Blog Comments, And My High Horse

 

A few words about negative comments left on my blog, or anywhere else.  So lets get to it.

Those comments?  

They’re welcome.

In some cases (and believe me, not all), I’m writing about things that matter to people, and taking a stance on those issues.  Not everyone is going to agree with that stance, and it’s great when the writing can start a conversation between both sides of an issue.  As my uncle recently pointed out, getting bad comments isn’t a bad thing – getting no comments is a horrible thing.

So here’s the comment that inspired these thoughts:

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Josh:

I love reading your blog Justin, but your little rant about Morency seems nothing but petty, it makes you look ridiculous, and makes you look like a horrible teammate. The guy was nice to you when your illustrious ECHL career brought you to Bridgeport, and you thank him by blogging that he’s a crappy player with little to offer in the professional ranks. Nice, dude. I admit I never got higher than Bantam A, went to UND for something other than hockey, and don’t know anything about a professional locker room, but that’s really shitty to rag on someone still with the organization.

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And I appreciate the comment, as much as I disagree with it. 

So for future reference, I’d like to qualify the rules of the relationship with my old teammates, and with my readers:

I’m not going to go all “Jose Canseco”.  But, I am going to be honest about what I’ve seen and what I know.  That’s my pledge to my readers on here, USA Today, The Hockey News, Hockey Primetime or anywhere else.  I’ve got the advantage of being able to provide a player’s perspective.  People read my blog for its candor and insight (and for the occasional chuckle).  I think people appreciate that combination, partly because most players don’t take the time (or may not be able) to put down “what its like” on paper.  And, I’m hoping by not pulling punches, people will want to read this stuff all the more.

I have the option to accept or delete comments on my blog, and I choose to never delete.  In this case, I’ve decided to make it a whole entry and use this (to quote the President) as a “teaching point”.  In no case (barring serious personal attacks or bad language) will I not accept a comment.

So there.

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JETS PATRIOTS TODDDAAAAYYYYYYYY!

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One last thing before I dismount my high horse.

The Clark Gillies Foundation is an um, foundation… put together by.. uh… Clark Gillies.  Believe it or not. 

Clark has raised volumes of money for children with physical (and financial) diabilities in the tri-state area.  They’ve pledged to raise a million dollars, and have already built a pediatric wing in the Huntington Hopital.

If you’re in for a lil tear-jerker, this is the link to the video on the foundations facebook page.  I highly recommend it.  I also intend to link to their fancy new website (that I wrote the copy for, back-pat back-pat back-pat) when it’s up and running.  That’s all for today folks.  Back to sports tomorrow!

Things That Matter: Sports and Music

 

 

Music:  It’s so deflating that my passion for football is shared with a group of people who feel that an “Opening Kickoff” concert would be best played by the Black-Eyed Peas and Tim Mcgraw.  I stomached every second of every song just so nobody could invalidate my hatred with a “you have to really listen to it all” garden-variety response.  It’s awful.

Its a real testament to technology that the Black-Eyed Peas can be successful in the music world today.  F*** they’re painful.  And then Tim Mcgraw gets up and plays the exact same song I would write if I were trying to do a parody of everything that’s awful about country music – “Southern boys like beer and football and hats and rodeos…” (*may not have been exact lyrics).

Musically, I’ve got broad tastes – I’m all over the map.  And I’d never try to defend the rap music I listen to when I’m in a good mood.  With the baseball “up-to-bat” songs, I just like a little swagger in the step if you’re not trying to funny with it.  Maybe this one’s not quite up-to-bat worthy, but it definitely gets the “volume up” honor when it comes on in the car {random thought: the car is almost officially named.  Public release coming soon}. 

Bourne – alienating hockey fans through rap music, one reader at a time.

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Football:  Steelers tight-end Heath Miller has a farmer tan so ridiculous that the white-ness extends past his jersey length.  I love it.  Way to really emphasize your whiteness in the NFL.

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Football:  Troy Polamalu is freaking scary.  Could you imagine playing “jackpot” with him as a kid?  “500, dead or alive”… annnddd Troy gets 500 points.  Again.

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Hockey:  How much does watching old highlights of NHL games half-taint the stats of players in those days (sorry Dad… I’m just sayin…)?  The goaltending is sinful.

I was watching a game on the NHL network - some classic game, mind you - that ended in a triple overtime, on-the-ice five-hole shot, and not a single player tried to behead the goalie who let the shot in.  If an unscreened shot goes in on-the-ice five-hole nowadays, goalies (by law) have to let every fan in the first three rows punch their face.  And teammates get two punches.

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Baseball:  Why do I have to sit through intentional walks in baseball?  For that matter, why does anybody? 

If the team wants to put the guy on base, can we not accomplish that using our big-boy words?  Like, exchanging dialogue with the ump wouldn’t be okay? 

“We’re just going to throw four pitches very far away from the plate because we’d like this player to get to first base.  Permission to skip those steps?”

“Yes.  Take your base.”  Done.

Or even better… you can put the guy on base in one pitch by just hitting him with the ball.  Maybe you miss him with the first couple (evasive bastard), but you can save time by trying again on the next pitch.  If I pitched in the AL and didn’t have to bat, I’d have 0 intentional walks, and 53 intentional rib injuries (a new – but valued – stategory).

An Ode to Clean Ice

 

It took one blog to prove that everyone everywhere ever loves goalies, and I feel dirty for cashing in on the obvious.  That damn blog had like, 20+ comments in it’s first 20+ hours. 

Imagine if I was a goalie?  This blog would be worldwide, bitches (©Ms. Conduct).

So let’s switch it up, before I starting feeling too “pop culture” for writing blogs like that (that’s what goalies are by the way – the pop culture part of hockey.  The same way that bands like Fallout Boy and Panic! at the Disco claim to be sort of emo, dark and brooding, yet their songs are consistently radio-friendly hits - goalies play the same role.  “Ohhh, we’re so mysterious… enjoy my bobblehead”!  Ahhh, forget it, I’m doing it again). 

Wait, I blacked out… what was I talking about?

Oh yeah, switching it up. 

I have to admit, I somewhat cater to my audience with all the hockey stuff.  I like hockey, but it’s probably not at the core of my being (while freezies, golf, NFL football and stuffed animals probably are.  *Authors note: Justin is still into chicks – albeit just one of them -, so ignore that last item on the list).

But, in breaking into this highly profitable world of writing (as I snack on “Thin Wheats”, because I can’t afford the extra 30 cents to buy non-dyslexic crackers), I’ve had to understand that it’s the topic I’ve got the most credibility on.

So, without further ado, I’m switching styles today, not subject matter.  I bring to you a poem that’s a roundabout attempt at scorning players who don’t let the ice freeze before skating on it.

An Ode to (those who sully) Clean Ice:

 

( With Shakesperian accent)

Why, eager players, must you skate unto fresh, just-bathed rink,

With no regard for your comrades – doth thou not think?

The smooth brilliance, earned by that patient crew,

Can be shattered, will be shattered – by a mindless few.

The puck, she can slide over slick and slippery smooths,

But your skates, too soon, cause those sloshy deep grooves.

The puck will bounce, and scoring, she suffers,

No wonder, it’s defensemen, those dumb motherf*****s

*****

…yeah, I wrote a poem.  Do something about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chelios, T. Fleury, and Mrs. Warner

 

Each year, the NHL welcomes a host of new names and faces to the fold, while offering those same, reliable names that you’ve come to know and love.  Or at least know (see: Avery, Sean).

For 114 years, you’ve become accustomed to seeing Chris Chelios in the league, either as a Montreal Canadien, Chicago Blackhawk, or Detroit Red Wing.

For those same 114 years (*figure may not be exact), Chelios has been the quintessential stay at home d-man.  I don’t mean this in a disrespectful way, but this year, it would be nice to see him do just that — stay at home.

I like Chris Chelios.  I like the fire he’s played with, his passion for the game, and the fact that he seems like a pretty sharp guy in interviews.

I don’t think it’s like the Brett Favre thing, where by playing (and playing worse every year) he’s destroying some statue-worthy legacy.  He’s Chris Chelios for flip’s sake.  Worthy of warrior-like respect, but probably not a guy that kids pretend to be in street hockey.

“I’m Chris Chelios!”

“No I’M Chris Chelios.”

“Mommmmmmm!”

My problem is that the whole thing is embarrassing, because you shouldn’t have to tell such a distinguished veteran like him that it’s time to head for the door.  Ushering someone with a career like his out the door probably didn’t just embarrass Chris, it probably embarrassed Detroit as well.

He put them in the awkward position where they had to admit, “look, maybe you can still play in this league somewhere, but we can only dress 6-7 defenseman a game, and we’re the Detroit Red Wings.  We can find 60-70 defenseman better than you by tomorrow and have them under contract by dinner”.

And I have to believe that most NHL teams could make the exact same statement.

Even if an NHL team had to pull up some young kid from the American League that would struggle the way Chelios seems to be these days (forwards are somehow sneaking behind him in the neutral zone for breakaway passes with all the stealth of golf shoes on bubble wrap), at least the kid would be on the improving side of the bell curve, and the team could justify some early struggles to pay for some later success.

So anyways.  You always hope that the great ones will quit before they’re fired, but I think we’re long past that point with Chelly. 

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The other familiar name that’s rumoured to want his face back in the NHL this year is Theo Fleury.

…Seriously.

In all reality, this has become a really sad story.  Theo had kinda been on the path to self-destruction with some drug use in his later NHL years, and probably took a few good seasons off the end of his hockey career.

For a lot of guys, when the NHL money runs out, it’s tough to find another job that pays an above average wage to have fun (for some stupid reason).  So, it’s easy to understand why he would want to make a comeback.

To think he’s capable of it, in his situation, is downright delusional.

At one point after his “retirement”, Theo was playing in a Canadian Native league, where the Chief of the tribe was paying him a ton of money to have him as a ringer (thousands per game – the same team Gino Odjick was playing on).  Regardless of how serious the level of hockey is, you can’t blame the guy for saying yes to that much money.

So um, at least he’s been on the ice.  But my “guess” is that Theo couldn’t even be effective in the AHL right now. 

The game has simply gotten too fast and strong to be effective at his size, and past his quickest days.  The guy is 5’6″ and 40 years old.  I can’t even believe I wasted text on this topic.

But, let’s hope he finds something that makes him happy, because I can promise you, Theo Fleury has less of a chance to play in the NHL this year than I do, and I’m at the point where using the stairs makes me sweat.

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Back in my blog’s early days, I made a little, one-line/ borderline inappropriate joke about the upgrade of Kurt Warner’s wife, Brenda.  Well, sure enough, at the Cardinals game Saturday night, there she was, sitting across the row from me.  I thought it’d be funny to get a picture with her for a follow-up joke, but it backfired a bit when the picture came out looking totally normal, with her looking great.

 Wish I didn’t look so creepy and happy about it.

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That’s all for today!  Stay tuned on the blog this week – I’m settled and back at work, and have a plethora of hockey related topics to bat around with you readers.  What do you think?  Will someone pick up Chelios?

The Favre No-No and a Cyber Hobo

 

It’s been a looonnnnggg time since I’ve cleaned out the ‘ol thought locker.  Fortunately, I’ve been too busy to fill it with much.  Hold on tight while I unleash some unparalleled genius (aka unfiltered gobbledygook)

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Starting recently and moving backwards, I deserve one more rant at the Favre dog and pony show he’s running:

Doesn’t signing with the Vikes officially prove we need police tape around this guys crime scene of a brain?  It highlights the sad fact that he clearly never understood the importance (and general seriousness) of the Green Bay/Minnesota rivalry to the fans.

Doesn’t it sort of illustrate that he’s simply been some turbo gifted athlete that was totally spaced on what it all meant to people?  Like everytime those two teams played, he wasn’t sure why the fans were in such a frenzy, but instead of bothering to figure out why, he just enjoyed it?

It’s like he has no idea what he’s doing to his legacy.  He literally has to win a Superbowl this year to be remotely validated.  They would have built golden statues of this guy all over Wisconsin - he could have been the Governor! (Him and Al Franken could rule the north as an unstoppable duo).

He was absolutely my favourite player for years.  What. Is this. Guy. Doing?

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Why aren’t there any funny Republicans?

And I mean, “haha” funny, not “this milk smells funny”, like the way Glenn Beck is.  That guy’s so crazy Gary Busey watches his program and thinks “…Wow.  That guy’s crazy”.

I’m not trying to start any political warfare here, I’m just thinking – every political comedian I can think of leans heavily left.  Why is it impossible to be pro-life and pro-laughs?

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 After three days of living in Arizona and budgeting for reality, I’ve acquired a broken microwave and chipped tooth.  Thank you unforseen expenses for the kick in the reality button.

Now that I’m done with hockey, I’m getting the tooth permanently fixed (re-breaking it on a yearly basis would have been pricey, so I waited to get it done right).  What does a crown for a tooth cost, you ask?  $1,100.00, I answer.  I think it’d be cheaper to get one for my head.

Which leads me to my idea (copywritten August 2009).

I wanna become a cyber hobo.

I want a picture of me as a hobo, holding a blank sign, and I’ll change the message daily.  I’ve got a hundred good hobo sign ideas, and I figure I can beg for e-change somehow.  I’ll be like the Naked Cowboy of New York, only not naked.  Or a cowboy.  Or in New York.  But you get the drift.

Will blog for food.

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Oh, and for those of you who’re super interested in what the drive from Kelowna to Phoenix looks like, I’ve put a little picture blog at the end of “Over The Hills and Through The Woods”.  Enjoy.  I believe at one point I have two straws in my nose, a yard of margarita, and I’ve befriended a huge M&M.

The Quest For The (VT) Cup

 

Okay, fine, so I’m the worst “guy who should be writing interesting quips for you to read” out there right now.  It’s been crazy around here.  Here’s what I’ve learned:

Cliff Ronning is a serious, interesting fellow when sober.  Not sober, he can work a room like some hilariously cheesy lounge singer, and it’s priceless.

Dave Semenko is actually Rodney Dangerfield.

Clark Gillies and Dave Semenko make better hosts than defensive partners.

Dale Hawerchuk and Cliff Ronning are better than you at hockey.

Check our website for the list of the rest of the NHL mutts we’ve imported to entertain our guests.  These guys could make a living at being funny.

I’m seriously so sorry I haven’t been keeping my readers involved in this.  But fear not – those who have subscribed have an extra little suprise coming to your inbox. 

‘Tis the morning before the battle for the second VT Cup, and I intend to get my name engraved on our cup for the first time (weird, I turned down a trade proposal that would move Dale Hawerchuk from my team).  I’ll letcha know how that turns out. 

Steve Shutt is my winger – he managed to pot four yesterday, so needless to say, he can still play.  Plus, he’s got some experience at winning Cups (five).  Tip for our opponents: he tends to keep on two-on-ones.

Exercising Two Legs and One Finger

 

I’m feeling refreshed and alive today people.

I finally soaked in a little vitamin D in the midst of this gorgeous Kelowna summer we’ve been having (gorgeous, just no fires allowed.  Also, no: smoking, rubbing sticks together or dragons allowed in the park).  We chucked together a surprise birthday party for one of my best friends yesterday, Dave Cunning (www.davecunning.wordpress.com).  A few of us headed out for little evening of wakeboarding, swimming and Ogopogo hunting.

It reminded me of a little hockey nugget I thought I’d share, cause this is the type of thing not all hockey fans are around to hear: 

Scott Hannan, a Kelowna resident, genuinely claimed that he stopped doing leg workouts a few summers back, because wakeboarding was his new workout.  I know it’s a leg burn, but it isn’t squatting 315 pounds 12 times.

The guy consistently showed up to skate minutes before we went out, fully equipped with his crazy long hair, uber-summer tan, and surfer-dude mentality.  Kinda strikes me as more of a “minus-five SPF-oil guy” than the “concerned-about-melanoma’s type”.

Not that I’m hear to pass judgement, but I’m not so sure his career has been heading in the right direction since I heard him say that.  But then again, maybe I should withhold criticizing his regimine.  Things have gone pret-ty decent for him over his 10 years or so in the league.

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So… I stepped on the ice for about the third time since December last night.  The good news is, I’m still a decent player.  What wasn’t great, is that I’m in roughly the same shape as John Candy was while shooting ”Uncle Buck”.  I drove home looking worse than Nick Nolte before a mug shot.  I can’t imagine playing contact hockey (which, for those of you who don’t know, is only about 80 times as tiring as non-contact). 

But still, I got thinking… “yeah… yeah… I could figure this game out again real quick-like.  I’ve been getting some calls from teams for next year, maybe I’ll just whip my ass back into shape…”

And then I took the heel-end of a stick across my mustache, and starting planning my next blog.

 

Dear Hockey,

F. you too.

Love,

Bourne.

A Little Pick-Me-Up

My heart, she breaks for Tom Watson.  What an incredible tournament he played.  I need a pick me up, and you might too.  The following pics are the Gillies mammoth Newfs, and some ever-awesome cats.  Siiiiigggghhhh…

 Before the pics, I’d just like to point out how great it was to see someone play classic, respectful, gentleman’s golf for a weekend.  Having someone like Watson be a stroke away from winning the British Open speaks to all the things that are great about the game.  Truly, the ball doesn’t know how old you are.

 

 

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And, two hilarious cats.  I want to marry the first one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

St. Patty's Pontifications

 

Happy St. Patricks Day!  As an Irish/Ukranian/CompleteMutt, today I claim the one that lets me join the festivities as an insider. 

How insane is St. Patty’s Day?  It’s the only day of the year where we blatantly celebrate drinking.  Sure, we drink on other holidays, but today is the day.  There are no other well-known holidays where we celebrate entire ethnic groups within the country.  It’s not like there’s a St. Rossi’s day where we all scarf an excess of cannoli’s.  But the Irish are nationally loved for their specialty (the bottle), and frankly… everyone’s okay with it.  Enjoy your St Patty’s Day!

Now let’s begin the randomness.

Nobody in sports writing is better than Bill Simmons.

It’s over.  He’s mastered the ability to smoothly phrase what the sports-loving average Joe says in the stands, while peppering it with wit that’s tough to find.

It seems at some point, life forces men to hang out with their “boys” a bit less.  It’s tough to justify a three beer lunch to your wife when you’re trying to save money for retirement and you had to pick up your kid from school on the way home.  Pff.  Women.

Reading Simmons makes you feel like you’re having that same conversation you would with the guys, but safely from your house.  Plus, when you get the vibe that Simmons is being a dick (which isn’t infrequent), you don’t have to fake interest like you might in person.  I do predict him getting too big for his britches at some point and saying something across the line, thus getting in some hot water.  He already walks a pretty thin line, but I love it.

Next:  Isn’t it time to give “that guy” in commercials his due?  I have no idea his name, but I know he’s hilariously subtle in more commercials than I can name.  I can’t really remember the products he’s been pushing either, all I know is I laugh at every commercial this guy is in.  Obviously not Dustin Pedroia, but the other guy.

The wink after “it’s called integrity” is key.

Moving along:  A smart hockey friend of mine that plays in the American League recently sent me this text, and he might be right: “Ovechkin is the best to ever play the game.  No question.  No debate.” 

I wanted the Canadian Crosby to just do it the right way like a good Canuck would, show him the way this game is supposed to be played, and he has.  The problem is, Ovechkin is so good, normal rules don’t apply.  It’s like playing one on five basketball on a Fisher Price hoop against seven year olds.  When you have that much of an advantage, it doesn’t matter what your opponent does.  He’s just that good.  I’m still gonna dunk, and Ovi is still going to take a slapbomb off some goalies collar bone, the crossbar and the mesh for a powerplay goal.

At a difficult economic time in the US, with a good product and a strong need for attendance, wouldn’t this be the worst possible time to implement fight-removal rules in the NHL?  Not that we should appeal to the lowest common denominator, but have you ever asked a non-hockey player why they like to watch?  Why they don’t watch boxing (or UFC), I’ll never know.

Regardless, the NHL will gladly take their money.  It’s a part of the game (for reasons that would warrant their own column, had the topic not been over-written), so let’s deal with that when we start turning away fans at the ticket windows.

Old school reference:  I kinda like Jim Carrey.  I  feel like Liar Liar is underrated in the all-time funny movie department.  Not top five maybe, but worthy of having in the collection.  I hadn’t thought of it in awhile until I saw the classic bit on Family Guy the other day:

Speaking of Family Guy, is the gay guy funny enough for everyone yet?  I can barely handle watching him or Herbert (shown here)without laughing (largely because the Isles/Sound Tigers Andrew McDonald does Herbert better than Herbert).  Check the hilarious homo here:

Anyways, enjoy today, and I dunno, maybe run a water through your liver at some point!  Just a little suggestion.       – Justin O’Burne (as the last name was only four generations back!)

Through The Fog

 

My thoughts are a murky, sluggish assemblage of half-organized sentences this morning.  Since I’m back in Boise for the week to finish my doctor visits, I went to the Steelheads game last night and caught up with the guys after.  I’m treating the next person to suggest I get braces like Rhianna (oooh …too soon?).  The following are things I remember from the bar last night that I feel are worthy of mention.

-Crocs are the sweatpants of shoes.  If you’re wearing them in public, you’ve given up.

- My bartending buddy Jake shaved his one year beard, apparently letting go of his dream of playing Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings 4.  He had, apparently, read my bit on the awkward mandshake (thats copyrighted) and went out of his way to make me uncomfortable during our hello.  In hindsight, thats funny.  In current sight, TIME just ran a piece about the new handshakes and hugs of men.  I feel so relevant.

- Girls are getting a little presumptuous.  As my readers are probably aware, I’m a happily taken man.  Last night,  I leaned on a foosball table, and one of the metal poles that the mini-Pele’s are floating on moved to the other side of the table, poking some girl in the back.  She turned around, held up her engagement ring and said “nice try“.  Really?  Is this a common form of attempted pick up, the foosball pole in the back?  “Oo, Janine, that guy keeps ramming a metal handle in my back, should I go talk to him??”  I hate the bar.

- I furthered my old person stance on crowded bars last night.  I like to drink, but I’d rather do it with people I like and somewhere I can actually hear them.  I think I’m officially over putting myself in a stew of  drunk girls (oh my god no waaay!) and dudes who want to enforce their place on the food chain, which from what I can tell, has Italians just over lions, but just below rich kids.  Having 20 teammates at a bar is the ultimate trump card to the tough guy bluff though, so I enjoyed that.  Eddie describes Italians better than me.  Beware, awful (hilarious) language:

Maybe it’s just because I’m a tad hungover and have the stupids, but I’m dying laughing right now.  There’s a famous YouTube video I’m sure a lot of you have seen that I’ve been watching.  So,while I’m abusing Italians (which is really odd, since I don’t actually hold any prejudice), let me recommend the video “My New Haircut” on YouTube.  Talk about the bar scene in a nutshell.  The language is just a little too bad to put on my blog (especially the start), so Mom and those of you who are here because of all the animal pictures, you don’t need to look at that video.  Everyone else, you do.  Yes Dad, you need to check it out too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JMOh-cul6M

- Hockey players aren’t that bright to begin with, so talking to a drunk one is like communicating with particle board.  It boggles my head-meat that girls continue to enjoy their company.

- Here’s a big one:  I think I’m over mustaches being funny.  It was a great little gag for a bit there to be in your 20′s and shave in a ridiculous mustache, but I kinda think I’m over it.  I feel like George and Kramer telling Jerry the “helllooooo” voice is passe.  I really feel bad saying it,  I’m sorry.  But it’s over for me.

Anyways, those are my little thoughts for the morning.  Back in Boise means back to blogging.  I’ve finished my second little bit for The Hockey News, which is exciting, mostly because of the response to the first.  I shaved the first submission down from 1550 words to 700 with some help, so the meat of it will be printed in the magazine soon!

Parting facts: NBC showed an excellent hockey game today.  Alexander Ovechkin is the most electric player ever to play hockey.

And the best news of the day….. Drumroll please…..  NBC ran a commercial in which Tiger Woods is simply tying his golf shoes and whistling “Eye of the Tiger”.  At the end they display the words “He’s baaack”.  Hurray!

The Awkwardanese Poodle Wrangler

 

I’ll address Swiffer’s new invention a little farther down.

 

The NFL season is a beast of a schedule.  It’s only 16 regular season games, sure, but have you watched one?  The game is an hour long, of which players are on the field 20-40 minutes depending on their position and how the game is going.  But those are brutal minutes.  Every play carries the summer of training combined with anger and opportunity, all jammed into each gigantic shoulder-to-helmet explosion.

Which is why I appreciate that the performance Brett Favre did what it was supposed to do.  After years of watching professional baseball players stats increase after fourty (hmm), and 18 year olds excelling in the NHL, it was nice to watch the natural curve and progression of a normal (and excellent) career.  The man was playing Quarterback in the NFL at 40, his shoulders were held together with Scotch Tape and the press was harder on him than the opposing Defensive Line.  As a Jets fan, I was crushed when the team stumbled down the stretch, but it wasn’t beyond understanding.  Clemens fastball got better at 42 and we all thought “Wow, this guy’s a legend”.

Didja see the Westminster Dog show? Didja??  It was great.  Watching it, I instantly became the worlds harshest dog critic.  Nope, stupid haircut.  That one has dumb feet.  Punch that dog.  But I laugh about every two minutes.  Where are all these dogs in the real world?  Why doesn’t my neighbor own a dog with cord-thick dreadlocked hair?  I want one.

Stump was the big winner.  Get a loada this guy.

Ha!  What a proud breed, Sussex Spaniel.  I don’t usually care for Spaniels, but come on, his name is Stump and he’s ten.  You love him.  But there’s some other crazy breeds.  Check these dogs out:

   

I’m a Komondor.  I say arf.

   

You can’t tell if I furrow my brow.

 

You can punch one of us, go.

 

Good times.  I think the next reality show should be “Pick the biggest dog dork”, and at next years dog show we’ll use a little trickery.  The dog owners will think it’s a show for the dogs, but really we’ll use the show as a platform to interview as many of these obsessive dog owners as possible and we’ll pick the biggest social write-off.  For betting purposes, the people who pick owners of Standard Poodles have to give the rest of us odds.

But wait!  I think we have an early leader!  Not sure who he is, but he looks eligible.

My family doesn’t have a whole lot of dogs in it, aside from the Gillies collection of Newfoundlands.  Let me quote the Dog Show Commentator on Newfoundlands (note: “Dog Show Commentator” not eligible for social-ineptness award)  “Not the dog for neat freaks.  They drool and shed and like to play in the water bowl from the bottom up.  Champion swimmers”.  Nice pick Pamcakes.

But if the Bourne’s were to have a family entry, it would be my Aunt Kathy’s dog Duffy.  He’d probably win any dog show with his deep, intelligent eyes, we’ve just never tried.  There’s just one issue.  What category do we run  it  him in?

The View From My Couch

 

Quick health update before I get into anything:  I had the jaw operated on again yesterday, sweet.  I’m in a little discomfort for now, but this should set me on the right track in the long term.  Arch bars are off, a piece of bone and the long plate are out.  Sounds gross, is gross, let the healing begin.

 

My brain is constantly racing, riffling through a thousand things  I need to do at once, all while functioning poorly enough to forget the most important detail.  I’ll remember to get gas, then forget I needed it to pick someone up at the airport.  Recently, to combat this, I decided to join the adult world and buy a planner.  Just a matter of where, not when I lose this thing.  Start the betting pool now.

As I’ve mentioned, I don’t go anywhere these days.  Thus, my planner sits at my side and gets filled up with a huge volume of ideas I want to write about.  Each one could probably be a blog in itself, but a few little tidbits only deserve casual mention.  With that, I bring you my wandering nonsense of the day.

 

Facebook provides you with the word “is” after your name when you post your status.  If you don’t want the “is”, you have the option to delete it.  Therefore, ”Justin Bourne is Happy Birthday Bri!” is not an acceptable status for me.  Please take the time to cleverly manipulate your status into a legitimate sentence like “Justin Bourne is wishing Bri a happy birthday!”.  Boom.

“Lately I’ve been feeling “DRAWN” to my insurance company” is the worst acting I’ve seen in a commercial in some time, including the ones that want to melt down my gold. Please watch this whole commercial.

Okay, I apologize to e-surance, that was the worst commercial ever.  But I laughed.  The image of that guy with money fanned out lip-synching in front of rap video vixens is forever seared into my brain.  Somehow I get the impression the Cashman isn’t exactly set for retirement, much like the people sending the gold.  But anyway, e-surance or whoever it is does need to stop with the poorly animated/bad actor combo commercials, they’re just so frustrating to watch.  They don’t even cross the so-bad-they’re-good line like the one you just watched, so I’m not posting it.

I’m pretty sure ESPN and the others can stop airing “official statements” from teams on topics that are obviously not good.  I’m not getting any actual news out of “The Yankees are deeply disappointed in the actions of Alex Rodriguez”, or ”We are disappointed in Michael Phelps behaviour” or “We’re totally bummed Pacman Jones shot more people yesterday”.  I think when we heard the guy was at a strip club with a garbage bag full of singles and guns that it wouldn’t be considered professional conduct by the brass.

Literally means actually, without exaggeration or inaccuracy.  So I’d prefer if news reporters didn’t say stuff like “‘The Obama administration is going to, literally, beat the banks over the head with a bat”  on CNN, or somebody has to take away microphone privileges.  Adults should have to stay slightly above the language of teenage girls (“I was like, literally gonna kill her”), especially if their career is in communications.

I think the new Demetri Martin show on Comedy Central has potential.  I didn’t like the early ads for it, but I saw some of the guys stand up and it’s super clever.

Oh, good ‘ol college.  I miss drinking.  I’ve probably had about 4 alcoholic beverages in 2009.  If you were looking on the back of my drinking card collectible, my stats would have fallen off considerably in ’09 (I was gin and juicing from ’01 – ’03).  But, I’m off antibiotics, so sales of tonic water should start to see a solid rebound in the coming months.

Lastly, I watched “W” last night.  Obviously it has a raging left wing bias, but it’s fully entertaining.  If the real Bush is anything like Oliver Stone’s portrayal of Dubya, then it’s no suprise the US is in the shape it is 8 years later.  I do feel bad for Bush, I never believed he was an evil guy.  He just wasn’t smart enough for the country’s highest office.  But, I guess it’s what the US gets for (almost) voting him in.  Anybody else wonder if things would be different had Gore become president in 2000?

 

 

Here’s Al accepting the Nobel Peace Prize.  Really, he was “too boring”?  The vote wasn’t to pick the clown for your childs birthday party.  Who do you think would’ve won that contest??

 

Superfluous Superbowl Stuff

 

My thoughts on the non-game related Superbowl proceedings:

First, Snoop Dogg on the pregame show.  It’s usually awkward watching old white men deal with Snoop (though he’s getting better at figuring out how to act, they never will), but today was great.  Snoop had quality insight on the game, and then freestyled an entertaining little rhyme after Mortensens prompt that he “do a shnizzle rap” (embarrassing).  Ditka attempted one after.  Good times.

The most prominent thought I have from NBC’s coverage of the Superbowl and, well, themselves, is that they need to STOP IT.  The plugs for NBC shows are absolutely awful, and none had any segueway into them.  Just right out of the blue, they’d launch into a panel of what appeared to be sports pundits, which then turned out to be Some Gumbel, Jerome Bettis and the actors from Chuck.  Haha, it’s a blend of comedy, action and romance, I can’t wait.  I’m boycotting NBC (until they show something I want to see again).

*****

Kurt Warners wife got a full on makeover since they showed her all the time during Kurt’s last Superbowl.  Thanks, from all of us.

 

*****

I flipped to golf at some point (that point specifically being when they cut to the cast of the Fast and the Furious 4, including Vin Diesel), and David Feherty was commentating on a player who was dressed in a particularily ecclectic outfit saying “It looks the boy covered himself in glue and headed through a thrift shop”.  Fehrety is on my all-commentating team as a starter.

Why, when talking about the NFL overtime, does nobody propose the college system?  It’s intensely fair, with a rebuttal opportunity.  If not that system, how about making it not sudden death, but a time limit (5 minutes?) maybe?  Or you need six points to win?  There is no way the current system will last, because coin-toss, three first downs, field goal, is not a fair indicator of the better team.

Sarah Palin had to chime in.  She makes me laugh out loud.  America LEARN from your mistakes.  Bush was a closed-minded, uneducated, under-qualified President coming into his first term (and possibly coming out of his last).  Can we please dismiss her now and find some other “front-runner” to lose to Obama in 2012?  Start grooming Bobby Jindal now, he’s your best hope. 

I can’t believe Journey is still eating off their old music.  I had never seen the lead singer until their performance today at the Superbowl.  Iced tea came out my nose.  Their music is tailor-made for an 80′s movie montage.

Things I’ve enjoyed:  Zero gravity (they cut to an astronaut), Olbermann being kinda fun, Costas being smooth, NFL coaches sounding normal cause they weren’t defending their own team, Seth Meyers thoughts,  Brian Williams personality and my last minute decision to bet on the game, taking the Steelers minus 7.

Things I didn’t enjoy:  Bruce Springsteen’s interview in the pre-game show (does everyone go through a crazy phase or something?), Sarah Palin, Bill Belichicks current haircut.

Okay, game time!

Rum and Egg-blog

 

Alright, I’ve got my movie scale.  Each movie will be treated like a person I know, and it will get a gift from me on Christmas morning.  That gift is the movies rating.  For example, National Geographic: Stonehenge Decoded would get a RE-USED TEA BAG (technically it’s good for something, but come on, that sucks), for it’s exceptional use of a narrator with a lisp and its time wasting re-enactments of 4500 year old barbarians forming relationships and shooting wild boar.  It dragged on a tad. 

In the past 5 weeks + I’ve watched more movies, documentaries and stand-up comedy routines than I had in the previous 26 years of my life combined (thats to the day, I might add.  Thanks for that little gift).  I won’t break them all down now, but I’ll do it in parts.  I’m gonna lead with documentaries because they got the most attention.

Who Killed The Electric Car?

Good morning, Merry Christmas!  I’m fine thanks Whokilledtheelectriccar, and you? Open this.  Cool right?  I gave this film that badass $150.00 spy pen from SkyMall. It looks like you’re writing, but you’re recording colour video with sound.  How clandestine.  Not like I’ve checked any sources or anything, but if what this film documents is true, the American people (and more, I’m sure) were robbed of a wonderful product that could have single-handedly made L.A’s air quality feel like Whistler (well, in comparison).  It was well done and enjoyable, despite the curious obsession of the EV club (electric vehicle).  It contributed to my hate of oil companies.  Oil companies are awful, awful, stomach sickeningly evil places at the top (the people raping making the money) with one thing in mind (these new “green” campaigns are the worst. For what it costs them to run an off-shore drill for a day, they spend a quarter of that figure a year on their new eco programs).  I caution myself against being too polar on any one issue, but to take any stance other than this one is indefensible.  Ahem, anyway.  It was good.  Here’s your super-sweet pen.

Who the #$%@ is Jackson Pollock?

He’s a famous artist, you crazy hillbilly.  To this documentary, I give a Female Sideline Reporter.  I give this gift because I didn’t believe a word the lady was saying, and I thought anything she did say that made sense came from someone else.  She has had zero experience in Art, and that made it tough to take her seriously.    In this documentary, an older female truck driver buys her friend a painting from a junk store for $5.00.  When she’s selling it at a yard sale, someone points out it might be a Pollock.  It has no signature, and the films journey is this lady arguing with the art community that it is.  She hires a CSI type guy to help her figure it out.  Her, CSI guy and an ex-con out of prison (on parole for art fraud) try to convince the art community that its legitimate.  If it is, its worth between 35 and 50 million.  CSI guy does a wonderful job of semi-proving that it is a Pollock but nobody buys it.  Dead-broke-living-in-a-trailer-and-raiding-dumpsters lady gets offers of 2, and later 9 million from a Saudi to buy it, but refuses on principle.  The principle being that she’s retarded.  I say save yourself the time.  And I hope she enjoys her gift.

Where is Jimmy Hoffa?

Spoiler Alert: “We’re pretty sure he was trash compacted”.  Ha, I loved that.  This film served its purpose for me: I had no idea who Jimmy Hoffa was or what he did (I suspected Mob ties), and I wanted to find out (there were Mob ties).  He wasn’t actually in the Mob though, who knew?   –Everyone over 40 just shrugged and went “I thought everybody”. –   It’s a good documentary, though not high in entertainment value.  The bulk of the entertainment value lies in the interviews with 75 year old Italian men who don’t seem to ”know nuttin’ bout nuttin’”.  “You were with him the morning Mr. Hoffa disappeared Mr. Notsayingshit, did he make mention of where he might have been going?”.  “Who, Jimmy?  No, we didn’t talk that day.  Or any others.  Ever.  He hired me because he felt more attractive besides an ugly guy.  Lookit this scar.  I’m hideous”.  And that concludes the film.  To this film, I give this gold Rolex that just fell offa that truck.  It works and you’re glad it came around.

Blog-ojevich, and People Who Matter

 

Fitzy of Boston

This guy is basically the reason I’m moving to Boston.  Sure, he’s the stereotypical Mass-hole (I love that expression), but what’s not to love?  The people in Boston love their sports.  Adore.  Obsess? …Yeah, they obsess over their sports.  There’s something appealing about living in a place where playing the gentlemen is borderline offensive (“who’s this queen?”).  It’s one of the last places you’re allowed to indulge every man-urge you want.  It’s probably not the formula for a perfectly functioning society, but for a Canadian kid, the entertainment value is high.  Just check out Fitzy’s webcast before last years Superbowl:                                                                                                                            *Disclaimer: May contain language not suitable for children, or people who gave birth to me.   You can imagine how the follow-up webcasts went.  I know it’s pretty low-brow, but come on… you laughed.

Rod Blagojevich

My favourite joke du jour is Jon Stewarts “Rod Blagojevich, seen here being digested head-first by some sort of hair shaped alien…”  Blagojevich looks like the mama bird might come back any second to feed the starving chicks on his head.  It looks like if he were to come in out of the cold, he would take off that thing on his head and have bad hair underneath.  The only thing funnier than this mans hair is the legitimacy of his level of corruption.  He’s like Bond-movie-evil-villain bad, complete with legitimate triple long laugh and slow mustache twirl.  I keep waiting for the breaking news about him escaping to a secret lair and exposing the star-cannon he’s had aimed at Earth this whole time.  And he’ll use it if we don’t comply with his requests (I can see Blagojevich decreeing “Henry Burris is to be an Illinois state Senator!” and Obama going “Is this guy still on that?”).  I assume the blueprint for the plot has been written on his forehead this whole time.

Boo Weekley

Never has anyone made me laugh and like them so much while simultaneously embarrassing me so much as Boo Weekly during last years Ryder Cup.  He’s like a parody of what people pretend hicks are.  It’s like SNL or Mad TV tried to make a funny hick skit, but it flopped because the person over-acted the role (over-acting in SNL?… noooo).  This is the guy who said “it’s been a windwhirl” while wiping his brow.  How can you not like a guy with a bottom lip dip of Redman in while putting for national pride.  Talk about an apt representation.  If I were Lee Westwood (who was politely bothered by Boo’s attempts to fire up the crowd), I think I would have had to laugh.  Boo didn’t even look athletic enough to make that awkward motion athletes make to pump up the crowd (And how about that motion? It’s getting pretty overused isn’t it? I just saw Tim Tebow do it after he was announcing he was coming back for another year.  The fans are grateful and love you Tim, they’re showing their appreciation.  Asking for “more effort” out of their thank-you sort seems needy).  Maaayyybe he further pigeon-holed us into the pigeon-cave Bush dug with the Europeans.  But come on.  The guy rode his driver off the tee-box at an international event.  Now that’s what being an American is about!

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