I am a firm believer that change is a necessary part of life.
Though I also understand that there is often a fear associated with change.
To put it simply, change is the loss of one thing to achieve another. But nothing is ever that simple, is it? Change comes in various degrees. For example, there would not be much thought in changing a burnt out light bulb, yet to quiet one job to take another across the country holds much more impact than just the level of lighting to find the TV remote.
A life-altering decision requires much thought and dozens of different factors. The fear stems from the unknown. How successful will you be? Will I find new friends? Where will I live? What will I do if zombies come? To fear the unknown is only human, I suppose.
But what most don't take into account is the potential for this change to have a surreal, positive impact. New people, new opportunity, new life. This is one of those things that can tell you whether you're a 'half full' or 'half empty' type of person.
As I stated, I'm a firm believer that change is a necessary part of life. If you're unwilling or unable to expand your horizons and experience the world, its people and what it has to offer, then you can't expect yourself to be cultured. There's an entire world out there filled with things you probably can't even imagine. If you want a fulfilling life, then you have to open your mind to different experiences and when opportunity knocks on your door, answer it.
The last thing you want is to look back after a few years and regret your choice. So before the zombies come, get out there.
Pretty soon it's going to be too late.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Random Things That Happened To Me Over The Past Few Weeks Vol. 1
I can't even remember.
C'mon man.
I definitely went to Hamilton to watch a Bulldogs game. Hamilton is dirtier the Bachelor (see previous entry). There was a dude peeing in the middle of the sidewalk. Fortunately he was kind enough to at least face away from the street. Evidently my Dad knows the backstreets of downtown Hamilton so well it's a tad frightening.
The GF took me to a Leafs game. Unfortunately they decided to lose. Bastards. But you can't blame them for doing what they do best. Also, Brian Burke lost his son. I send my condolences to him and his family, but I think it's safe to say the Leafers' season is kaput. Next season should be interesting, though - glad I grabbed a Phaneuf shirt!
I went to that Bass Pro shop in Vaughan Mills with my roommate. All we did was identify key weapons to acquire when zombies attack. Everything was there, it was a virtual anti-zombie shopping supercenter.
Shopping List:
1 x gator machete
1 x pump action shotgun
1 x hunting rifle
1 x long range scope
1 x hunting knife
1 x fish bat
1 x fishing gloves
Plus, a plethora of ammo. That's stop number one when they attack. I'll meet you bitches there.
Some of my commercials were nominated for a Crystal Award. That's like the Emmy's or Grammy's for commercials. Whoops - I just over-glorified it. It's the best of the best when it comes to radio...but isn't that like saying the best players on the worst team in the league? Phil Kessel is that you? It's pretty cool, though. If I win, it's a major bonus for my radio career, but I'd rather it be a million zillion dollars.
My iPod crapped out, and when I went to the Apple Store to see one of their "Geniuses", I said "My iPood crapped out," and the chick laughed. Hahahaha....'pood'. iPood is an awesome word.
Valentine's Day happened to. It's a fabricated holiday created by the asshole money grubbing cocksuckers at card companies worldwide who send this warped image through the media that girls have a special day where the guys are obligated to show dubious amounts of affection and shower their beloved with expensive gifts. Guys everywhere are saying "you fucked us. You fucking fucked us" when they're in Peoples'. Why isn't their a Steak, BJ and Video Games day? I wouldn't even want an expensive gift, hell, I'll even pay for the steak.
I got baked a couple times.
Olympics started. I need Canada to win Gold in hockey. If only to restore my faith in the game. They better win....
Speaking of which....GO CANADA GO!
Game 2 versus Switzerland tonight.
C'mon man.
I definitely went to Hamilton to watch a Bulldogs game. Hamilton is dirtier the Bachelor (see previous entry). There was a dude peeing in the middle of the sidewalk. Fortunately he was kind enough to at least face away from the street. Evidently my Dad knows the backstreets of downtown Hamilton so well it's a tad frightening.
The GF took me to a Leafs game. Unfortunately they decided to lose. Bastards. But you can't blame them for doing what they do best. Also, Brian Burke lost his son. I send my condolences to him and his family, but I think it's safe to say the Leafers' season is kaput. Next season should be interesting, though - glad I grabbed a Phaneuf shirt!
I went to that Bass Pro shop in Vaughan Mills with my roommate. All we did was identify key weapons to acquire when zombies attack. Everything was there, it was a virtual anti-zombie shopping supercenter.
Shopping List:
1 x gator machete
1 x pump action shotgun
1 x hunting rifle
1 x long range scope
1 x hunting knife
1 x fish bat
1 x fishing gloves
Plus, a plethora of ammo. That's stop number one when they attack. I'll meet you bitches there.
Some of my commercials were nominated for a Crystal Award. That's like the Emmy's or Grammy's for commercials. Whoops - I just over-glorified it. It's the best of the best when it comes to radio...but isn't that like saying the best players on the worst team in the league? Phil Kessel is that you? It's pretty cool, though. If I win, it's a major bonus for my radio career, but I'd rather it be a million zillion dollars.
My iPod crapped out, and when I went to the Apple Store to see one of their "Geniuses", I said "My iPood crapped out," and the chick laughed. Hahahaha....'pood'. iPood is an awesome word.
Valentine's Day happened to. It's a fabricated holiday created by the asshole money grubbing cocksuckers at card companies worldwide who send this warped image through the media that girls have a special day where the guys are obligated to show dubious amounts of affection and shower their beloved with expensive gifts. Guys everywhere are saying "you fucked us. You fucking fucked us" when they're in Peoples'. Why isn't their a Steak, BJ and Video Games day? I wouldn't even want an expensive gift, hell, I'll even pay for the steak.
I got baked a couple times.
Olympics started. I need Canada to win Gold in hockey. If only to restore my faith in the game. They better win....
Speaking of which....GO CANADA GO!
Game 2 versus Switzerland tonight.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
El Beardo,
Some of you may have noticed my once pure, shaven face becoming littered with scattered patterns of stringiness.
That's what the pre-adolescents call a beard.
Let me just say I'm glad I'm not a viking. I would be the last viking chosen for Vikingball every single time.
The Gods of Facial Hair did not bless me unfortunately. At it's present state, sparse and lacking, it's about the best I can get. It's been a few weeks now, I can't imagine it getting much thicker than this. I mean, I'll never be like...Al Qaida status-beard. And I'm certainly no wop, who's facial hair begins to show as soon as the blade leaves the skin's surface. I'm like the Tobey Maguire of facial hair.
Why have I elected to grow such a pubescent patch of dirt on my face? Well, first and foremost, I dropped the razor on my electric shaver down the drain. I wasn't high during this one, so sober-me reacted with words like: "fuck-a-doodle doo," "S of a B!" and "Life - you fucked me." On top of this, I can't fucking find a replacement blade for this POS anywhere. People have been complimenting me, and the Leafs actually won a game. So why would I shave if the Leafs are going to go on a massive playoff run?
Therefore, I can safely assume that Life and the forces that be just don't want me to be clean shaven. I can't fight destiny. I guess I'm just going to have to be hairy.
That's what the pre-adolescents call a beard.
Let me just say I'm glad I'm not a viking. I would be the last viking chosen for Vikingball every single time.
The Gods of Facial Hair did not bless me unfortunately. At it's present state, sparse and lacking, it's about the best I can get. It's been a few weeks now, I can't imagine it getting much thicker than this. I mean, I'll never be like...Al Qaida status-beard. And I'm certainly no wop, who's facial hair begins to show as soon as the blade leaves the skin's surface. I'm like the Tobey Maguire of facial hair.
Why have I elected to grow such a pubescent patch of dirt on my face? Well, first and foremost, I dropped the razor on my electric shaver down the drain. I wasn't high during this one, so sober-me reacted with words like: "fuck-a-doodle doo," "S of a B!" and "Life - you fucked me." On top of this, I can't fucking find a replacement blade for this POS anywhere. People have been complimenting me, and the Leafs actually won a game. So why would I shave if the Leafs are going to go on a massive playoff run?
Therefore, I can safely assume that Life and the forces that be just don't want me to be clean shaven. I can't fight destiny. I guess I'm just going to have to be hairy.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
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
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
Sunday, January 24, 2010
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.
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.
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