Earthquakes are bad... but so are we!!!

After reading a short post made by the Washington Examiner's Online Opinion Editor title 'In Iran, Adultery causes earthquakes. In the West, it's Global Warming.' (article linked below) I was inspired to take action...

http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/opinion/blogs/beltway-confidential/In-Iran-adultery-causes-earthquakes-In-the-West-its-Global-Warming-91399134.html

Yep, makes sense to me. In fact I don't like to define myself to a single culture, I wish to be open to all the beauty that our planet (which we and the farting cows are destroying) has to offer. I believe that we are to blame for these terrible and tragic Earthquakes; adultery is up one million gagillion percent since the time of the dinosaurs, the planet is so hot because of our greed and 'Large Old' and the use of tanning beds, that even L. Ron can't convince the Aliens to return to do their probing, and the pirating of media has distracted the protestors from demanding that the government implement their secret special anti-Earthquake technology, which they absolutely have but aren't using so that the Rich can get richer!

I am going to do my part to stop the Earthquakes and save the planet from being murdered by humans (the truest of the world's viruses) - I will drive a smart car fueled by my own bio-waste, will become a Buddhist vegetarian level 12 yogilaties master, will practice celibacy, abstaining from the temptation of all humans, animals, and minerals, I will promote the recycling of energy by making a vow a silence, communicating only through the art of Signing or the art of watercolor painting, I will go technology free except for the use of my magic bullet blender which I will use to blend delicious veggie-fruity smoothies which I will donate to the hungry and the homeless and the hungry homeless and the homeless hungry pets that have been beaten by fat rich fascists, I will live with nature like they do in Avatar, and I will love everyone because life is beautiful (except over-paid professional athletes, and rich selfish celebrities, and red-necks, and skinny people, and corporate criminals, and their lawyers, and their lawyers' wives who choose to be married to them, and their own wives for the same reason, and the town of Southpark and it's children, and aggressive wild bears, but everyone else I will love like they were my family, because we are all family, especially Al Gore and Sean Penn, but not Tiger Woods though, he's worse than the Nazis, but most of us are family...)

Chose to save the planet, Kumbaya,

Johhnh (I have changed the spelling of my name, the other way of spelling it was forced on me by society)

What Day is it?

Thursdays and I have something special. Something between us that runs deeper than the superficial fame and fortune of a Saturday or the focused intensity of a Wednesday. To me an average Thursday Night offers more substance than most weekends can put together, while ignoring the anxiety of its younger work-week siblings. It has something to do with the fact that whispers of the weekend have started to circulate - queue the anticipation - but it's still a school night, so the pressure to be perfect isn't there yet. Thursday Night means that Friday is all that is left, the last line of defense after a long list of weekday casualties. And Friday isn't nearly as intense as one of those mid week messes, I'm looking at you Wednesday. Sure there are exceptions to the rule, what with the heroes who use the 'End of the Week' to make bad things 'due' or worse things scheduled (Fools!), but for the most part Friday-Funday is the flaky slacker of the group.

Thursdays are there for you. She looks after your need to escape the week's routine, while giving you a taste of entertainment that is usually only reserved for the patient weekender; Thursday's version of TV is unstoppable. From reality (Survivor) to reality (sports - hockey, basketball, golf, even the odd round of NHL) to reality (hours of great Nat-Geo and Discovery) to everything in between (history still remembers laughing through Friends and Seinfeld even as it is gifted the Office, 30 Rock, and Community with a side of the drama of Grey's or CSI or the Mentalist).

And Thursday doesn't seem to ask for a lot in return, or more importantly, spend much time claiming to 'be something'; not like the rest of that selfish seven day spread, with its labels and taglines. Monday is all in your face with garbage euphemisms like 'start of the week' and 'new beginning', when the truth is Monday is the return to work, the death of Time-Off, and the furthest possible point from 'a Break'. Mondays are pure Evil and don't seem to apologize for it. They just hope they can distract you with a little NFL and the elusive Stat Holiday. But by the time the Monday Nighter is even on, it is practically Tuesday anyway. It just tastes bad coming off my tongue: Muuuunday. It is a lost cause. Try and ignore it.

At the other end of the work-week is team Friday-Saturday. A lot of flash coming from these two. This one-two punch of carefree fun answers all questions with a mindless scream: 'WEEKEND!!!'. It's your chance at freedom from the punch-card; it's new movies, it's concerts, it's fancy-pants dinners, it's day-trips, it's running, biking, hiking, blading, riding, and playing (unleash the grass-stained boy or pig-tailed girl within), it's endless parties without early mornings, it's reading during a rainy day, turning up the heat and hiding from the snow, or catching as many rays as the sunny summer can pour down at you. It's your escape from the grind. But at the same time both Friday and Saturday are also grounds for boiler-room style pressure to perform. These two are drowning in the hype that fuels them. Friday and Saturday let you forget the rest of the week, until of course they have disappeared on Sunday morning, leaving you abandoned, needing more. They are the week's drug of choice, exposing you to the glamour of what you now can't have for another 5-plus days.

Wednesdays. Hahaha, come on, really? Look at this Calendar Reject. The fact that the name 'Hump-Day' stuck just says it all; a middle child praised for simply existing. Wednesdays are when you no longer can hold onto last weekend's energy and can't yet feel the promises of Friday. It's boring and bland and faceless, and that's on a good week. When Wednesday is on its game you can expect the most concentrated disaster of work that the week has to offer. Everything is warmed up after the cold start on Munday and there's just too much time left in the 5-dayer to let off the gas. Wednesday is like ugliness; the best you can hope for is a paper-bag with eye-holes, a nose, and mouth, or at least some industrial clown-paint and dark sunglasses to cover things up a bit. But rarely does a distraction hide Hump-Day's inner b!tch. If you could punch a day of the week, Wednesday would never escape the 10-count.

'The Day of Rest' has a nice ring to it. The words float over you with a calming seduction, lulling you into a rejuvenating R&R while Sunday plots its big reveal: 'End of the Weekend!'. Although it is still a day off, it's tough to ignore how close Monday is (Munday! Stop infecting my week); procrastinated homework loves a good Sunday, so do the pieces that Friday and Saturday have left you in. It's the first hint at the new week, and with each passing hour, the need to prepare for the 5 day stretch fills you with loss. No wonder people go to church on Sunday...

This leaves us with Tuesday and Thursday. Both are their own day and have carved out an identity for themselves, but Tuesday is well below the radar. It is too close to Monday and is sandwiched in by Wednesday that it can't really escape the surrounding pessimism and negativity. Tuesday is guilty by association, but isn't free of blame as it really doesn't put up any sort of fight. If it weren't the staple for media release (new music and the high-def on Blu-Ray), I'd have no time for Tuesdays. Congratulations, you aren't Monday or Wednesday.

Meanwhile, amidst all the chaos and disagreement of the other six days, Thursday confidently smiles. It has latched onto the fun of the weekend and is, in my mind, the Renaissance of the 7-day-stretch. Having learned from the mistakes of the rest, Thursday isn't too flashy or too volatile, doesn't want you to suffer or leave you vulnerable, won't punish you with ennui, and every now and then leads into a nice, long weekend. Thursday has it all figured out.



As you can tell, I have had these vague ideas floating around my mind since life made me distinguish one day from another. Understanding how the week affects you is a science, it's like being able to read the matrix. The key is the realization that before anything is even scheduled, these crafty little journées are spreading their influence all over you. Happy ____day...

the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

With 30 teams in the league, the NHL offers endless interpretations of the game. Individuals showcase everything from the workings of a smooth stride, the delicate art of the stick and gloves, the harnessing of raw muscle caught up in momentum, and a vision of the play like a Formula-1 ChessMaster. The plot thickens when these artist-athletes are introduced to the beautiful chaos of entangled genius; players Creating with other players in ways that expand the use of the ice surface passed what even the most advanced hockey enthusiasts can imagine. It's a never ending factory of historical highlights. And yet even as this continually evolving entity recreates itself season after season, the layout of the NHL's 30 can be categorized into three simple chapters: the Cup-Chaser, a team Out-of-Order, and TBA.

The game changes but the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly are here to stay. It's the difference between Good and Great, it's what separates a Success from a Mob-Mentality Hating, it's subtle and without metric and so elusive. Teams who have it, have everything, teams without it are forever in survival mode. It's a team's dynamic, their attitude, their strategy, and ultimately their identity. And until a club grabs hold of theirs, the NHL will be a cruel playground. It's called the Franchise Factor and it's the essence that brings a team to life.

the Cup-Chaser

Everyone wants to skate with the Cup-Chasers - sold out arenas, fans drowning in apparel, big contracts with whispers of bonuses floating through the dressing room, a second season from April to June, and ultimately a chance at pure Glory. These teams are making magic night in, night out, and despite their consistency, there seems to be an element of surprise associated with their power of complete domination. No one needs to talk about their defensive strategy, or their execution of Systems, or how they set up on the breakout; the Cup-Chasers have that extra quality that means no game is ever out of reach, that the powerplay goal is a matter of 'when' not 'if', and that they truly 'play' hockey instead of robotically implement a reflection of drills.

With the post-season just around the corner, Chicago and Washington and Pittsburgh are heavy-hitters swinging for the Stanley Cup fences, and they are all three prime examples of teams that put together a long-term strategy and didn't crack under the pressure of quick-draw critics. They sold the Old and tracked down youth. Now putting out top lines made up of the world's best, these teams aren't just 2010 Cup-Chasers, they are dynasty contenders skating young bodies and wise minds.

Only a few years ago, the better part of this season's division champs were out of the playoff race before the all-star break. A handful of draft picks later, and after a couple clever investments logged in the books, they aren't just clawing their way into 8th spot, these teams are resting their top guns the last week and a half of Regulation in order to be firing come round 1. With strong Franchise Factors, the Cup-Chasers aren't distracted with patching up a leaky boat game after game, they just race the seas throughout the season and maintain their ship when they're docked for the summer.

a Team Out-of-Order

But there's not enough room in either conference or any division for a full league of Blackhawks, or Capitals, or Penguins; with every draft pick, retirement, trade, injury, hiring, firing, win, loss, and missed call, there is a change in the league that ripples through each team, demonstrating how alive the NHL is. Franchise Factor or not, the unexpected can introduce plenty of destructive chaos. Some teams have to bite the bullet and keep company with the Edmontons, Torontos, and Floridas of the world. It's the ability to take a step back, make calculated decisions, and respect the exchange of a Temporary Set-Back for the long-term consistency of layered success. No team should strive for their 'one shot' at the expense of building up their foundation. When an NHL team begins to struggle and locks in a few bad seasons, it's like an injury. And like any significant injury, you have to treat a string of 'playoff misses' or 'disappointing seasons' with more than just a little ice and tape, more than just a little 3rd-line player swap, you need rest and rehab and a new game plan. The best hockey in the world doesn't have room for broken-but-bandaged teams. Injured NHL teams need to hit the reset button and take the time to regain their strength; they need to suck before they don't again.

TBA

In my opinion if you're not a contender and you're not stripping down and rebuilding, then you are wasting your time, and cruelly torturing your fan base. This is where the TBAs come in. These lost cause squads that lack in direction and promise are stuck in no-mans land, chasing the Chasers and pretending that they don't need to Start-Over; an empty future of 9th and 10th place finishes that gives no hope to a post season run beyond a first round in-and-out. Queue up the Flames, St. Louis, the Rangers, and Dallas; what's the plan? Who's guiding these sail-less ships? You have to respect the process and quite gambling on the quick fix.

I can respect being Out-of-Order, it's the nature of the business, the cycle of life in the NHL. What I can't understand is a team that has decided to sit on the fence and duck the big-boy decisions. Everyone who 'just barely missed the post-season' or hangs on for a game or two extra in the opening round before being benched on the couch to watch the real teams battle it out, they have three options. The first, and most mechanical, is to realize that asking for four cards is not an option - Just Fold. It takes commitment and character and perseverance, but the basement is where the Ovechkin, Kane, Crosby, and Tavares style draft picks are. Embrace change. Do not fear momentary setbacks. Holding onto pricy vets, on cruise control into an honorable retirement isn't going to guarantee anything. Option one is to gut the team and hit the reset button.

The second option is tricky and can't be pulled off by just any old GM big-wig. It asks for strategy and insight, a whole lot of hockey knowledge, and enough risk to make a day-trader think twice. It's like refueling Airforce-1, mid-air, during a terror strike. This is the Detroit Red Wings model. You need to buy low and sell high and make your moves before anyone else is even paying attention. Trade like you mean it. It is possible to slowly change your team, one player at a time, over the course of several years, without ever letting the Stanley Cup finals out of your sight, but the big brains need to be working extra hard and you need to find those hidden gems like a 171st overall entry draft pick Pavel Datsyuk or swap for an up-and-comer like Rene Bourque. It's the better of the two approaches, but it's much more than just one nice maneuver followed by dozens of bad plays; it isn't for the Painting-by-numbers crowd.

Option 3 is a disaster. It's the definition of the TBA, and it optimizes a damaged Franchise Factor. It's ignoring the severity of the problem and attempting to avoid rebuilding, while failing to wheel and deal, and yet still claiming to be after the playoff wins. Option 3 is the equivalent of a dozen busy McDonalds employees, racing around behind the counter, doing absolutely nothing, while the line of customers continues to grow. It looks like everyone is doing their job, but in reality it could take days before anyone gets to your order. Plus even then, you're getting McDonalds! Option 3 creeps up on you and before you know it the team starts to feel empty and without a soul. It could be a revolving door of coaches that are hired quickly and sent on their way before they've even been fitted for a track suit and whistle. Maybe it's an annual pattern of 'renting a player' for the playoff push, some 'wily old vet', full of experience and character, only to see them in a new jersey by September and the team back to square Zero. Maybe it's using pure, dangling talent as a forth line grinder (You don't forget the epic calamities - I will never get over the Flames brilliant idea to have Marc Savard logging 7 minutes a game on the checking line), or watching as a player's stock plummets before selling them a year and a half too late, for 5 and a half pucks (At one point Phaneuf was being called the best defensemen in the league and was in young all-star company with Ovi and Sid... the Flames dished him off after he had hit rock bottom, bounced up and back down two or three times, and finally settled into a comfortable little niche of 'Awful'). Other signs are when one great player is all that the club can afford, so they spend years nickel and dimming to scrounge up 'the perfect linemates' only to have to scrounge up new 'perfect linemates' a few months later and a few months after that, and so on (Iginla doesn't need to have Crosby and Nash, but something more than 'nothing' and we might see that same gold medal performance that Iggy had in Vancouver - the Flames are starving this poor bastard). The Flames love Option 3, they always have, and the tragedy is that they don't even know it. They need to start manning up and getting their hands dirty, otherwise all the fans will ever have to talk about is the '89 Cup Win, and the 2004 Red Mile drive, and that's about it. Don't make me bring up the rushed shipment of the 'Too Small Martin St. Louis', or the inspired Doug Gilmore release, or that brief moment when Brett Hull wore a flame on his jersey - I don't forgive or forget because nothing has changed, Calgary is shooting first and forgetting to ask questions later.

The game may change, the players may change, but the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly will always be the standard NHL breakdown, because it's the standard sports breakdown, and the standard life breakdown. It's how people operate. Call it a Franchise Factor, call it Character, call it Value, call it a Gameplan, people need to have an idea of who they are in order to have the freedom to live in the moment. Without some idea of where you want to go and how you need to get there, you will be cursed with the repetitive cycle of mediocrity. I can wait for Edmonton and Carolina, because I know that that is what leads to Washington's offensive attacks, Chicago's powerplays, San Jose's top line chemistry, and Pittsburgh's highlights. No one remembers average, be a Cup-Chaser, even if you need to toss up the Out-of-Order sign for a bit.

I am Jack's Fight Club Moment

I walk through the cubicle trenches like a mouse in a maze. The difference is there is no cheese to be found in this experiment (and in all fairness I can cheat, I'm tall enough to see over the walls). I turn a corner and as I cross paths with a fellow maze mate, giving him the customary eye-contact and mildest of smiles - acknowledging that he is in fact a human and we at least have that in common - something happens; we exchange slow and slight head nods. It's the currency of unspoken truths, as subtle and mysterious as the code of a secret society. There is no second guessing, we cross paths and continue marching to the beat of the 9-to-5, Big Brother none the wiser. It was a Fight Club moment.

I could have spotted him long before, had I acquainted myself with his stiffened stagger. The same stagger I was using. The stagger of a beaten footballer. We had cut up the pitch the night before and were now branded with the same ground tattoos and cleat scars. The two of us were on the tall-tale side of battle, but that was out there. I didn't know his name and it wouldn't matter if I did, because I wouldn't be talking to the same person that I ran with on the field. With the ball roped to his dribble, he was a magician, a creator and artist, exercising expression with strokes of finesse and endurance. Inside the maze he was just another EngiNerd, plugged into a computer living in a virtual world of design and documentation. Just like the rest of us. Zombie Clark Kents to his after work flash of SuperMan.

There are no 'Rules of Soccer Club', but in a sense the first and second unspoken ones are the same as Palahniuk's. The two worlds don't speak the same language, and the disconnect is great enough that when it comes to the cubed maze, they just wouldn't understand, 'You do NOT, talk, about Futbol Club'.

As I dipped and dodged my way through the narrow office passages back to my desk I fought the smile. This was the second Edward Norton scene I had caught myself in this week. A few days ago one of my bosses walked by and was wearing a tie, covered in Cornflower-blue, and yes, it was in fact a Tuesday. I draw the line at Project Mayhem. The last thing I need is to know that Bob has a name, and his name is Robert Paulson, his name is Robert Paulson, his name is Robert Paulson...

Like the sanctuary that the Narrator found within the walls of Fight Club, the soccer field gives me escape from the false hope of the indoor-outdoor feeling that 3 walls and no ceiling thinks it can provide - The cubicle laughs at us. An escape that wakes up my body and rewards my mind. An escape that hurls me head on into Life. An escape that only a select few have been able to find. An escape that is worthy of a slow and slight head nod...

Muse - the Resistance Tour 2010

"Calgary! Great to be here. I think the last time we were here we played in a shopping mall... cheers."

There wasn't a lot of chit-chat from the band, but when front-man and lead guitarist Matthew Bellamy addressed the crowd he was a rockstar. For a tiny dude, Bellamy really owned the stage. As did the rest of the three man power house. But they had to, what choice did they have when they literally set the stage so high.

Muse answered the anticipation right out of the gates with a one-two punch of Uprising and Resistance, a pair of tour-de-force tracks off their latest album that dig into rebellion and strength of humanity while satisfying the surface with catchy musical tears. If a couple of heavy-hitters didn't draw the crowd in, the audience had no way of escaping the Muse experience that the band unleashed with an assault on all five senses.

The stage came to life with three tall towers looking out over the swaying ocean of audience. Projected images of worker-drones zombieing-up the walls of the towers moved slowly to the enterlude. As the music swelled, the drones tumbled, along with the thin curtains that covered the towers' true structure. The three band members were revealed, exploding with their own energy, each on display part way up their own tower. Powerful and bizarre images, rolling colours, and live action shots of the band bounced off the tower walls complementing the performance of the stage lights and the most incredible laser show I've ever seen. Freakin' Laser Beams!!! It was more than a Live Presentation, it was a Music Experience. Muse created a balance between it's opera-style symphonic rock and the raw yet psychedelic visual adventure that burst outwards from the stage. With each new window that was opened to the audience's wide eyes, the band's classic rockstar moves elevated the act, never allowing the music or the stage to pull ahead of one another.

By the time the set had sent people to their feet, the lower portions of the towers had disappeared into the floor of the stage allowing Bellamy and bassist Christopher Wolstenholme to cruise the stage while Dominic Howard continued to massage the drum skins. The pure rock 'n roll of leg kicks and knee slides contrasted the rest of the Muse presence with ease, never allowing your mind to get too comfortable with the show.

The potent sent of drifting marijuana clouds, the cool stale taste of bad draft, the physical rumble of rock waves that resonated heart to head and back again, the sticky floors, the simple seats, the haze from the fog machines, the dancing lights, the gentle hum that cried from your ear trying to push out the crowd's muffled cacophony during the amps repose; it all draws on your mind, sketching more than a picture can remember.

As the songs blended into themselves with captivating little interludes, the loss I felt with the end of each song was instantly forgotten as another Great began to gain momentum. Muse injected a decade's worth of theatrical pieces into their new Resistance works, rewarding the fanatic while introducing the newly-converted into the depths of their world. I got lost in each song, following the art from as many places as I could handle - from the comfort of a full body trance to the soul quenching sing-along of a stadium wide following, Muse infiltrated my being. It was the perfect performance that I immediately wanted to hit repeat on.

Not since Kings of Leon have I been so mesmerized by live music. With confidence I can claim 'Satisfaction Guaranteed' to both late nineties Showbiz owners and music lovers who don't know Muse from the Kills. Great is Great, and sometimes that level of quality elevates a performance above genre, bypassing the restriction of personal preference, and opening an experience up to all who have the luxury of being present for it. If you like Great, then the Muse Resistance Tour is for you. My plan is to line up the discography, set it to shuffle, and drift back to the concert that I will have never left every time I press play on Muse.

Even my complaints are the "Perfectionist" answer to one's faults:
- In general I find that the Babydoll Merch T's are far better than the Men's options. I still bought a great shirt, but why the girlies get all the good stuff is beyond me.
- During the 4th song of the set, Supermassive Black Hole, a supermassive number of fat female Twilight fans came out of the wood work and lost their mind... only to disappear once again by the time Hysteria had started.
- There was a serious lack of 'Crazies', 'Freaks', and 'Nutjobs'. The 'Unusual Suspects' and I don't travel in the same circles, so when I go to a concert I want to see some weirdo tattos that distract from the eerie piercings but complement the creepy hair styles and bizarro attire. This was the most standard group of people since I last walked through the Gap.
- No need for earplugs was both a blessing, since I forgot my subtle neon yellows, and a let down: my ears are no longer ringing and it's only been like 18hours since I left the stadium.
- I didn't get to hit one of the large eye-ball balloons that fell from the rafters near the end of the set. Every time one of the eye-balls burst there was a celebration of confetti that showered the area.
- An hour and a half is no where near enough Muse time. Although I was beyond impressed at how every song they played was playlist worthy, I later realized that they could have been out there for another concert's worth of favourites. I need more Muse!
- From section 211, row 6, seat 16, this was all I could come up with in terms of complaints... Oh, no backstage pass / meet-and-greet... that's all I've got.



Calgary Concert Setlist:
1) Uprising (Resistance)
2) Resistance (Resistance)
3) New Born (Origin...)
4) Supermassive Black Hole (Black Holes...)
5) Interlude (instrumental)
6) Hysteria (Absolution)
7) MK Ultra (Resistance)
8) Nishe (instrumental)
9) United States of Eurasia (Resistance)
10) Feeling Good (Origin...)
11) Helsinki Jam (insturmental)
12) Undisclosed Desires (Resistance)
13) Starlight (Black Holes...)
14) Unnatural Selection (Resistance)
15) Time is Running Out (Absolution)
16) Plug in Baby (Origins...)

Encore:
17) Exogenesis: Symphony Part 1 (Overture) (Resistance)
18) Stockholm Syndrome (Absolution)
19) Knights of Cydonia (Black Holes...)

Albums:
Showbiz (1999)
Origin of Symmetry (2001) [3 tracks]
Hullabaloo (2002)
Absolution (2003) [3 tracks]
Black Holes & Revelations (2006) [3 tracks]
H.A.A.R.P. Live from Wembley Stadium (2008)
the Resistance (2009) [7 tracks]
... and a few other B-sides

Special thanks to my iPhone for the raw remembrance...

We should get together and compare Hair Styles...

So you are on the bench, deep in the darkness of the dug-out. Lately the challenge has been to master the Dying-Moth, a complicated and delicate Sunflower Seed Spit. It's cozy, you're with your friends, you have the best seat in the house. But something is missing. Dying-Moth or not, you long for more. Suddenly the Manager chokes out your name through a cheek full of chew. 'Jack! Git ur ass in therr!' This is it. Literally time to step up to the plate. It's what you want, it's what you've trained for, but it's been so long since you've swung the bat in front of the real deal audience that your confidence hesitates. A couple of shaky practice swings later and you're starring at the pitcher starring at you. Excitement, anxiety, a pounding heart, a sweaty grip, the refocus of a jittery, wandering mind - you're in the game. Time to man up.

I've played some little league, crushed a couple of 12-foot arcs, and each year I'll fast forward through the one-sixty-plus to get to the post season of the MLB, but I don't play baseball, so who knows if I know what I think I know when it comes to that pressure-cooker of a 'you're up to bat' scenario. What I do know is that after warming the bench for months, with not so much as a look from my metaphorical Manager, I had to make sure I didn't pull something when I jumped up and answered that 'Git ur ass in therr!' call. You can't really plan for this stuff, that's what makes it so interesting, that's when you know you're really living, that's why you just have to be ready to always bring the swing...

The following is an excerpt from a documented email correspondence between Jack Webb and one of his associates known only as 'Matty'.

Hey Matty,

Yep, this is me, emailing you from an office (okay fine, it's a cubicle, but it's spacious and without any sign of a fourth wall, so it has a certain je ne sais quoi). This is how it when down: a Friend of my Dad emails my Pops and says he knows a guy, Rick Webb then forwards the intel, and I magic together a one-two punch of Jack Webb Coverletter-Resume. A very small handful of days later I get the call, it's meet and greet time. An interview, offer, and contract later... employed! After weeks and months of silence, the job scene in the Webb World cried out 'Suit Up'! (NPH in HIMYM) But even the unexpected isn't entirely immuned from the unexpected; I get blind sided by a new job, and the new job gets hit right back with a surprise week of vacation. 'One week on, One week off' is the way to go Matty. I started on a Monday and by the next Monday I had traded chairs - Office for Beach. It made sense to me. Work for five days, go to MeHico for seven, then belly back up to the desk for a few more 9-to-5s. But the plot thickens. As my tan and freckles fought the Calgary Climate, I had to scramble to empty out the board shorts and sandals and upgrade the gear to mitts and long-johns. It's the Sand-for-Snow 2010 campaign. Next up the Fernie Weekend, forecast: Fun. So 'Whyyyy soooo SErious?' (Joker-esque) you might ask. Well, this busy little song-and-dance has distracted me from the important things in life: the Bromance. When was the last time team Matt-and-John took to the town? Don't answer that! It will only stir up the happiness of treasured memories and remind us how long it's truly been. All I can say is, we must do better. But I'm not worried, cubicles and sandy beaches and engiNerd field-positions (not as dirty as it sounds) can't break this covalent-bond of awesomeness. Distance and Time and 'King Kong ain't got sh!t on me' slash us (Training Day). Can you feel it Matty, the anticipation is building, and the world will not be able handle the reunion. Hombres and Beautiful-Babies (Swingers) alike will know that the heat is coming when we again meet face to face, compare rockin' hair styles, and accept the challenge: to tear it up! Until then, 'I will see you there or I will see you on another time' (I Love You, Man - epic bromance flicker)

With a Big Exaggerated Hi-5,

Hi-Jacked!



The following is filed photography documenting Jack Webb's recent activity...



What happens in Cabo, Stays in Cabo. Unless of course you own a Sanyo Xacti with 9 megapixal still photography and 720p high definition video capabilities...

This is where all the problems of the world are solved, on the chair, up to the top of the next greatest run of your life. Fernie, it never disappoints...



MattMas 2008: (from left to right), Matty with the '90s studs, the crazy eyes of a MattMas diehard, a pink-scarfed cowboy look that wears Jack well. MattMas is much like Christmas, but with a different colour theme (light green & pink), and instead of celebrating Christ, this is a celebration of Matt...


Jack-in-a-box... or Jack-in-a-cubicle... bringing the business...



End of transmission...

'Just Trying to Survive' on the Little Screen

The following is half of an email correspondence that took place on Friday, March 12th, 2010. It is my reply to a friend and fellow Passionate Viewer who could go pro if he wanted to make watch the Best Television his business. He takes his Television just as seriously as we do at Hi-Jacked!

Now as for that Survivor show... WOW! I am still blown away by it's existence. It's like being in Time Square, or seeing Seinfeld live, or jumping on a motorcycle - I can't get used to it, I can't wrap my mind around how something so surreal can actually be, well, real. And it's not like this bad boy has peaked and is on a steady decline, which to me is shocking since it burst out of the gates so powerfully with that Premiere. Each episode makes me forget about the last. Each challenge feels more important than any other challenge. Each eviction seems like a tragedy, until the next episode when I almost forget that the show has lost anyone because it is still SO good. A few thoughts I've been having:

- How is it possible that Rupert is not only still in the game, but has never been a potential victim of the vote off? He's never even been mentioned as an option. I don't know what he's bringing to the table, at all. I'm fine with having him around, he feels like a lose canon and looks like a sick pirate, which keeps things interesting, for me, but why is his tribe fine with having him around?

- Is there any way that the alliance choice that JT made last night can be viewed as anything but terrible? He could have voted out James and his crippled leg, joined up with Colby, Tom, and Candice, leaving only Amanda (weak physically and emotionally - nice girl, don't get me wrong, but she's one rain storm away from totally losing it) and Rupert (I get it, he looks like something from Where the Wild Things Are, but he's still a big pile of useless) to oppose him. Instead he is now on a team with Amanda, Rupert, and 1-legged James. I'm a James fan for sure, even if he does seem unstable (short one leg and a bag of marbles), but these tribes are going to merge at some point, and JT's team right now would just get torn apart by those wily villains.

- I can't believe how badly the Heroes Tribe is doing in challenges? Physical, Mental, it doesn't seem to matter, the Heroes suck, biiiiiiig time! I think it comes down to one thing, Boston Rob. Villains have him, Heroes don't. The guy is a game changer, a leader, and by far the coolest cat I've seen on TV in a long time, maybe in Forever. Heroes oddly enough lack in leadership, and seem to have none of that 'make it happen' drive that has clinched so many of these challenges for the Villains. It's baffling to me that a team full of physically weak players (Danielle and her boobs, Tyson and his crushing wit, even Jerry and her pent up bitch-anger), nutcases (Coach the self-proclaimed Dragon-Slayer, Russell the self-proclaimed Greatest-Human-Ever), and individuals of pure Survivor-Evil (Sandra with her powers of Mean, Parvati with her powers of Seduction) can dominate what should be an unstoppable Heroes' force. I love it, I love those Villains, and I love that this show can still surprise me.

- So many stories, so many characters, so many possibilities, so little show. There's just not enough survivor in a week. I need two episodes or two hours or behind the scenes stuff or something, I just plain need more. It's great that they can jump from a scene where Tom and Colby are working on JT, and I feel like this is the big story line, only to have the show cut to Russell working on Coach in an attempt to go after Rob. There's just SO many survivor greats - it's all quality, no filler.

- The Probst. God that guy is good. He's the ultimate Survivor. Best Host of the Reality world without a question. I am loving the Tribal's, and think he is really getting a lot of good stuff out of the castaways at the challenges. It seems like he is very familiar with how he addresses this group (obviously he knows them all already), which I think allows for more interaction between player and host, more discussion, more arguments, more intensity, more Probst-probing. Probst won't let these guys off easy, which is the way it should be; grill 'em.

- I think we are going to see some stuff coming up that we can't even pretend to imagine right now. This could be based on the social game with strange alliances, big face-offs, backstabbing, and side switchers, or maybe the game layout with no-merge, a team shuffle, more idols, or it could even be the unexpected exits like injuries or quitters or ejections (I'm expecting anything). All I know is that each season of survivor has brought something new and previously unforeseeable, and this season is the BEST of the BEST and doesn't seem like it plans on slowing down at all. You're right, Most Exciting Show on Television right now, F'SHO! ... if there are people out there not watching "Survivor: Heroes vs Villains" but still watching TV, mistakes are being made, atrocious mistakes.

A quick tangent towards Lost (without referring to this weeks episode, I dread the idea of causing a spoiler... a Spoiler Causer is a murder of dreams, happiness, and smiles): Again, just like each package of episodes, this season is something new. The show still has that classic Lost vibe, but this is a very different season, with a different formula, a different path, and a different set of rules. I'm very much lost (it's the right word for it, with this show it's always the right word for it) with the 'alternate reality' concept, but I like that the characters are making parallel choices (Sayid goes bad in both realities, Linus chooses to change in both cases) which shows me that there is a force within each person that is driving them and shaping who they are, regardless of their surrounding environment. I have no idea how the show is going to wrap things up with less than 10 episodes left, but Lost has never let me down, and has seemingly painted itself in a corner before only to escape through a trap door.

I'm interested in how much the core characters have changed since season one, and how they are taking on different roles - Hurley, Jack, Kate, Sun, Jin, Sawyer, Locke, they have all been so heavily affected by what's happened since the plane dropped out of the sky, that even though they still possess the same fundamental character traits, these are vastly different people.

I'm so intrigued by the secrets and workings of the island - Jacob, Smocke (haha, I love that), the lighthouse, the temple, the unexplainable like the 'evil' in Claire which seems to be after Sayid, the Others (how great is it that the workings of the Others is style so mysterious - Richard, what's his deal), I just can't get enough. This will go down as one of my favourite shows of all time (and one of the biggest lost opportunities by those who didn't watch), even if it doesn't end as strongly as we would like, the way it has captivated me and the detail of the story can't be denied, this is a tremendous component of television history.

Anyways, as you can tell, I don't have access to the fitness centre yet, so I have used my Lunch Break for good and not evil, to talk TV, haha. Hopefully this little / massive ramble allowed for a nice afternoon break...

March 2010 appears to be all about Survival.