I just read that ex-Montreal Canadien and Avalanche goaltending legend Patrick Roy is set to have his number 33 retired by the Canadiens sometime in November of this year. It’s an interesting story from a lot of different angles. Patrick, left in a huff in 1995 after a run-in with then-coach Mario Tremblay over being left in to be ravaged by the Detroit Red Wings to the tune of some nine goals. (there’s also an argument to be made for how an (supposed) all star goalie can beaten that many times, but I digress). He was traded to the Avalance shortly thereafter, setting (or continuing) the grand tradition of the spoiled athlete getting his wish when the wind doesn’t blow from exactly the right direction.
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As a single guy I tend to meet a lot of you women who claim to like “long walks”. But what about short walks? Do you like them as well? The last thing I need is to be with a woman who’s crazy about the longer versions but couldn’t give a shit about the shorter ones.
Yeah, I can already see it now, we’d have to move really fast to get you through your annoying short-walk Bitch stage. I suppose I could start the walk alone and you could have someone drop you off when I’m, say, three of four miles into it. Would that make you happy? Would it?
And what constitutes a “long walk” anyway? Is it a mile? Two miles? Do we have to hit Mile Three before you can finally crack a fucking smile?
No wonder you’re single…
Tropic Thunder opened recently and, while I haven’t seen the movie yet, it interests me mainly because Robert Downey Jr. is the kind of chameleon-like actor I enjoy watching and I’d like to see how he handles this semi-controversial blackface thing.
Also appearing in the film are Jack Black - whose flame is really dying out quickly - and Ben Stiller who, at one point in his acting life, actually seemed funny. Frankly I believe there’s a physiological reason behind Ben losing his humorous chops. It’s called piscopoing. Ben Stiller has piscopoed.
So i guess this is it. The website that’s taken three and half years and a little under 12 million dollars to build is finally up. It’s a relief but there’s also a weird isolated feelings, akin to opening the doors to your new shop or the feeling you get when Dad lets go of the bike and you’re on your own.
So far there’s been no monumental phone calls or emails (Dubya apparently phoned but seriously, I can’t be seen with that guy). In all honesty I’m intrigued by the possibilities that may lay ahead. Then again, the bike could careen towards the ditch. I guess we’ll see.