In The Words Of J-Smooth

Hallo-wicked-awesome

2006-10-31T21:29:00.000-05:00

Oh Halloween. The goolishly evil fear-fest of an evening with children a plenty showing off their spooktastic outfits worked on by mom and dad for months. The night where the older folk spend hundreds on the newest treats, only to see them vanish in mere minutes to mobs of cavity craving gremlins. And of course, who could forget, it's the one night where children are allowed to break every single rule ever taught to them in their short little lives.

Yes, that's right...every rule. You know that saying "everything i need to know in life i learned in kindergarten"? Well on October 31st it should be modified to "everything i need to know in life, i forgot on Halloween." Don't believe me?

Let's start with the whole 'don't talk to strangers' thing. Not to mention 'don't EVER take candy from a stranger'. Basically, not only do the children talk to strangers...they take candy from EVERY SINGLE ONE! It doesn't matter what house you live in, how many stairs you have to the front door, or how many dead bodies are assumed buried on your poperty, the kids will come. After snatching a handfull of goods from a house, the kids will SPRINT across the road to the next, once again, disobeying direct oreders from the parents to never run across the road without looking. Not that the kid would get hurt if smoked by a car, since the latest superman costumes put on about 45 extra pounds, making your little munchkin immortal to any threat. Speaking of running from house to house. As i heard random parents hollering at each other from across the street, i realized that this is the one night where EVERY single parent walking around says something along the lines of "Oh hey Jan! Haven't seen you in forever, ill get Betty to call you and we'll have you over for dinner sometime soon ok!" Obviously the next time they talk is... you guessed it... October 31st of the following year. Thought i'd just throw that in there.

Share and play fair? On Halloween? Try, every bubble gum-breathing hethen for himself. The first one to the door gets the biggest handfull of candy. If you're last, you get the wrappers from the already-eaten one's, its just a fact of life. You get there last, or you might as well go home.

Don't eat sugar before you go to bed? Excuse me? You have just been supplied a bag of chocolatey goodness that lasts you...days. And even though your parents THINK they hide it sneakily...you know exactly where it is and how to climb to the top of the closet to reach it. Everynight it's under your bed with you half way in it, and neatly put back in it's 'parental hiding place' before they wake up. Yea, kids pretty much know everything.

Then there's the whole father's nightmare thing, when their 6 year old daughters have an excuse to dress up as...old... as they want. Doesn't matter how cold it is out there, when it comes to girls, dressing down is more like it thse days. The days of angels, princesses and ghosts are over. Today, it's school girls, country chicks, and scantily-cald nurses roaming the streets on this hallowed night. As for the guys, its just an excuse to run around the streets with your underwear on your head. It's kind of a boyhood dream, Halloween just lets you exercise it at free will.

Speaking of childhood dreams, the day of halloween at school is simply put, a joke. You show up dressed as whatever you want, only to have a party in EVERY SINGLE CLASS. Someone every year forgets to tell each teacher in elementary school that yes, every other teacher is having a party too, your efforts at being the coolest one have failed. The kids play it off to perfection though, complaining just enough to each teacher that "they never get a party, and need at least one!" The teacher falls for it, in every class, every year. It's science.

So i didn't cover every rule broken, but as you can see Halloween was, is, and always will be the greatest holiday ever! And that's hard to pull off because you don't even get the day off! How much better does it get than covering your house in crap, covering yourself in crap, and then filling yourself with crap all in one night. People you don't even know give you candy, with a smile on their faces. To every kid its the one night they think they're robbing every adult of all this candy. "All i have to do is dress up and these idiots will fall for it and fill my bag with pounds of sugary love?" Yes children, yes they will.

So on this night of horror, blood and pain, may i suggest you take a look under those freaky masks, mounds of face-paint, make-up and wigs. You'll notice one gigantic smile on every kid as they watch in awe as you slip a few chocolate bars into there bag. May Halloween live on as the most incredible holiday ever, one where we all get to break a few (or every) rule ever drilled into are heads. Sleep tight kids, don't let the dentist bite.

smooth

Oh you have got to see these!

2006-10-12T12:52:00.000-04:00

Hockey's Craziest Plays

Warning: The following moves and saves are absolutely sick.

I would sit down.

Consider yourself warned.

Ovechkin

Alexander Ovechkin. The Goal. Enough said.

Crosby

His first game against a Canadian team. His first shootout. Unreal. Water bottle.

CrosbyAgain

Sidney Crosby. This isn't even fair.

Bananas

Marek Malik. 15th round of the shootout. Bananas.

Datsyuk

Pavel Datsyuk. This deke should win an award. It's retarded.

Caron

Sebastian Caron. Who? Exactly. If you didn't know him before you will FOR SURE know him after you see this:

Zetterberg

Henerek Zetterberg schooling Raycroft. Hate to show it, but it's sick.

Cap'nMats

Mats Sundin. Six point night. Atta boy.

Schremp

This is taking it to the next level. Robbie Schremp. word.

Bure

This guy ate goalies for breakfast. Scariest goal scorer ever. Long live the king.

: smooth

Along for the ride.

2006-09-15T18:03:00.000-04:00

So last week i graduated grade 8, and monday morning i woke up and started university...or at least that's how it feels. Like, one day when i was 12 i blinked, and i'm now sitting in lectures with 400 other stunned 'young adults'. So needless to say, it went quick, life is flying by, but i must admit, i'm lovin' every minute. I did, surprisingly enough, learn a thing or two this week about life, university, and how things are changing big time. Here's the jist of it.

I no longer have any money.

That pretty much could sum it up, but seeing as that's not exactly very explanitory, ill go into a little more detail. Things i've learned so far continued:

I still no longer have any money.

I'd never spend money on books i'd be interested in reading, which is why spending $1000 on one's im never going to read boggles the mind.

They really do just walk in and talk for 3 hours straight.

Two iced caps a day is for rookies, it's one an hour now. Whoever thought of putting a Tim's in a school...brilliant, but it will be the death of me.

Looking good for school is no longer an option, as long as i have pants on, i'm good to go.

Cereal is the only food group.

Friend's dorm room beds are more comfortable.

A 2pm class is hard to wake up for... 8am classes aren't even funny.

Going to work is considered a break.

You never drool unless people are watching you sleep.

Reading sucks.

Alot.

And the single most incredible invention to this day is the power nap, any day, any time, anywhere.

So that was week one, what comes next?... i guess i'll just have to wait and see. And most likely the next time you see me, ill be happily married and have 4 kids.

Don't blink.

catch ya on the flipside

smoooooth

A Dream in a Baseball Hat

2006-05-31T00:43:00.001-04:00

Haven't posted anything in a while, so i thought i'd put up a story i just wrote for an english assigment. It's kinda long, but hey, deal with it.

enjoy.

A Dream in a Baseball Hat
By: Jon Neely

Not one person in the crowd was sitting, 95,000 strong all cheering at the top of their lungs. I had finally made it; I was standing in the middle of my lifelong dream. At 28, I’d long given up on the thought of having a chance to stand where I was, but I was actually here, I pinched myself to see if it was all real. I looked at everything around me and smiled. I smiled at the thought of how I had made it, how everything I had ever done in life came down to this one moment. I smiled as I turned my head and got into the pitcher’s stance. This was it.

July 23, 1978, the year Bryan Turner O’Neill came into this world in the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. My parents and I lived in a small house on Patterson Street around the corner from the convenience store. Mom worked at the local old folks home about 6 miles up the road, and dad was a construction worker at Smithson Construction Co. I grew up as a normal kid would. Money wasn’t coming out of our ears by any means, but we had enough to be happy. Two years into my life, Stevie came into the picture. This cute blue-eyed, brown-haired mischief maker was my little brother and we soon became the best of friends. As the years went by we grew older and tried new things.

At age 6 Dad was convinced I was a future football all-star and quickly signed me to try out for the county’s junior team. A broken arm and a bruised ego later it was decided that was not my sport of choice. Six months later he had me and Stevie signed up for soccer tryouts, but just as the football had gone, this didn’t turn out in our favour either. We soon accepted the fact that sports just weren’t for us, and that we would stick to the sidelines. I never really paid much attention to sports after that and went on in life happy as ever without it, happy as ever until the day I fell in love. May 12, 1986, a day I will never forget as long as I live.

Walking home from school through the normal path and across Rockdale Park’s baseball field I found something that day that single handedly changed my life, a baseball hat. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. It was black, but covered in dirt and grass from the field and slightly faded from obvious years on its previous owner. I picked it up and saw that it was a New York Yankees hat; I knew this team because Dad had always hated them, saying they were highly over-paid and won too many championships. As I went to put the hat on, I noticed written on the inside, a few words. “Never stop chasing the dream.” I smiled to myself, put the hat on and went and stood on the pitchers mound of the field. I held my head up high and shut my eyes. I imagined a huge crowd of screaming fans cheering my name as I pitched for the Yankees. I went through the motions a pitcher goes through as he readies himself. I tilted my head to the ground, took in a deep breath and opened my eyes. I looked towards the batters box, and stared it down as if I owned the batter who was up next. I imagined a ball in my hand, and wound up to throw. As my arm flung through the air I could almost feel the Yankee fans at the stadium chanting and waiting with bated breath to see what I did. The ball seemed to rocket out of my hand and fly straight over the plate, slamming against the back fence. I stood motionless, completely in another world as I closed my eyes again with a huge grin on my face, imagining the team running towards me in celebration. “Never stop chasing the dream huh?” I said smiling, and from that day on I was in love with the New York Yankees.

For the next 5 years that hat did not leave my sight. I slept with it, I ate with it, I played with it, I did it all with that hat. It was a part of me, as were the Yankees. I had started watching their games after that day in the park, and soon I knew every player and every stat and never missed a game. They were the love of my life, I didn’t care what was happening during a game, and I just had to see them play. I kept telling dad that I would one day be standing on the mound at Yankee stadium, (mainly to bug him because of his extreme hatred for my team) but I didn’t really believe I would actually get there.

As the years went by I grew up, got through high school and the Yankees hat eventually found its way to my closet, but I still obsessed over the Yanks. I managed to get myself into the University of Denver for Medical Studies and graduated in 2001 with an Honour’s Degree. I still did my best to stay in touch with my Yankees while the school work piled up, checking the scores any way I could when I wasn’t able to catch a game. I landed a job at a small clinic near my parents house, but quickly found it to be slow and wasn’t really what I was looking for, I needed something better. I started working at Denver Community Hospital downtown and slowly moved up the ranks until I was able to work full-time in the hospitals injury rehabilitation centre helping people recover from minor and serious injuries. I loved it, and basically lived at work leaving little time for my baseball team, although any time I wasn’t working I always checked up on how they had been doing the past week.

Life was moving along smoothly, I was making a fair amount of money and even though work was occupying most of my time, it was still enjoyable and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Well, until everything changed again on May 27, 2004. I came into work at around 6:30am to get ahead on some paper work I had to complete by the end of the week when I was met at the door by Jim Thompson, the director of operations of the rehabilitation centre.

“Ever been to New York?” he said, catching me off guard a little.

“Uh, no sir I haven’t, why?” I replied, wondering where this was headed.

“A new sports injury facility is opening up there in a month and they’re recruiting some of the best to go and work, we were asked to submit names and records of who we thought might fit the job, and we sent your name in.” I didn’t know what to say. New York City, the Big Apple and the home of my beloved New York Yankees. I looked at him confused, even though I had already made my decision; I was going to New York.

Six weeks later I was standing at the front desk of Manhattans Sports Injury Rehabilitation Centre, welcoming the first patients. The job was incredible, more than I could ever imagine. The pay was great, and by great I mean double what I was making before, and the loft I bought downtown was perfect. Once again I thought to myself that life couldn’t get much better and once again I was very, very wrong.

While moving from Denver to New York, I had found that Yankees hat in my closet at my parent’s house, and decided that since I was going to the home of the Broncs Bombers, I might as well bring the hat that started the love affair. I displayed it, along with many other memorabilia of the Yankees in the office and waiting room of the Centre. It was the first thing I looked at every morning when I walked into work. Since I was actually living in New York now, watching a Yankee’s game was much easier for me, and the obsession quickly came back. Two years into the job, on just another morning at work, the door opened and the cheesy bell rang as it usually did. I looked up from my work and my mouth hit the floor. Standing in front of me was Derek Jeter, star short stop of the New York Yankees, my New York Yankees.

I couldn’t breathe as he started to walk towards me. When he got to me I felt faint and almost passed out right there in front of him.

“You doctor O’Neill?” he asked, chewing his gum slowly.

“Hi” was all I could get out. ‘Hi’ was all I could say to the star player from the team I had loved since I was eight, I looked up at him sheepishly.

“I hear you’re the best, and I need your help” he stated. I almost died.

“Follow me,” I managed to squeak out and motioned him to follow me down the hall. Turned out he needed a quick and effective recovery to a nagging knee injury he had sustained in training camp earlier that year. He had somehow heard that I was the best, and whether or not that was true was beside the point; Derek Jeter was standing in my office. I started working with him five times a week for a month, and over that time we began to strike up a friendship.

One day he finally walked in to thank me for my help. He shook my hand, smiled and held out an envelope to me. I figured it was a thank you note or an extra tip for my service or something, but what he gave my might as well have been solid gold. Four tickets to a Yankees game, front row seats right beside the dugout, and the game was next week against Colorado. I went into sheer excitement mode, thanked him repeatedly as he left laughing at my child-like behaviour, and immediately got on the phone when he left. First I called an airline company then I called my parents. I told them I had booked them and Stevie a plane to New York next week and that they were coming to see a Yankees vs. Rockies game. I told them it wasn’t up for debate, they were coming and we were watching this game as a family.

Two days before the game they arrived and I met them at the airport and drove them to my loft. They settled in and mom began going around telling me what I needed to paint, what I needed to clean and so on, while dad and my brother argued over where we were going to go out for dinner. They were more excited to see the city than the game itself, but I hadn’t slept since the day Derek had given me the tickets, and the game was so close. The day before the game, I took my family to see my office. They loved it and were happy that I was doing so well for myself up in the big city. My dad laughed at the array of Yankee attire I had around the office and felt he had to touch all of it, moving it out of its perfect positioning. When he saw the hat he couldn’t believe I still had it.

“You still chasing that silly dream of yours son, the pitching mound one or something?” he said jokingly.

“Ya dad, I’m still planning on pitching for the Yankees one day” I said laughing and we all walked out the door.

The night of the game was incredible. We arrived at the stadium two hours early just to take in the whole experience since it was our first live major league baseball game. I proudly wore my Yankees jacket and shirt while my dad wore his Colorado Rockies jacket just to make sure everyone knew he still hated the Yankees. About an hour before the game, Derek Jeter walked by our seats and noticed me in the stands; he waved and came over to talk. He invited us to come and take a tour of the locker room and meet some of the players. I of course was on cloud nine at this point and followed him like a five year-old child running after an ice cream truck. We got to see it all, the locker room, the training room, and the best part was we got to meet a bunch of the players as they were getting ready for the game.

Suddenly a man wearing a headset came running through the locker room in a panic-stricken state. The scheduled opening pitcher was the mayor of the city, but he had got caught up in some meeting and wasn’t going to be able to make it to the game in time for the pitch. The man was running all around talking to different people trying to figure things out when Derek spoke up.

“You say you need an opening pitcher eh?” he shouted across the room.

“Don’t think you’re throwing it Jeter, you’re a bad enough short stop, we don’t need you trying out for pitcher too!” yelled the Yankees coach, and the room erupted in laughter.

“I wasn’t thinking of me coach, but my buddy Bryan here. He’s the doctor who fixed me up so quickly, the guy I’ve been telling you about. Without him I wouldn’t be back this soon, if anyone deserves it, it’s him.” By the time I realized Derek had chosen me to pitch in the opening ceremonies I was already being prepped by the headset-wearing man as to where I should stand and what I had to do out there. My family had already been ushered back to their seats for the beginning of the game, and I stood under the seats waiting to be called out to the mound. My heart started to beat fast. This couldn’t be real could it? Was I really standing under Yankee stadium awaiting my name to be called to throw the opening pitch? Just before I went out, Derek ran by and patted me on the back; “good luck out there man,” he said. “Don’t screw up the throw eh!” I half-heartedly laughed back suddenly realizing the embarrassment I would sustain if I messed up a single throw on national television.

“Just breathe,” I said to myself over and over again, “just breathe.” When they announced me as the ceremonial opening pitcher I walked out and what I saw will take my breath away for the rest of my life.

Not one person in the crowd was sitting, 95,000 strong all cheering at the top of their lungs. I had finally made it; I was standing in the middle of my lifelong dream. At 28, I’d long given up on the thought of having a chance to stand where I was, but I was actually here, I pinched myself to see if it was all real. I looked at everything around me and smiled. I smiled at the thought of how I had made it, how everything I had ever done in life came down to this one moment. I smiled as I turned my head and got into the pitcher’s stance. This was it. I remembered that day as a kid standing on the mound in that park, imagining then what I was living now. I looked over at the Yankee bench and Derek gave me the thumbs up, I nodded back, smiling bigger than ever. I turned towards my family in the crowd, my brother looking at me laughing and my mother blowing kisses over and over again. My dad then stood up and took off his jacket, revealing a New York Yankees jersey with the name O’Neill on the back. He bent over and picked up a hat, a Yankees hat, my old Yankees hat, he must have grabbed it from the office when we visited. He put it on and winked at me, an image I will never forget. I was smiling so big now that my cheeks began to hurt, but I didn’t care-I was too busy living out my childhood dream.

I turned back to the plate, tossed the ball up and down a few times, and then closed my eyes. I took in a deep breath and everything went silent, I went back to when I was a kid finding the hat, how that dirty old thing had gotten me to where I was standing. I pictured myself getting ready and throwing the ball completely alone in the park, with the feeling of thousands surrounding me. I opened my eyes, back in reality to find myself standing in front of a full house at Yankee Stadium. It was time. I waited one last minute to take in my surroundings and then bent down for the throw. I stared down at the catcher with that big grin on my face, feeling like that eight year-old kid and a big league player all at the same time. I glanced over at my dad again wearing that hat. He nodded and tapped the brim of the hat down, “sweet dream huh?” he mouthed to me and chuckled. I looked back at the catcher and wound up for the pitch, “never stop chasing it” I whispered, “never ever stop chasing the dream.”

keep it real homies.

j

Intensity at its finest

2006-03-20T20:00:00.000-05:00

I have to write quick, because in 20 minutes the greatest night in recent television history is about to begin.

Whoever thought to put Jack Bauer in 24 on the same night as the Cool Bald Dude in Prison Break on during the same night, must not of thought of the severity of the intense action it causes those watching to go through, but oh how i appriciate it. 24 was insane enough to watch on its own, but now starting every monday night with a little Prison Break action pushes it to a new level.

Tv's two greatest shows on one night, every week.

This is what dreams are made of.

To those who only watch one or the other, i highly recommend watching both, and to those who dont watch either, forget about American Idol and tune in.

For once in my life i will actually be looking forward to Monday!

A little bit of breaking out of jail action, followed by the greatest man alive saving the world one hour at a time. Excuse me while i jump for joy.

Thank you Jack Bauer. Thank you Cool Bald Dude.

Thank you tv.

I now leave you, to watch 2 hours straight of pure incredibleness.

jsmooth

Dear March Break, Thanks.

2006-03-10T18:23:00.000-05:00

Its March break.

The 216 hour weekend officially started today...and im loving it already. Even though it began with a little rain action, in fact, its still raining and is supposed to for the next 3 days. Great. But nothing will stop the fun, you cant, you can only hope to contain it.

Here's to the march break.

It starts here.

jsmooth

All there is to it.

2006-02-16T08:55:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning to one of the most incredible sounds i've heard in a while. "Buses in York Region and surrounding areas have been cancelled." Beautiful.

I don't actually take the bus to school, seeing as i live about 2 minutes away driving, but out of the 2000 or so students that go there, probably 1000 take a bus. Not only this, but half the teachers live a good 45 minutes away, meaning there is no way they're driving all that way in this weather (cause they don't already get enough days off). With the lack of students, and a large number of supply teachers, the passion to treck to school for the rest of us who live in the neighbourhood of the school is pretty much not there. Thus, i sit here after just shovelling a foot of cement-like snow off my driveway. I could be sitting in International Business right now, with the two or so poor guys that were forced by the mom to go to school. But i could be running naked throught the streets trying to light myself on fire...and that would just be stupid.

I will be heading to school eventually today, ill probably make it just in time for my lunch. But passing up doing donuts in the empty bus section would be foolish of me, so ill be there.

To make a long story short, or i guess a short story shorter, i pretty much love snow.

And Canada will beat Germany 8-1 today.

And that my freinds, is all there is to it.

jSmooth

One last time.

2006-02-06T23:51:00.000-05:00

Today i did something for the last time. I walked into Unionville Highschool at around 8:15, still shivering from the suddenly snowy Canadian weather, and met up with the usual crew at our usual spot for some before-class chillage. The clock hit 8:30, the sighs and groans lifted throughout the 2000 strong, and the crowd headed off to the first period class. No, this wasn't my last day of school, not by a long shot, but it was the beginning of the end in a sense. Today was the first day of my last semester in my highschool career.

It seemed like a normal day, went to the new classes, got the new desks, naturally at the back of the class where maximum 'not listening' can be performed. New course outlines were given out, explained, and then ripped apart by question after question. It seemed as if it was just another beginning of a semester, but for the class of 2006, it was the last beginning, or the start of the finish, or the...well, you get what i mean. In 20 weeks (give or take a day or two) i'm kissin that place goodbye, and high-tailing it to the rest of my life, but in a way i really don't wanna leave that place.

Leaving may sound great and all, i mean c'mon, potentially i only have 4 and a half years left of school until i can atleast get paid while sitting at a desk all day. I only have so many more papers due, only so many more nights sitting at home studying till the feeling in my head is no more, and only so many more due dates to make by the skin of my teeth. But you know what, all those things and so much more have amounted to the most incredible 3 and a half years of my life, without a doubt.

So to all those who are in on the memories i will never forget, and all the things i really don't want to remember, cheers. Cheers for the times when the stomach muscles hurt for days after laughing so hard. Cheers for the hottubs, car rides, BBQ's, and any other mission we took on throughtout our years here. Cheers for everything from the second i met you, and you, and you. Thanks for it all. But don't think it's done just yet, oh no, not so fast. We still got a good quality 5 months to make sure UHS never ever forgets us either. A good 5 months to show everyone that if we can dream it, we can do it...and if you can dream it, well, we've probably already done it.

Bring it on, one last time.

jSmooth

Oh, That Week!

2006-01-19T23:12:00.000-05:00

After a rather busy week of non-stop assignment-doing action, job going-to insanity, and a whole lot of everything else in between, i find myself bored. It's great too, incredible almost. The fact that i now have little or nothing to accomplish blows the mind.

You see, this week just happens to be the last week of first semester, technically. Or as the teachers like to call it: the "let's think of every assignment possible and make it due all at the same time while throwing in a couple massive unit tests and a smile" week. You know what i mean, ya, that week. The one where going to class is actually considered taking a break from the work, and the only sleep you get comes as you stare into your computer screen, mind gone, but fingers still typing away. If it's due, it's due that week, and naturally being the procrastinator's, or should i say the humans that we are, we leave it all 'till the night before. That ever so popular 'night before' just happened to be Tuesday night pour moi. The night, that quickly turned into morning, that quickly turned into "oh crap, i'm late for school".

During that night for students world wide, we all die a little bit inside. The only night of the year where you can actually go through all 1572 songs on your playlist...twice...while sitting at the computer non-stop is death. Pure death, no more, no less...just death.

I would just like to officially announce to the world of 'almost adults' that the week of death has come and gone as tomorrow is Friday, and everyone knows that you aren't allowed to do anything the least bit productive on Friday. So to those who spent the past couple days crumpled up in the fetal position shaking and moaning, as the papers pilled up around you...Mission Complete. I mean, don't worry, carpel tunnel isn't that bad and it'll probably heal up real good just in time for this week next year. And yes, those people you haven't seen for a while are in fact your parents. No matter though, because that week is done. For now just concentrate on what we have ahead of us... all the things we have to look forward too, all the things in life that we can wake up in the morning to and be excited about...like next week for example!

Or as the teachers call it...

..."exam week".

night.

jSmooth

The place to be...

2006-01-11T22:14:00.000-05:00

We've found our Central Perk. You know, the coffee shop where the friends of Friends met up on countless episodes to laugh it up for a little while. Listening to Joey's random stories, Chandlers famous sarcasm, or just watching Rachel in awe, we all had a laugh and a half with the guys n' girls of primetime television nightly. Well, now every Wednesday night the boys of the U Dot hop into daddy's cars, pop the collars, and roll on down to Main Street Unionville to meet at the weekly hang out. You see, nicely placed in the middle of the old fashioned little street is a Starbucks, but not just any Starbucks...our Starbucks.

Up on the second floor is where we meet, the first two there get the comfy chairs, the rest grab the not-so-comfy ones and crowd in for the latest news of the week. You see, up on the second floor of our chillin' pad is where it all comes out, no joke. If you come, you talk, and you say eveything. Doesn't matter who did what, how big of a secret it is, or how much trouble you're going to get into if it leaks out, you talk. It's where the real stories come out, the deep stuff, man-to-man-to-man-etc. After you talk, you're fair game for either advice, or just a mass self-esteem beating. It's who's hot, who's not, and who you might as well just forget about, because you just don't have a chance buddy.

After the...women...are discussed, it's planning time, and this is where it gets serious. Basically, we all pile together a mass blueprint for the up coming weekend. It's how much fun we can pack into 48 hours without dying or getting arrested, although if it comes to that...we'll deal with it. This converstaion usually ends up taking hours as there are some seriously crazy gameplans being tossed around. Most, never get accomplished, but it's satisfying to dream outloud and think about how big we could actually go.
After a couple quality hours of wholesome guy talk, its time to jump back into the car, unpop the collar, and roll out for another night. Not only has this become a weekly tradition, it's almost as if we can't go without it. No matter what has to be done that night, there's just an empty feeling without a little starbucks action. Maybe it's the thought of not having a grande mocca latte frappe cappacino, or maybe we're just obsessed with women and weekends...okay so it's definately the second one...and it's dead obvious why we love it...thus it's a weekly must.

To sum it up, Starbucks is incredible...and so are weekends, when you talk about weekends in a starbucks... pure perfection. So folks, take some time out of your busy life, order up a frappe latte mappe chocolate iced cappa coffee, put a little whip cream on top and sit down with some freinds in a Starbucks near you...

Once the employees know your name, and have your drink ready for you when you get there, you can officially call it your chillazin' pad and enjoy a little chit chat, Starbucks style.

jSmooth

The Rivalry Resumes

2006-01-05T14:07:00.000-05:00

Here in Canada around the holiday season, we do the usual Christmas thing, holler out the countdown business at New Years, and give a little Dradel spin here or there if you swing that way. But there's always one thing that gets the blood pumping a little more than all of those events. You see tonight just so happens to be part, ohh, sixty-something of one of the greatest rivalries in sports. Tonight, Canada and Russia go head-to-head for WJHC glory.

Awesome!

This is the only time of the year when Ottawa Sens fans can sit on the same couch as Leaf fans to cheer for the same team. Ohh it doesn't mean they have to talk, or even communicate in any way. But they can admit their love for the boys of the Canadian flag and cheer it up as one tonight. Immediately seperating afterwards and denying ever being seen with the enemy, but for those two hours and a bit deadly foes can come together, grab a beer of the root variety and only worry about those Russians!

So tonight, no matter what city you cheer for, pull on a Canada jersey, forget about those horrible Sens fans...and they're really stupid captian...bad fans...over-rated goalie...ugly jerseys...tacky name... and, well yeah...

GO CANADA GO!

jSmooth

A little deep freeze action

2006-01-02T23:30:00.000-05:00

Every year at about this time a bunch of idiots decide to go up north to MFC and freeze to death for a couple days. Why would they want to do that, you ask? Why would you want to go stand knee-deep in snow, while being smacked in the face with gail force winds, as you soak to the bone in below-freezing temperatures?

Ya, i really don't know why we do it either!

But that's not the point now is it, because if we asked ourselves why we do what we do before every single little thing we did, we wouldn't have any fun...

Anyways.

So here we are, up in the great white north, 100 acres of snow, all to ourselves. hoo rah!

Most years up there you either get 40 feet of snow, and can't even drive up the road, or a complete ice feild after all the snow has frozen rock hard. And if you're really unlucky you get rain. Fortunately, but unfortunately, we got a little bit of everything which made for some interesting times at the 2006 edition of Deep Freeze. No complaints though, cause once the pond was shovelled off, it was hockey time...after some of Marg's chilli of course!

The only problem with the pond, was, well...the pond itself. You see this year, it didnt freeze so well, and after many attempts at flooding it, we got the best we could, and jumped on for a little old time hockey. It started great, but after tossing 15 guys on a not-so frozen pond physics started kicking in, and skates started going in, to the water that is. Even with the small holes around the ice, the game went on...until the small holes weren't so small any more, and you no longer needed defence because every rush was quickly halted by a dreaded hole stealing the puck. After losing a few more pucks, and almost losing a few bodies, we figured hockey was done for the night. Immediate plans were put in place for a massive puck finding game come summer in the pond.

Since hockey didn't go all that well, we figured bringing out the GT's might fare more in our favour, and took the to the hill. This year, yet again, held one pretty impressive jump at the bottom...which we totally owned like it was our job...naturally. The GT's were mounted, and flung off that thing like nothing you'd ever seen before. Bodies went flying, rarely was the landing pretty, but the hangtime, was definately worth the pain of the what followed. The odd 360 was attempted, but, umm, no comment on that one... The cuts speak for themselves on that topic. But the jump was shredded to perfection, and the night ended on a high.

Getting to bed this year was actually not such a bad thing as us men got to shack it up in the steaming hot lodge, while the women tried to test their skills out in the cabin, which really only covers you're head, and doesn't do a whole lot in the warmth department. Needless to say they lived, not before many compliants of course ;)

Next day came the rain...oh the rain. Which put a damper on most outdoor activities, but the odd snow ball was still thrown. With the rain did come one sweet indoor hockey game though. I got to play net...meaning i got beaten like a rented mule. But still, fun none the less, and it took our minds off the crapiness of the rain melting our snow, also making the pond ice even worse (if that was possible). All in all though, the day was pretty sweet, chillen in the lodge, playin some high quality poker with lego peices as the chips, yes high class! Bed was once again actually nice, except that having not showered that morning made the comfort level drop a bit.

Waking up the next morning was brutal, it's as simple as that. After staying up late both nights, and going all out both days prior, pulling the head off the pillow was a task and a half at 8 in the morning. After eventually scraping myself off the bed, i realized how gross i felt with not showering for two days and all. Yet again the question why we go up there arises. Looking out the window made things a little better as the rain looked as if it was going to hold off. Stepping outside made things not so much better as yes, the rain had stopped, but the temperature was...MAD COLD! This made for an icy trek to breakfast as the left over wet snow was snow frozen solid. The frozenness did do one good thing for us though, as it froze the pond nicely...well, kinda.

As we went down to the pond once again, it looked great, but turned out to be pretty much the same result as last time. A few close calls, wet feet, and less pucks then we started with, ended yet another 'almost' hockey game. Later on that night came the visit to the hill, with a nicely frozen runway to the ice covered jump...and a deadly landing. It looked safe and all, i mean, how far and how high can you actually get on a GT snow racer, like, c'mon it can't get that dangerous can it...umm...word. Lets just say that with the addition of the ice, you went way faster down the hill, way higher off the jump, and landed way harder on the ground. As for the flying high part, i actually mean flying. Like, we rocketed off this thing, no joke, 20 feet easily. Hitting the ground was no fun at all. Ask Spencer's head, my back...or Andrew's entire body. It was insane.

After a lot of air, and a lot of pain, came the walk back to the lodge to join the rest of the crew in a little movie action, then some much needed sleep before we all cruised on home the next morning.
So to answer your earlier question, why we go up there and kill ourselves and freeze to death, i say this: The party's where the people are, when you add a little snow, some ice, and a sick, wicked and nasty jump to kill yourself onto it, you have one crazy fun time.

Rain or shine...or snow!

Quote of the week: "Is that shirt felt?...Cause it is now!"

Honestly one of the funniest times ever, cheers Kev!

jSmooth

Long live the pond.

2005-12-14T22:12:00.000-05:00

Long live the pond.

Skates were laced up, stick was taped, retro hockey shirt was pulled on, and shovel was grabbed. It was time for some good old fashioned pond hockey.

The air was a crisp -15 or so, but really, who needs to feel their face, toes or hands when you're playing hockey anyways?! Eight chums converged on the frozen swamp with shovels in hand and begun the rather long, but elegant job of removing snow from ice. Skating back and forth, up and down, side to side, until the light glimmered off our playing surface, and it was ready.

Each player's secret 'pond-hockey-only' stick was brought out, revealing 8 hunks of tree branch, colourful tape, and a whole lotta splinters. They may look like junk, but these babies have been with us through thick and thin, and have been apart of every re-inactment of every great goal ever scored by our hero's. Ah yes, the sticks are out from their summer hide-a-ways, and its time to rock n' role. They were all gently tossed into the middle of the rink, and teams were chosen.

The puck was placed in the middle of the not so smooth ice, and faceoff rituals commenced.

Game on.

The goals were racked up, and the arguments about the opponents net being bigger than the other began. The lights began to dim, the temperature continued to plummet, and the game went on. Toes were well past frozen, and lips were chapped to the max, and all that mattered was the puck.

No one really ever knows what the score is, somewhere up in the 90's by the games end, but that doesn't really matter. Stats are never really kept, but that doesn't really matter either. The only thing that is remembered after a game on the pond is the game itself. The hours on end that were spent circling the ice time and time again. The sweet passes, nice deeks, and brutal falls that were made in the game.

"Next goal wins!"

The famous words are said, and a mad dash to the net is made, ending a long, hard fought game of classic pond hockey. The winners are dubbed champion for that day, and everyone goes home to relive the game winning goal that is so saught after, the one who potted the winner goes home hero for a day, but a day only. For the game of pond hockey never really ends, sleep is the equivilent to a commercial break, school just means intermisson and food is only eatin because it keeps you moving. But the game itself lasts an entire winter of endless fun, long lasting memories, and nightly laughs.

"Pain heals, chicks dig the scars, but glory lasts forever..."

... or at least 'til the next night.

Long live the pond indeed.

jSmooth

That Feeling...

2005-12-10T13:58:00.000-05:00

The feeling is back with a vengence. Oh, you know the feeling i'm talking about. The one that sends a shiver down your spine, and gets your heart racing at the beginning of each season. Straped into a snowboard standing atop a mountain looking down at pure powdery goodness will do that to you, and oh, did it ever yesterday. Every year at about the beginning of December, is when the withdrawl symptoms start to kick in. A lack of boarding over the summer starts to have its affects on the boarder nation, we start to get the shakes, can't sleep, get light headed, and wake up finding ourselves straped into our boards, standing in the middle of the basment on the occasional night. So was it ever good to get back on the hills yesterday! The idea rose when a good buddy of mine, who happens to work at a nearby ski resort, mentioned that is was now open...and ripe for the pickin'. Mmmm yes, sweet sweet candy indeed. We called everyone up who owned a board, told them to wax it up, cause it was time. We planned that Friday, right after school, we would all cram into as many cars as it took, and jet it up to the slopes to hang ten.

As you can imagine, sitting in class that day for each of us was a task and a half. Doodling on anything we could to pass the time, talking about what jumps we would hit, who would no doubt get the highest, which we all thought would be ourselves, naturally. There was the attempting to sleep, in hopes to suddenly wake up and it be the end of the day, no dice though. We tried the 'all going to the bathroom', wishing that hanging out outside of class would some how make the stupid clock tick a little faster. Of course, none of this worked, and it just happened to be one of the longest days of school in my education career. Every second we sat there, looking out the window at that holy whiteness, the fear of it suddenly all melting racing through our minds, made things even slower. But alas, as everything eventually does, it ended, and we realized the time had come to leave the school, the teachers, even leave the women, to head north, or in this case east, to do what had been waited for long enough.

25 minutes later, after a van ride of blasting music, more bragging on accomplishments of last year, and promises to go bigger and better this year, we were there. Infront of us, stood a sight only to be described as, HUBBA HUBBA... There she was, standing a million miles wide, and twice as high..and the greatest part was,

We were there first.

No line-ups, no nothing, we got there 10 minutes before it opened for the day, beating out everyone, even the locals...not a single mark in the snow anywhere on the hill. Just freshly fallen snow, a foot deep, ready and waiting for us. As we strapped in at the bottom, things got serious. iPOD's and MP3 players were turned on... full blast... hats and goggles were positioned perfectly dans la noggin to insure maximumus coolestnus lookageus. We started the short treck to the lift, and as we got on, we pictured in our small, but focused brains on what was about to happen.

The lift ended, we hoped off, turned the corner that lead us to the trick park...and stopped. The sight we saw, took the breath right out of us. The jumps, ramps, rails and half pipe that lay in front of us, calling our names, was a sight of unpresidented SICKNESS. You could see for miles, just white covered everything. Our cars the only ones in the parking lot, and one untouched run in front of us. We turned to look at each other...gave the smile, nod, and the words we had been waiting for for months were finally said...

"Dropping in!"

I'll let your imaginations take you from there. All that needs to be said is having an entire mountain to you and a bunch of freinds for one crazy night all to yourselves...no words come close to describing... but the pictures, well, they do all the talking we need...

Enough said.

jSmooth

And then there was snow

2005-11-26T14:15:00.000-05:00

So the other day, im sitting there right, normal day, kinda cold, but bearable ok. The wind is blowing a bit, leaves are all but gone off the trees, and that ugly grey cloud look covers the sky. So i sit there and im thinkin, "man i hate cold, what a waste, might as well be snow if im gonna havta bundle up to walk outside." Sure enough, not ten minutes later, it starts to fall, little chunks of snowy goodness. Yesss, score, boo yaa! It's here people, its actually here, on the verge of December and it finally happens, the snow decides to come. Now, some of you may be thinking..."Snow...i hate snow, it's cold, it's slippery, not to mention cold and rather slippery!" But people...listen, honestly, seriously, listen. Snow, do you know what this means! It means a world of adventure, it means you can do anything, and i mean anything, with a little snow and a lot of imagination, better yet, a lot of snow, and a little imagination. You just have to enjoy it!

Alright, so last winter, here i am, sitting, watching this stuff fall, hundreds of pounds of it, just covering everything in sight, waiting, just waiting for the sound, that every kid on our street longs to here. You see, i happen to live on a court, thankfully, and you'll see why in a minute. So back to the sound that i was longing to hear. Most people dread it, mainly because you only hear this sound once you've finsihed the tiring job of shovelling your driveway, oh ya, that sound. Thats right, the snow plow, long live the snow plow! You know the one, that big yellow thing that comes along your street and leaves the 10 foot wall of ice at the bottom of your driveway after you just shovelled it. Sigh, horrible, just horrible, except it isn't, infact, it's amazing! I live for that guy to come, every kid does on our street. You see, living on a court as we do, Mr. snow plow man is kind enough to leave a HUGE mountain of snow smack dab in the middle of our street! What a guy! The rumbling sound that shakes the insides of every boy and girl on Stiver Court brings them all screaming to the front door, too excited to remember how to get the stupid zipper done up, and too excited to realize mr. left boot actually goes on the left foot, not the right one. The plow circles and circles, piling the snow higher and higher, each kid watching from inside with bated breath, as each dump of snow gets closer and closer to setting a new street record for 'the highest it's every been!' Then, all of a sudden, as soon as it started, it's over, with a honk and a salute, he's gone. All thats left, through the mist of settling snow, is Mount Stiver, it's back! What happens next can only be described as absolute insanity. The sound of doors slamming, garages opening, and shovels being grabbed as kids flock from houses with all the materials they need to make this one, the best one ever! Even at the ripe old age of 'almost-18', i still get pumped for this once a year event, that leads to hours of fun outside, and hours of painful toe thawing after words. I quickly grab the bro, the boots, and the multitude of shovels, pick axes, and mini firecrackers (i'll get to those in a minute).

I join the circle of gaping children around the heap and look up at this master piece. Then it starts, shovels in hand, we start the grind to the top for the first time. Unfourtunately for me i happen to be the one with the longest legs, with warrants me with being the first up...also means i get to be the one the younger folk get to mob and throw of the top first, every year. After i've scampered back up to the top, made peace with the group again, the plans begin. Even though the plans are the same every year, we still like to act like this is the first time this has heppened in our lives, and start from scratch. All in all, we dig, right into the middle, from three different spots, then once we get to the middle, we go down, way down, until we hit the street, which as of yet, we have not figured out a way to get past. This is the plan, this is the goal, and the digging starts. A couple people per tunnel, until we all hit in the middle. The hours go by, the tunnels get deeper, and yet, no pain or cold is felt by anyone. The adreneline is pumping so high, that you don't have time to feel pain, just pure satisfaction. The night continues to get later, and yet no kids have been called in for bed yet, and this is of course due to the fact that parents know, that this is the night, where bed time means nothing, and any parent who dares call in little Jimmy, receives snow balls dans la front porch until the door is shut and mommy is back inside. Once the middle is reached by all, we start to hollow it out, and dig down, thus making it big enough to fit everyone. The digging continues, until the good old clanking sound of shovel on pavement is heard. A cheer is let out, and the firecrackers are found from the front pocket. Yes, the firecrackers, God's gift to boys who like noise. Now these are no expensive high powered rockets that fly into the sky, these are mere sticks of fun, that you light, and listen to the music of explosion. But of course them alone are not good enough, they must be placed cermemonialy (if thats a word) on a metal shovel, and placed in the middle of our hole. I, of course, have to be the one to light the fuses and then scamper out. Everyone is backed up, i say my goodbyes to all, just in case, grab my lighter, and head in. I get to the middle, place mini bimbs on the metal shovel, light it, and hightail it outta there. I roll out, join the group, and wait, and wait...and wait... and then it happens, a sound that sends shivers up your spine, and a sight that kids dream of from day one. The sound of explosion on metal, and the sight of a fire ball exploding out from each entrance makes me smile for months, not to mention shakes every house on the street. Beautiful, just beautiful, brings a tear to my eye. This signals the sound of parents calling their kids in, knowing now that the night time festivities have commenced, and hot chocolate needs to made. Goodbyes are said, highfives are given all around, and rendevouz times are made for the next morning for the surrounding wall to go up. (You see it snows more than once, meaning snow plow man comes more than once, so a wall around it makes sure that none of our hard work is covered up by snow plow mans next batch of snow). What can i say, its science. Shovels are put away, feet and hands are painfully thawed out, and smiles cannot be wiped off the faces of each and every kid on Stiver court. Ah yes, the snow, how something so simple, can make hours of fun for so many is possible i do not know, but it does, and i live for it.

So to those of you, who hate the snow, who dread the sound of the snow plow man, i suggest this, take a second, and look at it for what it's really worth. So it may be cold, hard to drive in, and can make for one long trip to work/school in the morning, but hey, deal with it! It just may be the greatest thing since sliced bread, in fact...it was the greatest thing before sliced bread. So folks, enjoy it, cause it's here, and i can't wait for that sound to come...i've already got the shovels ready.

Infact...i think i hear something now... =)

J

It starts here

2005-11-21T19:37:00.000-05:00

It all started at 8:25 on a gloomy monday morning, deep in the grasp of November. The radio alertly alerted the unalert slug lying in bed unaware that a new week had begun. After a few puny yawns, some weak attempts at rolling over, and a seriously painful elbow smash on the surrounding wall, the radio was flicked off, and the eyes were flung open...rather slowly i might add. As the victim of another sun rising, he wiped the sleep out of his now mostly open eyes, gave a stretch, a moan, and started the treck to the shower.

Now most might think a morningly treck to the shower is an easy task, but ooo no, not for this genious. In the deep basement of a comfy house on a quiet neighbourhood in the heart of Unionville, this ones morning journey is far from normal. The first task takes supreme skill, as this room in the depths of the basement has no window, nor any light sorce at any time of the day, thus finding one's doorhandle in the blackest of black can be time consuming. After a few minutes of aimless arm waving, grunts, and snarls, the door handle is located, and the rather nipply air of the underworld he calls his domain is let in. Wearing a pair of mere boxers makes this a rather fun experience to say the least.

A step out onto the thin, warn away carpet reveilles that, no, its still not summer yet, as the crisp cold fabric presses gently against the newly awoken bear feet, waking them up, just a bit. A few steps are taken, eyes still desperately trying to see some source of light to guide him across what seems like a football feild towards the bathroom. After a few more aimless steps, he meets the first of many obstacles he encounters daily, the brother's hockey equipment, nicley thrown around to dry. This may seem easy enough to get around, but you try overpowering a mound of soaking wet, sharp, discombobulating hockey pads with a rather pungent odor, and see how you fair early in the morning. What happens next would cause great laughter if it were ever seen by the outside world, but it is a must seeing as the shower awaits. Not being able to jump over it, due to the obvious fact of being awake for less than 3 minutes, or the rather low ceiling he lives under, and not wanting to actually touch the heap, he is forced back into his cavern. The duvet cover is removed from the bed, wrapped neatly around entire body, and headed back out into the black abis a top this champion of the early morn. This next process took some time to get the hang of, as rolling over a pile of fuming plasticy whatever-it's-made-of stuff, wrapped in a duvet cover should do. Once the body is completely consumed by blanket, and is slumped on the floor, the rolling begins. The acent upwards can be difficult, depending from morning to morning on what peice of equipment happens to be at the front. This very morning was easy compared to some as a mere shin guard and jock strap lay at the forefront. Once at the top, a skate to the hip and helmet to the face quickly propels the roll of fabric down the other side. At this point, diziness can be at the max, as speeds of approximately 75 km/h have been reached during the spinning descent down the mountian. Once the ground is met, the covers untangled, and the minute or so of recovery is over with, the journey continues on to the next event. Next event simply titled, the sticks.

To make a long story short, the pile of wood his youngest kin calls the hockey stick collection, is always on the far side of the mountian...and is always, always stepped on, tripped over, and then yelled at.

Next comes the ever-so-joyful tile floor into the hallway that holds le bathroom destination. Each tile more cold than the last, testing the pain threshold of this poor soul. As every bone in the body is concentrated on making it to the end of this icy hall, all else forgotten, including the (for some reason) always open cubbord door at the end of this very hall. Now before this tale continues, i'm sure we all have had the feeling of stubbing a toe, and i'm sure we've all had an experience of having a cold limb of the body being hit, both causing severe pain on their own. But take one's icy cold feet, and connect it with the corner of a cubbord door, and you get yourself one loud yelp for mercy. Simple as that.

Next comes the bathroom, finally, the bathroom, the place once so sought after, now just a resting place for a throbbing body in need of some first aid. But the fun isn't quite over, ooo no, not just yet, because lying in front of him, smiling with it's evil little glare, looms the light switch. Ah yes, how such a little flick can cause such severe pain to the head is beyond me, but it does. The flick from pitch black, to bright as day, causes what one could say, the equivalent of a heart attack to the eyes. This sudden shock can cause head jerking, leg weakening, and even has been known to cause black outs to those unprepared. Nevertheless, it has to be done, and after three minutes of regaining consciousness, the shower is in sight. The removing of the boxers, calling of thy nature, and water turning on-idge brings this beaten trooper to the end of his journey, the sighs of relief from within the shower second that thought.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, why this young buck doesn't do the unthinkable, and turn on a light or two along the way, not waiting for the shocker at the end in the washroom. Why wouldn't he move the equipment the night before? Neatly place it out of the way, give a few squirts of febreeze, and be done with it? Why couldn't he pile the hundreds of synergies off to the side, out of harm's way? Why doesnt' this trooper just wear socks out of the room? Well to him, these are all valid points, and yes, mornings could be a simple flick of the radio, and comfortable jaunt to the shower. No pain, no suffering, no frostbite, no nothing, just shower time.

Well folks...to that this guy says...that would just be too easy...!

Enjoy the blog...

'Nuf said...