Thursday, December 23, 2010
Anyway, they did this last year on Festivus, too, and I couldn't do anything then because I was awesome and in Disney World. This year, however, I bring you the full list of Todd Bertuzzi's Airing of Grievances.
Happy Festivus, everyone!
Monday, December 20, 2010
So here it is. Part Two. Where Dancing Queen really gets stuck in your head.
[and as a slight off-topic post-comic note, my take on the game last night - and all I am willing to say on #400 is over here at NHL Hot Stove.]
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Chris Osgood is a [shirtless] representative for ESPN.com and gets to interview Lidstrom. At one point, he asks him the question, "Favorite Swedish golfer [male or female] and favorite ABBA song."
He continues to ramble on and says: "'Cause I love ABBA. 'Dancing Queen' - I used to dance to that nonstop in my early twenties. I don't anymore, obviously..."
Well, he's obviously lying. Because he totally still dances to it nonstop. Here's just a little bit of proof...
[My favorite is definitely the science class frame.]
Many thanks to everyone who pitched in. I'm going to try to get all of your ideas in there. But thanks to @thetinnishflash, @brigid22, @TheTripleDeke, @LolaByTheBay, @bradonweb, @saraneuie, @captnorris5, @sullyosis, @rednuck, @k_lap, @joe55167, @mserven, and @allisonRW96.
Yeah, it was that crazy.
Part II coming soon!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Well, what if Zetterberg kept this up off the ice, too? The results may look something like this.
[You know the deal by now: click to make it bigger.]
I would apologize for the crummy hand-drawn comic, but the tablet computer-drawn comic is pretty much the same quality.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
And the point of this is to show you guys what the ladies sitting behind me sounded like with their ridiculous Canadian accents.
As a disclaimer, I absolutely love Canadian accents. I could sit and listen to Chris Osgood talk forever and be completely content. But these ladies were just hilarious because it was like...the stereotypical accent. Also, I honestly like the Habs. Just...not when they're playing the Wings.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
My opinion on NaNo: It is hilarious, ridiculous, crack-tastic fun trying to write 1,667 words per day in 30 days for a story. It's 30 days and nights of literary abandon and at the end when you make it to that goal, you feel extremely satisfied. And also drained. I haven't wanted to sit and write since it ended; I finished with a little over 53,000 words in my story, and it is not yet finished.
Summing it up in a nutshell, my novel this year is about the life of an outlaw on the run, and she's on the run for a crime she didn't commit. And the media has given her the uncreative alias of Cassidy Sundance, simply because she used the name Cassidy once. [I swear this gets hockey related...]
But within this month of novel-writing, there are crazy storylines that come out of nowhere. At one point in my story, Cassidy and her sidekick at the time, Jason, get videotaped on Cash Cab. Also, she goes to a Washington Capitals game in DC against the Vancouver Canucks and talks to a Wings fan at the game.
Also, Cassidy has a run in with Patrick Kane. In a taxi cab.
Now, if there are any good-natured Hawks fans reading this blog, I mean no disrespect at all. I swear I'm just poking fun. A special thanks to @alyssa_irl for giving me some background information on Patty Kane as well, since I really don't know much about him outside of the taxi incident.
Background info you need to know for the scene: She's in Chicago [duh]. The Jason mentioned in the narration is her last cohort and he was, for lack of a more appropriate word, a badass. And please remember this is pretty much unedited and crack-tastic.
She tried not to take taxis, mostly because they were expensive. But leaving a crowded club in what looked to be a bad part of town at three in the morning made Cassidy think twice. She hailed the first taxi she saw, surprised that they stopped when there was a young looking guy in the back seat.
“You sure I can hop in?” Cassidy asked as the guy opened the door and slid across the leather seat to make room for her.
“Yeah, of course, sure, why not?” he replied in a rush, seeming overly elated at Cassidy’s arrival. She got into the taxi and closed the door behind her. In Cassidy’s opinion, he was a scrawny little kid, who looked a little on the dorky side, although she had to admit that his neck and shoulders looked pretty tough. His light brown hair was curly and long, practically a mullet, with several longer locks seeming to wrap around his ears.
“So where are you headed?” he asked. In just these few words, Cassidy got the impression that Jason would have beaten this kid up for simply existing.
“Downtown,” she replied. She wasn’t about to reveal her entire history to this stranger.
“Downtown’s pretty big, hon,” the guy told her. “Care to be more specific?”
She noticed a bit of a slurred edge to his words. Was he drunk? Cassidy shook her head. “Wherever you’re not going,” she told him.
“Oohh.” The guy let out a bark of a laugh. “Nice one, but I betcha you don’t know who I am if you’re saying that…”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes at the boy. Was he supposed to be famous? She certainly had never seen him before and she didn’t really care to find out his name. Well, two could play at that game. “I bet you that you don’t know who I am if you’re being so casual with me.”
He leaned over the invisible barrier between them to ask in a low voice, “You aren’t a cop, are you?” There was a hint of beer on his breath, but it was so faint that Cassidy wasn’t sure if she smelled it or if she was just imagining what she wanted to smell.
“Okay good.” He moved back to his seat with a grin on his face. “So you really don’t know me?”
“Want to see my Stanley Cup ring?” he asked suddenly.
“Your… what?” Cassidy tried to repeat what the guy had said.
“My Stanley Cup ring! For winning the Stanley Cup!” He was holding out his right hand, which had a large diamond-encrusted ring on his third finger; it had an Indian chieftain head in the center with “Stanley Cup” on one side and “Champions” on the other.
“…Impressive,” Cassidy finally said. She didn’t know what to make of it.
“Thanks!” He was grinning at her, looking more like a teenage boy than however old he was. “I’ve got a silver medal from the Olympics, too.”
“…Do you wear it all the time?”
“Just when I think I’ll need it,” he joked. “Tonight, I wasn’t so smart.”
“Too bad,” Cassidy said, sarcasm etched in her tone. “That would have really done the trick.” The guy sat back in his seat and sighed. “So then where are you headed?”
“The United Center,” he replied. “Practice in a bit.”
“Practice for what?”
“The Chicago Blackhawks. This city’s National Hockey League team,” he explained, giving Cassidy an incredulous look. “Are you from out of town or something?”
“Yeah, I’m from Tulsa. I’ve never paid attention to hockey,” she said. “And you do know it’s three in the morning, right? You probably don’t have practice.”
“What?!” he exclaimed. He rifled through his pockets and pulled out his Blackberry. “But Tazer sent me a text that said we had practice! Here!” He held out his phone for Cassidy to read a text. The road was so bumpy that she couldn’t get a good look at the screen, so she just made a noncommittal noise.
“Maybe he’s playing a prank on you?” she suggested.
“Hm… that does sound like him.” The guy sighed and sat back in his seat, looking out the window dejectedly. Cassidy felt a little sorry for him, although she didn't know why. Being pranked seemed perfectly normal for someone his age (or what she assumed was his age; after all, he looked like he was barely sixteen).
"What's your name?" she finally asked, realizing they hadn't exchanged that information.
"Patrick," he told her. "You?"
"Cass," she said. "Nice to meet you, Patrick."
"You, too." He was smiling. "So seriously. Where are you headed?"
"I don't know. I'll just get out wherever you get out."
"Sounds good." Patrick's knees bounced in time with an unheard song. For the remainder of the taxicab ride, they sat in almost complete silence, save for extended moments of small talk. Patrick seemed to be engrossed in nothing but his hockey, and Cassidy couldn't say anything on the subject; likewise, she couldn't tell this random person the truth about her, even if he wouldn't remember the next day since he seemed to be drunk.
"Well, I'm getting out here," Patrick said as the cab pulled up to the United Center.
"You're still getting out here, even if you don't have practice?" Cassidy asked.
"Yeah, there's some good restaurants around this area," he explained. "And I don't live too far away. Actually - " He seemed to be off in his own world. " - Tazer doesn't live too far from here. If he's home, I could get him back..."
Cassidy tried not to roll her eyes at his childishness. Instead, she reached into her bag and started looking for the envelope of money she carried with her at all times. Patrick put a hand on her wrist to stop her.
"No way, Cass," he said, shaking his head. "This cab ride is on me."
"I can't let you do that," Cassidy tried to protest, but Patrick was already handing money to the driver. "Thanks, Patrick... I guess."
"Not a problem." He was grinning at her again.
"Excuse me?" the cab driver said to catch their attention, his Spanish accent thick. "I don't have enough change for you."
"...What?" Patrick asked.
"Your change is twenty-five cents," the driver repeated. "But I have no change on me. Not at this time of night."
"So you're shorting me a quarter?" he said, his voice slowly raising in volume and pitch. "I should kick your ass for that!"
"I'm sorry..." he was trying to explain, but Patrick seemed to be blinded by his rage.
"Geez, you're getting upset over a fucking quarter?" Cassidy exclaimed, causing Patrick to look over at her. She hadn't realized she had sworn at him; apparently Jason's foul mouth had rubbed off on her. "You're a professional athlete and you're upset over a quarter? I mean, come on." He was giving her an incredulous look. She was enjoying poking fun at the guy. "You would really beat up a cab driver over a quarter? That's just stupid. Maybe even career suicide." She didn't know the workings of the sport of hockey, but assumed fighting with a cab driver over a quarter didn't make for a pretty headline.
"I hate to break it to you..." Patrick tried to begin, although Cassidy wasn't listening; she had exited the cab and was already walking down the sidewalk. He was hot on her heels. "Hey, wait a minute!" he called after her as she strode down the street.
"No thanks," she said over her shoulder. "I've got my own plans, Patrick, and they don't involve getting arrested for beating up a cab driver for a quarter. Even I wouldn't do that, and I'm almost at rock bottom."
The running footsteps that had been approaching her suddenly slowed and came to a stop. Cassidy didn't dare look back; she had a feeling Patrick had a sad puppy dog look on his face and she didn't want to be sucked into feeling regret.
"Call me?" he shouted before Cassidy rounded the corner. She just shook her head amusedly and kept on, hoping to find a park of some sort to get some rest in for the evening. Perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune. And better fortune certainly wasn't in Chicago, Illinois.
--------------------[By the way, having Cassidy call him "Patrick" is just really weird. I'm so used to calling players by their last names.]
Comments? Concerns? General responses?