"You Jacking It?"

I wrote about the original story a while back... it was hilarious. Apparently, the Daily Show with Jon Stewart did, too....

Brad Pitt would love me

I have a new nickname in the office these days.
"Purdy." As in, "purdy boy."
I get my ass pinched, cat-calls and whistles. And all from the guys.
Why? Well, I took this facial recognition test, which compares your face to a database of celebrities with this CSI-like technology.
I figured Tiger Woods, Will Smith, or maybe even Denzel, if I may be so bold.
Nope.
Uh-Uh.
Negatory.
My first match was this guy. Some no-name B-list japanese actor.
My next match?
Jennifer Aniston.
JENNIFER FREAKIN' ANISTON!
And the next five matches? All women.
ALL FREAKIN' WOMEN.
So Kip, our resident photojournalist, labeled me with the new nickname, in that Gay-Mr.T-Goes-To-Jail kind of voice. I think he's just jealous cause I get better pics than he does from the football game.
Meanwhile, I must endure this blow to my ego, and constantly repeat self-affirmations in my mind. (I mean, even Oguri whatsisname is downright feminine.)
"I am a manly man. All women love me. I am a love machine."

Take the test. I dare you.


Meanwhile, some pics from the Okanagan Sun game last week.

The summer is gone...

... and so, it seems, has my energy level. I guess boating all the time kept me fueled up.
I'm hitting the water tomorrow for what is likely the last kick at the can this year...
And since my life has been so eventless, there's not much to report. So here's some links, instead!

It's good to be tall.

Now THIS is how you get cut from a team.

It's nice to knowI'm not the only sportswriter who slacks off at work

Girls, please don't click here.

I wrote a headline at work the other day: "Vees story goes here and here." It was meant to be a fill-in until I saw the story and knew what to write. Unfortunately, I forgot to change it before we went to press... Ooops. But this gets the award for best headline of the month

I'm not sure what to say about this. It's Bobblehead night? It was a "double-header?"

THIS is just ridiculous.

And Joey Porter gives props to Dave Chappelle on Monday Night Football...

Flip mode

I'd never stopped to think what it's like to be on the other side of the microphone when I'm interviewing people. I always try to ask questions that involve an answer, not just a yes or no. I try to make it a conversation between two people, not an interrogation.
But I recently got put under the spotlight, and it was a very illuminating experience.
So last Friday I got sent out on assigment to cover the opening of a new gym — iQuest Fitness — because some members of the B.C. Lions were there. While strolling around the facility, I see this bald dude walking up, a big cheese-eating grin plastered all over his face.
He acts like he knows me, and me, being the MINOR CELEBRITY that I am, shake the hand he extends.
"Hey, Jake!"
At this moment, I know something's up... The only people who call me that are the ones who knew me before I started writing. Obviously going from the blank look on my face, he says "it's Dave Clarke. From White Rock."
I flash back a decade or so, trying to place a Dave Clarke. The only one I knew had hair. Lots of hair.
I look at his face, and lo and behold - it's him. The same guy I used to ball with at White Rock Christian on Saturday nights, helping mentor some of the younger kids.
We must have bull-shitted for the better part of an hour. He catches me up on some of our old running mates (Kyle Wilson is now making six figures playing internet poker... He plays six games AT THE SAME TIME - no shit.)
It turns out Dave is now a VP with iQuest - a nice-looking gym, by the way - and gives me the tour. One of his cohorts asks me to be in a promotional video, to which I heartily agree, since Dave kind of nudged me to.
Anyways, with the lights on my face, the microphone strapped to my chest, and the camera rolling, I proceed to do the same things I always lambaste my subjects for doing. "Ummm, errr, yah, iQuest is a great idea, aaah, I think it's really, ahhh, good." Stumbling, a bumbling and rumbling through the interview was humbling, but in my defence, the guy did ask some pretty stupid questions. "What's your connection to the sports community?" I'm a freaking sports reporter, what do you think? sheesh.
But it was a different experience, for sure... One I forgot about until today, since Saturday was ...

ANDJEFA and JEN'S WEDDING
(photos by Miceail "Where'd He Go" Coghlan)


The wedding was held at Summerhill Winery, and though the clouds threatened to unleash god's wrath, the rain held off. Storm clouds at a wedding? I hope it wasn't a portent of the future...


The newly-wedded couple released two doves to symbolize their love... 10 more, representing their friends and family, also flew the coop. No guests were shitted on in the making of this marriage.


In keeping with the animal theme, Xander, the couple's boxer, was the ring-bearer. And in keeping with the classy theme, he was outfitted in a tuxedo - complete with a side-tilted pimp hat. Ahem.


The boys in their best gangster-groomsmen pose. Cough, cough. Ahem.

THE RECEPTION


Me and the Coghlan Crew - Miceail, who MC'd, Cluny, "Blazing Doc Coghlan" and Sarah, aka, "Oh Lawd, what have I done?"


The Coghlan sisters get WILIN'. Cluny, thanks for the coffees. Sarah, thanks for leaving the vanilla body rub. I think I'm going to have to burn my sheets.


Anj's sister, Kande, and her very inebriated boyfriend, Allan, get down on the left. At right, Leanne tries her best to get T jealous by dancing with Nick. And in the back, if you look carefully (click on the pic to enlarge), you can see my roomate Steph get her mack on. Think of it like this: 10 vodka sodas: $20. One summer wedding dress: $120. Blackmail material like this? Priceless.


The boys (J-squared, Miceail, Dounia and Anj) show Steph, who thankfully has graduated to water at this point, some love.


The bride. The groom. And a cake. Not much else to say here.


Me n' Lynn. What a cuuuute couple.


Patrick and A.J. ... Yes, he was named after me.


Alan. Kande. Before the drinks. Before the flying elbow to the head of the bride (for real!). Yes, these were happier days...


Me. Sarah. Dee. During the drinks. Before the ... well, we'll just leave it at that, shall we?


I call this one "last man standing." That's right. I'm the champ. The champ is heyah! The champ is heyah!

Long weekend couch-surfing: Black bears and white knuckles

There is but one word to describe my weekend: epic.
It was a four-day holiday that will be indelibly seared into my memory, though there were so many stories, I'm sure I won't remember some until someone goes, "Hey, do you remember...." There's so much, the only place to start is at the beginning.
SATURDAY
John and I flew to Van on Saturday, picked up his brother's porsche, a fire-breathing, 325hp, all-wheel drive monster, dropped the top and drove out to White Rock. Jizzle took off to see some friends, while I visited with both my grams and Betty, then was treated to the usual succulent and decadent dinner from my step-mom.
Then, it was off to the football game. The Okanagan Sun versus the Surrey (BK) Rams. What was supposed to be a Sun blowout turned into a great upset, with Surrey scoring with a minute left to take the Sun down.
There was no phone line at the park, so I had to rely on the graciousness of my father, and booked it back to the 'rents house to file my story.



Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, John and Co. were getting their drink on down on the strip. What was supposed to be a quick stop for fish and chips at Charlie Don't Surf turned into a gong-show. From 2-6 p.m., they were at CDS, finally getting cut off. So, it was down the street 20 yards to the Ocean Beach Hotel By this time, about 10 people had showed up, and it was rapidly spiralling out of control.
I headed down to the strip - ostensibly to be the DD - but that changed in a hurry. Within 10 minutes, I had had eight shots bought for me - no driving this night.
To top it off, I run into a bunch of other people I know from K-town - Mark Nonis, Rob Heron, and the dude who owns a sports bar on Harvey. The ride had just begun.
Midnight rolls around, and some of our party had disappeared. We walked outside, only to find out that Dan had been "chasing the moon." He waded his drunk ass out into the ocean, looked at the moon, then fell face-first into the water. We dragged him out, dried him off, and hailed cabs to take us back to Jenny's place.
The original plan had been to go back down to Vancouver, but no one was in any condition to walk, let alone drive. Everybody grabbed an available bed/couch/closet/toilet (in dan's case) and crashed for the night.

SUNDAY
White Spot for breakfast, then it was back in the car to head up to Whistler. A quick stop at Jon's brother's condo in Yaletown to freshen up and grab 40 winks gave us a newfound source of energy heading up the Sea to Sky highway in the Porsche. I love this drive; there is none better in B.C., though it's known for its crashes and fatal accidents. With that knowledge sitting in the front of my mind, I put my life in John's hands and the Porsche's tires...
When there was one lane, we averaged about 80 km/h. Two lanes, about 140. At one point, these two guys on crotch-rockets - with Alberta plates, of course - and us were side-by-side, doing about 170 through these curves. They were laid down sideways, their knees nearly on the ground, not three feet from the passenger side door. White knuckled, lemme tell ya.
But that was the exception. There was too much traffic to get really silly, and the roads were covered in gravel and dirt from the construction going on, so we took it easy. Really, dad. We did ... ;)
We arrived at Jon A. and Tif's place in Whistler, then got ready for an afternoon round of golf at Nicklaus North. Unbelievable course. Unbelievable rates. Tif got us four carts, rental clubs (Ping R5s!!!!) and green fees for $35. That's just unheard of.
Anyways, we hit the course, flying through the first six holes before ... we see a bear on the course. It was cool, his name is Alpine, and he's a regular. He wasn't anywhere near us - more like about 100 metres away. We keep golfing. He keeps coming.
He disappears, and we move on to the next hole. Me n Dan are leading our cart convoy, creeping around the corner chanting "Lions and tigers and bears - OH MY" at the top of our longs. Then, not 15 feet away, Alpine bolts right in front of us, and takes off across the course. We pulled a Uey just as fast and booked it the other way.
Two holes later, he's back. He seemed to be following us around, but it just turns out he's a smart bear. The "bear-proof" garbage cans, which are on top of huge cement blocks and have latches on the lids, prove to be no match for a determined bruin. He pulled them over easily - scary strength - and managed to undo the locks.
Anyways, we're teeing off again, and John Y is down the course as our bear spotter. He yells back to us "He's getting pretty close," and we decide to amscram and move to the next hole. All of us, that is, except John A., who is sitting in his cart in front of mine.
"Where is it?" he asks.
"Right beside us," I respond.
"Where?" he asks again.
"RIGHT BESIDE US, YOU MORON," and then I bash my cart with his to get his ass moving, as Alpine was about, oh, I don't know, SIX FEET AWAY. Dude needs glasses.
That was a surreal experience, for sure. Golf got cut short because of darkness and the possibility of bear maulings, and we went back to the spot for a barbeque. John A grilled on his massive BBQ, while Tif the master chef whipped up some pasta salad, garlic bread and greens. We stuffed our faces completely, totally, and unashamedly.
It got later, but no one really felt like going out to the bar, or even drink, since the effects of the night before were still with us. That is, until the first Beaver Bomb came out. Jagermeister is an evil thing - I just want to put that out there.
But the night remained relatively chill - we had some drinks, sat out on the patio, and just chilled. And made fun of Dan, who was lying on the living room floor, still feeling the spins from the night before.
Then, it was off to John Y's brother's other place, a nice little suite in the hills above Whistler. More couch surfing for me.

MONDAY
Morning rolls around, and we go have breakfast in the village, then say our goodbyes. Me n Jizzle booked it back to Van while the boys - JJ, Dan and Mike - took the gondola up to the top to do some hiking.
The drive back was hot. Damn hot. The sun was like God's Flashlight, searing into your brain. But a few jaunts of 160 klicks cooled us down pretty fast...
We head back to the condo in Yaletown to shower and crash, then hit Robson. Johnny the metrosexual needs to do some shopping. He doesn't get anything until we walk into Harry Rosen, where he buys a $150 hoodie. A sweatshirt, for chrissake. Who spends that much on ... ahh, never mind. That's why I will never be a metroman.

We hook up with Megan and her friend Nav for dinner at Capone's in Yaletown, but Princess Johnny wants a steak, and all they have left is bison (this is uppity yaletown, remember). So we walk a block down to Glowbal, where I had that crazy New Years Eve dinner, but it's closed. And it's off to Cactus Club we go.
Dounia joins us after watching a couple football games, and it's drinks and merriment all the way round. After dinner, we hit up Bar None. The word was there was a live band playing, so we go check it out, expecting to hear some rock or folk kind of crap. But it turns out Monday nights is their funk night, and they had this band called Soul Stream, who absolutely KILLED the classics. That's killed in a good way.
More drinks, more merriment.

The girls depart, and the boys headed to Subway for a bite to eat. I knew something was up the minute we walked in. We're friendly - not loud, and not drunk. We say "Evenin'. How you doing tonight?" to this oriental guy behind the counter. No response.
"What kind of bread to you have left?"
Nothing.
"OK, then ... Ummm... I'll have a meatball sub on brown," says John.
The guy starts making it.
"Hey, dude, what's your name?" Dee asks. (And for those of you who know Dee, know he's a friendly guy. He's naturally charming)
Nada.
"Fine, then. You just lost your customer. I'm not ordering anything from you. You're very rude."
The guy just turns and gives him the evil eye.
John turns and says, "Fuck it. You're right. I'm not ordering anything, either."
And we leave. I know some people hate their jobs, but that's no reason to take it out on your customers - especially when they're trying to be nice - extra nice - to you. I'm even considering writing a letter to the manager, but hell - the guy works graveyards at Subway. His life is bad enough...
Anyways, Deebo takes off home, and Jizzle and I walk back to his bro's house. It turns out Jaime is back from his Hawaii holiday, and brought a turkey dinner made by their mom, on his way home (via richmond). So we have the best late-night dinner we've had in a while. Then crash.
On the couch, of course.

TUESDAY
Wake up, get dressed, head downstairs to meet John's pops, who's giving us a ride to the airport. A burger and a mojito later, we're on the plane. A 30-minute flight is so much better than a four-hour drive, lemme tell you.
We land, I drop Jizzle off, and head home for a nap.
Two hours later, I'm on my way to the field for the last regular-season game. We win 5-2, everyone has fun, and we get Anj a goal in his final game of the season.
A shower, a spritz of deodorant, and I'm off back downtown for our usual Tuesday night team night at Liquid Zoo. And then (geeky star trek reference) it was like Shaka, when the walls fell. It seemed like a bunch of my friends were all going through some ish. Steph, Miceail, Dusty Daperis, they all had major problems, and turned to me to talk. I've always been that Dear Abby kind of guy - Dear Adams, maybe - and it's pretty cool my friends can confide in me.
After the initial downers, everyone seeemed to perk up. Some pool, some beer, and then a quick trip to "Go See the Doctor" ... as in, Doc Willoughby's. Fun times there. Chris's co-workers, Jen and Nikki, were hilarious, and lots of fun. Dapper got himself a little too out of control, and at that point, I called it a night. I could see it was about to get out of control again, and hell - I had to work the next day.

I'm back to work for three days, then I have Anj's wedding on Saturday. It's going to be another crazy weekend. He'll be gone on his honeymoon, and the rest of his teammates are probably going to be hung over. Who knows if we'll have enough guys for our first playoff game - ON SUNDAY.
We'll see... It should be epic.

Inked

I've been thinking of getting another tattoo... and then I saw this craziness. I'm all for supporting your team, but ... this is ridiculous. And how could I fit the Raiders logo on my back, anyways?
Maybe I'll pass on the tats...
So tommorrow morning, I head down to Van for a few days. I'm covering a football game in the evening, but hopefully I'll be able to go see my grams and Betty in the hospital beforehands. After that, it's downtown for a quick overnight visit, then off to Whistler for some golf and craziness.
I'm kind of torn - long weekends in Kelowna are always jumping, but getting out of town is going to be nice. And besides, I haven't seen Whistler in the summer before. And doing the Sea To Sky highway in a Porsche is something they only write about in Car and Driver. Normal peeps just don't get to do that kind of thing.
Wakeboarding is turning into my new favourite sport. We were out today for a couple of hours - on smooth water, no less - and I popped a couple of 180s, did some switch carving, and am hitting the wake hard enough to clear it. I can see how you could really hurt yourself in this sport, though. My boy Jon cracked two ribs in a crash when we were out two weeks ago, and Nevada smacked his head hard enough that he was dizzy for a while.
But that's the price you pay ...

Until next time, ladies and germs... But let's hit the links first...

THIS made me laugh.

THIS made me laugh harder. How the HELL does this happen? Greece? GREECE??!

And this made me laugh hard enough to snort diet coke through my nose. It takes me back, though ...