Wednesday, February 27, 2008 5:21:11 AM
At least it does for Dion Phaneuf.
The Flames played tonight, so Dion came in for his usual pre-game fuel up. Turns out, he not only parks in the fire lane, he also leaves his gigantic SUV running and unlocked when he comes in.
Incidentally, someone stole it.
I'm told the best part was when he slammed into the locked door while attempting to get out to save it.
Days like this make me glad I work where I do...
Friday, February 15, 2008 6:58:34 AM
Valentine's Day... It's the pinkest, happiest, most commercial day of the year. It also happens to be the most pointless in my mind. Must there be a specific day of the year to let people know you love them? What's wrong with letting them know at other points throughout the year? I don't know about you, but the idea of giving someone a $20 box of chocolate, a $50 bouquet of roses, a $300 trinket and an equally expensive dinner does not fill me with visions of romance. It fills me with visions of bounced rent cheques, which is about as far removed from the point of the day as it gets.
If couples are so distant from each other that they require a marked date on the calendar to spur them into making any sort of loving gesture, then we have a huge problem. Love isn't about how much cash you can lavish on someone. It isn't a one day effort. Either you care the whole year or you don't care at all. I'm not saying you should never plan a special night out, or buy your significant other a gift; I'm just saying that you shouldn't do it because the commercials tell you to.
Believe it or not, I am a romantic at heart. And no, I won't be writing Halmark cards anytime soon...
Tuesday, February 12, 2008 7:21:45 PM
None, whatsoever. I'm just very, very disturbed.
This is a photo of Moscow, or rather Moscow's pollution. (From
http://worldfrontpage.com/moscow_air/)
Sunday, February 10, 2008 6:56:41 AM
So today I went to a rally for the Wild Rose Alliance Party. As a disclaimer - I do NOT support them. I was tagging along with a reporter to shoot some practice photos at a scrum.
The new merger is a combination of the Wild Rose Party and the Alliance Party. So obviously they came up with an extremely original name. To summarize, this party is a collection of the reddest of rednecks in the province. A group of salivating, right-wing religious nut bars. Not that I think all right-wingers are like that. I'm sure some are perfectly wonderful. I've just yet to meet them.
The leader, Paul Hinman, says that his party contains the last "real conservatives" in Alberta. I found it rather amusing though that Hinman has already conceded that his party will have difficulties gaining any seats; the rally turned out about one hundred people from all over the province. This does not bode well for the WRA.
Some of the shots I took that that turned out decently...
The introduction.
Paul Hinman unveiling the platform.
Hinman at the media scrum.
Hinman at the media scrum.
The last question.
Saturday, February 9, 2008 7:22:41 AM
One of our regular customers at work is NHL player Dion Phaneuf. He’s a defenseman for the Calgary Flames. In the past week, Phaneuf signed a new contract that will earn him a cool $39-million for the next six seasons. To put things into perspective, that’s $6.5-million per year, $17,808.22 each day of the year or $12.37 every minute. That absurd amount of money is being paid to a man to skate in circles and shoot a puck. Don’t get me wrong – I really do like hockey. I just don’t think players should be making that much, especially not someone like Phaneuf.
Why? Perhaps it’s his swagger when he walks into the store, his air of superiority. Perhaps it’s how every time he walks up to the counter he’s blathering away on a cell phone, pulling it away from his head long enough to bark an order at us. Perhaps it’s the way he pulls up in the fire lane when there’s ample parking twenty feet away in a real parking stall. Perhaps it’s that the last tip he gave us was a whopping $0.04 – an amount he made back in less time than it took to drop the pennies into the jar. Or perhaps it’s because he’s just kind of an all-around jerk.
Or more likely, a healthy combination of all of the above.
Thursday, February 7, 2008 7:13:23 PM
I must begin with the disclaimer that being $134 above water in one of my endless rounds of Vegas-style computer solitaire has got to be some kind of record for me. I am the sort of individual who has severe issues even winning a game of solitaire. And I’ve been playing a lot of solitaire lately.
There’s this song “Hey Eugene” by a group named Pink Martini. I’ve liked it since I first heard it about a year ago. I enjoyed it for how candid and honest the lyrics were. The last time I listened to it though, I was dismayed to learn that I can now sort of understand the song.
I supply pretentious yuppie assholes with that five dollar cup of caffeine required for them to continue being pretentious yuppie assholes for the rest of the day. Of course, not all of the customers are bad. I actually quite enjoy some of them. The guy who brings us cookies for one. Or the sweet elderly lady who places a toonie in the hand of whomever brings her drink out to her. This is always accompanied with a broad smile, a wink and having her tell us that it’s “only for you, not the tip jar!”
I’ve been told that I’m quirky. I would have to agree. I can quote Voltaire, listen to Coltrane, have an affinity for black and white photography, buy books on the principle that I might one day read them, have six calendars in a one-bedroom apartment and drink more coffee than can possible be healthy. Let’s face it – I ooze with quirk.
Imagine my surprise when I met her. I never would’ve expected her to buy me a drink, let alone join me at my table. She was surprised when I told her how old I was. She stayed and talked anyway. For two hours, if memory serves me correctly. Imagine my surprise when she leaned in and kissed me.
I went for a drink with him after he got off work. We shared horror stories from our younger days. There is something extremely comforting in knowing you weren’t alone.
I called her and left a train wreck of a message. So far, I haven’t heard anything back. I suppose that everything looks different in the sobriety of morning light.
My Opera
