My Christmas Prayer

Come sit around the fire and enjoy some cabbage rolls.  I made them for the potluck this year.  Used Gramma/Mom's recipe and as evidenced by the large empty crock pot, they were pretty well received.  Don't worry though, I made a massive amount and have extras. 

And before we break this bread amongst friends I offer this prayer.

I thank the grandfathers for what they provide, from the ground we find beneath the fresh snow, to the knowledge we now share from the beginning of time.  I offer them a sacrifice of myself to honour their spirit.

I honour the spirits of joy, the gifts of the soul, and the selflessness that is the heart of this time.  No matter your background, your spiritual belief, your religion, we all keep this time together to recognize the promise of life through death. 

I say a blessing to my family and friends, those that already know my love, but even more so I make a promise of generosity to those I do not know, to those who may not know that even those without a personal stake care for them simply because they exist.

I extend my love to all those members of my world who may not always be seen, who may not even have been human.  I honour their individual nations, and give thanks to the sacrifices they have made so my feeble existence may continue.

And to you who may read, I love you.

Time for the Happy Music!

Come on in, and sit down. One of the horrible parts of getting older is that the people you looked up to, the folks who helped shape your life start to die. And this is one of those moments.

Unfortunately I didn't find out until now, but apparently one of my favorite teachers from high school passed away in July. Ms. Brenda McAlpine was one of those crazy teachers they make movies about. Someone who inspires their students to bigger and better things, and she always gave everything she possible could. Her students are in the thousands and I doubt there's a single one who doesn't love and respect what she taught.

What I remember most about her was the intense belief she inspired in the people around her. She just wouldn't say no, or never, or can't. Instead she would push everyone through her own belief in them to be that much better.

I ran into her when I was working at the Casino after my first daughter was born. She was still teaching at Martin, and had a class that essentially boiled down to a life skills class for kids that were in trouble, or danger of getting kicked out of school. She invited me as a former student who didn't have an easy life to come talk to the kids. I was thrilled to be invited and went. Mostly because I truly loved Ms. McAlpine as a teacher, but also because she wanted me to, and if Brenda wanted me to, damn straight I would.

So I go. And spend an hour getting questions tossed at me and talking honestly with these kids. About what turned my life around about the goals I had, where I was working and mainly speaking about the idea that your life is never over, you always have a chance to come back. And it was awesome. But the lesson wasn't over.

After the class, Ms. McAlpine asked me what my plans for my life was. I was pretty tapped out at that point, figured, work at the casino, enjoy my married life and raise kids. She said 'I always thought you would've made a good lawyer. I'm surprised you didn't do well in school.' And that was the seed that started the thought of going back to school. Because if Ms. McAlpine thought I would do good then damn straight I would.

She was going to be one of the people from my life, there's a long list of them, who I was going to phone or find after I graduated next semester to say thank you. To thank them for believing I could do it. And now. Well I guess a prayer for her will have to get those words to her. So in advance, thank you Ms. McAlpine.

Now talent? This was one gifted woman. She took the rock quartet arrangement for Little Shop of Horrors, and made a full band arrangement. We were the Skid Row Orchestra. And we were allowed to shout up at the stage, and make comments, and help get the crowd into the show. And during one performance, before this real bouncy happy song I shout out, 'It's Time for the Happy Music!' and the whole orchestra loses it, the cast lose it, and the crowd starts howling with laughter, almost falling over themselves with the hilarity. And after the performance, Ms. McAlpine says, 'That was great Rich. Never do it again!' Not just because it disrupted the show for about 5 minutes, because no one in the Skid Row Orchestra could get enough breath to play our instruments, but because it would never be as spontaneous or perfect as it was that moment. She recognized the beauty of that one shining moment and wanted it to stand on its own.

So to pay tribute to that genius, I give you some music from that fantastic musical.

Oh what a feelin'

Come on inside, I'm just working on a paper and in a fit of impromptu frustration I've decided to ditch out of work for a few minutes and write this little rant.

I love my kids.  My Little Bear and Little Crow are the most important things to me and make every day just that much better.  They are so incredible, just looking at pictures of them as they grow up makes my heart swell and I can be reduced to tears by happy memories. 

And then comes this little worm of guilt.  This little horrible dark stain that seems to want to intrude on a lot of my life at times.  Sometimes it likes to peek out and help make things seem more detached than they should be and it gets me angry.  Because really, the only reaction I have to negativity seems to be anger.  I'm good at it, and it can masquerade as righteous indignation, as moral outrage, or as justified defense of those I love, but what it comes down is being a generally ornery person.

And the one person I'm usually angry with is myself.  Because I'm the asshole that has created the situations that mean I can't be with my girls all the time.  I'm the one that has made it so they can't be together and grow up as sisters under the same roof.  I'm the asshole that has cost myself love and happiness with a family that is all together and united.  Because I'm a generally ornery person.

Now I'm not saying I should or could change.  I mean sure, from what I used to be I'm a pretty mellow guy, but I can still fly off the handle at a moments notice.  Like the experience with wannabe tough biker dude.  But that's a story for another day.  And it's not to say that the anger hasn't been useful at times.  I make a great person to have on your side when someone is trying to screw you over.  Once I get rolling, very few things stop me from getting what I want.  Unless what I want is a healthy long term relationship and a life where my girls grow up together.  That I pretty much have fucked up, cuz I'm a generally ornery person.

I think I'm making progress.  I mean, sure I still get angry, but I'm able to hold it in check and release it in adequate ways, like writing, or video games, or singing, or ... welll shit, there's no one to have some hard angry sex with so that one isn't an option.  Probably because I'm a generally ornery person.

I don't think I ever had a point with this, and really, it may come across as a little whiney but I prefer to see it as self-exploration.  I'm happy I can at least say to myself, 'You stupid fuck, look what you did.  Dummy up!'

For Gramma

Come on in and watch the fire, thought I'd share one of my Gramma's favorite singers with y'all.

This first one was her favorite.  I love Don Williams as well, and can't help but think of Gramma and Granpa when I hear this song. 



And this ... this is just one fantastic song for everyone today. 



That's one thing about Gramma, she was always thankful.  She had the thunder and the rain, and all she ever wanted was that one good day.  She certainly gave us lots.

One year ago

Come on in and grab a seat, don't mind me I'm just talking with a loved one.  Yeah, that shadow right there that keeps shaking her hips. 

It's one year ago today that she passed.  And while the world could be said to become a little less rich for some people, those same people are the ones who will carry forward the beauty and strength that was my Gramma.  And so to celebrate the wonderful woman that she was, again, this day I will share a story or two about who she was.  And anyone who reads, I invite you to share one you might have of her. 

I ever tell you folks it was because of her that I was able to get my Little Bear back and keep her?  I mean sure, I did all the fighting and legal stuff, but the practicality of it was that I worked a job with weird hours, and LB wasn't quite 18 months so couldn't get into any daycares.  So she came into town and stayed with me for the while I needed her to so I didn't have to worry about it.  And because of that Little Bear and Gramma became very close very fast.  And it's a bond that's important to this day.

LB comes up to me the other day and says 'Can I skip school on Monday?'  and I asked why and she explained the anniversary and I asked her to think about her Granny and what she might have done.  Last night LB said to me, 'I'm going to school and in choir I'm going to sing my best, my loudest, and every single note I'm going to dedicate to Granny.  I'm going to be happy she's still with me.'  She floored me with that last line.

After that initial stay with us to get LB to 18 months, Granny would come in every month or so for a week and hang out with LB.  She would make her 'Special Granny Mac'n'Cheese' which was Amber's favorite lunchtime meal, and Granny made it somehow that was just a little different and tasted perfect.  She never did share that sooper sekrit one with me so if anyone knows? 

Anyways, those weeks, LB would rush home to play snakes'n'ladders with Granny, and later learned how to play Cribbage.  Little Bear loved and cherished every single moment she got to spend with Granny, and I'm sure if it were ever an option, the only person she might live with beside her Dad would be Granny. 

Part of that was just that LB loves to love her family, but most of it was that Granny loved her great grand children, loved that she had created this legacy and got to enjoy it and love it and teach it.  And that love was something that just flowed from her.

By the time Little Crow was born, Granny was pretty wizened, and LC would have been about 2 or so, and of course had that first initial reaction of 'Whoa old!'  But then, she crawled into Granny's lap and while my youngest isn't the cuddliest girl some times, she just curled up and snuggled into Granny.  Was one of the strangest reactions I've ever seen a kid go through. 

So today, if you don't feel like sharing a story, or you didn't know my Gramma, I want you to do something for me, and for her.  I want you to love someone.  I want you to show that love with such intensity all they can do is just enjoy it.  I want you to let that love guide you to actions that solidify that love you're showing.  And I want you to take one moment to just hug them, and say 'You're important to me and I love you.'  Just to make sure they know.  Because these are all things my Gramma did in her life.

UFC 123 Thoughts

Come on in and watch the shadows fight... got some nice chicken soup to enjoy.

So I am a fan of martial arts, and mixed martial arts as s sport and having watched the last PPV I'm a little dismayed at the response to a few of the fights.  Particularly the main event.  I'm unsure what people want or think or if in the end the only idea is to continue to make controversy rather than adequately report on the event.  Either way quite a few of the MMA media sites I go to are all up in arms about Machida losing a split decision.  And there are a few other points I'd like to go over.

First off, let me explain something to Mike Goldburg and Joe Rogan, the two colour commentators for the UFC.  Your job should not be to continue to hype the fights once the PPV is bought.  I mean, seriously guys, if I'm watching, I've bought it, provide some insight or some interesting things on the techniques being used.  To continue to sell the fight just makes you seem cheap and whorish.  Still better than Strikeforce's commentators.  But not much.  I think our refrain when it's all the guys together to watch is something along the lines of 'STFU Joe!'

If anyone thinks that because Blow Job Penn knocked out an aging Matt Hughes, someone who has not fought a quality WW since his fight with GSP, somehow proves Penn deserves another run at the title, let me correct that thought.  Hughes is susceptible to big strikes because he doesn't know how to move his head.  Penn came out, caught one, and then set up the big right, and Hughes did nothing to defend it.  If it's true that Penn is going to fight Fitch next, we'll all see how unlikely it is for Penn to make a title run.

Now let's look at the main event.  It was slow.  Jackson has knockout power, especially when it comes to counter punching, and Machida is an avoidance fighter who counter strikes when opponents get over extended chasing him.  I don't know why anyone thought this would be a big exciting fight because for both fighters, they rely on the other fighter for their style to work and in this case, neither one sets the other off nicely.  Jackson's style works best against brawlers, as evident in his crushing knock outs of Liddel and Silva.  Jackson himself is not a balls out brawler.  He prefers to take a few shots and then unload when opponents are startled that he's still standing, and have their guards wide open after throwing a series of blows.  Dude is tough.  Machida on the other hand requires a fighter to come at him.  He is the least engaging of fighters out there.  He dances away continually, waiting for his opponent to tire or expose themselves and then he strikes.  So right there, bad bad style match up.  There was no way this fight was going to not go to the judges. 

Now let's look at the complaints as to why people think the judging fucked up the decision.  Lots of folks feel that since the only significant portion of the fight occurred in the third when Machida did indeed dominate Jackson with a flurry of blows, followed by a take down and mount, he should have won the fight.  Some others point to Fight Metric's analysis of the fight, that Machida landed more significant strikes in round one and two, and that their score cards show either a draw by ten point must or a win by Machida for being more effective. 

Normally I'm a big fan of Fight Metrics but I'm going to have to disagree with their win for Machida because A) The judging is on a ten point must system, and B) scoring a round a draw should only happen if NONE of the criteria for judging is viewed as being in favour for either fighter.  What are those criteria you ask?  Effective striking and grappling, aggression, and octagon control.  Those are the standards they are given and what they must score the fight on.

So the first round folks agree was Jackson's, and the third everyone agrees was Machida's so let's focus on that tricky second round, which FM says is a draw, and some folks are crying for Machida to have won, and one judge did award to him.  According to FM, of the five categories they track for striking, three went to Rampage, with the biggest difference coming in the total strikes.  As far as significant strikes?  Machida had one more than Rampage, but total strikes?  WOW, 28 to 11 for Jackson.  That's a lot more activity.  Of course, let's be honest, in a five minute round, a total of 39 strikes thrown by both fighters is pretty fucking tame, and striking could almost be seen as non-existent.  So let's look at the grappling.  Oh wait.  There wasn't any.  There was one clinch attempted by each fighter, and only Jackson succeeded in his.  So effective striking and grappling could be fairly muddy to determine.  So what does that leave us?  Aggression and octagon control.  Having watched the fight, Machida was backing up a lot, Jackson was keeping the center of the ring and dictating Machida's movements, and for the most part, Jackson was the aggressor.  I mean c'mon 28 to 11 strikes total?  Cut me loose here folks, aggression, as little as there was, was in favour of Jackson.  The appearance through most of the fight was that Jackson was stalking down Machida and Machida was continually dancing away.  So yeah I woulda scored the round for Jackson myself.

The point here is that if your style requires you to continually back up, dance away, and wait for the other fighter to engage, guess what chumly?  You're gonna lose a lot of decisions once people figure out how to take advantage of that.  And why by garsh, someone did.  As well it's utterly hilarious, that these same people who are bitching for a draw are the same folks who bitched when Cecil Peoples, the dumbest MMA judge on the planet, said that Machida dictated the first fight against Rua because he backed away.  He just ignored aggression.  Let's have some continuity people.

One of the funny things about youth ...

Come on in and grab some celery, good tasty snack.  The fire is really stoked up and the skins down, that wind is getting to be a real killer out there.

So I guess most of us in this little story would've been 18 or there abouts.  And we decided to be 'adult' and start a weekly poker game because someone found a copy of Hoyle's card games.  Yeah we were nerds even back then.

And there we are all talkin', and four of us had recently started dating regularly and well, young men being young men, and having regular sex, suddenly a few folks started bragging.

2 sez, "So I'm the god of two!"

I sez, "How you figure?"

2 sez, "Well last night, we did it twice!"

3 sez, "Oh whatever, that makes me the god of three then."

6 sez, "Then I'm the god of six, because we did it six times last night!"

I start to laugh, "Well I'm happy with the once I did it last night.  'Course, that's all I needed to satisfy her."

Ahhh youth.  And me being a complete asshole.  :)

A video lesson in why it's a bad idea to act like an ass hat before a fight

I've certainly had a busy fire these past couple of days.  Stare in it again and find out why acting like a cocky SOB can backfire on you.



Not that I condone the assault of a ref or the continued beating of a downed opponent, but c'mon, did you see the way he was acting?  It was kinda like when Perez Hilton got his red carpet right hook.  Sure, no one should be assaulted, but sometimes they still deserve it.

Another nice one

Come on in and watch the fire.  I'm not sure how many out there know about Joshua Radin, he's a buddy of Zach Braff's and this song was featured on an episode of Scrubs, so maybe a few of you have heard it.  But I love the song. 



And I'll take the blue ones every time too. 

Time and tides

Come on and grab a bit of food, we've got some left over pizza, and some tasty Royal Gala apples.  I sure do love the taste of those apples.  I thought I might pontificate a bit on the nature of teenagers and my experience with my Little Bear.

I love my Little Bear.  She's one talented girl, very caring and wonderful.  She's funny, charming, beautiful.  I don't doubt that I couldn't have gotten any luckier than I have to be able to raise such a fine young lady.  Of course, the Little Crow is turning into another pure miracle, so maybe I'm doing something right.  Probably just finding the right chick to knock up.  Ha ha.

And that's why these teenage years or so frustrating.  Because on one hand I totally understand the reasons for what she's doing, why she's acting the way she is, and why it is necessary.  Doesn't make it any easier to deal with the emotional aspect.  In fact it almost makes it worse.

I understand that she is testing the limits of who she is and what she wants to be.  I know that she is attempting to redefine herself amongst her world, her peer group, herself.  She is taking those first steps to be a lone individual who will stand on her own.  And I like that, I want her to learn all the things she needs to so she can be that incredible woman I know she will be.

The flip side of that is the petulance.  The distrust.  The view that somehow, by my mere existence, I am somehow holding her back, or unfairly restricting her ability to be who she is.  Which is kinda funny since I don't put those kind of restrictions on her.  In fact, she's rather free to do what she wants, as long as she fulfills her obligations.  I advise, but I don't lay out what she can and can't do, she has the freedom to do her chores in a fashion she feels is best, so on and so forth. 

And for the most part, she's actually pretty good at making those decisions.  I'm very proud of her and she knows it.  But let me be honest here folks.  There are times when I've got the most delicious desire to club her like a baby seal.  I tell you there is this pose she strikes, and this look in her eyes she gets, when I ask a rather benign question like 'So what was with that status update?' or 'What are you and your twinaroo doing tonight?'  And it's like a switch, POW, she's off into justification mode.  So I calmly listen to her berate me about what is 'really' going on and how I don't understand, and then I nod and explain, 'Just curious, I'm not saying you were wrong, just wanting to know what's going on.'  And rather than a, 'sorry for flying off the handle,' I get, 'Yeah well...'

Lotsa fun with a teenager.  Don't get me wrong, this isn't a lament, I'm not troubled by this.  Well that's not entirely true.  My kidlet can be a little hurtful in the way she treats good old dad, but the fact is I'm proud of her and her Independence because that's the kind of daughter I was hoping to raise.  A strong, capable person, who is comfortable taking care of herself.  It's kinda cool.

'Course, I still get the urge to kick her ass so hard she poops shoe leather for a week. 

The payoff

Come on in, the den is a bit chaotic, it's a busy day today.  Grab some garlic sausage and mini dill pickles and pull up a stump.

So I had trouble sleeping and I decided to ramble on about the price of football, and it was significantly personal, but it also made it sound rather dark and foreboding.  And that should really be explained.  You see football is just like anything else, and what it comes down to is the equation of what you put in is what you get out.  And more than that, the payoff is huge.  Bigger than it should be really.

Part of that is the team.  That concept that allows you to understand how important it is that working together creates results that are far beyond the combined efforts of individuals.  It magnifies itself.  It's a gestalt.  Love that word, go look it up.  And the payoffs, for me personally were huge.

I went into high school a very out of shape, terrified grade nine student, and when I graduated, I felt confident and capable.  I learned to trust myself and the people with me.  I have repeatedly said, and will continue to say it, that without the experience of football, with the way my life had been heading, I would be in jail, dead, or both.  So here is the payoff.

The payoff is the ability to expect more than you thought you could do from yourself.  Football is a very physically and mentally demanding sport, and at times it may seem like more than an one person can do.  But that's just it, the team can elevate you.  But as an individual you are called upon to do things you never thought possible, and that realization, that expectation of better than you were before will find its way into other parts of your life and drive you to do better each time.

The payoff is the concept of team over self, where self is still responsible for themselves yet the welfare is about the team.  Something I often coach is the reality that in football, when you screw up, you miss a block, you drop a pass, you miss a throw, you blow a tackle, you lose coverage, it is very rarely the individual who made the mistake who pays for that mistake.  There is a give and take within football that requires the team to be one large cohesive unit that supports and drives one another to bigger and better things.  It is both micro and macro in its application.  Miss a pass block, the quarterback gets hurt, not you.  The offense doesn't control the ball and put points on the board, the defense is tired and on the field too long.  If the defense is unable to shut down the opposing teams offense, the offense has less time to try to score and must play a more desperate game to catch back up.  To win, both sides have to do their job, to do their job each unit has to do their jobs, and in each unit for each of those jobs to be effective every single individual has to do their job right.  I could ramble on endlessly about all the little examples but I'm hoping you get the point.

The payoff is the respect for opposition.  Learning that you don't want to win at all costs, you don't want to belittle your opponent, you want to respect and challenge yourself.  You can't do that if you think too little or too much of your opponent.  You must see them as an equal and be willing to win or lose, but even more than that, you have to be willing to lay everything you can on the field.  What respect do you show an opponent when you play soft?  When you play cheap?  You must see your opponent in the same light you wish to be seen.  There is no animosity, instead a respect born of mutual challenge. 

The payoff is the family.  The people you play football with will forever be attached to you.  I run into past team mates and it's like they're old friends or long lost cousins.  We are genuinely interested in each other's success and what we've been doing.  We ask after our kids, we share funny moments, and we talk football.  We may have nothing in common beyond that shared sport but it is enough to create a bond due to the intensity of the sport.

The payoff is the control.  The body control, the mental control, the emotional control.  You learn quickly on a football field that without an incredible amount of discipline you will not succeed.  You need to know exactly how to use your body, exactly what to do and the techniques involved, you must never let your emotions get the better of you, and that sometimes your mind gets in the way, and to let it wander while your body, that knows what to do due to hundreds of hours of practice, goes to work.  This isn't about tightly weaving yourself into an automaton, but instead to find the control through careful practice and release.  Zen if you will.

The payoff is the release.  The emotions involved in football are intensified because of the seriousness, the potential for bodily harm, the investment of every single player, coach, parent, fan, and official.  You think the officials aren't invested?  How much vitriol gets spewed their way?  They care too.  But the release of that emotion.  Be able to release it and understand even outside of football it is acceptable to release it.  You will scream for joy, for triumph, you will worry, panic, stress yourself out.  You will cry.  You WILL cry.  And it is something that is perfectly allowed first inside, then outside of the sport.

The payoff is undefinable.  Even without a championship, you will find yourself reflecting on life, on where you are, and what you do, and why you do it.  And some little piece of something said somewhere on the field will come back and you'll smile.  You won't always know where it will come from but it will help define you.  For good or ill you will forever remember those team mates, those games, those moments, those joys, those pains, and know it was all worth it.

Why do I share this?  So you know that even with a price that will forever affect you, the payoff is just as great, if not greater, than the price.  So you understand why parents enroll their kids in football, encourage them to risk their bodies and health, why the parents put up with all the time, why the coaches spend not just the time in practice and games, but hours upon hours working on strategies and plays.  The payoff will always be reaped.

Late night ramblings

So here we are in the den.  It's dark out, darker than normal.  The shadows are very playful, even the big mean ones.  And I can't sleep.  Sometimes it happens.  Well it happens a lot actually, but usually I just read through it.  Sometimes that works, most times really.  Right now I'm all antsy and my tummy is upset.

So in case it wasn't painfully obvious from a bunch of other places, I love football.  A LOT.  It is easily one of my biggest passions and something that continues to fascinate and enthral me after all these years.  I love the game, and will most likely continue to coach and participate in it for years and years.  Probably until they cart my body off to the nearest medical school to be hacked up by medical students.

And I want all of you to consider having your child play football.  Kinda.  I read an interesting article by Chris Schultz on the TSN website when he talks about how he feels when parents ask him if their kids should play football, and he's pretty honest about it.  I rather liked what he had to say.  It's very true that football comes with a very heavy price.  But he's somewhat short on what that price is beyond the physical, mostly because he was speaking very specifically to the violence he witnessed in that week of football.

And trust me I understand that price.  I have:
1)  Two completely fucked up knees that make all kinds of interesting noises, the right one more so than the left.  The right will also swell up to roughly cantaloupe size when the weather changes. 
2)  A shattered elbow that never healed correctly.  It was literally shattered, but because of how physically built I was it held together but now under x-rays looks something like a school of blow fish. 
3)  A blown out set of tendons in my right ankle.  It was my usual starting foot and took the majority of punishment on initial contact.  It creaks audible. 
4)  Very messed up nasal passages.  Bone crunching hits in my second year with a helmet that didn't fit properly caused broken noses.  A lot.
5)  Last and certainly not least, over a dozen medically recorded concussions, two of which were serious enough to require medical supervision, and which research has now made a tentative link to my depression.

This is not to mention the litany of injuries I've witnessed.  Some I caused, some I watched happen, and some I still get queasy about when I remember them.  That guy who I knocked out?  Guh.  That one still makes me feel bad. 

But he didn't talk about the price you pay for failure.  For those times you still come up short.  The moments when you doubt yourself because you thought you did everything you could and you still didn't win, and for the rest of your life you think about it and wonder what else you could have given.  The nights when you're thirty five and thinking about that city final game when you shattered that right elbow in the first series of the game, and then had it taped up and played out the rest, and wonder if that might have made your performance worse, and even with that sacrifice of your body that you're still paying for you didn't win, and was it worth it? 

He didn't talk about the drive that comes from wanting perfection and never getting it.  That perfection that other people can't even imagine but you can see it, you can feel/taste/smell/hear it and know exactly what has to happen but you always come up a little shy.  How that desire for perfection seeps into the rest of your life and hounds you to do things no one else will for that exact reason.  You will step up, you will take the hit, and you will like it just because it's nice to be known as that unstoppable guy.

And he didn't tell about the vanity.  The pride that comes from being a part of a true team, of having brothers who are a part of your heart and will never ever leave you.  How you remember those you fought with in the trenches, in the open field, in the end zone, and how when you meet them all you can talk about is football, past/present/future and how it pulls at you still.

He doesn't talk about how no one who is a true football player ever gives up the game voluntarily.  Sure, guys say they retire, and it is made to seem as their choice, but it is usually a forced issue, one where it is one thing or the other and no matter what you say, you would always give up just about anything to strap on those pads one more time and head out onto the gridiron and test yourself against the very best you could.  You can close your eyes and still remember the first time it took hold of you and your entire body bent itself to become the best football player you could be and how you will never give up that goal, even after twenty years, it still drives you.  You want it more than a junkie wants his fix, more than new lovers want to sink their desires in each other, more than a mother wants to see their newborn's face. 

Why do I tell you all this?  So maybe you'll think of those of us who still talk of our glory days as more than an Al Bundy joke.  So maybe those of you with children who will wish to play football can properly council them on what they're getting into.  So maybe when you see me out there coaching a new generation of football players you'll understand why I seem so harsh, why all us coaches seem so harsh.  And finally, when you see us passionate about it, when you see us give up so much of ourselves for it, you will understand why we have that passion and why we are willing to give up so much. 

Idiots

Come on in and grab a stump, time fer some rantin'!  Oh here's some Pc Greek Flavoured potato chips too.  Tasty!

Alright, now I'm pretty sure very few young people (Teenagers) read this blog, but that doesn't mean you don't know some teenagers.  Also there is another aspect of this that I want to talk about that is related.  But let's get right to the meat of the issue.

So being a good parent I look over (spy) on my kid's effbook page.  And I click on the pictures that her friends put up and I check them out from my page.  Meaning they are not my friends on effbook but I can view their entire album.  And what do I find in these albums?  In almost every single case I looked into, I found pictures of underage drinking, with a whole fucking page of comments that all translate to this idiotic statement:  'Dooood, I was so wasted that time!' 

Why do I know it's an idiotic statement?  Because I've said it.  Anyways.  All of you may be saying to yourself now, 'Why does Coyote give a shit about underage drinking?  I'm pretty sure he was drinking fairly young.'

And you would be right.  I was.  I was getting into bars at about the age said daughter is now.  Which is 14.  But here's the difference.  I DIDN'T PUBLICIZE IT!  Admittedly, we didn't have the tech then that we do now to instantly publicize yourself, but it's not like I had t-shirts made up to proclaim my underage drinking, nor did I brag about it in front of teachers, or coaches, or parents. 

Which is WHAT YOU'RE DOING WHEN YOU POST THAT SHIT ON FACEBOOK!!!  You are essentially bragging in front of a bunch of people, some of whom may actually be a cop, that you're engaging in illegal activity.  and it's not really you that will pay, it'll be your parents or the owners of the house where you got wasted. 

Let me explain the deal here so you fuckers won't ruin it for the next generation.  There is an agreement, that we all know the teens are going to drink, and so we as adults let it slide as long as other precautions, like asking for a ride, or a safe place to sleep, are observed.  We're down with that.  And the cops are down with that too, they'd rather let the parents handle their drunk stupid kids.  But when you make that shit PUBLIC then they're going to have to come down on you.  So knock it off you fucking morons!

And that's not to mention the whole 'memory of the Internet.'  Don't know what that is?  Essentially it's the theory that anything put on the Internet will remain there forever.  It will always be there, always accessible.  do you know what that means?  It means if the job market again turns into the scary dog eat dog of the '90s, the people who hire for the really big jobs will have people on staff who will dig up this shit.  How will that go, sitting there, third interview, thinking 'Yah, got me a killer job!' and BLAM!  There is a picture of you 14, with a bunch of comments underneath about how you got drunk, so drunk you made out with some one, and you woke up without your panties and OH HOW FUN IT WAS!  Get it?  That shit follows you.  It's not fair but it is what happens.

Speaking of Internet memory.  All you fuckers that go everywhere with your camera and take pictures at the bar?  Knock it the fuck off.  Ok?  Not everything needs to be recorded.  Sometimes it's fun to be able to tell the story without a damn pictographic essay.  And if you REALLY need to keep the damn camera going, or are one of those assholes who can't stop pulling out the camera on your phone, do two things out of consideration and respect for other people.  A) Ask the people you are photographing if it is alright.  B)  Try to situate your pictures so you don't have a bunch of people in the background who DID NOT give you permission to take their picture.  It's just a matter of respect people. 

Craziness, judicial style!

Come on in and enjoy the fire. Brought some eggs with me today, and some green onions and turkey and plan on making up some really tasty scrambled eggs, how many you want? Two, three?

So a friend of mine did one of his 'I'm busy talk about these subjects' posts. And we weighed in and of course, when the talk is of justice, I tend to go my own way compared to a lot of folks. It's because I have a hard time seeing the point of what we do now and how it is of any help or use to society in general. Anyways, go check out that post, come back here, your eggs will be ready by then, and we'll dive into this idea of my perfect 'jail.' So to speak.

First off there are a lot of different styles of justice.  Right now in Canada we use a mixture of punitive and corrective justice.  The idea's when mixed are kind of strange and send mixed signals and for the most part, I don't find that either really works.  The reason they don't work is not because they are necessarily wrong, or completely ineffective but because they are completely removed from the events which caused the incarceration.

So if they don't work because of their separation, what do I advocate?  Restorative justice.  What exactly is restorative justice?  Justice based on the ideal that the individual who committed the crime must now restore what was taken or fix the issues created by the crime.  It means direct involvement by the criminal to actively understand and face the issues created by their crime.

There's a lot more details to work out but here's how my 'ideal' jail would work.  First off, it wouldn't be a jail, it would not be some place just to incarcerate individuals as punishment.  I'm sure we can mostly agree that punitive justice doesn't work for the most part.  I would rather have a remote compound that was set up more like a university.  But that's getting ahead of the overall concept so let's take a step back.

First off, the trial process, that makes sense.  But I think as part of the sentencing I would incorporate a much further application of victim's impact and I would make the victims an active part of the process, where they could speak to the complete nature of how the crime affected them, and would have a hand in setting certain marker posts that would make them feel that the crime was made up for.  Those limits are not necessarily monetary, but wouldn't preclude them. 

But the biggest part of this would be multiple encounters that would make the criminal fully understand and face the impact of the crime in an ongoing and comprehensive way.  To fully participate in this idea you have to understand what you did and how far reaching the effects of crime can be.  And then actively come up with ways in which you can attempt to rectify the situation.

So here's the deal, the person is guilty of their crime, and they face their victim(s) and are sent off to this complex that is fairly remote.  And the length of their sentence is 'until they feel comfortable back in society.'

And here is where I get all the 'whuuuuuuuaaaaaaat's?  Yeah, different right?  OK let me explain this part. 

You have to participate in the standard assessments of skills and abilities as well as profiles in both medical and mental health, as well as stay long enough for on going meetings with the victim(s) of the crime.  After that you are given a space in the complex to sleep and are given any opportunity you have to help yourself with the same programs available to the general public.  Obviously there will be suggestions for future endeavors and counselling but the main thing here is to explore yourself and your situation and how you got to be where you are. 

The place will have a basic farm where they will explore different complimentary growing methods, and different workshops to keep the farm running as well as teach those skills, and everyone will receive a taxable wage for the work they are performing.  They will be expected to pay room and board from their wages, and in general the only real difference between being at the complex, and being out in the 'normal' world will be the general remoteness and the availability of counselling opportunities so the individual can come to terms with themselves and learn to fix the problems they create.  This is of course including dealing with continual sessions with the victim to ensure that the situation is restored. 

You can leave at anytime.  With the understanding that continued violation of other people's rights will result in your being shipped off to an island up north to help solidify Canada's claim on it.  this should not be viewed as a threat to you, it is more an aspect of society protecting itself from those that choose to not play well with others. 

That's my crazy perfect jail, in a thumbnail sketch that requires a lot more definition and overall thought but that's the general premise.  Poke holes at will.

C'mon you faggos!

Come on in and watch the fire.  Y'know I've always been a huge fan of the Kids in the Hall, and some of their humour/social commentary is just brilliant.  Like this.



That's right. That horrible T. I hate T's! HAHAHAHAH!

Thanksgiving Prayer

Come on in, it's been a weird couple weeks. Between sickness, kitties, and teenagers (Oh we'll discuss that later) it has been a bit rough. And I have listened to a bunch of folks bring up the darker aspect of Thanksgiving, the holiday which apparently commemorates the colonization of the First Nations in North America. Which I really don't see it as such, instead I like to see it as the celebration of the intersection of culture. Despite what came after, it is worthy to celebrate that meeting, that doubling, the enhancement and loss. So in that spirit I offer this Thanksgiving Day Prayer:

I thank the Grandfather's for the wisdom they've given us all, in letting us learn all we can to both survive the world of old and now this one.

I thank the People, for the spirit they retain despite their worn bodies and minds. I wish they could see it past the pain and dependence.

I thank the various Governments who have made it their policy to eliminate cultures and people from the face of the planet. You have shown the true depth of the human spirit, both its highs and lows.

I thank everyone around me for the myriad of voices they add to the chorus of the world, the web of existence, the Sacred Circle.

I thank my immediate Family, for they have given me all that I am.

I thank you, who listen to my prayer, in all worlds and ways, for without you there is nothing else.

Worst. Sneeze. Ever.

The den is a mess. Let me tell you why ...


It starts when you go into a coughing fit, and your body is heaving so much that your stomach decides it is damn sick of being ignored so it starts clenching, and even though you've eaten very little, your stomach squeezes out everything it can. Lucky for you, you were in the bathroom so your coughing/vomiting fit is contained. Or so you thought. See the coughing, that set off your sinus to drip, and it hits the wrong part of your sinuses, and mid heave, you start to sneeze. And so, after a few little chuffing noises, you stop puking, and that's when the big sneezes kick off. Those big woofing kind that clears out the sinuses of the person next to you. And that's when the stomach and back cramps kick in...

One Fine Feline

Come on in and watch the shadows right there. See that really active one, the one that is chasing all the small ones, while the big mean looking one watches? That's one of my old kitties. That's BD. He was let go today, let go to move on because he was in so much pain and no longer loved to dance. And now. Look at him. He's dancing again.

See this cat lived twenty years. Twenty! That's one of the oldest I've ever had a cat. Well he was my mom's cat. But that was probably twenty years more than he should have had, were it not for my mom.

She found him under her car after visiting a friend. He was way too small to be away from his mother, and was mewling. LOUDLY. This cat had one of the loudest YAWOWS out there, and his purr box was extra big. Anyways, he was malnourished, his ears were infested with mites, and he was dehydrated. We had a cat already but my mom just couldn't leave him. So she brought him home and said 'We're going to nurse him back to health and then take him to the pound.' You see how well that went hmm?

Anyways, his name is really weird right? BD. It stands for two things: 1) Brain Dead, and 2) Buster Douglas. He was so weak but so playful, he would jump around and bash into things, and then add to this the incredible damage the mites did to his inner ears (They were so thick, all you had to do was lightly scratch inside his ear and you'd come away with a near ounce of mite crud) that he constantly looked like the kitty equivalent of the Keystone Kops. Kittystoned Kop. Heh. And of course, he was tough. Our other cat, my cat, Natasha, was one of the meanest cats to ever grace this planet. She intimidated German Sheppards, she was that bad ass. But BD, he always wanted to play, so he'd jump Tash, and get beaten to a pulp, bounce back up and be right back on her. And at the time, Buster Douglas, some tune up fight for Mike Tyson, came out, got beat up, and beat Tyson for the title. And that was our new kitty. Tough and too stupid to know he should have died.

And that's what made him neat. He would escape the house when he was younger, and go feral for two weeks. Then come back because he loved people. He was a super mouser, and ate his kills. Trust me, nuthin' grosser than cleaning up dead mouse pukies. Gah. And he was incredibly strong. And while he was entirely black, it was actually patterned black and looked like tiger stripes, and he was built like one, thick chest, slightly in turned front paws, fast, killer with his claws against all things that needed to be killed, which did not include humans. With people, he just loved to meet'em. And beautiful? Sleek fur and about the greenest eyes I've ever seen on a cat.

Anyways, today, my parents took him to the vet. He'd started to get dementia, he would take ten minutes just to lie down, and he wasn't always making it to the kitty litter. And he was always in pain, and about a week ago, he stopped playing at all with their dog, Princess Kneesa.

So he's gone now, kinda. Like I said, watch that shadow that doesn't stop moving. That's BD, that's him, chasing down everything he possibly can. If you stay still, he'll even come cuddle for a bit. Love ya BD.

Bizarre

Come on in, enjoy the heat and steam. I've closed up the den a bit because I need to sweat out this cold.

And that of course is the irony of the situation. Yesterday I talk about how great my health has been lately and today my throat is aching, my nose is entirely stuffed up, and I'm exhausted. So I'm going to spend the day resting, sipping some liquids, and trying to get over this annoying cold.

So this sparked something I want to talk about in between a couple things my wonderful friends cenobyte and Viper Pilot have posted recently. And that is the extremes. The extremes of belief and religion and such.

Reading about ceno's experience with some teachers who balked at books on time travel, and of course the hilarious searching for signal, made me sad, and tired, like herself, because it really is a bizarre concept. The idea that ideas lead people away from God is rather bizarre. It's the restriction of ideas that lead people away from religion.

Example time. Buddy of mine I work with, great guy, and very intelligent. He, and his family are very committed Christians. Of course he loves dirty jokes, spends his days at work making y'mama jokes about me, and is a huge fan of tech blogs and questioning the very nature of the 'truth' through various podcasts and such. In fact, I think that's what makes him a very good Christian. Because he constantly questions. And that's the funny part. He describes himself as a former goody two-shoes who bought hook, line, and sinker into the 'party line' that ceno has described, as he went to Christian orientated schools, until he got into high school and realized that a lot of what he was taught in school about the world was a complete lie.

And then he revised that, he explained that a lot of the 'dangers' of the world, as he'd been told, were not dangers at all, merely parts of life where people could overindulge, or find issue, but that his faith, and his belief in the core values that he was taught were still just as valid as ever. He started his own path and found his faith and spirituality.

And that's really quite cool, because he got past the indoctrination, part of the reason both ceno and I agree that until someone is able to understand the decision they shouldn't be required to be a part of any particular religion, and found what his personal relationship with God would be. That's pretty neat.

So part of the problem that bothers me about that indoctrination is the 'us vs. them' attitude that is fostered in it. We're right and they're wrong, the vast over-generalizing that assigns people to specific beliefs when they should be considered in each situation individually. What, because D.C. Scott was a confederation poet, and the Indian Commissioner who wrote scads on the eventual assimilation and destruction of the First Nations people and culture, that I should say all Canadian poets are racists? Hell even Scott wasn't a racist, he was mere a product of ill conceived science and reason.

Which brings me to the logical fallacy that is used and then mocked in academia everywhere. The Hitler reduction. And while the Pope was wrong for using it, let's not let Mr. Dawkins off the hook either. He did the EXACT same thing! Really, it's quite like two kids, 'Hitler was your fault poopy head!' 'No he was YOUR fault, poopy head!' Really? And this pisses me off because I have read quite a bit of Dawkins stuff and I find his central argument popping up in a lot of places, and even in my friends' mouths. And it is an identical indoctrination and over generalization as religion does.

Somehow Dawkins thinks the only rational people are those that reject religion and spirituality all together. You can't be rational if you believe in any form of God. And how is that any different from the over generalization that if you don't believe in God you can't know right from wrong? Because as we all know science and reason have NEVER been the cause of anything bad. EVER. Like old social theories that created systemic racism. DDT, thalidomide, CFBs, atomic waste, strip mining, and a vast cornucopia of scientific 'advances' have brought us worlds of grief, therefore, reason and science are evil and anyone associated with them should be put to the cross.

And of course this will foster the cross argument of 'Well it was individuals...' Wait what? Stop. Individuals caused this issues? So why is that not good enough to understand the so-called 'Evils of Religion?' Ahhh right, that doesn't support your argument. How rational is that?

It comes down to the extremes. I understand that each side will go to whatever lengths they can to 'win the argument' and meanwhile, people will take these extreme points of view and run with them. When really, neither side is right or wrong, neither side is really all that valid. Both sides should be there to support the individuals who support their point of view, and reinforce community and understanding rather than a continued debate that doesn't even ATTEMPT to speak to one another, just shout over generalized insults and accusations.

My Health

Ooooh such beautiful weather. So good I turned on the A/C. Sad huh? I don't do well with too much heat. I prefer the cold. But the den is delightfully full of sunlight and a fresh breeze, so enjoy.

Speaking of my lack of enjoyment in heat, I thought I'd let you folks in on some of my body things. So yes we're going to talk about my body which is a pretty neat device. So to start this, I just completed participating in a clinical trial of Lantus. This is because I'm a Type II Diabetic. It makes life lots of fun and for a while I really didn't take care of it. I ended up in the hospital near death. That's not hyperbole, it's the truth. my sugars were averaging about 18, which should be between 4 and 7, and my triglycerides were somewhere around 22, when it should be 3. I should be dead, luckily my wonderful body is pretty damn tough.

I have however been taking much better care of myself over the past few years and my last visit had these wonderful benchmarks. My A1c is continuing to lower, I lost 4kg (That's close to 9 lbs for you non-metric folks) and all my other stats (blood pressure, heart rate, cholesterol, etc.) are all in the normal range. And I FEEL healthier. My eyesight is better, my energy levels are up, I'm not constantly tired after eating. However there is still one thing about my fabulous body that makes some of this difficult.

Thing is I'm hypersensitive. My sense of touch, smell, taste, and hearing are all exceptional. When I quit smoking the smells around me are so intense that it actually becomes physically painful in certain situations. Like heavily applied perfumes. MAN, that just about kills me now, let alone when my sense of smell is at full tilt. I can pick out separate tastes in what I eat, I can hear the tiniest noises (and can grow ever increasingly irritated by them) and the whole touch thing?

Well the plus side is it makes my wonderfully good at finding aches and pains on other people. The subtle changes in heat, skin tension, and reaction to touch makes finding them easy. And ladies? It also makes me a very appreciative and reactive intimate partner. I basically turn into one huge erogenous zone during sex. It's very fun.

The flip side is I get incredibly irritated with clothes. Keys in my pocket, hell even too much change, causes me to get pissy. I never enjoyed boxers, cuz when my boys are moving too free it really gets bothersome. And the needles... Since I have to inject myself with insulin every day, I was told repeatedly, 'Oh you'll get used to it.' Guess what? I haven't. I can feel the steel slide into my flesh, and even holding the insulin pen perfectly still, I can still feel the invader in my flesh. Blood tests, IVs, everything that goes into me is HIGHLY disturbing. So I don't think I will ever get used to it. But I also have had to learn incredible control when it comes to how much I feel, so I can shut it out for brief periods. But thinking about it without enacting that control? Just makes me grit my teeth and get all kinds of pissy.

But overall, the SWC is in good health.

Frustrations

Come on in while I pace. I tried just letting it go, and moving forward but some things just tend to stick in my mind like a bone in the throat. It frustrates and aggravates me. I get all pissy and until I get it out it is going to stick there.

See here's the thing. I look white. I have pale skin, and I don't talk like I came from a reserve. I don't go 'ahhhhh' and stick out my tongue, I don't pepper my language with little Cree-isms, and I freely admit I never grew up in a traditional manner. Somehow this is my fault.

On the flip side of this I have spent a great deal of time understanding the overall experience. Listening to elders, reading what is out there with a critical eye and watching. Always watching.

So why the fuck do I get flack for speaking with authority in a class about First Nations research? Because I did the reading, as well as a lot of other reading on the subject, since this is EXACTLY what I plan to do with my degree, and I have enough confidence to speak in class, but because I'm not 'Indian' enough I get told things like 'Well what you don't understand is that First Nations are humble. We would never talk about our history like that.' WHAT?!

Oh yeah, that Pequis guy, he was real humble. Wrote up the head commissioner for Indian Affairs and said 'Dude, you fucking with my shit, fix it or else.' Sitting Buffalo, that guy, real humble. Chief Kahkawistahaw, he was so humble when he signed treaty and told the commissioner signing it, 'My history says you will try to take more. But I refuse, because my nation must have land.' the GW in B.C., REAL humble when they forced the courts to finally accept oral traditions as legitimate history.

Yeah we got a real huge traditional of humility. Bullshit. We got a real history of meekness. Of being beaten so often we figure, why fight? And that tone, like I don't have a clue what I talking about. If I remember correctly, the bitch who said it was one of the people during our discussion group who said 'I never finished the reading.' Shut yer fucking dumbass mouth. You don't have the time to do the damn REQUIRED reading but you got more than enough time in class to speak up and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about? Gonna tell me 'Well you're white so you don't know.' I call bullshit again.

Damnit I just get so pissed when folks lay preconceived notions down and essentially act as racist as the system they're trying to change. Good job y'fucking hypocrite.

Sporting insanity

Come on in and grab a stump. I'm going to need your attention and your ear to make sure you understand what I'm saying. And most folks are going to have a knee jerk reaction that might not be entirely based on fact.

To start with, I get really frustrated listening to sporting pundits talk about how boring something was. UFC 119 wasn't the best card they've ever put on but there was some damn entertaining fights, and while the Mir/"Cro Cop" fight wasn't a barn burning (And who expected it to be? "Cro Cop" came in on short notice and Mir was motivated to fight a different guy) it had an exciting finish one that happened so fast it took multiple replays before I totally understood what happened.

And there were a couple fights that went the distance where I wasn't entirely sure who won. Overall the card wasn't huge but it was entertaining. The problem seems to be that some folks were complaining about the lackluster drive some of the fighters seemed to show. And the excuses given at the press conference at the end had a lot of people saying 'I just couldn't get off' or 'I couldn't find my timing.' So on and so forth.

And man, except for like one post, almost every single MMA news site out there is just EVISCERATING the event. Like the devil himself shoved his thumb up their ass and gave their prostate a shock. And not the good kind that makes you cum, I'm talkin' that bad kind they use on the minks.

Let's contrast this to the previous event. Everyone LOVED that one. It was exciting and full of action. And the guy who lost in the main event just got popped for steroid use.

What do these things have to do with one another? Let me explain.

Abuse of steroids, as in constant use that drives massive muscle growth, is damaging to the body, and to various internal organs. Especially the synthetic stuff. Strangely though, there is no actual medical studies that link any specific ailments to steroid abuse. However ex-pro athletes who have abused steroids have shown an increase in joint (ligament and tendon) damage and a greater propensity to things like liver disease, certain cancers, and kidney issues. However, I stress again that there have been NO DIRECT MEDICAL STUDIES THAT HAVE LINKED THEM. This is all anecdotal observations.

Now you have to remember that steroids have been used in medical situations for YEARS. It's used to deal with massive body injuries, like burns, because it speeds healing. It's used as a part of hormonal treatment for men who are not producing enough. It's used in large muscle tears to help healing, and it is used to help late stage cancer patients.

And in athletes it has an actual medical use that can improve their ability to perform and decrease the chance for injuries. When you do long term training, your testosterone level, especially when older than 30, does not always return to it's full rate. And when you're talking about athletes that train usually twice a day, 3 or 4 hours a sessions, 5 or more days a week, their body cannot come back as quickly. So their testosterone level steadily drops. This means less muscle repair, and more fatigue. So by the time it comes to fight, after a solid 6 month training camp, these guys are completely drained. No testosterone in their system and their muscles are heavily damaged without proper repair.

So here's the thing. It's time to play reality. Reality is that steroids used properly, on small cycles through training allow an athlete to achieve more, to be better prepared and to increase training. this will allow them to perform better overall. If this is used properly it does not allow dramatic increases in muscle gain, but instead allows an athlete to better recover. When steroids are over-used, or abused, then it turns out massive muscle growth. If this use was regulated, rather than shoved underground, perhaps we could have more entertaining sports, with longer lasting, healthier athletes, without the detrimental aspects. But then again, that's going to require someone to step up and actually do the studies.

And it's time to play reality again. Do you want the always exciting cards, the ever improving athletes, who are always ready to fight, or do you want things to be 'honest.' Because as we all know using anything is cheating. Hell, Evander Holyfield was accused of cheating because he didn't lift weights, instead used electricity to do a a controlled twitch through his muscles.

Honest was what happened last night. Most likely both men were not on proper steroid cycles due to the change in opponent and neither was at their peak to perform. And that's just it. Steroids do not make super athletes. There's a lot more to sports than just physical attributes. Hell, look at Gretzky, that dude never trained, saved it all for game day, was the weakest, least agile athlete when compared with other sports but was the greatest hockey player ever. Because the skill, that's what matters. The steroids just ensure a continual use of that skill over a greater amount of time. When it isn't abused.

So again, we have a situation where knee jerk reactions have driven something to an underground status, when if we as a society had just said 'Ok that's new' and treated it like any other medicine we'd be able to properly regulate and protect people.

Whaddyamean I'm not 18 still?!

Come on in, the weather is beautiful, so the fire is low, perfect for cooking, and the skins are pulled back to let in all that wonderful fall air. I got some left over dry ribs for the folks that don't feel like cooking.

So here's the thing. In case I've never explained this, I've got an unbelievably high pain tolerance. I don't know something is hurt until it stops working. Like my shoulder. Which is completely jacked. I'm pretty sure I've done something inhumanly nasty to it. It's been limited in motion for most of the past year. It doesn't look even, the muscles in my shoulder don't look right. Overall it's just a bad situation. It started with some football. I was helping the kids with blocking, picking up blitzes, using my body as the blocking dummy. Someone caught my shoulder in a bad way, and it felt funny. But that didn't stop me. Cuz I'm still that tough 18 year old that can heal from anything in an instant and am relatively indestructible.

So I keep using it normally, it gets hit a bit more, I do push ups with the guys, and then later that night, I go play dodgeball. Throwing the ball full tilt at people. With the right arm that has the fucked up shoulder.

And I continue like this. Because it doesn't really hurt. And I can still use it. Until one night after dodgeball my arm just wouldn't lift. Couldn't go up at all.

So I've done some physio, and tried not to use that arm. I'm quite competent with my left hand anyways, being ambiconfused. And it's more than a year later and while it isn't fully mobile yet, it's still way better. It moves almost in a full circle and I can use it to lift stuff again without any issues. So I'm on the long road to recovery for my joint issue.

Until this last Friday. Playing dodgeball. See I tend not to throw. I'm quite good at catching, and dodging, and will sacrifice myself so someone can get somebody else out, and so we can keep the balls on our side, so y'know, I'm still useful. but with increased mobility and my own mistaken belief that I am somehow still 18, I get a guy right near me on the line, and a ball in hand and I just whip it at him.

And feel like something inside my shoulder suddenly burst into flames. Then the arm went numb. And I couldn't lift it for the rest of the game. Sure some other guy on the team went all wussy and quit when his elbow started to hurt a bit, but me, I kept playing. And kept making catches. And was still useful. And it actually hurt. I know it's a bad bad thing when I can actually feel the pain, and it makes me nauseous.

And now, every single muscle group that makes up my rotator cuff is locked up and my arm barely moves again.

I'm a fucking idiot.

Economists are EEVUL!

Thanks for stoppin' by, I've got some yummy veggies, and fruit of course, but we've already discussed the Apples and Bananas. I'm gonna lean back here and enjoy a smoke while you watch the fire.

I had the strangest dream last night. I dream lucidly, and usually my dreams, even when they're totally surreal, still make sense. This one. Not so much. Apparently I had to gather a good deal of money for some unexplained reason, and the only way to get this money was to defeat various economists in debates and financial challenges. And man, those economists are vicious.

So it starts with some need of money and I explain to my buddy Neo that I need to get this money, but never why, but hey, Neo, he's my pal he's down with whatever we need to do. We contact the Ringmaster and cenobyte, and off we go to the training montage.

Have you ever thought what a training montage for battling economists would be? Well no need to ponder anymore, I can tell you! There was even cheezy 80s music from a Rocky film. There I am on a stationary bike, while I'm surrounded by people reading financial papers out loud. Quick cut, there I am running down a street, a cig in my mouth and bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper in my hand, while ceno on a moped shouts the three letter stock exchange title for companies, while I name the companies. Quick cut, there I am in a whirlpool swilling beer, while being indoctrinated by the policies of greed by Ringmaster. Quick cut, there I am watching Jim Cramer. Quick cut, I run stairs in an office building, stealing people's inter-office mail, in what I can only assume is somehow related to economists.

And then the battles begin. Here the dream started getting hazy, cuz I think I had to get up to pee, but still, what little I remember was enough for me to realize I never EVER wanna fight with an economist. Not cuz I'll lose, but because they fight dirty and cheat. And that's MY method of fighting. Fuckers. *shakes fist*

Coaching and Penguins

Come on in, the sky is overcast, it's drizzling a bit, and I'm currently listening to 'Down With the Sickness' by Disturbed. OH and there is stirfry. Tasty stuff, red curry sauce soooo good.

Ok so everyone is bitching about the punt thing that Miller called for at the end of the last game against Calgary. That was the least of our worries folks. Remember a while back when I said, 'Look for the WTF moments?' Well a bunch happened in that game. Offensively there were some really questionable play calls which again reinforces the fact that Berry is a nipplehead. But the big one came on defense and has been an issue before.

Ok so here's the thing. We know that for the vast majority of plays that happen on the goal line that a run will happen. It is the least risk, highest pay off way to get the TD. So on Second and goal on the three yard line, why the FUCK was Kitwana Jones an interior lineman? And don't give me that 'there were injuries' bullshit because Mullander wasn't on the field. I know Mullander is an exterior DL but please, you can't teach BIG and that's what you need in those situations. Like for fucks sake, we take all the big guys from the DL and put them on the OL for our short yardage, why don't we do the same on defense? They don't need to tackle, just keep the pile from being pushed back, and then let someone like say KITWANA, who is quick and tackles incredible well to fill and pick up the runner. Would make way more sense. But nope, instead we put all two hundred and twenty pounds of KJ in there and he gets blown out of the blocks and ends up on his back, and where he was is a huge hole for Calgary to score. BAD CALL.

So now that I've vented that, let me move on to Happy Feet. You folks watched this entirely too cute movie before? Got it for the girls yesterday, and after it was over (With me being the big suck that I am crying) I asked my Little Crow, 'Did you understand the message?' And she got all serious (Because we have these talks, these lessons sometimes and she focuses in on me like a freakin' dog in front of raw hamburger) and said 'No daddy.' So I said 'Well at daycare, there is a lot of toys right?'

'Yep there is.'

'And are you allowed to keep them all to play with?'

'Oh no, you hafta share so everyone can have fun.'

'Why?'

'Well it would really be horrible if someone didn't get something to play with.'

'Well what about food. What if the toys were food?'

'I don't wanna be hungry either!'

'Right. That's the message baby. Take only what you need, and share the rest. Think of the others before you just take all you can.'

And so the Little Crow smiles, hugs me good night and clambers down from my lap and heads off to bed, and my not-so-Little Bear goes off to sing her good night (It's their sister good night ritual) and she stops and looks at me. 'Yeah ... we don't share very well do we? Like I mean ... in the world.'

And I can tell she's struggling to find the right words and so I grin at her, 'Yes Little Bear, adults are indeed idiots because we forget what we learned as children.'

She laughed and nodded and went to sing her little sister to sleep.

Again, my girls amaze me, and the world frightens me, and hopefully, like their dad, they never grow up enough to think that sharing is something you don't have to do.

New Look

Hey come on in. The Den got re-arranged a bit here, and I hope it works better. I was using such an old template I decided, hey I should do something so the video's fit, and also, I hated how narrow the text was. So TA-DA!

Of course this somewhat highlights how little I know about the technical aspect of this thing. I couldn't compose HTML if my life depended on it. HAH!! And just after I said I want to be able to do everything. EYE-RON-KNEE!

So I guess this means when I get some time I'll have to learn some HTML. Time... man I wished I had that time turner necklace that Hermoine had in Harry Potter.

Really? You think that huh?

Come on in and grab a stump. Some nice soup is available, home made chicken rice. Y'know what I love most about our talks? You folks. Even the crazy folks over in Germany and Russia who apparently check in regularly. I swear that stat page is freakin' me out.

So interesting situation yesterday: At football practice someone scoffed at me for something I enjoy doing. Now here is the thing. I have never understood how having one trait that can be attributed to you somehow precludes you from others. Never have. Ever. Don't get it. Don't like it either.

See I mentioned LARPing. That's Live Action Role Playing. I love LARPing. I love saying LARPing (G'won say it, you'll enjoy the experience). I love the entire concept of bending my entire imagination to doing something completely unlike my life for nothing more than enjoyment. Cuz my imagination is pretty keen.

And one of the kids goes 'What that vampire thing? Do you sparkle?' And there was a guffaw, and I looked at the kid and said 'Nope. But the hot chicks who dress rather scantily sometimes do.' And I felt bad about that, because I made it sound like I went there to try to pick up half nekkid wimmin when that's not that case.

I then asked him, 'Why would you scoff at something that utilizes someones imagination to such a magnificent degree?' Yeah, the kids I coach are starting to get used to big words. Well, except this one who went 'RRrrrrrrrrrrrrwha?' To which I said 'Why would any activity that someone does somehow deserve your insults?' 'I dunno, seems pretty geeky.'

'Ah,' sez I in my wise old man manner, 'so does that make me a geek?' And he doesn't know what to do so I smile and say, 'answer honestly, it's ok.' And he kinda quickly nods, hoping that some lightning bolt, or a coach won't suddenly crush his soft skull.

'Ah,' sez I in my all-too-knowing voice, 'But this is one geek who could strap on the pads and still wipe the floor with you. Let alone if you were to cross the span of time to try it while I was in high school as well.' And suddenly he gets all frightened and I chuckle, in my foolish-child-suffering way. 'Naw, don't sweat it. But don't ever think that one activity precludes you from another.'

And that I think is the thing that bugs me. It's not even a social thing, or a bully thing, or trying to teach a lesson, although one was learned. What bugs me is this idea that we should be good at like one or two things and that's it. To quote Heinlein: 'A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.'

When did we forget that we are not specialists? Well we are, in the ability to think ahead, but beyond that we're the ultimate generalists. We should be able to do it all!! Now truly, those that become great in any particular field most likely bent a considerable amount of their energy to that one goal but I'd bet my left testicle that they were damn good at a number of things.

So if you wish to continue in your bug-like ways, feel free. Me, I'm gonna continue in my own way, able to do it all and feel comfortable in just about any situation thrown at me.

I lurve dis guy

Come on in and stare at the fire...

From one brother to another

Come on in, feel free to enjoy the nice fire and some tasty chicken. Mmmmm, chicken bones for soup. So normally I don't write to just one person but this, this is meant for only one. However there are things in it that anyone can benefit from.

I could go back and reference a lot of things I've written before but for you, my brother, I have some very specific things I need to say to you, things you need to hear, but things you need to hear on your own time and in your own way. Unfortunately situations like this require both the security of the closeness of a friend and the distance to find your own way. So I chose this method to allow you the place and time to do it as you see fit.

So here is the list of things to remember in this time of trouble:

1) Whatever you think is going to happen, whatever you hope is going to happen, and whatever you're being told is going to happen, don't believe it. Plan for the absolute worst situation possible, and act from there. Keep in mind two very very important marker posts to base your judgements off of, the welfare of your immortality and the your own well being. Nothing else matters. Take that to heart.

2) Stoicism is a great thing in certain situations. Not this one. Feel what you need to feel and express it to those you trust. The only way out to the other end of this one is finding out what you are capable of feeling and where your values lie.

3) Get the right council. Both as a specific and as general. Do not listen to the bitter or the hatred, do not listen to the hopeful or the joyous. Listen to the even tempered and those that are looking out for the same two things I said to value.

4) Know that not only do I love you, would live, kill, and die for you, but others do as well. Lean on them as you need. Never be afraid to ask them for help, because they will not see it as a duty, or a weakness in you, instead the way they can show their love.

5) Do not procrastinate on anything to do with the situation. Handle it as quickly as possible so there are no questions to your passion, values, or commitment.

6) There is going to be bitterness, anger, betrayal, self-recriminations, and questions of your own worth. Feel them, work through them, tell those you need to tell, but do not let those things rule your actions. When you doubt, tell us. We can be strong for you in those times.

Brother, I wish you love, happiness and all the things you deserve, but I know those things will only come with time. Don't worry about them now, or what you think you might deserve, right now you have a duty and a job to do. Do it as you would any other job in front of you, with your full attention and faculties, eyes wide open, and throw yourself at it with dedication. We're with you.

The li'llest 'Rider fan

Come on in, I have some fruit, and some tortilla chips with salsa. The place is mostly picked up and we're getting back into the swing of things.

Listening to the radio this afternoon, and on Blue Sky they had some 'Riders on and were doing listener call-ins with their favorite 'Rider memories, and of course, this sparked my own, and I thought about phoning in, and then remembered, I needed to go throw up (Ugh, ate something bad today) and so never did call. Thus, it shall be shared with you all.

I took Little Bear to her first live 'Rider game. She would have been around 5 or 6, and had a couple years of soccer, with yours truly as coach, and she knew about good sportsmanship, and loved the 'Riders cuz she loved her dad. For those of you worried, she's becoming a 'Rider fan again on her own terms now, but back then, it was all about her daddy.

So there we are, up in the stands, and right next to us are these two delightful older chaps who have taken a liking to Little Bear and share their peanuts with her, and she decides to tell them both about all the great things about coming to a football game, and how it was her first, and mostly it boiled down to how great it was to be there with her dad and of course have peanuts. She charmed the hell out of those two gentlemen.

The game starts, and it was a good back and forth game, and me, I cheer for any good play, just way louder when it's the 'Riders who make the play, and so does Little Bear, taking her cues from me. Unfortunately we had one of those fans who thinks getting really drunk and belligerent at a football game is the thing to do right behind us. And he's swearing and cursing out the 'Riders and opponent alike, getting louder and louder. At half time, he leaves to get more beer, and I look over at the two older chaps and they go 'That guy, every game, like that. Gettin' sick of it.' They nod and hum and haw at each other. Obviously they're not happy about my Little Bear getting an earful of drunken swearing and attitude, and frankly, neither am I. When he comes back, I'm about to turn around and say something to the guy, when Little Bear beat me to it. She turns and looks at this guy and says 'Y'know, if you don't have anything good to say, you shouldn't say anything at all,' in her most princess sounding voice, filled with contempt and wisdom in equal measure.

There was some laughter and the drunk starts to stand up, thunderclouds in his eyes as he stares at my Little Bear, who is still calmly looking at the man like he is beneath her and should take a lesson from her. I get up and I'm ready to tool this guy, even if it means getting tossed out at half time, as being completely worth my time. And that's when the two old gents with the peanuts also stand up and the one pokes the drunk and says 'Been a long time coming young man, you just get too loud and annoying at these games, so y'best shuttup before a whole group of us makes it so you hafta shuttup.'

Drunk and Belligerent stares around at a good half dozen folks who all have stood up and are more than willing to back up Little Bear's proclamation of civility, and he goes some what blurry and wavers down to his seat and does what all stupid drunks do, makes an excuse about how he was just having fun and everyone else is getting too serious.

The rest of the game was quite fun, with Little Bear becoming the unofficial spokesperson for that section and being treated to a lot of drinks, peanuts, and popcorn. Amazing how the simple view of a child about what is right and wrong can spur us stupid and lazy adults to do what we should have done a long time ago.

The Big Three Five!

Come on in, the weather has turned, which might be a bit of a blessing overall. I have a lot of fresh fruit for everyone to enjoy, like Apples and Bananas!

Thirty five. Yep, today I turn thirty five. Y'want some scary true thoughts? About 25 years ago, I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it to this age. Hell even 20 years ago I still had some doubt if I'd make it. And I'm not talking about being unable to imagine myself as this age, because I could. I mean I really thought I wouldn't make it. I'm just too volatile sometimes, and figured I'd be put down like a rabid dog somehow, somewhere, before I ever got past 30.

And no, it wasn't a death wish, the depression and suicidal thoughts didn't come until later. It was an honest belief that I would be dead because of some stupid shit I would get into before I got there.I've always been one of those folks that cannot have a situation described to me, I really need to experience it. So I've tried a LOT of crazy stuff.

So this here is a shout out to all my family and friends, who obviously realize what an idiot I am and how I turn into a complete dumb ass when a new experience is presented to me, yet have stuck by me and in most cases made sure this ole mangy beast managed to make it home alive.

And of course, full birthday policy in full effect. :)

Two elephants.

Come on in, the weather has been insane, and what with my schedule it hasn't been used in a while. So come sit down while I dust off a few things in here, and pick up all the crap that's accumulated, and you can listen to me talk about large things that get ignored.

Let's start with the more obscure elephant in the room. BJ Penn. Oh how I love to watch you get your pudgy Hawai'ian ass beat. A ton of MMA sites are going over all the shit about this latest loss, and doing all this speculation, like he's over-rated, or he's not wanting to fight, blah blah blah blah. Only one site even came out and said what really is the problem and they did it in such a spineless way, the majority of retards who read the post won't have a clue what it means.

BJ, if you read this, and I hope you do, GET A REAL FUCKING COACH!! Stop listening to your cadre of yes men, ball huggers, and ass lickers, and get on a real fucking team, stop deluding yourself that you have even a small inkling of what you need to do to be a champion, let alone teach others to live like one, and get a real goddamn camp. You can afford it you rich ass little punk.

Ok, next pack-a-derm. 'Riders. And all 'Rider fans. I want you to listen to me very closely and know that I'm not trying to vilify anyone, I'm just trying to make something painfully clear. The problems we're having? It's not the players. The players are some of the best in the league. I would say that overall, the 'Riders are one of the most talented teams in the CFL. It's the coaches.

We lost both our coordinators, our special team coach, and they got replaced with whatever retard they could find. Etchvery is a fucking retard. His 'big risk/big payoff' defensive schemes, which are barely two dimensional, usually only mean one thing: big gain for the opposition. And rarely, if ever, do they make half-time adjustments!

And Berry... oh if I could just get one minute alone with you, and your playbook. I'd either shove that thing up your ass, where it might actually make a difference, or at least teach you a sequence of plays that will work you nipple head.

(Brief Interlude)

Me: Ok Doug, here's the situation. You're in a HUGE wet paper bag. You have three options. One, is this machete here. Two is using your BARE HANDS to just rip up the bag, and three is this tasty doughnut. Which will it be?

Doug: And I have to get out of the bag right?

Me: That's right Doug.

Doug: Can I still have the doughnut after I get out of the bag?

Me: Sure Doug, you do things however you want, the possibilities with the tools you have are endless.

Doug: Is there a chair in the bag?

Me: What? No, no chair Doug.

Doug: Damn. Cuz I like to sit down when I eat a doughnut.

Me: Doug, you have to get out of the bag. If you don't get out of the bag, you'll eventually be suffocated by collapsing wet paper. I mean a bag that big has a lot of paper and water and ...

Doug: Really?! Oh shit I better eat this doughnut first thing. By the way, where is the doughnut?
Me: There is no real doughnut Doug, we're talking a hypothetical here, a mental exercise to demonstrate your planning and coaching acumen.

Doug: Well why did you bother with all this paper bag and doughnut thing if there is no ACTUAL doughnut. Screw you buddy, I'm gonna go get a box of doughnuts!

Me: Uhm... Doug. You can't, you're still in the paper bag.

Doug: Really? Oh well I'm just going to sit here till I get my doughnut!

Me: Right. You have fun with that Doug.

And... don't even get me started on that fucking John Daly bullshit. We fired his ass for being a slacktastic head coach, why oh why would we hire him back to coach special teams!! He says he needs to coach better, but y'know what John?! You can only coach so well, and I think we've surpassed your talents just by expecting you to show up on time!

So. Next time you watch a game, just wait to see any player on the field, after a call in from the coaches give the 'WTF!?' look to the sidelines. I promise you'll see it.