"JJ is the shiznit"

I had a really long entry written about my trip to Ottawa for Jen and Dom's wedding. but I've decided not to inflict it on you. So 3,500 words of wedding stories, drinking tales and shopping legends will NOT be coming to a theatre near you, even if it was damned funny (and I do say so myself).
During my Ottawa-Kelowna layover in Vancouver, I happened to call my parents, who informed me that my grandmother was in the hospital, and might not make it through the weekend. The Panic Button got hit, the alarms went off, and JJ went into freak-out mode, culminating in an early-morning visit to see my grams.
I went through a rough patch dealing with seeing Harry in the hospital, and seeing grams in was even harder. But here we are, four days later, and she seems to have rallied. What we initially thought was a stroke seems to be a lack of blood flow to her brain, causing blackouts and loss of motor function. If we can't get her back on her feet, she'll be heading into an extended care home ($$$). I visited Betty, Harry's widow, in the same place grams will go today, and was surprised by how nice it actually was. Friendly people, beautiful decor, and good food.
Anyways, I'm heading back to K-town tommorrow. Here are some point-form highlights from my trip, with pics to follow as soon as Homey C lets me download them from her camera...

Ottawa
- Nice city, reminds me of Victoria. Lots of university students.
- Ottawa in the summer feels like Florida - a ghetto florida. Stepping out of the airport is like getting hit in the face with a wet blanket ... soaked in urine. A stench of Chilliwackian proportions ...
- The groom should always send the bride flowers on her wedding day. Ahem. Dom, take note. (A big shout-out to Lorraine Fung at Loblaw's, too)
- There's nothing like sitting in a church, hungry, while the smell of the KFC right next door (and I mean, RIGHT next door) drifts through the windows ...
- Le petit Jacob est tres grande. Le Grand Jacob is tres cool...
- My french sucks. Just ask the groom's parents.
- There's nothing like havng the (lily-white) bride, during her speech at the reception, thank you for coming by toasting you with "JJ is the shiznit." Even if it is true...
- $11 hiballs better be poured with Courvosier or Hypnotic, not some cheap-ass well alcohol. (Capone's Conference Centre, take note)
- Homey C is a terrible liar. No one believes you when you say you have to drive 45 minutes to The Bay - where the bride and groom were registered - to "get hairspray." Especially when there's a pharmacy two blocks from the house.

Montreal
- As Jon says, "Ugly people live there." Well, he's a shallow bastard. But in his defence, we didn't see any really hot women while we were there. Except for Marie-Eve... good job, Greg! And she's cool, too...
- Don't try to order a double vodka diet coke in Montreal. You'll just confuse them. Believe me.
- There are two drink price lists in Montreal ... the ones for French people, and the ones for Les Anglais. I'm glad you guys lost the World Cup.
- Poutine is the best post-bar food known to mankind. The Dan-Dan and Gauvedet are two of the best. Good LAWD it's tasty - and filling.
- Where comfortable shoes, because it's hard having your boyfriend carry you around at 4 a.m. Especially when he's full of poutine.
- Old Montreal is beautiful.
- Watching Homey C on the metro is a comedy unto itself.

Wakefest 2006

Our photogs here always complained that we (as in me) took all the prime assignments for ourselves - like shooting Wakefest. So I gave Gary, our award-winner photog who has a penchant for taking pictures of scantily clad women (usually young ones. And I mean teen young), the chance to go out in the boat during the media day, and get the kind of shots that you see in the magazines: tack-sharp, dynamic action shots. And it's not that hard to do - the riders are at a fixed distance from the boat (they're at the end of a rope, fer chrissake) and you know that they're going to take basically the same path through the air when they hit the wake. It's not rocket science.
Anyways, he came back with a bunch of soft, poorly composed pics. They were mediocre, at best. At worst, they were garbage. The second day, shooting from shore, it was more of the same thing. But this time, I had learned my lesson, and took a camera with me. I got a bunch of half-decent shots (by that, I mean they were IN FOCUS), which we ran the next day in a photo page. I didn't use any of Gary's, which, of course, he took exception to.
I'm not sure what irritated him more: the fact we didn't run his shots, or the fact mine (an amateur) looked a billion times better. Meh. Whatever.


(For comparison's sake, an example. A shot from gary from Day 2. Excellent work: Note the hand over the face, the bottom of the board being cut off ... a classic action shot. And, in true Gary fashion, he didn't get his name, so we couldn't run it, anyways.)



And then, my shots...

Brett Eisenhauer



Alex Brown



Chad Sharpe



Trevor Hansen



Phillip (Don't Call Me Froggy) Soven



2006 Wakefest champ Danny Harf

From the depths of Anya's camera

When I break out my shirt from Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, people up here invariably ask: "What's that? Is that a real place? What do you eat there?"
Of course, I reply that its strictly vegetarian cuisine, and the chicken in question is, in fact, from the rare Tazmanian chicken tree.
I mean, what kind of question is that? It says CHICKEN AND WAFFLES right on the shirt. And no, they don't come separately. They combine in a beautiful way that can only be experienced, not spoken of. And if you're still unsure, well, here's a pic:


It's chicken. And waffles. And yes, syrup. All that same time. It tastes so good when it hits your lips...


Anyways, my sis sent me some pics from my LA trip, and I'm sure you're all just dying to see some more. So here we go.


The start of the night in Malibu. Stone-cold sober, but cheery.


The jacket is off. Time to relax, sober-like.


Then ... these two (Bob and Eric) happened. The slippery slope begins....


Anya and the bride, Christi.


The Grey Goose and Cran got broken out. Much hilarity ensured, most of it because of Eric (Muaahhuuuuuhhhhuhhuh).


Let the drunk faces begin.


Let the drunk face continue.


BONUS PICTURES!


Showtime Adams on the set in Baja.


Showtime, Pt. II

And the rains came ...

(Update: After receiving some unsolicited legal advice, I have removed all references by name. From now forward, all references will be "Hard-On".)

For three days, we've had warm, sunny weather that seems to get supplanted by rolling thunderheads and lightning around the time I have to go into work. Good timing for boating, guess. We were hit by a deluge so thorougly drenching, I swear I heard Bill Cosby talking to god about cubits.
A drain on the paper's front lawn overflowed with the massive amount of water it was trying to handle, spilling it into the surrounding sod. Somehow, the water got under the grass, forming this two-foot high, 10-foot wide water blister that moved like it was alive. When it burst, it showered all these parked cars with sewage water. Classic days at the Courier.
Anyways, today I'm going to write about something I've been putting off for a while - the status of the sports editors position. (Scuse me a sec - I feel the blood boiling already .... gggaaaAAAAAAAHHAHHAHAH!!!)
k. I'm back. Sorry about that.
So, as most of you know, my sports editor, Russ, gave his notice about a month ago, heading off to Alberta so he could be closer to his family. And further away from his crazy ex-wife. This left a hole, which Doyle and I have been struggling to fill, doing twice our workload, and producing papers that look better than any before.
Neither of us really wanted to apply for the position, since it's only an extra 50 bucks a week, and means we have to deal a lot more closely with our idiot ME (managing editor). BUt we figured, it probably would make sense, since A.) we have relationships, knowledge and contacts in the local community; B.) We know what the fuck is going on here; C.) Were both talented and capable of doing the job; and D.) Our ME has shown he has no idea how to hire capable people. The Bliss section, which looks like a high school, no, Elementary-school produced newspaper, is a prime example. He hired a photographer, with no previous paper experience, to run, edit and layout the section. And he did this knowing full well she couldn't work past July.
So now we have this white elephant of a section, which was supposed to be our paper's saving grace, that looks like shit, and no one to run it in a month. Yeah! Good job, John. Way to go there...
Anyways, back to sports.
After both Doyle and I went through our interviews, we had the distinct impression he was going through the motions. In fact, he was almost dismissive in his haste to get through it. It lasted a whole 10 minutes, during which he tossed me such softballs as "What do you think of the new NHL?" What? WHAT? What kind of idiotic question is that?
So Doyle and I both pretty much figured he'd hired someone else. Not a big deal. I would have no problem with that, if he had hired an EDITOR from another METRO newspaper. Someone with experience, vision, and the talent to really allow this department to live up to its potential.
But, alas, no.
He hired another reporter from Thunder Bay - a community with no major junior sports, which make up the majority of our local sports coverage. And this guy's writing, from what I've seen, is about as inspired as the manual for my blender. It's pretty atrocious, actually.
It seems our ME's decision was not one based on logic, nor the maximizing of his available resources (me and doyle). It was personal. He just plain doesn't like us. I don't think he respects us, either.
And that's incredibly ironic, considering his reputation in the sports community here. I forgot to mention that he used to be sports editor here ... and he burned a lot - maybe all - of his bridges before he left. Mention his name in mixed company, and people actually start swearing. It's pretty funny, actually.
Quick anecdote: A few days after he was hired back as ME, and started making these incredibly short-sighted, arbitrary decisions based on nothing more than his magic eight-ball, me and doyle headed out to Sturgeon Hall - the local hockey sports pub. Some old guy came up to us and said, "so I hear you guys have a new ME down there. What's he like?"
Well, we teed off. We pulled no punches. We said exactly what we thought of his leadership ability, his talent, his competence, his reputation.
Then this guy says, "Well, I'm his father." Me n D-pot looked at each other, looked back at him, and said, "well, your son's a jackass."
And what's he say?
"Yeah, I knew that. You're absolutely right."
And this is coming from his own freaking faja!
Anyways, I feel very little loyalty to this paper, especially after the extra time we've been working, trying to keep our heads afloat. Doyle worked 14 days in a row when I went to LA, I pulled a bunch of extra shifts before I left, and we somehow managed to still produce the best sections EVER. And that's not just me blowing my own horn. It's the truth.
And our ol ME rewards us by saying "I think we need a breath of fresh air," and hires some chump out of TB. Now, he could turn out to be a great guy and great editor, but Hard-On's record just doesn't seem to warrant it.
Keeping an open mind is going to be tough. But I'll try - you've got my word on it.

Meanwhile, I'm counting down the days until me n the Dirty Mexican, D-pot, get our little project off the ground...

Meanwhile, here's something that made me laugh. A rarity these days..