to say soon. Either that or I'll get addicted to 'Guitar Hero'. One of the two.