The Penalty Box

How do you measure, a year…and we’ll stop there.

So…a full year officially of me in the workforce.  It’s strange how when you’re in school, some semesters seem to drag on forever.  Long, arduous, and, depending on the professor in some cases, torturous.  Projects and homework and exams didn’t seem to end, they just kept coming.  Days were long, nights were longer; sometimes it got to the point where you didn’t know what you wanted more: beer or sleep.  Indulge too much of either, and the next project is behind schedule and, before you know it, you’re totally boned.  Indulge too much of both and you end up puking in a trashcan or two as you stumble your way towards Shadow Day, a delightful experience for those prospective high school students looking to choose their post secondary institution (not to name names, but his name rhymes with Boa Fadams).  Mind you, I’m working with a rather small sample set; most of the people I associate with of whom I know their academic (mis)adventures are either in computing science or are those crazy wackjobs that go to grad school.  Party on Garth.
Yet when one is working full-time, days seem shorter and nights achieve some level of normalcy.  By that I mean it’s difficult to make it through the day at work hung over with the same ability to keep down food as a pregnant woman in the morning.  Unless, of course, you have a job as a Wal-mart greeter.  Those people are suspiciously drowsy and slow moving.  Don’t discriminate because they’re old, you ageists.  But I digress.  Work tends to make days go by faster.  There’s some sense of routine, yet not routine (if you have a job you like anyway) that alters the perception of time passage.  Of course it doesn’t help that my roommate has already started Christmas shopping.  Yeah, I know.  Yes, I said the same thing.

Perhaps the fast-paced nature of the working world is supposed to make us think about what’s really important in life.  I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to come to this kind of conclusion until I’m approaching middle age, then compensate for missing this realization by purchasing a fast car to impress the chicks.  Then again, I’ve always managed to overthink into the future and become far too practical.  Damn, I guess I won’t be getting that fast car.  At least not on impulse.  Hmmm…there’s a Magic 8-ball sitting on the shelf, maybe I should ask it.  Nah, the thing’s rigged anyways.

It’s good to take a step back once in a while, shake your head clear of the stress and worries that come with life and work (or school if you still have it.  Suckers.), and contemplate what things you hold important.  Family? Friends? Love? That gorgeous new Lexus droptop that would look really sweet with a hot little number in a red dress sitting in the passenger seat? (Hey, I don’t pretend to know what some mathematicians do in their spare time, but anthropomorphizing pi seems right up their alley.  Right, Bishnu?) Then go outside and step on some flowers.  Little bastards cause all those pesky allergies, plus there’s the bonus of stamping relieving some of that built-up stress.

Speaking of some important stuff, hockey’s back.  Anyone got Center Ice that I can mooch off of when the Canucks have a pay-per-view game?

For all of you Facebook nutjobs out there, perhaps you may have gotten an e-mail recently telling you that I have created a Facebook account.  I can assure you that no, I have not caved, no, I did not succumb to the pressure and no, I still have not found a non-retarded reason.  I have found another reason NOT to join Facebook though: it seems everyone is pestering my sister about it.  What she seems to have used as an excuse to harass me has turned on her.  The irony is fracking DELICIOUS.

As for the impersonated Facebook account, I have only this to say: Bishnu, J’ACCUSE!

Training camp started today, pre-season begins, I got my Canucks tickets and the regular season is under two weeks away. Can. Not. Wait. I also need to start my research on the hockey pools I’ll be in this year. I probably won’t run my own pool this year due to lack of interest last year (I had to pick for way too many people). That’ll give me time to invest in a project I’ve had on my mind for a few months now.

Also, I’ve got an extra ticket to the game on December 20th vs Dallas because I had to buy tickets in groups of two. Anyone want to buy it off of me? You’ll be sitting with me and two deranged grad students (Bishnu and my sister). It’s a PPV game, so might as well see it live!

Hockey’s back. Wheeeeeeeeeeee.

Edit: Ticket has been sold.

So as it turns out, people don’t like the new jersey.  Cluttered design is bad, who knew? Anyways, I regularly visit the Something Awful forums, and there’s a good hockey discussion group there.  Courtesy of some Photoshop skills by some of the posters over there, they churned out some alternate designs using the new jersey.  Behold the no wordmark and centred logo look and the text only Rangers ripoff look.  I think if they absolutely insist on having the wordmark (bloody marketers), then put it on the goddamn away jersey.  The home crowd knows it’s fracking Vancouver.  I’d buy a non-wordmarked jersey, but as it stands right now, Reebok’s not getting any of my money.

Speaking of Reebok, here’s the pricing scheme.  There are going to be 3 levels of pricing: authentic, premiere and you-don’t-want-this-crap.  Authentic will cost $250 USD (~$260 CAD), so not much change from last time around.  Premiere will cost $114 USD (~$120 CAD), about a $20 markup from previous replicas.  The third tier will be about $80 USD or something.  So what’s the difference? Authentics are the same: fight strap, ice quality stuff.  Premieres are the current replicas, except if  you want it personalized, it’ll be HEAT PRESSED.  That’s right, you shell out over $100 for a jersey and if you personalize it, you get the iron-on crap you can buy at a dollar store.  You can only buy stitched numbers and a nameplate if you go third party or buy authentic.  The third tier? Fracking screen prints that go on t-shirts.  I guess if the league can’t get expansion fees, which completely screwed up any financial sense they had left in the 90s, they’ll get it through merchandise.  It’s a wonder how these owners got rich enough to buy a team in the first place.  Their sheer ineptitude at running the team as a business cannot possibly seem to translate well into life as a successful businessman.  But then, sports teams are pretty much a rich person’s toy, so the rich guy doesn’t really take it as seriously as he would the business.  Either that or at least with a company there’s the board of directors to answer to.

In other news, everyone needs to go watch Hot Fuzz.  It’s a Hercule Poirot meets Bad Boys kind of movie.  If you liked Shaun of the Dead, you’ll like this one.  I’ve been watching movies most of this weekend.  I feel like I should’ve been more productive somehow.  Oh well.