frozen

Motherfucker, that was cold. Not 2014 Winter Classic in -20 Celsius at the Big House in Ann Arbor for eight hours cold, but still.

Bitter wind.

I still can’t believe those college kids, ripping their shirts off and spinning them, bare-chested, for almost an entire period. Or those girls, in micro-mini skirts and six-inch stilettos, stumbling through crusted snow.

How any of them got through that without hypothermia or the loss of a digit or nipple is beyond me.

Good drugs, I guess.

They may have lost their nipples, but they sure didn’t feel it.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1813 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara (which could have been the name of The Mungk as well; I can't believe she stole it)
Comics: The Boys 49-52
Music: Nimrod, Green Day

and, we’re out

Like I said, Leafiest way possible, with a heavy helping of referees demonstrating the league’s blatant bias.

Fact: that was not a hooking call on Knies. Fact: that was a trip on a breakaway against Knies that should have lead to a penalty shot, or at a minimum, a tripping penalty (but the rule states penalty shot).

It’s still up to the teams to execute, but other than maybe games 1 and 4, I thought they played pretty well. So, it becomes a question:

If the league calls the games fairly, and applies its own rules to both teams, and doesn’t make up penalties for one while ignoring flagrant violations for the other, how does this series go? Marchand takes, at a minimum, four to six more penalties, McAvoy (aka Marchand lite), takes at least two or three. The Leafs powerplay wasn’t doing great, but still: a goal one way or the other could tip a game in a very tight series.

If say, the league applies its own standards to the Bruins, then Brad Marchand is ejected from the game for shoving a ref, followed by the requisite and automatic three game suspension, which means he’s not in game 7. (I mean, honestly, if Brad Marchand, who would make everyone’s top five list of the dirtiest players in the game, where actually called like one of the dirtiest players in the game, I don’t think he’d even have a career. Instead, he gets a free pass and makes the league look like a joke.)

If say, the referees make a proper call on Knies’ breakaway, how does the resulting penalty shot affect the game? Certainly, if all other things remained the same, it’s 2-1 Leafs at the end of the game, and not overtime.

The fact is, this corrupt manipulation of games in favour of some teams in favour of others has gone on long enough and become more and more blatant as they continue to get away with it.

I don’t know what needs to happen, but they are ruining the game for me. I used to watch all the games; now I watched a handful, only because I happened to be someplace where it was on. I tuned back in for the playoffs, but with the expectation that I was going to see exactly what I saw – the Leafs getting fucked, them not being able to play as aggressive as the other team because they know this is the case and they have to avoid the box, and ultimately, trying their best knowing they have no chance because the League won’t allow it.

Over the past thirty-ish years with Bettman, he’s taken the speed, the offense, the physicality and now, the integrity out of the game. Personally, I think #corruptNHL needs to trend so hard he’s forced to resign, or there are congressional hearings, class action lawsuits and the teams getting screwed need to hold back parity funds.

Oh, and Boston? The league wants Florida to win (they love those money-losing, small market teams that only remain in existence because teams like Toronto, Boston and New York subsidize them), so I look forward to hearing you whine about the refs are biased against you in the second round. Now, you’ll know how it feels.

#fireBettman #fireParros

Target: 600 words
Written: 128 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Universe 5-8
Music: Ocean Of Confusion: Songs of Screaming Trees 1989-1996, Screaming Trees

game 7

Just a few days ago, my sister and I were joking that, of course, the Leafs will win game 5 and 6 against the Bruins. It’s Toronto. We’re used to it.

It wouldn’t be Leafland if they didn’t build up our hopes, get us back on board and then blow it in the Leafiest way possible.

Nice to see maybe even the refs are getting a little sick of Brad Marchand; maybe the constant public attacks on their integrity and flagrant bias and/or incompetence are starting to register?

I mean, how much different would this league have been over the last 20-30 years if games had been called fairly?

Marchand might not even have a career.

Instead, we get to watch this rat fuck bend and break every rule in the book while refs shrug and say, “Well, he ain’t wearing blue.”

Target: 600 words
Written: 145 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, CJ Cherryh (SO. FUCKING. GOOD.)
Comics: Inferno Hellbound 0-3
Music: The Observer Single, The Strokes

second draft

Hey, chipper self.

I don’t know if it was waking up to finding out the Leafs actually won in OT and live to play another day, or finishing the second draft of The Mungk, but I feel marginally better today.

The deck is shuffled, time to re-deal.

My body is still “depressed”, but I’m going to fight the cognitive dissonance of a body and mind telling me I should snuff it and focus on focus.

Get things done. Try new things. Use the mind. Let things go. It’s good for the soul.

Move, maybe a little. Enjoy my cats and dogs.

Are you buying this? I’m certainly trying to.

Target: 600 words
Written: 538 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Monstress 47-50
Music: Oasis Essentials, Oasis

no longer cool

It appears I’m not cool anymore. I mean, I was never really cool, but at least, I knew where the edges were, where the hip things were happening, even if I didn’t give a shit about them.

Now, I don’t care, more interested in exploring the expansive stuff of whatever scene I missed out on by virtue of era, location or the fact that I wasn’t cool enough to be invited in.

Or didn’t care enough to join.

Trends, fashion, these sorts of things never interested me. While a million morons rushed out to buy Stanley cups, all I could think is it’s not THE Stanley Cup, so who gives a shit?

Trends come and go so fast now online that the only way to stay on the bleeding edge of popularity is to spend all one’s time online, which is boring.

Plus, who cares? Spending time and money on shit that no one will give a fuck about tomorrow is just a good way to create clutter and miss out on time one could have spent actually enjoying one’s life.

It’s nothing more than a hyperspeed version of keeping up with the Joneses.

Fuck the Joneses. Who the fuck are they to set the standard?

Who are they to tell you what’s interesting or important in your life?

That’s the great thing about a real scene, real art, real cool – it remains that way no matter the age because it speaks to something fundamental inside us.

Cool is timeless; iconic is not just every random little thing; it’s the truly epic, the truly transcendent and emblematic. It’s crossing the bridge in Selma, it’s the Gettysburg Address. It’s the Velvet Underground. It’s Freddie Mercury at Live Aid. It’s Marilyn Monroe. It’s Caesar crossing the Rubicon. It’s Gretzky kicking his foot out as he lifts the Cup.

It’s real fucking Stanley, not some bullshit fad.

Stop using it for every little thing. It ain’t iconic if it’s old news tomorrow. Iconic is a state of being that speaks for itself, not a label for something you’ve been told is cool.

Target: 500 words
Written: 509 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Dead Until Dark, Charlaine Harris
Comics: Rat Queens v2 20-23
Music: The Very Best Of The Smiths, The Stones Roses, The Who and Violent Femmes, by The Smiths, The Stone Roses, The Who and Violent Femmes (in which these are all separate albums by their respective bands and technically, the Who one is called My Generation: The Very Best Of The Who).

working for disappointment

Rejection is a thing. I’m a wannabe writer and I’m not Brad Pitt or Wayne Gretzky, so naturally, rejection comes with the territory. Nobody’s beating down my doors because I’m so good at what I do or because I have a terrific eight-pack or symmetrical face.

Interlude: I’m married to a wonderful woman, so don’t take that as looking. It just means pre-wife, things weren’t so super easy. I did okay sometimes, but yeah. Nice guys finish last for good reason (and I have a lot to say about the mistaken belief that somehow the “nice guy” is getting screwed by the “asshole” – it’s a largely false narrative propagated by John Hughes that ultimately drives a level of delusion and entitlement in normal men that is absolutely toxic. Thanks, John Hughes, for inspiring incels).

Ultimately, it has nothing to do with nice or asshole, anyway. Lots of “nice” guys are actually dicks, and the “asshole” may actually be a great guy. The asshole may also be an asshole, and the nice guy may be a nice guy as well, just super insecure or shy. Like I said, false narrative.

Anyway, #rantoff. Back to writing.

Target: 100 words
Written: 182 words, comic: Romance #1

Read: Choose Yourself, James Altucher
Comics: Pretty Deadly 9-10, Pretty Deadly: The Rat 1-2
Music: Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Zephyr Song (like, 3 different single versions. I have a problem.)