Tuesday, February 28, 2012

How Evgeni Malkin Saved My Life...In A Dream

Last night, I did what I've been doing all break, and took a drive somewhere for food. I've been out in the afternoon to get lunch each day, usually a bagel or two, but I haven't done much else. As a result, I don't leave the house much, so I take a drive (one of my favorite things to do) for amusement after the rest of the family has gone to bed.

In last night's case, I broke away from the familiar mold of Wendy's, and headed down to Sheetz. I got a footlong turkey hoagie, then drove to Canonsburg lake and ate half of it. That's my little meditation spot. It was because of this sandwich that I was able to have this epiphany...
I woke up at 6:30, when everybody else goes to school, and as usual, there was a dispute between my brother and my Mom about whether or not he was actually awake. Every morning is like a war zone, because Tommy, who is normally a very nice kid, is very angry when he wakes up. He yells at everyone, insists he's awake and has been since 4:47 a.m. (or whenever he woke up and looked at the clock for a moment before rolling over and sleeping again) and then of course, falls asleep again.

After this, I went back to sleep, and something strange happened.

Join me on my journey...

I'm in my house, and I'm hanging out with some people from school. We're just chilling, enjoying a few beers, which I think is ok to say since it wasn't real. I think some southern comfort was involved, but though I remember making the drink, I don't remember dream-consuming it. Regardless, I remember being quite thirsty, and it worked. Sometimes I sleepwalk, and actually do what I'm dreaming about...I really hope this wasn't the case here, because I'm not sure what it is that I would have consumed.

After a bit, we left my house, and were in the hallway outside my apartment in Erie. Changes of scenery in dreams are not to be questioned. Just go with it.

As we were walking around in the hallway, we were attacked by the guy who was at the cash register at Sheetz last night. Picture, if you will, a long haired, very dirty looking ginger kid. Apparently he got off work at 7:15 a.m. and was pissed at me for not asking him out on a date or something, I dunno. Perhaps he was jealous of my awesome hair? Whatever the case, the fellow had a problem with me.

That reminds me, I gotta call for a haircut. Thanks, dirty ginger kid.

Anyways, he killed Ryan and Dan, so sorry about that, fellas. You two don't read this anyways, so perhaps it's deserved in dream world. 

I was taken hostage by this kid, and led to the large classroom in Zurn hall, where there was a class going on. He was going to kill me in front of a large group of people, which is really not cool. I was thinking at this point that he needed a better way of channeling his anger, perhaps fly fishing or maybe he could join the monks from Monty Python.

In the classroom, we got up on the stage, which doesn't exist in real life. I knew this was the end for me, because in dream world, I never win. Much like Mike Birbiglia's description of his dreams, if I'm in an athletic competition, I always come in 2nd or 3rd, but I never win. If my life is on the line, forget it.

I'm in the last seconds of my dream life. I'm flashing back to all the good memories...the Dogfish Head 60 minute IPA (if it's a dream, I gotta have my favorite, right?)....the southern comfort and coke, whose consumption was in question. The brief walk outside my apartment before my friends were offed. So many good memories, all now reduced to the gangly, nerdy kid with a gun to my head. This was it for me...in the dream.

Then it happened.

Hell yes. 

Terminator Geno busted through the door, and rushed to my aid. The NHL's leading scorer unleashed upon my attacker with a burst of fury that was most recently seen crushing the hopes and dreams of many elderly Floridians in the Penguins' 8-1 assault on the Tampa Bay Lightning.

There was no fight, just a beating. The man they call Geno disposed of my attacker with vicious Matt Cooke-esque elbows, and was quickly finished after punching his way through a goal by goal recap on Sheetznerd's face.

All who were in the room thanked Geno for his heroics, but he, being the merciful lord (Voldemort style, not Jesus style) simply said "anuzzah day at ze office", and with a wave, he departed, never to be seen at Mercyhurst again.

Just like this.

Thank you, dream Malkin. Because of you, I was able to continue sleeping for a few minutes. 

Evgeni Malkin leads the NHL scoring race with 78 points, 3 ahead of Tampa's Steven Stamkos, and 6 ahead of Philadelphia's Claude Giroux. He also randomly saves people from fake danger in dreamworld. 

Will Schuster is the author of this blog, and needs a better way of spending his time.

Monday, February 27, 2012

A Completely Untrue Account of My "Spring" Break

A certain demanding, but not altogether displeasing individual wishes for me to write, because she is bored and has nothing better to do than pester a friend and read his random musings on life.

It's my "spring break" right now, and the name is especially fitting since the day after I got home, Pittsburgh received one of its largest snowfalls of the winter (which for this winter, isn't totally surprising). My school is on the trimester system, or as I refer to it, "the pregnancy schedule". As such, our finals and midterms do not coincide with any other schools, and our February break is an entity unto itself.

In other words, it's just me here.

Of course, I've been spending time with my family, and I "surprised" my Grandma by visiting her for dinner (though, I had to call to tell my Grandpa to order extra pizza, so the cat was out of the bag). Tomorrow's another dinner with my other set of Grandparents, so that'll be nice.

Aside from that, I've been spending my time watching tv, hanging around on facebook, and reading "Jurassic Park" for perhaps the 10th time. It's my favorite book. I've been sitting so much that the mattress on my bed is indented with a perfect imprint of my ass.

My plans for the rest of break are to become a ping pong champion, and act as an ambassador of goodwill to China. I will also run from Greenbow, Alabama all the way to the West coast, then back to the East coast, and then having amassed a group of followers, I will coin the phrase "shit happens" and then simply go home.

On the final day of break, I will save my one true love from her captors, who are in order, a Spaniard, a giant, and finally, some tiny fellow. I will defeat them all, killing only the third, and eventually befriending the first two during my quest to save her. Though I will be pushed toward the brink of death, I will miraculously revive, and defeat the prince of a far off land, who is holding m'lady captive. We shall ride off, whereupon it will be revealed that my life is simply a story within a story, and I am actually being narrated by an old man, as he tells my story to his grandson, Fred Savage.

Then I'll go back to Erie for a bit.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

What To Do When You Can Hear People Having Sex?

Well, tonight sucked a bit. I went to a party of sorts, but everyone was quite drunk and loud, so I split. To avoid noise. I wanted to be away from noise. Got that? Good, it's important.

Well, I got back to my place, settled in on the couch with netflix and a wonderful documentary about the War of 1812, because I'm REALLY 83 years old, and that's what I do for fun. I look for a quiet place and watch History Channel documentaries.

Very clever.

Anyways, after a few minutes of watching the Redcoats advance upon Washington, I heard commotion from upstairs on the landing. It appeared there was a fight between some guy and some girl, and they were not too pleased with one-another. I decided to be respectful of the situation, so I did what any gentleman would do...I pressed my ear to the door and listened to it all. Somebody cheated on somebody...big mess...

Guess how much I care?

I won, because I used their sadness as entertainment.

They eventually left, and I returned, once again, to the British advance upon our capital.

About 20 minutes later, I heard what I thought was crying from upstairs, so I went to explore the situation. I thought perhaps I could add more excitement to my night at the expense of others. Earlier in the day, my friend moved out of the apartment above me, and a new girl moved in. It should be noted that today was the last day of finals, due to our goofy system, so the whole building is empty...except for me and this girl...and whoever is plowing the hell out of her right now.

Yes, readers, I have spent the last hour and a half unable to sleep, because I am being subjected to what might be the loudest sex Erie has ever known. 

I thought perhaps it would end shortly after it began, but it simply continued escalating at a more rapid pace than the German invasion of the Sudetenland. As the minutes ticked away, so did my patience, and after 15 minutes or so of listening to the vaginal slaughter that was taking place mere feet above my head, I went to my room and turned on my guitar. I played through most of Metallica's "Ride The Lightning" and "Kill 'em All" albums, but to no avail: the walls above me were still receiving worse treatment than Native Americans during the Jackson administration.

How is it possible that you have so little dignity as to have sex louder than a Deep Purple concert, then actually have somebody PLAY Deep Purple below you on their guitar (I played "My Woman From Tokyo", as well) and NOT STOP SLAMMING OFF THE WALLS LIKE CHARLES MANSON IN THE NUTHOUSE?

Captain Jackhammer and NewGirl are still at it upstairs, and any minute now, I expect them to come crashing through the ceiling, not notice their new location (which would be my kitchen), and keep going. Either that, or I'll be rushing them both to the hospital after he liquefies her insides, and he then suffers a heart attack. 

So here, I present my final request to the Sexual marathon runners, currently on the 25th mile of their jaunt through my potential sleeping time:

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

New York Rangers Gameday Post

New York City. The city that never sleeps, presumably because the police sirens never stop.

The Rangers are good, there's no question about that. They lead the Eastern Conference, and it's not really close. Sitting high atop their garbage mountain in Manhattan, they have 81 points, and are 7-2-1 in their last 10 games. Marian Gaborik leads them with 50 points, which would almost be impressive if Evgeni Malkin didn't have 71 points of his own.

With the trade deadline approaching, there's always the question of whether or not a move that's supposed to make a team better will actually cripple them in the long run. The Rangers are one of the teams who are being talked about to make a move to solidify their chances of winning the Stanley Cup. As it is, they are a great regular season team, but could use a few tweaks to push them into a position where they are actual cup contenders. What do you do, though, if you're their GM? Do you get rid of some pieces that have helped them along the way, potentially sacrificing some of the glue that's held them together this long?

See that picture above? It's suppose to say "Is such a thing even possible?....Yes it is". However, this blog's  host sucks so much, that it can't even comprehend how to properly show a .gif file. I used to delete them when they didn't work. Instead, I'm going to keep them posted and write to the website that they're really behind the game. I found a website from 1998 which used the technology and had no issues. That was 14 years ago. [edit: if you click on it, it works. Unacceptable.]

I digress.

The Penguins got kicked in the nuts the other day by a Sabres team with nothing to lose. They looked abysmal, and Dan Bylsma was about ready to go William Wallace on his defensemen. I'm expecting them to regroup after that loss, and crash the Rangers like the New York Stock Exchange.

Evgeni Malkin is still leading the NHL in points, 3 ahead of Claude Giroux. He also has a statue of the alien from "Alien" in his back yard. 

If I had more money than I knew what to do with, I'd probably do the exact same thing. Gotta love how he has such a ridiculous looking statue in such a fancy back yard, behind an even fancier house. He's probably got Cam Ward's head in a jar in the basement.

Marc Andre Fleury will start this game, which isn't really big news. He's still among the leaders in wins, which isn't really big news. Fun fact: he enjoys saying "fuckface," and his favorite breakfast is a bowl of cereal that is actually named after him. I'm in the wrong line of work (which is to say, I don't have a job. Please hire me.)

Pens win 3-2, goals from Malkin, James Neal, and Pascal Dupuis.

Hockey Talk: Milbury, NBC, Fragile.

Man, what's not going well right now?

Today, I got up at 7, typed up an essay, sent some emails, all that good stuff. After that, I headed off to the library, printed out that essay, another essay, and a big-ass paper, turned in all 37 or so pages of that stuff, then came back and watched the Office for a bit. Followed that up with a journey down the road to tour Penn State Behrend with my family. I hate to say it, but I think I'm gonna have a Penn State student in my family. Crazy, right? Pretty happy that she'll be down the road for my senior year, though.

In the course of one week or so, my brother got into Culver Academy in Indiana to play hockey, and my sister got offered a spot to play soccer at Behrend, and she gets to settle a little unfinished business on the soccer field. I'd kill to have a shot at playing hockey again, so I couldn't be happier for Abbie and Tommy. In fact, it's deserving of one of these:

Guess who's finally got some hockey to talk about?

The other day, millions of families across the US cancelled all their plans, and rushed home from church to gather around the ol' television box in order to celebrate HOCKEY DAY IN AMERICA! The day is our attempt, as a country, to embrace our soon-to-be national pastime, the pure and gentlemanly sport of ice hockey.

...The pure and gentlemanly sport of ice hockey!

As much as people have complained about various aspects of the day, I loved it. 

Unfortunately, the Penguins put forth one of their worst efforts of the season, and were destroyed by the Sabres. They looked like they were experiencing a worse hangover than one of Andre The Giant's drinking partners. Thankfully, though, the Pens beat up on their arch-rivals, the Philadelphia Flyers, just a few hours beforehand.

Regardless, there were several games broadcast nationally on NBC, including a couple of back-to-back main event games between Boston and Minnesota as well as Detroit and San Jose. It was a good way of exposing the sport nationally, which included the NBC crew sitting outside, freezing their asses off, and a pretty good lineup of games.

The day also gave us one of the greatest images ever. I present to you...

This is Mike Milbury. Sir Shoesalot played hockey for the Bruins back in the 70's, coached them for a bit, and is most famous for two things: destroying teams from within, and beating a Rangers fan with his own shoe. This great moment in benchwarmer history spawned the scene in Slap Shot, where one of the Hanson brothers beats the hell out of somebody with some quality footwear.

The picture is great, because he's wearing shades that he thinks look cooler than the Fonz, despite the fact that Milbury's about as hip as Madonna's lady parts nowadays. 

As far as destroying teams from within, Milbury is about as sensible to have in the front office as a chestburster from Alien is to have in your stomach.

This is the least graphic image I could find.

During his tenure as GM of the New York Islanders, the Mike Tyson of moccasins traded away such little-known names as Zdeno Chara (Stanley Cup champion, captain of the Bruins, Norris trophy Winner), Roberto Luongo (Vezina Award winner, Stanley Cup finalist), Olli Jokinen (Gretzky told him to "hadda burger"), Todd Bertuzzi (Asshole, but effective player), Tim Connolly (http://candk.ytmnd.com/), and Raffi Torres (Stanley Cup finalist). His crowning achievement, though? Signing Rick Dipietro to a 15 year, $67.5 million contract. Since then, DiPietro has played only 164 games (out of a possible 410), including only 13 games between 2008 and 2010.

The fellow dressed as Hulk Hogan (of awesome mustache fame) is Cy Clark, one of the best and most visible Penguins fans out there anywhere. Why's he chilling with backup goaltender Brent Johnson, and holding up a New York Islanders jerseyvwhich reads "Fragile"?

I'd post the .gif, but the blog isn't letting me.

The trade deadline's coming up soon, and I'll talk about that. I really just wanted to brag about my brother and sister, while making fun of Mike Milbury and Rick Dipietro. It felt good to talk about hockey again.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Daniel Day Lewis Tribute Day

I've spent the afternoon watching "Gangs of New York". When I woke up, I turned on "Youngblood," which stars Rob Lowe as a junior hockey player. It's a ridiculous movie, but you get to see his hot girlfriend naked, so I guess that's a plus. In the end, Rob Lowe gets into a stick fight with some huge dude named Racki, and wins. In real life, Lowe would be carried out on a stretcher.

Yeah, Sodapop (The Outsiders) loses this one.

Anyways, I had heard before that Daniel Day Lewis, one of the stars of "Gangs" is completely insane, and never comes out of character when filming a movie. A search of Lewis on google images confirmed this.

Upon further investigation of his wikipedia, I learned the following (each will be ranked on a scale of 1-5 DanielDayLudicrous points): 

-In his first case of absurd eccentricity, DDL was cast as the lead role in a film entitled "My Left Foot," for which he won the Academy Award for best actor. During the filming of the movie, he refused to leave his wheelchair, on set and off, in order to understand the hardship experienced by the real-life man he portrayed. While filming, he broke two ribs, due to the hunched position he remained in for months, while in his wheelchair. For breaking his ribs and pissing off everyone in the cast by having to lift him over wires and lights on set, he receives 3 DanielDayLudicrous points.

-In 1989, DDL was scheduled to play Hamlet, but collapsed onstage in the first showing of the play, due to "seeing his father's ghost" in much the same way that drove the titular character mad in the play, itself. 5 DanielDayLudicrous points for legitimate insanity.

-While filming "Last of the Mohicans," he lived in the woods, hunting and fishing in order to feed himself. He also learned how to skin animals and carried a long rifle with him at all times. Yawn. 1 DanielDayLudicrous point. I must state that for anybody else, this would be completely ridiculous, but we're dealing with someone who's completely off their rocker, here.

-Finally, DDL's preparation for "Gangs" was also completely nuts. For months of filming, Lewis refused to drop his accent or character, wearing 1860's clothing, including a top hat, even in the streets of New York City. Eventually he caught pneumonia, as it was winter, yet refused to seek medical treatment until being persuaded to do so by others on set. He also took lessons with a butcher, so that he knew exactly how to kill each and every one of us, presumably. 4 DanielDayLudicrous points. 

Someone in Times Square stepped on his toe.
All they found of him was an ear.

There are several other tales of the man's insanity, but I didn't feel like telling all that I know...or typing it all. After a while, you probably to get the deal. He just finished up filming for "Lincoln," a biopic about the 16th President of the US. I would assume that during filming, he attempted to abolish slavery at least 47 times, and lived in a log cabin built in the middle of DC.

Here are some roles I'd love for him to play, given the shenanigans he could get himself into:

-John Hammond in a remake of "Jurassic Park," because I'm quite certain he'd obsess over the creation of dinosaurs, to the point of them becoming real and replacing the sad looking snow leopard at the Pittsburgh Zoo. I've spent 20 years looking at that sad leopard. Can we get it a new exhibit?

-Hannibal Lecter. He would undoubtedly get very into philosophy, art, and poetry, and would almost certainly eat at least 8 people. The headlines would be fascinating.

-The first zombie in a remake of "Night of the Living Dead," and only because I want to put my zombie survival skills to the test.

In the event of zombie apocalypse, I'm headed away from civilization, to a treehouse in the woods, where I will learn to hunt and skin animals, probably with a long rifle. In the end, it will come full circle, and I will be the new insane actor in Hollywood.

First there's my breakfast hibachi idea, and now I'm Hollywood's leading man. In my imagination, I'm making tons of cash.

I'm taking Jennifer Aniston to the after party. Finally.

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Have you ever seen a Transformer in real life?

Now you have.
Isn't that nifty?

I haven't posted in a few days, and I'm completely exhausted. I've written 39 pages worth of research papers in the last two weeks, and I feel like hibernating for a long, long time. If I have to write one more citation, I'm gonna kick some ass.

Right now, I have a sore throat, which upon further inspection is almost swollen shut. Dinner in a few minutes is going to be a lot of fun. I'm thinking ice cream is a good choice, but I'm stupid, so I'll probably get chicken fingers or something.

I had a brilliant idea the other night, which I am posting here to prove it was my idea first, before somebody steals it. Dan, Alex, and I went to the Breakfast Place (actual name) on 38th street the other night. It's open late at night, and serves breakfast to dozens of plastered college students every Friday and Saturday. The ironic thing is that the people eating breakfast most likely haven't gone to bed yet, so it should be called the Eggy Dessert Place.

Here's my idea, though.

Everybody loves Benihana, Nakama, or whatever Hibachi place it is that you folks go to, assuming you go to one at all. If not, the idea is simple: you are seated at a table in front of a large flat-top grill, sometimes with strangers. You order food, which is then prepared by a chef right in front of you, complete with various tricks such as the ever-popular onion volcano or shrimp tossing. Always a good time.

Breakfast foods are also cooked on one of those flat-top grills. Eggs (specifically omelets), bacon, sausage, toast...all things that can be prepared quickly and cheaply. I think it's a great idea to open up a breakfast hibachi restaurant, as it would be fun and cheaper than the Japanese alternative.

I'm gonna make unreal amounts of money off this idea some day, and none of you can have a dime.

Well, some of you can.

Monday, February 13, 2012

A Very Unfavorable Review of the Grammys

I listen to a lot of heavy metal, and if I could, I'd convince James Hetfield from Metallica to ignore that I suck, and let me play rhythm guitar for them.

As such, I can't stand Dubstep, and try as I might, I can't get into country. I like a song here or there, but mostly, it depresses or bores me (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Melanie-Meriney/153186937356 is quite talented, though). Shameless friend plug.

Tonight, against my better judgement, I watched the Grammys, and it was as if all the things I love in this world had been taken into a Georgia bathroom by Ben Roethlisberger.

When I began watching, there was a tribute to some older country singer fellow, and I mad a bad joke about the song at the end, only to find out they were doing it as a tribute to the man's lifetime achievements and his battle with Alzheimers. Sometimes I should figure out what's going on before I make potentially offensive statements about things. I really am sorry for that.

After this unfortunate moment, Nicki Minaj became my unwanted savior of the moment by desecrating Christianity, so thanks a lot for that. Took the heat right off me. she really is an idiot for her performance, and I can't believe it got the go-ahead. Here's what happened:

As I flipped back to the show, Minaj was howling about a priest taking Prozac or something, then went into some pained scream, which I assume was caused by Satan scratching her vocal cords. I know we're not supposed to be on the Devil's side, but if this was truly the case, then I hope he did a good job so we don't have to see her again.

The scene then switched to a horror movie style thing with a coked up Minaj, throwing people across the room. It was a real fitting tribute to Whitney Houston. Very touching. Wait, Jennifer Hudson did that? So Nikki is just insanely bad, and has creepy eyes? Ok, good.

Nicki Minaj looked like a cross between a vampire and a Tarsier monkey.

Nicki Minaj is always watching you.

All kidding aside, though I did not enjoy Jennifer Hudson's tribute to Whitney Houston, who was a very talented woman, it was extremely tasteful, so it was good of them to throw that together and not ruin it.

Prior to Nicki Minaj was the big orgy of suck between Lil Wayne, Deadmau5, some DJ who looked like a grad student, and sadly, the Foo Fighters. To their credit, the Foo Fighters were excellent, playing "Rope" live, and not recorded. I might've gone on a shooting rampage if Dave Grohl was faking it.

Unfortunately, Deadmau5'5 (that's right, I used another 5 to turn that idiot into a possessive) ecstasy haze led him to the stage, where he inexplicably slowed down the song, grabbed a powerdrill, and drilled a screw deep into my head. He then hung a mural painted in vomit on the screw, and then disappeared to fondle Skrillex.

Then something amazing happened.

Paul McCartney showed up as the anti-Minaj and saved the day. Joined by a group of musicians including Grohl, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Walsh, and a few others, the old man played "The End" by the Beatles, and stole the show. I don't wanna say too much more about it, because I can't do it justice. Unfortunately, the Grammys have blocked all videos of it, so I can't show it to you. Just know it was excellent.

Finally, Adele won everything, reminding me that some people my age are writing a blog post in which they rip on people who are extremely famous, and that some people my age are extremely famous. Oh well.

I did manage to find a video of Adele that wasn't blocked, though. Check it out.

Told you I'd make it happen, JO.

Adele cried more in 5 minutes than I did during the entirety of "The Fox and the Hound". Get it together, lady. Her hair is also the size of the Hindenburg Zeppelin, and probably has enough hairspray in it to make it equally flammable.


I'm gonna say it anyways. What's the difference between Whitney Houston and Amy Winehouse?

About 200 days.

This is what I've just done to some peoples' opinion of me.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Some Clair Park Stories

Everybody in the suburbs grew up with some sort of park or playground nearby.

The neighborhood I grew up in only had a few kids my age, but I still think we had some of the most fun out of anybody else in the district. We grew up in the area of Upper St Clair that my friend, Jay, so accurately describes to this day as "Lower St Clair". Lower St Clair means that none of us grew up in large houses with wealthy families and a huge ego. Take note of the "and" at the end of that sentence, because though some of my friends did grow up in large houses with well-off parents, none of us developed the sense of self-importance that a lot of the other kids did. I think that's a large part of why I still retain a large group of friends back home, while other people I know have grown distant from their old high school group.

Me? I'm quite certain I'll have a lot of weddings to attend in the next ten years. Pretty crazy, huh?

That being said, my neighborhood really only consisted of me and two other friends, but we grew up in the best possible place a couple kids could hope for. Once you cross Fort Couch Rd. past my house, the expanse of city that stretches out from Pittsburgh to the South Hills abruptly stops. Even a few hundred yards from my house, the landscape, dominated by concrete, bars, and stores abruptly ends, giving way to new housing developments, and just a bit past that, woods and even a few farms. Follow that until you hit West Virginia. Actually, don't do that, West Virginia is where brain cells go to die.

In our neighborhood, there were some woods, a creek, a parking garage, a mall, and my favorite, a 20 ft wall outside the beer distributor, where the three of us would get together, sit on the wall, and eat combos (or throw them on the street below in hopes that cars would run them over). That is, until they guy who owns the distributor told us to get lost....after 4 or 5 years of us causing no trouble whatsoever. Still, a pretty diverse set of options for a few kids to fill up their time in the summer.

But where most of the stories I remember best happened was the park. Clair Park, to be more precise. Two jungle gyms, a basketball court we used to play days' worth of street hockey, and a large field below, where we played football.

Many games between the "Red Wings" and "Penguins" took place on that court.
It was the Dark Ages, so Hull/Fedorov/Yzerman generally dominated Fata/Kraft/Beech

What follows is a collection of short stories I find humorous from the time I spent at that tiny park.
-Bloody tic-tac-toe.

On the field below the park, the kids in the neighborhood played a ton of football. None of that two-hand-touch crap. We beat the hell out of each other. One year, there was a decent snowfall, followed by rain, and then more snow. It actually led to the best sledding I've ever done, since ice + one of those old wooden sleds with metal runners is a match made in heaven.

Plastic sleds are for nosepickers. These things MOVE.

One afternoon, a game of football commenced in the snow and ice. If the mark of a good nose is that a soft bump does not turn it into a red fountain of blood, then I was not blessed with a "good" nose. At one point during the game, I took a shoulder to the face, and Mt Vesuvius erupted, staining the once pristine, white snow a vibrant shade of bright red. 

Some of the other kids were shocked, but I had seen my insides pour out of my nose before, so to alleviate tension, I grabbed a large chunk of ice, brought it to my nose, and drew a tic-tac-toe board on the ice. I then played against my friends, as they called out spaces on the board, and I drew on some x's or o's for them. Remember, I had several hallucinations as a child, so I'm a little nuts.

I still wonder if anyone else ever found the pool of blood I left. If they did, I sincerely hope they called the cops. If not, something is wrong with that person.

The only reason I told this story instead of others, is because I'm quite certain nobody else ever did this.

-Chlorine Bombs and "Deals" at School

This is one my Mom never knew about. Sorry, Mom.

Science is fun. Bill Nye told me so. That said, we discovered in 7th or 8th grade that when mixed, chlorine and rubbing alcohol produces a gas. When put inside a bottle together with the cap screwed on tight, the gas expands inside the bottle until the bottle cannot take it any longer, and it explodes. 

See how the moron in the video moves closer to the bottle? Yeah, don't do that, it's really dangerous. We knew this, but hey...it exploded with a sound like a bass drum. After a while, the park became a graveyard of plastic bottles, blown to hell by our concoction of pool supplies and disinfectant. At first, we were unsuccessful, but we learned the key to doing it (shake it), and kept it going for months, experimenting with different shaped bottles to get different sounds. Large bottles, like 2 liters, gave more deep, resonant sounds when their insides exploded.

The thing is, none of us owned a pool. How did we get the chlorine?

We did drug-deal style exchanges with another kid. Obviously no drugs were involved. Instead, in our infinite 13-year-old suburban shadiness, we met this kid by his locker, slipped him a 5, and he gave us a chlorine puck. After school, we ran to the park and unleashed hell. Surprisingly, we never got in trouble for the hundreds of explosions we caused, and luckily, nobody ever got hurt.

It just struck me a few months ago that what we were doing to get the chlorine was done in exactly the same manner as a high school hallway drug deal is portrayed in 90's tv shows like Saved By The Bell. I got a real kick out of that.

-Will Thinks He's a Daredevil....Again

When I was about 12, my Grandparents got me a bike for Christmas, complete with BMX pegs. I rode the thing all the time, off small jumps I built, or other things I found. Tony Hawk's Pro Skater was a huge video game at the time, so extreme sports were a big deal.

At the same time, the park was undergoing a renovation from the old wooden jungle gyms that taught character, into these new, watered-down padded hunks of politically correct crap. In their infinite wisdom, the construction workers left a large pile of dirt mid-way down the hill...in such a manner that it formed a perfect ramp.

We talked for days about taking a bike off it, but none of us ever got the balls to do it...until my stupidity reared its ugly head.

Debates (which looks like "diabetes") had gone on for days about whether or not it was safe, and we concluded that it wasn't. I'm an idiot. At one point in this fateful day, I found myself atop the hill with my bike, looking down. My friends had gone down to one of their houses for food or something. I began pedaling.

As I flew down the hill, picking up speed, the true magnitude of the pile came into view. This was no small pile, but a 5 foot clump of dirt, after which was even more hill, thus increasing the trajectory and distance of the jump.

In my final moments, I glanced over to where I saw one of them coming back down the hill to the park. With what was sure to be my final breath, I yelled "IT'S NOT SAFE", and took to the air, leaving my bike mid-flight, and landing in a heap on the ground below. Nothing broke, but I never did something quite like that ever again.

As I laid on the ground, looking up at the sky, wondering if I was ok and if the pain had simply not set in, one of the kids came running over. Did he ask if I was alright? No. "DUDE! THAT WAS AWESOME".

These were my friends then, and strangely enough, they still are.

All of these stories are true, and yes, I'm a little imbalanced. Still, I enjoyed all of them, just like I did when I experienced (mostly) every other story that I didn't tell here today.

Today, the park is a shell of its former self. We're all a bit older, so the idea of getting together to sled or hang out by the picnic table isn't as appealing as it used to be. The football field is completely useless, as they installed new drainage pipes in it a few years ago, and simply covered up the pipes with rocks, making football a really horrible idea. I'm glad I got to use it while I still could. Maybe I'll take a walk there when I'm home in a week or two, and see if any new kids are using the park like we did.

That was a really long post, and I'm glad you made it this far. I had fun writing it, and I hope it was enjoyable to read, even if the stories aren't necessarily easy to relate to. It's just a continuation of my ongoing attempt to perfect storytelling. It's a skill a lot of people take for granted, and simply vomit onto a screen in 140 characters on Twitter. Tonight wasn't a great night, so I'm more glad than I usually am, that I have this platform for getting my mind off of things, and letting me hopefully entertain a few people.

I'm going to bed.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Traumatic Events of My Childhood: Hallucinations

I have been asked what my greatest fear is, on several occasions. One possible answer I could give, is that I fear that the contents of this story will resurface while I am away at college. If they do, I apologize ahead of time, Dan and Alex, but it hasn't happened in years.

When a person gets a really high fever, there are several things that can happen.

For example, you can die, which I think is probably the worst of all. I mean, you can debate that, but I think it's pretty unanimous. You can also sweat through the mattress, which is really good for your hydration and if you have a bunk bed, wonderful for the person sleeping below you in a Niagara Falls of salt and water.

A fever is a useful thing, as it speeds up your immune system and kills pathogens that can't survive at such temperatures. For me, it can be scary as hell.

When a fever gets too high, brain cells begin frying like eggs on a sidewalk, and you start to go a little bit nuts. It is especially common in children and the elderly. Can't wait til I'm 60.

The first time this happened to me, I was about six, and as is a common theme in bad things that have happened to me, I blame my mother. See, she and my Dad went to Los Angeles for a week, and left me with my grandma and grandpa. On my first night at their house, I noticed a spot on me that was not there before.

I brought this to the attention of my loving grandparents, and they told me it was probably nothing, and to go to bed.

Then I noticed more spots.

I woke up the next day like a damned leopard. I had chicken pox.

Things were going pretty well for a bit. My grandma loves me more than yours loves you, and took me to Toys R Us to buy me a bunch of Godzilla toys. The movie had just come out (the one where Godzilla lays eggs in Madison Square Garden), and those toys were awesome and pretty popular at the time. I wonder how many other children I got sick that day, and the evil part of me laughs at them.

Then things took a turn for the worse.

I went to sleep, and then woke up in a dream world, where various monsters were coming to get me. I was awake, and I could see everything as it really was, only more vivid and colorful. I saw no scary creatures, but I knew they had to be there, ready to eat me. I heard them, stomping toward me, like impact tremors from the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. I feel sorry for it to this day, because I know it must have scared the hell out of my grandparents. I was their adorable grandson, and I had turned into Jack Nicholson in The Shining.


This was not an isolated event, as seemingly every time I got sick from that point on until I was 11 or so, it happened. Not just sick, but really insanely sick. 

The time that sticks out the most was perhaps the scariest thing I had ever encountered.

Again, I woke up for real, but something was wrong. The room was extremely vivid again, and as I looked out the window, I saw armies assembling to take me out. They would advance on me and then disappear. They shot flaming rocks out of cannons and catapults at my window, but none of them ever made contact. It then occurred to me that it was the Confederate Army. I had to save my brother and sister.

I woke Tommy up and began screaming for him to get under the bed, because the Confederates were coming. He freaked out and went under the bed. My sister, on the other hand, ran to get my mother, whom I had already woken up with the sounds of my screaming about secession in the name of slavery and state's rights. Even as an 11 year old, I had a dislike for Jefferson Davis.

The dream then shifted to men who had entered the house. Not only did they enter the house, but they inhabited the bodies of my family, becoming my Mom and my siblings. They were coming to kill me.

Even worse.....they had markers for fingers. They were going to kill me, and they would do so in very inky, messy fashion. It's impossible to get a Crayola marker out of a white t-shirt, which may be the worst part of it all.

Just my brother and sister, wanting to eat my flesh.

As the night went on, my Mom tried desperately to impress upon me the idea that they were not there to eat my flesh, and that the Confederate army was not setting up camp at South Hills Village. It's good that she didn't tell me they (the Confederates) were all dead, or I would have a new thing to fear: zombies.

Eventually, my fever went down, and I became normal again. To this day, they make fun of me about the Marker People, and they all have a good laugh. I do not laugh, because I know the truth.

The Marker People still live within them, and will return some day to draw penises on my face while I'm asleep.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Total Throwaway Post. Lacking Creativity Today.

I'm re-doing the post, because it was not up to my standards, and WAS, in fact, a piece of junk.

Last night's game last night was pretty entertaining. Pens lost.

I'd be lying if I said I remember much about it. Yesterday was a cold medicine haze. I was like Jimi Hendrix with 1/100th the talent, but all of the trippiness. By the way, "trippiness" is not a word. Spellcheck suggested "nippiness".

For $12.99/month, you can see the whole thing
Well, probably not the WHOLE thing.


Since I don't remember the game, let's relive it together!

-Apparently there was some hand-to-hand combat between Orpik and Cole. Orpik once snapped Cole's neck like a kit-kat bar. I'm taking Orpik in this one.
-Louie LeBlanc scored. His name means "The White". That fellow I ripped on would probably say LeBlanc is Tim Thomas's favorite hockey player. 
-Carey Price drank too much Colt 45 and let in a soft goal to Joe Vitale. 
-Kris Letang attacked PK Subban
-We lost

All you really need to know is this. 

Only 6 landmines, because the crowd was pretty quiet for Montreal.
And because this happened.

Sorry for the crappy quality.


A random set of thoughts, sure to be more entertaining than this post was, previously.

-I took a look at a house today, for next year. Walking in the door was like walking into the 70's, and I fell in love with it immediately. Almost no chance I'll live in it next year, but if I do, I'm probably going to finally complete my metamorphosis into Hyde from That 70's Show, minus the curly hair.

It had all the familiar symptoms of a house from the 70's, including a booth in the kitchen, lots of wood paneling, some orange paint, and a rusty-ass old shed in the back yard. Ok, the rusty old shed could be from any era, but I guarantee you it was built on a diet of acid and Led Zeppelin III.

-Some kid fell asleep in my first class today, and began snoring. Dr. Federici is not to be messed with. He took his copy of the Federalist papers, a compilation of essays written by Hamilton, Madison, and John Jay, heavy in both physical weight and political commentary, and slammed it down on the desk next to the kid's head. Kid woke up, yelled "AHHHHHHHHHH", and was told to get the hell out. 

I've never fallen asleep in a class. I think it's disrespectful to the teacher, and downright embarrassing for whoever does it. If you do it, and you're reading this, you're probably awesome, so we'll let it slide. I'm talking about all those other people who do it. A bigger reason why I don't fell asleep in class is because of a few things. First, I have a tendency to talk in my sleep, and I don't want to say "I think Jessica Alba is really swell" or "I really hate swiss cheese and Skrillex" in the middle of class. Also, I have been told I snore.

-Skrillex is to music what a rusty nail is to the underside of a toenail.

I hope you cringed just a bit. I just thought of the commercial where the fungus gremlin thing lifts up the guy's toenail and crawls inside.

-Tweet of the day: From Greg Wyshinski of Yahoo's Puck Daddy blog:

"But where else am I going to dip my penis in a chocolate fountain? Besides Hershey Park."

We had a chocolate fountain at my prom, Wysh. If I had read your blog back then, and you gave me a lot of money, I could have made this happen.

Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, office parties, and a court hearing are all other options.


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Montreal Canadiens Preview: LE BOOOOOOOOOOO

The Montreal Canadiens.

Words don't really describe the feeling of playing the Habs in Montreal. It is really unlike anything else. Any time a player on the Canadiens goes down, there will be booing. Not only will there be booing, but the crowd will intimidate the referees into making worse calls than Mel Gibson after a few drinks.

Mel Gibson hates minorities.

Tonight's game will be rated on the "go hump a landmine scale", in which I will rate the crowd's booing and influencing the referees based on how much I'd like to see them explode in a hilarious way.

For instance, if the first period results in PK Subban falling down away from the play, with no Penguins around him, and one of the Pens gets a penalty due to the booing, the result shall be:

6 landmines.

If the Habs score on the powerplay, it will become 9 landmines.

Montreal is currently 14th in the Eastern Conference, with 49 points. Those 49 points actually tie Carolina for last place, but the Hurricanes have one more loss, so they're the ones licking the floor in the basement.

A game in Montreal is never easy though, despite the fact that their team is about as relevant as Madonna.

The Penguins are fresh off their loss to the New Jersey Devils in what was the most boring game of the season. Arron Asham is still out with concussion-like symptoms, but I believe it's actually due to a coma from being forced to watch game film of the Devils play. 

Evgeni Malkin still leads the NHL in points, and is one point ahead of Philadelphia's Claude Giroux (pronounced: Girrrrr-roo, though in Montreal, it becomes Girrrr-BOOOOOOOOOOOOO). With the Canadiens defense being about as good as the Steelers' D in OT against the Broncos, I'm thinking Geno's lead is going to extend by a few points.


No idea who's in the net tonight, since I would think it's Fleury, but I've heard people say that they think Brent Johnson is in the net after Flower's bad performance on Sunday. It wouldn't make much sense, as Flower is usually lights-out after a bad game, and the Pens don't play again until Saturday at 2 against Winnipeg. You don't sit a hot goaltender for a week.

On second thought, Flower's in the cage.

Pens are gonna win, 5-3. Two goals from Malkin, one from Neal, Dupuis is getting one, and Letang will score, too. 

Monday, February 6, 2012

Using My Forum To Whine About My Foot.

I'm pretty certain I broke my toe today.

At the moment, it's a lovely shade of purple and blood. Blood is not my favorite color.

Actual photo of my foot

Basically, I'm the manliest man of all time. When it happened, I simply ignored it, put a sock on, tied up my shoes, and went to class. Along the way, I stopped to jog in place, ninja kick seven people, and execute a ballet maneuver.

The truth is, I took a bunch of advil, hobbled to class, wincing all the way, and in typical Will fashion, am generally being a big baby about it. The old saying that whenever something is hurt, it can and will hit everything around you is true. I now fear uneven spaces between sections of the sidewalk.

What even happened to me? Well, I dropped my computer on my foot, corner-first. It was a fun, bloody event, and I'm kind of glad it happened. The concrete my computer would have landed on had it not been for my foot, is much harder than the squishy bag of bones I walk on.

The reason I'm writing this is because a kid in my class also broke a bone in his foot this weekend. After asking, it turns out to be the same toe as me. He was drinking and dropped a full handle of vodka on his foot. That's not important. What IS important is that he's walking around on crutches. All I did was wrap it with some hockey tape. Man up, Francis. 

I could watch this all day.

To get my money's worth out of this momentary pain, I'll probably lay on the couch and moan in hyperbolic agony until somebody gives me attention. Eventually, someone will say "can I get you anything?".  Yes, I think I would like a Coke. And a sponge bath. Could you do my laundry? How about my homework?

If I don't make it through my debilitating injury, know that I love you all, but to varying degrees. Some of you, not at all. Some of you are tolerable, but only in small doses.

But everybody likes Pancakes, the Manatee.


Super Bowl, Why Dolly Parton's Boobs Will Ruin the NFL

The Super Bowl was tonight.

Free pizza and wings, courtesy of the Cornerstone, which meant I also got free heartburn and a stomach ache, but it was worth it. I haven't had good pizza in a while.

The Giants won, as I had hoped. Tough luck, Patriots fans. Tom Brady should start sucking so his hot wife goes away, and he replaces her with a down and out pet store cashier, Rocky style. I'm not SERIOUSLY wishing he gets his heart broken, because that would be really terrible. Just saying it worked for Stallone.

In the end, some fat dudes were fatter than the other fat dudes, and Eli Manning, who in the '50s would have been a member of the Cleaver family, didn't fall apart. He's pretty clutch. I can't honestly hate either of the Mannings. Great quarterbacks, and both seem like pretty good dudes.

Oh, and I almost forgot. That Gronkowski guy is dating a porn star with a horse face. I think I rooted against them just for that. Dude's only two years older than me, has a ton of money, and yet has ridiculously bad taste. Not to mention his fat ass couldn't dive to catch that ball.

I'll be honest, I didn't pay much attention to the first half, and really only watched the 4th quarter. I was too busy eating pizza and staring at the pitchers of beer my friends were drinking. I didn't have any, but I could have. I thought it'd be the right thing, to not break any rules since my friend's Dad was nice enough to supply us with free food and a huge screen to watch the game on. If a guy opens up half his bar just for you and your friends, you should probably do the right thing, I guess.

The most important thing that came out of the game was the unreal Clint Eastwood commercial, done in his Walt Kowalski voice.

"A fog of division, discord, and blame made it hard to see what lies ahead"
Oh yes. 

I had a sore throat when I got up today, and until the 2nd quarter, my voice sounded exactly like him. Trust me, I said "get off my lawn" at least 30 times. 

"Buy a Dodge, punk."

I won't be buying a Dodge, Chrysler, etc, but I enjoyed the ad. 

In the end, I probably payed more attention to the half time show than I did the entire game, save for the 4th quarter. It started off with Madonna being carried in by a bunch of male gladiator strippers, which I thought was a nice touch. When I think football, I think of a 53 year old woman being carried in by the cast of 300. It makes perfect sense. 

Next year, I imagine the half time show will be Dolly Parton, with special guests 50 Cent and the Baha Men. Dolly will be wheeled in wearing a Hannibal Lecter mask, and will be accompanied by 300 male strippers wearing St Pauli girl outfits. 

After they all sing, Metallica will come on and play a metal version of "Who Let The Dogs Out", and James Hetfield will kill 50 Cent. Dolly's boob will pop out, the country will act outraged, even though everyone's seen a boob, and the FCC will ban boobs. Not just on tv, but just boobs in general. It'll spawn massive protests where women of all shapes and sizes (but probably mostly people-shaped) will expose their breasts, and the men of the country will rejoice. Eventually boobs will lose their appeal, and we will have Dolly Parton and the NFL to blame.

Then the NHL will reign supreme, because there's no chance of a boob there.

Never mind.

Don't get mad, I didn't pick a picture where her boobs actually come out. 

They did, though.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Pens/Bruins recap, Pens win 2-1. Devils Suck.

Today was an odd day.

I woke up in time to watch the Penguins beat the Boston Bruins. The Bruins looked like a shell of their former self. No longer do they seem to bully their opponents into submission. Instead, they seemed willing to allow the Penguins to skate into their home rink and dictate the physicality. Despite a lackluster first period, the Pens annihilated the Bruins in the old-school portion of the game, including big hits from Chris Kunitz, Joe Vitale, and Brooks Orpik.

More free candy than a Trick or Treater with a gun.
"Gimme all your fucking candy"

Fleury was solid, the cotton candy guy was solid, and the organ guy played LMFAO's "Party Rock Anthem". He was voted off the island, and Flower defeated cotton candy man to win the million bucks.

Evgeni Malkin scored an easy chip-in goal on what may have been the worst powerplay of the season. Not because of the Pens' play, they kicked ass. The call, itself was ridiculous. Still, the flightless birds have been on the receiving end of several similar calls this season, so to see it happen to another team isn't going to lose me any sleep. 

Pretty appropriate song, given the circumstances. Still gross, but strangely triumphant.

Oh, and some other fellow scored. Matt Cooke. Probably public enemy #1 in Boston. Here's a picture of Marc Savard's reaction to Cooke's goal:

If I offended you with this, stop reading my blog.

With this win, the Penguins....stay exactly where they are....in 5th place. They have 64 points, two behind 4th place Philadelphia and three ahead of 6th place New Jersey. 

New Jersey sucks. 

Their goaltending is the "unstoppable tandem" of Martin Brodeur and Johan Hedberg. The Moose (Hedberg) carried the Pens to a "magical run" in 2001-02, and will always be remembered fondly for his blue helmet. He's 38. 

"Uncledaddy" Martin Brodeur once had an affair with his wife's sister's daughter, or something like that. I don't really care about the specifics, all I know is that the name "Uncledaddy" makes me giggle like a little girl every time I hear it. Though he's probably the best goaltender of all time (though I go with Patrick Roy), he's 39 and will most likely be moving into the Grand Residence after this season.

The Devils' goaltending consists of two old has-beens, most likely skating in their last handful of games. Every time I see Fleury, I do an ultimate Dwight Schrute fistpump, then I go to the Devils' wikipedia page and change it to say that in 2006, the whole team got together and watched M Night Shamamamamanamalan's "The Village", and thought it deserved an Oscar.

The Village sucked. Probably the worst movie ever.

"Scott Pilgrim Vs The World" also sucked. I let some friends talk me into it the other night. Never again. Michael Cera needs to hit puberty already, since I think he's a few years older than me.

Oh, conveniently enough, the Pens play the Devils in about....er....9 hours. 

Let's go Pens!