I call bullshit

Some background: the NHL is back in Winnipeg.

I don't think people that don't support an NHL team in this city have really thought out their reasons very clearly. There are some people, like Chris, who are kind of gay (sorry if you ever read this, Chris), who just don't care about sports. They'd rather post a million fucking pictures of their kids on twitter and talk about gardening. That's fine. You're excused.
But the people who are sports fans, and who look at the situation, and say, "Hm, no, don't think Winnipeg can support a team," I don't think those people are right.
At first, I wasn't crazy about getting an NHL team back in town. We had the Moose, whom I loved (still do, always will; they're going to be our farm team in St. John's). I was worried that ticket prices for crappy seats would be $70+. I worried the city couldn't afford it.
Now that I've spent some time thinking about it, I realise that I was wrong. Graeme made a good point when he said that it would be exciting to see current NHLers playing in our very own Phone Booth. I saw Sidney Crosby play for Team Canada in the World Juniors. It was great. Now I've got an opportunity to see players like Luongo, Foote, Iginla, Toews, Brodeur, Gretzky, Lemieux, Thomas... You get the idea. The Moose are great, but world class hockey they are not.
When the Jets left, there was no salary cap. The cost of keeping a team in a "small" market city was too unmanageable. Our dollar was weak, our team was losing money and losing money. A critic's argument that the same thing is bound to happen is bunk. Yes, the Thrashers are moving from a city of over 5 million to a city of 750, 000, but you'd be mad to say that ATL wants hockey more than Winnipeg. And where there's a will and all that. Plus, we've got a very strong dollar on our side, a province that has seemed impervious to the recession, and a salary cap that makes affording an NHL team a realistic endeavor for a city Winnipeg's size.
The only conclusion I can come to is that you heard Winnipeg was getting an NHL team, remembered that we lost the Jets 15 years ago, and responded with a knee-jerk reaction of "Oh, it'll happen again," and therefore just count out the team before they've even had a chance to win you over.
If you're any kind of sports fan, and you're saying this because you have 'good intentions' or whatever for Winnipeg, I call bullshit.
I say go to a game, any game, within the first five years of the NHL being back in Winnipeg. Sit in a seething, cheering crowd of people in the midst of a white-out, and then get back to me.
Tell me then that we can't support a team.

Another long and depressing day.
I was about to go to bed.
I was undressed, I drank a glass of water, phone plugged in, charging.
It's not when your home is quiet that you can hear everything that's going on around you, it's when you are.
I was about to go to bed, and I really became aware of how much lightning and thunder there was outside my window. So I put on a pair of shorts, grabbed my camera, and went out on the fire escape to see just how much rain was coming down.
A fair bit, actually. I stood at the rail and felt cold rain against my skin. I thought about how pretty much any other person would feel cold, but I wasn't. I noticed the yellow-orange tint of the sky, the black silhouette of the trees, the blue neon light shining from the window across the back lane. The mist as the rain bounced off the pavement in the parking lot the next street over.
It's raining so much harder right now. Pouring.

 Nights like this are made for sitting down on the steps, just outside the rain, and having a couple of cigarettes. The smell of rain is so strongly associated with having that one last smoke before going to bed. It was always the sweetest smoke of the day.

I very much value the Saturday mornings I have. Very regularly go to Starbucks, meet up with friends, do the Free Press crossword. Extremely cathartic. I'm pretty sure that a big attraction to it is that Heather and I are easily the best cruciverbalists, and being better than someone else at anything is always an ego boost.
The riddle hidden in today's crossword, themed 'National Pastry Favourites' (or something to that effect): "In a mideastern country south of Saudi Arabia, which variety of pie filling is preferred above all others?" The answer: "Yemen meringue."
On another note, have a meeting today with Nathan, Chance, Steve, and Graeme. Time to discuss plans for Jeremy's bachelor party. We're planning on a fair degree of debauchery, but not of douchebag proportions.

With No Preamble

I was planning on hanging out with a combination of Steve, Chance, Jeremy, and Nathan last night. I called them, asked what they were doing. We made plans.
Then I felt like hanging out with Tom. Just Tom and I. So I called the others, begged off, and called Tom. Like I was meant to.
Tom was free and eager to hang out; he had something he wanted to get off his chest, and I was the one from whom he'd get nothing but encouragement. I support anyone who is thinking about quitting Mat Master.
So we got together, and he vented a bit, and then we got together with Steve who told him about the job opening at his work. It would be great for Tom. Steady, virtually the same job minus the heavy lifting, which is the main reason Tom's looking to leave Mat Master, decent wage, etc.
I was meant to call Tom yesterday so he could vent to me, get something off his chest about which he'd been stressing quite heavily, and so that I could serve as a go-between for him and Steve talking about a new job opportunity for him.
Good work, kid!
Then over to Tom's place, where, once again, I felt compelled to help out in his kitchen. Abysmal is not an understatement. (Tom, if/when you read this, I feel fairly confident that you'll agree, and that even it you don't, no offense is intended.) I made supper and washed a shit-tonne of dishes. It felt good to be hanging out one-on-one with Tom, and to be helping him out like this. Again, I was meant to be there right then, helping out a friend.
One gigantic serving of perogies with bacon and onions later, Tom and I were full, contented, Nathan and Heather came over and we watched a movie...
It was a good night. Very good.
And then, DISASTER.
Being woken up at 4am with a violent, paralysing agony in your chest really fucks with one's sense of reality. I was fairly confident that a baby alien was going to burst forth from my chest cavity. Or that a seething bolus of acid was eating its way through my organs. Seriously considered calling Graeme, seriously considered going to the hospital/calling an ambulance. Tried to sleep on the bathroom floor, froze. Stayed there for an hour, half delirious.
Was it the food? Was Tom experiencing the same crippling, torturous affliction? Was it something medical, like a burst appendix? Would I live, but Tom die? All thoughts that ran through my anguish-raddled brain.
Was finally able to drag myself back to bed, and thank God sleep took me.
Feel better this morning, but I don't think I'm out of the woods yet.
What happened to me? I spend the first part of the evening literally as a conduit through which God can work to help Tom, and I pay for it by experiencing agonizing pain?
Hm, somehow I don't think the two are necessarily related.

LiveJournal, Part 2

At the behest of one Vagabond, I figured I'd put into practice what I've been telling myself I'd like to do for a while now.
I figure I'll use this whenever I feel like ranting, or maybe to give a bit of insight into why I think and behave the way I do.
I'll do my best to not edit myself. I imagine that A.) I could lose some friends, and B.) I don't really need to worry about that, because I'm not sure how good I'll be at not editing myself.
Oh, good. I already sound prepubescent and emo.