Thursday, August 30, 2007

Monday, August 20, 2007

This is not about hockey-

But keep your pants on, it's August.

Or for that matter, take them off.

Either way, I assure you that this clip is much like the game of hockey in that while the number of people who it appeals to may be limited, the amount of enjoyment they will get out of it will more than justify it's presence here. I mean, fuck you- I see other hockey blogs posting about soccer this time of year for God's sake.

Don't judge me.

Further, if there were enough material out there to sustain a full time blog entitled "American 'Skinny Asian Dudes Who Cover Early Metallica Songs on the Cello' Fan," well goddamnit, I'd be the guy updating it, day in and day out.

So without further ado, I present Metallica's "Creeping Death," on a Cello.

Awww, yeah.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

As some regular readers may know-

-I have a disgusting cat named Grapes, who is named for Don Cherry.

In the spirit of his namesake, he has come out in favor of fighting, and like his namesake, it will almost certainly cause some controversy.

Check out this endorsement of Michael Vick he wrote over at the Nosebleeds.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

I haven't mentioned this yet-

- but I happen to be getting married next January.

I haven't brought it up on the site before, partly because it's nobody's business, but also because it depresses me slightly that there is no chance my bachelor party will be anywhere near as fun as anything thrown by the Staal brothers. But mostly, I haven't said anything because if there is one activity that doesn't have a damn thing to do with the game of hockey, it's wedding planning, or at least it didn't until very recently, thanks to a situation I will shortly explain.

The cliche of the male role in wedding planning is that the groom-to-be stands around slackjawed and nodding while the bride-to-be and her mother begin whirling about in an estrogen fueled daze, flipping through catalogs, selecting caterers, registering for sets of linens, and holding up an endless series of false choices in front of the man's bewildered face,almost perversely daring him to utter the words "Baby- who fucking cares?"

This cliche is true.

Still, it is flawed in one respect. While there are a number of decisions relating to the minutia of design and detail that the male mind (or at least this one) is simply unsuited to handle, this does not mean that the wedding itself, or, in a larger sense, what being married *means* is unimportant to him. He just sometimes has a difficult time conveying the information that there is a qualified difference between 'not giving a fuck about the napkin design' and 'not giving a fuck about the relationship." It's a bumpy road at times, but in our case, for the most part, this message has gotten through. Both my fiancee and I have learned to sense when the other is beginning to lose patience, the same way a racecar driver knows when to ease off on the turns before careening headlong into the wall. Within that metaphor, who exactly is the driver and who is the car has been subject to some debate, but either way, she knows that while I am interested and involved in the process, there is only so much I can handle.

Which brings it back to hockey.

We're getting married on January 20th in New York City, a date we decided on because it's balls expensive to get married in this town, and if we did it on a Sunday in January it would be significantly cheaper. January 20th happens to be Martin Luther King Day weekend, so we can have the wedding at the Sunday rate, and nobody has to go to work the next day.

It's a win-win.

Longtime readers of this site also know that I happen to be a die hard fan of the Boston Bruins. So after the wedding date was selected and the venue secured, It was only natural that I would scan down the newly released NHL schedule to see when my wedding fell. Suspecting that perhaps I'd be missing a largely forgettable NHL All Star Game, which traditionally falls around the 19th or 20th, I was stunned to see that not only was the NHL in session, but the Boston Bruins were playing, during the day, and against the New York Rangers at 1:30 in the afternoon, a mere 10 minute cab ride from my home. It was a sign: The stars were aligning, and this day would truly be one of the best in my life.

Hockey is a tremendously important part of my life and the Boston Bruins are a tremendously important part of how that happened. Being able to have that part of my life be a part of this day, in a city that is not even Boston seemed to me to be a miracle. Taking into account that my Bride to be, as much as I adore her, is a woman who can take up to 40 minutes selecting a tank top, I figured that she would be busy getting ready, freeing up me and my groomsmen to go to the game. Even with a shootout, I'm done by 4:30 at the latest, dressed to the nines by 5:45, married by 7:00, and the day goes down in history as one of the greatest of all time.

So great in fact, was this moment in my mind, that it did not occur to me, even for a second, that it might be a bad idea to inform my Bride-to-be that I, already known to possess a dangerously high level of disdain for napkin patterns and linen registries, was planning to, in her words, "take in a hockey game" 5 hours before "the most important event of our lives."

And that's the rub. It's not that it was a bad idea, but I certainly didn't pitch it very well. I started by saying "What time are we getting married?" And followed up with, "Well, The Bruins play the Rangers at 1:30- how great is that?!"

Despite her initial reaction, which was about as positive as it might of been had I suggested getting married in a suit that "lets people get a better look at my balls," she has come around a bit. Marriage, like wedding planning, is a series of compromises. She understands now that attending this game would not be a callous distraction from the day, but an addition to it's joyfulness, and I add that understanding to the ever lengthening list of reasons that I adore her.

Still, that doesn't necessarily mean I can go.

As it stands now, the game is a great idea, and members of my family can attend, but until all the kinks are worked out, I need to be able to remain flexible and in a place where I can be available to help deal with potential problems, meaning "not sitting in a seat at Madison Square Garden."

Which is fair.

Of course, if the day arrives, every detail is in place and we are ready to go, would it be so bad if I had a ticket in my pocket? You know- just in case? That seems OK to her.

So if you'll excuse me, I'll wrap up this post now.

I've spent too much time on this already, and I have some napkin patterns to approve.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Go ahead and suck, Bruins!

I dare ya!


The Celtics pick up Kevin Garnett, who is so good at basketball that even I have heard of him, and the Red Sox pick up Eric Gagne, who not only have I heard of, but his name means "win" in French, so even the goddamn Canadiens will know what every single sports fan in the world is now so painfully aware of:

The Boston Bruins, the team of Bobby Orr, Cam Neely and Raymond Bourque is now the official toilet of the Boston sports scene.

You're on the bottom now, lads- and it's up to you.

Hey- Jeremy Jacobs!

Zdeno Chara stands six foot nine.

That's only two inches shorter than Kevin Garnett, but for this Boston sports fan it feels like the Bruins are coming up a hell of a lot shorter than that.