My "Birthday" Saturday.

Brace yourselves. This blog may be lengthy and contain foul language and obvious insensitivity.

Where do I begin.

Ah, yes. Birthday weekends. Now that I think of it, no one's ever REALLY explained birthdays to me. Nor the way they're SUPPOSED to make you feel. So perhaps the way I feel about them is normal.

I hate them. Birthdays can suck my left nut and die. I've had an obvious distaste for them ever since this guy at my 13th birthday party gave me a New Kids On The Block t-shirt. "I don't know, my Mom picked it out." Ya, well your Mom kinda picked you out, too. So her track record's pretty fucked - why would you let her pick out a gift for your boy?

And this birthday is extra special. This is the first birthday of my life I'll be spending without my Mother. I spent the better part of this morning reminding myself that there won't be any special birthday phone call in the morning on Monday. So I cried. Like a bitch. And then I sat in the bathroom in a towel for a few hours staring at the floor.

Eventually I had to suck it up - Leafs were doing battle with the Canucks and they beckoned for my half-hearted cheers. And half-hearted cheers they shall receive. After I saved my progress on Massive Effect 2 (siiiiiiiiiick game), I did a quick google map to 146 Front Street. I was ready to rock. Strapping on my classic Alyn McCauley Maple Leafs Jersey and preparing for Toronto's unforgiving barely below zero temperatures, I tore off to Islington Station for another round of guess-the-terrorist plot on the subway.

I battled through to the King Street exit and was on my way.

Man...it's cold. Man...I don't see this place anywhere. What? King Street West eh?

Google you fucked me.

When I finally reached The Loose Moose, which is evidently right across the street from Union Station, I was happy to find my sister and brother-in-law were joining us. I purchase myself a brand new Leafs' Kessel t-shirt and we settle in to watch period one.

It's a birthday miracle! Leafs' up 3 - 0 after the first 20 minutes.

Yet another birthday miracle! Leafs give up a 3 goal lead to lose 5 - 3. It was a special performance for my upcoming birthday. Thanks guys. I'm touched - but I blame Stempniak for this one.

Time for another round of guess-the-terrorist threat on the subway ride home. This time the terrorists aren't being quite as subtle. On the train ride westbound to Islington station I spot something out of the ordinary. Laying before my very eyes, just underneath the seat directly in front of me is a rather large, yet clean kitchen knife.

I peer around me. I'm the only one that sees this massive weapon laying comfortably within the reach of the psychotics, the drug addicts, the children and of course, Leafs fans. I brought it to people's attention.

I said things like, and in no particular order:
"That's a big effin' knife."
"Ooh - don't touch it. It could be a disposed murder weapon."
"It's too bad. How's dude going to cut his chicken now?"
"I'm going to jump out of the train screaming 'KNIFE! TERRORIST! BOMB! RAPE!' - whatever it takes to get somebody to take this seriously."
"No, I usually leave my kitchen utensils at home. Not in public transit."

I feel like I did the right thing by reporting it. Like I said in a previous blog, you never know. A psycho could've come in there, found the knife and used it. Or some Leafs fan could've committed suicide, right there on the train ride home.

When I think back to it, it would've been the perfect opportunity for Crocodile Dundee to show up suddenly and say "that's not a knoife...THIS is a knoife."

Morale of the story: no matter how upset or distraught life may make you - don't be afraid to get out and experience it. Yours might not be the only life you're saving.

Kung-POW, bitches.

The Bachelor - Real Talk.

Once upon a time there lived a man who loved to manipulate the feelings and emotions of people in small groups on international television.
His name was Mike Fleiss.
When Mike first generated this idea, he thought to himself: "what's the best way to manipulate the feelings and emotions of people in small groups on international television?"
The answer: The Bachelor.
Let's take a group of plastic, fame-hungry bimbos and an arrogant, self-absorbed Ken doll, give the chicks some knives, hotel rooms and lots of make-up and see who survives to claim their hunk.
That's pretty much the same way some wild animals do it, isn't it?
It's probably just jealousy. Last time I had any girls at all fight over me was 3 years ago in a world that doesn't exist. It's just so fantastically phony - guys like that don't exist. What you see on television is just an act. And girls like that...well...okay, those bitches exist.
It's just this type of affection and love is...forced. I don't believe any degree of sustainable love or emotion can be created in such an environment. "Here bitches! Love this dude or you lose!"
Now, if there were a show that showed REAL LIFE love happening between REAL LIFE people...TRUE love stories...then I think I may be compelled to pay attention.
Every relationship present, past or future, has a unique opening story. Whenever any unforced relationship is beginning, it's always good times! Both the dude and the chick are excited, there's always new things to do, new experiences and the honeymoon sex. Those first couple of months where all you do is bang on the bed, on the floor, in the kitchen, on the couch, in your roommates' bed...whatever.
But right when it's JUST beginning, those first couple of dates where the guy is trying so hard to impress the girl and the girl is trying so hard to ignore him. Those would be good to watch. The Bachelor just seems so contrived and almost scripted. It's like watching Days of our Lives but there's only one dude left on the planet.
Sorry folks. I don't fuckin' buy it.
Love takes time, patience, honesty, understanding and acceptance. Not big cameras, flashy lights and budget the size of Google's advertising revenue.
Let me just say one thing - the only love you'll ever find that satisfy you in this cruel, psychotic world, is your own.
So turn off the TV and go find it.

A Letter To Life

Dear Life,

Go fuck yourself.

Stop taking rampant shits on me and make me win a large sum of money.

Make me happy, you son of a bitch.

- Jack

The Subway.

Saw the Marlies blow it in a shootout at Ricoh Coliseum today. The most entertaining part was spotting dirty last names on Syracuse's players. "Clitsome" and "Smotherman" were my favs. And of course, a name like "Bates" would put a smile on the face of any perverted young man. My brother-in-law and I are no exceptions.
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/194
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/239
So anyways, part of this whole Marlies and/or Leafs experience is stepping foot in the concrete jungle of Downtown Toronto. The people, the lights, the sounds, and of course, the subway. The jumbly torpedo rocketing and racketing through the thick Toronto concrete. A people-watcher's paradise, and you're bound to come across some random who's wardrobe or scent make you yearn for the surface or fend off the giggles.
I don't know why, but every time I'm taking the subway, it just screams "imminent terrorist attack" to me.
Is that weird?? I'll sit and fantasize situations where a jittery brown dude in a trench coat will come in, sit across from me and eventually throw off his jacket revealing an AK-47 and a vest lined with plastique explosives.
Or three Chinese dudes jump up in my train and grab hostages...but one gets too fucking close and I smash his nose into his brain, snake the gun from him and snipe the other two guys in one finesse-laden spin. And maybe throw out a one-liner: "Kung-POW, bitches."
Terrorists are crafty, though. So you have to think that they'll be sneaky. So I imagine them hiding and waiting for a train to stop, then run in with guns blazing. Then I think "fuck...I'm not ready for that shit." So I'll scan my pockets for weapons...then I pick out the hot chicks and people I would save. The rest are fucked, I wouldn't touch them with someone else's penis.
It might happen. Just sayin'...keep your eyes open on that subway people. Cuz you don't know, man. You don't know.

Zombies I

There’s an odd aroma wofting throughout the air lately, people.

It’s the scent of genocide.

The panic-enducing, demon stench of flesh-eating, decomposing genocide.

Throughout the world, we smell it. Death incarnate, the risen, reanimated corpses, the living dead…but the Russians say it best: zombies.

Most would consider zombies to be a fairy tale like vampires, successful Toronto based NHL hockey teams or Barack Obama.

No, this threat is very real, very terrifying and very right in your backyard. This slutty, sex-driven society of ours is like a heart beat monitor, the pulse slowly beeping to an unavoidable oblivion of silence.

Yet that silence will soon be shattered by the monotonous groaning of doom. Zombies – slow. Dumb. Slightly pathetic, like a rabid kitten out to kill you. But in numbers they can put an end to your family picnic faster than you can say “decomposition is for pussies.”

There are, however, actions and steps you can take to ensure you are fully capable of defending yourself. But don’t kid yourself – the only living human, is a constantly-moving human.

A little something to remember about this imminent attack of the undead: unless the outbreak begins in your garage when your buddy drinks a little too much RC Cola, rotting his body from within then killing him then bringing him back as a flesh-eating zombie, you can count being attacked by a menacing horde of zombies, rather than a lone, decomposing, track-pant-wearing, virgin 40-year-old man. As such, it’s important to keep a weapon near all entrances.

Here are some popular examples: a baseball bat in the closet near the front door, hockey sticks near the garage door, nunchucks near the back door, or my personal favourite, sewing machines near the door to the porch.

Note that I stick mainly to blunt or bludgeoning weapons. Because cutting a dead guy is like trying to unlock a door with your mind. It won’t work, trust me. You have to beat their brains in or immobilize them as quickly and manly as humanly possible.

It’s also crucial to keep various sizes and shapes of scrap wood, that way boarding doors and windows will be a snap.

Again, don’t get comfortable. Zombies, although stupid, still have the senses of a semi-sober human. They will smell your flesh and come to take a little peak to see if it’s snack time. And where there’s one zombie, there’s his relatives.

So first lessons: prepare yourself for the imminent zombie apocalypse. Hide blunt weapons, store random wood, beware RC Cola, bash in brains, don’t bring a knife to an undead fight and don’t get comfortable.

A Blast from the Past.

Below is something I wrote last year. I have read it over several times. It shocks me to no end that somewhere inside of me is someone as positive and hopeful as this.

Here she blows...

Picture, if you will, Life on the mound. Wiping the sweat from its forehead as you tap the dirt off your cleats and cautiously step into the batter's box.
It's the bottom of the ninth. The tying run trots away from second base to get a solid lead off and you take a few warm up swings and straighten your cup.
2 strikes - and in this league, there's no such thing as balls.
Life selects its pitch with a devious smile, winds up...and delivers.
I don't need to tell you how this ends. Why? Because Life is a giant bag of ass face, and it likes to take epic and catastrophic poops on all of us at random intervals of our existences.
So as Life and the rest of its sadistic, demon team parade off to savour yet another victory over the little guy, you are left alone. Because just when you thought you'd seen all the types of pitches the galaxy had to offer, Life went and threw you some crazy bullshit curveball you've never, ever seen in the 26 years you've been playing Life-Ball.
I know I wrote "Words of Inspiration" as the title - don't worry, we're getting there.
After every heart-wrenching disappointment, we all react differently. Yet how we react, is our choice. The most common reaction is to feel beat down, hurt, upset, disappointed. And many of us have a tendency to allow these reactions to control our emotions. Lashing out on the ones we care for most, becoming miserable, losing friends...I, myself, am guilty of all of these, simply because anger and intelligence are like oil and water. There's nothing logical about being angry.
When Life strikes us out, we have a choice. A very important one. We can allow Life, the asshole it is, to have its way with us, becoming sour and bitter...or we can accept Life's challenges for what they are - learning experiences.
Let's face it, without the minuscule to massive tests and challenges Life tosses at us like an angry, caged monkey throws poop, we don't improve. We don't learn. We don't grow. We are not human.
So the next time you're watching Life gallivant off in glorious celebration, remember there will always be another challenge heading your way soon. Embrace the experience, learn to allow yourself to grow, stay open minded and remember...when it comes to ball...you'll be at bat more than once. You may strike out the first time, but Life also has a funny way of resolving the issues that keep us awake at night, dominate our minds and ruin days, weeks and months.
Stress, anger, frustration, anxiety...these things are completely useless. I fail to see how anything good could come of any of these.
Acceptance, understanding, patience and a sense of humour - these will save your life, and I encourage all to see the big picture, put yourself in other's shoes, wait for the best solution to present itself and find the funny in everything.
We're not perfect, we'll make mistakes, we'll hurt others and ourselves...but it's the courageous and bold who are strong enough to look in the mirror and ask "where did I go wrong?"
And FYI - fortune favours the bold.
As Miley Cyrus once sang: "There's always going to be another mountain, I'm always going to want to make it move, Always going to be an uphill battle, Sometimes I'm gonna to have to lose, Ain't about how fast I get there, Ain't about what's waiting on the other side - It's the climb." And man...Miley's like...12. So if she can get it, so can you.

What Good is this...

There was a part of me that thought all of this would be easy. There was a part of me that was honestly happy to see her go - selfish, inconsiderate reasons. Having her off my back, and no longer feeling the responsibility and guilt of looking after or not looking after an endlessly ill Mother.
I can recall a time when I was younger, asking the powers that be to take her. I said it was because she was suffering, but deep down, I just didn't want to live a life with half a Mother any more. One that could barely walk down the street, let alone come see where I work, or come see me play hockey. It's funny how something so simple can become impossible. I see people around me becoming embarrassed or annoyed with their parents' questioning or their parents' supposed interference with their lives. And while if I had seen this 2 years ago, I would agree with them. Back off Mom and Dad...this is my life, you've had yours.
But now, I would give almost anything to hear my Mother ask how I am. I would tell her that her passing has left me lost. Has left me questioning what happiness is. Has left me searching for something, but I haven't the foggiest idea what.
I would ask her to put her arms around me and I would ask her to tell me everything will be okay. No, I would beg her.
This world she has left me alone in bombards me with constant reminders. I could drown out the emotions with video games, weed and fancy laptops with wireless connections to the rest of the world...but for those of us who balance the weight of the world on our shoulders, running will only get you so far.
We are the emotional fugitives, fleeing like a guilty prisoner. The world has its eyes and ears open, and will not allow refuge.
Words escape me as easily as grains of sand through fingers. Emotions rattle through me like flashes of electricity.
I long for simpler times when Xbox and QEW traffic were my biggest obstacles. How did I end up here? When did life get so out-of-hand?

First Times.

There's an age old saying that seems to rear it's ugly head time and time again. Allow me to share it with everyone: "There's a first time for everything."
It's actually one of my favourite sayings. It can be used for everything. There's a first time you masturbate, there's a first time you realize you're acting like an asshole and there's a first time you throw up from vodka and orange juice.
Ugh...never again. Never again.
Essentially, everything has a first time.
Yesterday I had one of those first times. I was on my way from a short-lived laptop hunt, when up the road I could see the flashing lights of the 5-0. Some lady probably ignoring the rules of the road as they so often do. As I passed by, the police officer slowly emerged from his cockpit, daintily placing his arms on his lower back and stretching his front. Then he waived his hands to his waists, wrists limp and began prancing towards the vehicle he pulled over.
Yes, this was the first time I've seen a gay police officer.
But you know what...good for you, man. Sticking to your dream despite the obvious difficulties with your life choice. I bet the boys in the locker room never let you have any peace. But you fuckin' did it.
Typically I would be a whole lot more offensive with this sort of information. But seeing as how this blog is open to the public, I will reserve my humorous after-thoughts for those who know me a bit better.

Numero One.

Blogs.
Does anyone actually read these things? Will anyone ACTUALLY read mine?? Hmm...I guess time will tell.
I always knew this day would come to me sooner than most - my Mother's passing, that is. I tried to imagine how I would deal with it, and how others around me would react.
I certainly learned a great deal through this - I just hope I have closure and that I am truly at peace.
There was one thing about everything that really shocked me the most. The amount of friends and just overall concerned people who have come forward to show they care.
I mean...I'm in awe. I was always under the impression that I could count the amount of friends I have on one hand. I was wrong - I mean, even my distant ex-girlfriend messaged me and offered her ear if I need to talk.
Just one, though. Don't get too excited. The other 704 would rather listen to me choke on pretzels. I dunno why I chose pretzels.
But anyways, words cannot express my gratitude for the tremendous friends I have. I realize some are at a distance, but even to know that people are thinking of me and wishing me well is a nice glass of awesome. So if you're reading this and you've been good to me, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
The rest of you can get gonorrhea, fart blood and somehow die of mad cow disease.
If I had had any last wishes, it would've been to hear her say she was proud of me and she loves me one last time. Just once more.
In the grand scheme of things, losing her has helped me take a good look at myself. So shutting down for a while will give me the opportunity to start up again renewed and stronger.
Hopefully myself and the Maple Leafs can recover from a poopy start to 2010 and put together a few wins.

Okay fine bye.