Facebook Renounced

By me, anyway. See my final note posted to Facebook below:

Someone recently highlighted the hypocrisy of utilizing Facebook to complain about the fact that it’s a dark shithole for stalking, looking at pictures of people who intentionally avoid you but absentmindedly give you access to their thoughts and travels and friends anyway, and slowly withdraw from the actual genuine process of human interaction. So I’m going to authenticate my claims by deleting my page altogether.

Decaysia will be updated more frequently and I will post promotional info, etc. on our MySpace, Reverb Nation, and band Facebook pages. It’s a much better use of time anyway. Fuck Facebook and the timesinking, small-mindedness that attracts so many to it. The novelty has worn off, as the novelty of many things has worn off recently.

It’s a shame that something with such great potential has slinked off into the abyss of smartphone fodder, disinformation, rumor milling, and general uselessness. Through Facebook, many whom I’ve once enjoyed a measure of respect for have become the Internet equivalent of porch-dwelling, slackjawed gawkers. Less infuriating is that at least on Myspace, you could copy and paste code, control your own content and, through some minorly involved effort, modify the code to essentially have a free-format web site, with unlimited bandwidth (since everyone streams everything from YouTube).

Those fucking people rioting in Egypt didn’t get up off their asses during the first 29 years of oppression, corrupt governance, denial of rights, prohibition, and totalitarianism. Shut off their Facebook accounts? Oh, no you don’t. Rest easy, Americans are too fat to riot.

By 2009, Facebook banished Myspace into some unexplained obsoletion, as though the drooling, bored-at-my-meaningless-job version of espionage that has catapulted Facebook to the worldwide phenomenom it is means having your own individualized page is no longer relevant. Fuck that.

The inane ramblings of narcissistic adults that think making tea or “outside wif my babydoll” is worthy of recognition just underscores the utterly pathetic self-indulgence that seems the only gratification available in this dark planet.

If I decide I need a blog one day, I have one registered. http://mdlibertylives09.wordpress.org/

If I want to tell you something , I’ll tell you. It won’t trickle down through 5 or 10 losers with no goals or sense of self-worth that would otherwise keep them occupied.

If I want to show you pictures, I’ll invite you over to page through the prints, or I’ll email them to you. Can’t be too hard.

If I want to find dirt on someone I barely know, I’ll ask one of their incredibly loose-lipped quasi-friends that finds a degree of achievement in rattling off the business of others because their own personality is so devoid of originality, humor, or intelligence that stories with no true public value are their best shot at appearing interesting.

Lastly, quit being so fucking painfully lazy. You’re suddenly chatting with sone jerkoff you used to proclaim hatred for because they sent you a friend request? Only Facebook could facilitate such an empty distinction. You’re putting together a class reunion, a wedding party, a baby shower, a family reunion on Facebook? Anyone with self respect would deny their attendance just on principle. But we don’t live in that knd of society anymore. We live in a society of comment sections, wall posts, Twitter as a source cited by reporters, abbreviation, text messaging, and general insolence towards human relationships.

I hope I offended your sensibilities if you closely match the description of the types of people I’m alluding to. I hope your computerized, distant, unsolicited association with me dissolves as rapidly as possible once I delete my Facebook page. The only delay will be the time it takes me to back-up photos and message a couple of relatives with my email address.

It should be noted that only those who are dumb enough to publicize every mundane detail of their existence on Facebook should really fall victim to the side effect of being able to transform entire counties, cities, or places of business into small-town-style taverns where everyone knows the business of everyone else.

Sadly, there are those of us who log on five times a day or more, even if half the time it’s to try and confirm a rumor or send out a request to someone who used to say “stay away from me you dirty fuckwad” to you in high school to help you grow imaginary corn. Those people will perpetuate slander, libel, and all the other inequitable rights bestowed to the drowsy masses of small minds and shallow hobbyists that populate this vastly distorted character slaughterhouse that was originally intended to help friends stay in touch with one another.

If this describes you, go fuck yourself and get mangled, disfigured and rendered unable to type by your hay bailer while you’re playing Farmville. Or die of asphyxia while you type the status update ” Think I myte b chokin…OMG Lolz this is such an epik fail”. If those fail, dehydrate yourself by being unable to pull away from the endless carousel of localized paparazzi and mind-numbing horseshit on Facebook. And then die on your floor, like the woman who posted a status update saying she was going to take all her pills, which was promptly refuted and ignored and even lampooned as she expired, by her massive collection of Facebook “friends.” With friends like those….well you get it. Just die already.

I’m going back to being a private citizen. I’d start a Facebook group inviting others to do the same, but that would be the truest hypocrisy. If you want to get in touch, you know how. If you don’t know how, you shouldn’t.

Separation Anxiety

I thought I’d give everyone a chance to step away from the hounding daily menace that is your inner urge to visit this site. The news hasn’t changed much since the last post…..Americans are still confused about how the economy continues to slide with Obama at the reigns, Bush’s cabinet is still worry-free about being prosecuted for any of the atrocities they’ve committed, and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert relentlessly lash out at the media for abdicating their journalistic duty……by doing the work for them.

The real (lame) reason the Acheron hasn’t been overflowing with content is because I’ve moved HQ from Bangor to Bethlehem, PA and am just now settling in after three weeks of upheaval. Don’t shit the bed just yet, because I have a treat in store for the angry mob mentality that is our understanding of institutional corruption. Anyone searching for a job in today’s market is met with the same kind of disappointment that befalls the president of the Sudoku club who gathers up the fortitude to ask out the head cheerleader.

They’re met with fierce indignation. They don’t understand how their skill set and experience, or their contacts, or their physical appearance hasn’t landed them a gig. “Why the fuck am I working for the banks?” They might ask. The classifieds are ridiculous: “Landscape help p/t 8.00/hr” and “Make Executive Salary from Home! Don’t believe us? Just call !” No one with a deadline to pay bills or feed their family has ample time to examine the crisis we’re in through the right lens. My trip to a nearby diner for lunch this afternoon was proof.

“Ain’t nobody gonna have nothin pretty soon the rate Obama’s goin,” said an elderly regular.
“Oh just wait, he’s takin over GM and then who knows what,” said an overly vocal waitress.

These are the kinds of conversations that make an informed person want to jump into a woodchipper. The idea that one person can be responsible for breaking or fixing an entire country’s economic system is as ludicrous as the national security merger, but it comforts the simple to think they can blame it on a recognizable face.

That’s why when I was at my job as a short-order cook at a bowling alley last weekend and I overheard a customer telling our front desk girl that she could make $100,000 a year doing what he does, I was enthralled at the serendipity of it. The man was unimpressive; he wore no $4,000 suit, carried no card, and his hair was a style I like to call “Pennsylvania Carnie.”

“You’re not going to ask what I do, are ya?” The man asked.
“I think one day the curiosity might just overwhelm me,” the female employee said.
“Haha, well miss, you might want to reconsider,” he said. “How many hours a week would you give me if I told you you could pull in $100,000?”
“If you can make me that much I’ll give you 80 hours,” I said.

My interruption was more a test to see if this greasy bowling-type was trying to lure a 19-year-old girl with rebellion written on her into the porn industry, or the sex trafficking circle. I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and never expected to hear from the guy again.

“Do you work for Amway?” she asked.
“Ah heck no, Amway runs a scam. I worked for them for a year and didn’t make a thing,” the man said. Then he gave a reassuring smile, told me he’d catch up and signaled his bizarre family to leave with him.

Since the weekend, he’s called me twice trying to get me to drive somewhere with him, because there’s ‘something I need to see’ that he can’t possibly explain to me over the phone. Man, he must be working on one of those deep underground military bases where jobs are kept secret. Or, he could be a representative from one of those cult-like pyramid scheme companies. They can never tell you what they do for a living, but they are awful comfortable having a complete stranger take a 45 minute road trip with them to attend a presentation that they cannot discuss much beforehand.

Therefore, in an attempt to pump some life into my decaying investigative journalist corpse, I will be returning his call tomorrow in order to attend one of these clandestine conferences. However, I’ll be bringing my digital voice recorder along for the ride. Stay tuned, kiddies!

The New Build

For the loyal few who have waded the Acheron with me for the past few months, I have some news that’s actually exciting, despite being a promotion wrapped inside a personal-sounding message.

The scope and size of this site will continue to develop and change based on the needs of people who read and send in comments, like a living organism adapting to its environment.

One of the unique things about blogging is that you can have multiple target audiences with more dynamic and varied content. That’s why I’m turning my icehead-like addiction for attending live shows in Eastern Pennsylvania loose on the intarwebz.

I go to club shows, arena shows, judge battles of the bands, receive promo CDs somewhat regularly and am in contact with a lot of the Lehigh Valley’s music scene. Unfortunately, there is no actual ‘scene’ around these parts due to limited venues.

However when a national act comes through and plays from the Electric Factory to Crocodile Rock to Scranton, there’s a chance myself or one of my associates will be in attendance. The long story short here is, more access and information for you! We will save you that twelve bucks if there’s a newer touring act that doesn’t have their shit together, or if someone’s really slipping. Then again, you might want to be in the know if there is a killer tour package coming your way.

Beginning with In This Moment’s show at Crocodile Rock in Allentown on February 26th, I will be adding another staff writer to help with the arts and head-splitting entertainment branch of the Acheron.

Till then, hit Alt+F4.

Veteran’s Day Irony

First, I want to make it clear I’m not bullshitting anybody. For those of you who read the blog with any kind of regularity, you’ve probably been wondering what happened to consistency. Well, the kind of writer who tells you they can function without deadlines is either an old-school prolific cat with a typewriter or a liar. In most cases, it’s probably the latter. For that reason, I apologize that the advertised interview with Dr. True Ott hasn’t been met with the same intensity that most deadlines are. Then again, I gave myself a tougher deadline than anyone’s given me in two years. What matters is that I will get that interview to you in the near near future.

Secondly, Happy Veterans Day to all former and active military. I rarely agree with the various international massacres you’ve all been dispatched to become involved with, but your intentions are noble and it’s not entirely impossible to do your own good by displaying the kind of brass most of us won’t admit we lack. I have a few friends that are recent vets and I thank them tremendously. Both of my grandfathers served in World War II and military families are to be commended for their sacrifices. Let’s try and cut down on the necessity for that as much as possible now, eh?

The Veterans Day job board post I couldn’t resist but to share comes from career mega-site Monster, where a tip column for job hunting in the ‘recession’ gave a pretty interesting tip:

Concentrate on Growth Industries

Brent Berger, a Las Vegas-based scenario planning and strategy consultant, suggests focusing on growth industries and areas. “Look at energy,” he says. “With oil costs where they are, the need for cheap fuel and cheap heat is ever-mounting. And any job that alleviates pain is recession-proof. Similarly, the National Guard, Border Patrol, homeland security and the defense industry in general will continue to thrive as the next stage in the war on terror continues.”

I’m not sure I would trust “similarly” as my transition word fearing someone might associate my description of the war on terror as a growth industry with “any job that alleviates pain,” but that’s the writer in me talking. All kidding aside, that isn’t exactly the kind reassurance you want while job hunting after all the shit America’s been through in the last 7 years. I’d almost have liked it better if I cruised by Monster, it detected my IP address, and said “You’ll be working at Burger King so don’t waste your time” compared with that little nugget from our friend Mr. Berger. No pun intended, if course.

Does Dr. True have the Truth?

A few months ago, I read an interesting article copied from the Idaho Observer and emailed to me by a friend. The article illustrated how China’s industry is anchored by pharmaceuticals, despite a rather low consumption of pharmaceutical products by its citizenry (makes sense). It then went on to describe involvement by Sanofi-Pasteur (the pharma subsidiary of Sanofi-Aventis) with a new vaccine for avian flu.

The problem the article presented was that a purported vaccine for the H5N1 strain of flu has been purchased in enormous bulk from Sanofi by the Department of Health and Human Services. This has immense political implications, not only because of the extreme amount of money Sanofi is being given to develop this vaccine, but because of Dr. True Ott’s explanation of how this particular strain becomes capable of a pandemic.

In his Powerpoint presentation regarding avian flu, he references the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic in terms of the military having biological weapons tested on them. This leads to a conclusion that because certain strains of flu can only achieve deadly pandemic status through careful laboratory manipulation and preparation, there must be an upcoming event regarding a new strain of deadly avian flu planned by China.

I found the presentation completely technically sound in its analysis of how the flu works, and the historical context of the Spanish flu pandemic was compelling as well. However, Dr. Ott concluded that the perfect opportunity for this global conspiracy to kick off would be the 2008 Beijing Olympics, so that various athletes could come home to scattered points all across the country and spread the flu. This would presumably have begun taking massive tolls by this point if it were going to happen.

Why is all of this significant? Well, anyone who knows about the 500,000 plastic coffins being stored in George near the Atlanta airport is most likely part of the crowd who researches and tracks this conspiracy. The conspiracy I speak of is that the U.S. government is operated and controlled by members of a cult who wish to reduce the global population by 95% in order to clear out a giant playground for themselves.

Dr. Ott was not interviewed at the time he agreed to it, as I requested his Powerpoint presentation and viewed it prior to the Olympic games, and the subject matter would not have been as relevant as it is, now that some time has passed.

I will be interviewing Dr. Ott and asking him if he wishes to adjust his hypothesis regarding the intentional spreading of this alleged flu pandemic given the lack of an outbreak months after the closing ceremonies.

The full transcript of that interview will be posted here in the coming week. So if you’re into deadly virus outbreaks, government conspiracies, death cults, and the rise of evil China, stay tuned!!

The Sidewalk to Nowhere

I was planning my Halloween re-decoration for another blog, my personal one, when I fell into the predictable YouTube trap. You have all known it since the beginning of the broadband era: click on one video, link to another, to another, etc. Next thing you know, it’s 4 a.m., your eyes are bloodshot, your ass hurts, and you can’t remember what your goal was in the first place. It’s a lot like trying to keep up with election coverage.

This distraction was a unique one, however, since it dealt with a political subject most dear to my heart: voters in the Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania. I’ve called Bangor my home since 1987, nearly 22 years, and given that Pennsylvania is a large and varied state when it comes to political views, I’ve seen all kinds.

Someone posted the following YouTube video from a John McCain / Sarah Palin rally at Stabler Arena on the Lehigh University campus in Bethlehem, PA. Based on some videos I linked through, I’ve determined the camera operator is an Obama supporter trying to get a sense of what makes someone support John McCain. I’m equally interested in finding out, though not an Obama supporter myself. The video was so shocking, I had to post it here. Keep in mind, I have no connection to the poster of this video whatsoever, and do not endorse any of the political or societal views contained in the video.

What gets me is not the severely distorted, backwoods opinions of Obama, but the blatant and wanton lack of respect for the First Amendment held by the people slowly meandering into the rally, like irritated sheep unable to bat the gnats in their eyes.

I hear all the time from your straight Republican ticket voters that we face a moral crisis in this country, but when they say that, they’re making reference to all the “murdered babies” and smut on TV and lack of hatred for the common Muslim. They’re not talking about the fact that an entire generation of people in America is being taught, mostly through their parents, that our Constitutional rights are part of an outdated mechanism and that protesters and others demonstrate the need to remove Freedom of Speech from people who, by their judgment, don’t deserve it.

The otherwise harmless vitriol the McCain supporters hurl at the protesters is nothing I’d personally get bent out of shape about if I were outside the event holding up signs. I’d expect irritable, goofy, affluent, white people to look at me and think “unemployed college student” or “unemployed college dropout” and start yelling at me to get a job. Well, the correct diagnosis is “unemployed college graduate,” and I’d be happy to get a job at the company they work for, given an interview and a month to pass a drug test.

That is hardly the crisis, where I’m concerned. Free speech that bothers us can only be countered with more free speech, but certain sentiments within that McCain crowd clearly echoed the movement in ideology that neo-cons preach: Support our cause, or else you are a scoundrel and a traitor who deserves whatever harm may come your way. Go ahead, hold up a protest sign that says you think abortion is murder, or that Obama is a terrorist, or even something as ridiculous and unfounded as “God Hates America.” I might call you a stupid asshole that’s never read a book or had an original thought, but I won’t call you unAmerican.

The Wall Street Massacre

I won’t attempt a diatribe here. At the ripe old age of 24, I find myself in such a whirlwind of bubbling sweat, night fits, nasty dreams of ten-foot-tall senators laughing with blood pouring from their mouths, and eye twitches that I can’t even turn on the cable news networks anymore. My explanation of a solution to this problem is only served by showing you directly how I came to the conclusion that a bailout is not the answer. As usual, someone else will be more concise and effective at encapsulating all my frantic thoughts and fears.

We face a financial mess that will assure whoever wins the Presidency in November (I predict Obama wins by a narrow margin running on his supposed economic ‘credentials’) will preside over the worst depression in U.S. History. My father received a form letter from Pennsylvania Senator and all-around Swine (here’s to you, Hunter) Bob Casey’s office. Inside, he cited numerous financial experts and, gasp, Paul Krugman as saying someone needs to “step in soon.”

Here we are, an allegedly free society operating in a capitalist market, surrendering our Constitutional rights and basic human freedoms every day in the name of security, out of fear of terrorism, about to take an even worse step. At least it appeared as recently as 2006 that neo-conservatives were entertaining the idea of allowing the free market illusion to persist through 2010 or so. Now, with some assists from Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson and Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke, a calculated panic is being brewed up. Why bother stopping at surrendering our civil liberties? Let’s take that next soaking wet step, shaking in our boots, toward full-blown Corporatism. I won’t link you to a Wiki article about corporatism, but let’s just say Benito Mussolini was a big fan.

You need not worry if you haven’t written your Congressman or Senator to tell them to vote against any and all unconstitutional bailout packages that are designed to temporarily relieve stress on the market but ultimately accelerate the destruction of the dollar. It all hit me when I was reading some collected installments of Hunter S. Thompson’s column from ESPN.com Hey Rube, in which he alludes to people in high powered National politics as high-risk gamblers. They really are no different from an Old West fish who would bet the ranch and his daughter on one last fateful roll of the dice. That’s precisely what the corporate-controlled misers in Washington are telling people in America we need to do. Come on, papa needs a new pair of shoes.

But hey, don’t take it from me. Fuck, I’m an unemployed college grad who spends more time on Monster.com than every other web site combined. Take it from a seasoned member of the House Financial Services Committee, Free Market Economist, fiscal conservative (in a true sense), and generally rational and logical person. And if you’re of the few out there who still believe he’s an old kook, go ahead and dig up some videos like these from around this time last year and see how “fringe” his predictions and assessments have turned out to be…….

I am not trying to be nifty. I intend for only the provocation of thought and reason in people who right now are shackled to the logic of fear and guilt and trepidation. So if I appear as someone pressing the “I told you so” button in a mocking tone during such a serious time in our nation’s history, let me remind you that I am a student of our founding fathers–of the letters, pamphlets, and essays by Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and as Paine felt I now feel. For I am not a condescending governor on some central banking board trying to coach some elected official on how to tell his constituents that their being poor is fixable through a means which has brought about the very suffering they so desperately wish to alleviate.

I firmly believe the Constitution as a living document is in these times highly underrated and too often cast aside as an attempt by the dead to control future generations to their own desire. You see, the court of public opinion, crippled by constant input from “financial experts” and “investment experts” and lifelong politicians, is now Cato. I, and many other freedom-loving, middle-class people like me, must then be the Forrester. This is my letter.

Good luck.

America The Bewwwwwtiful

Perhaps September 11th will bring out the best in us each year on its anniversary, the way it did in the days following the mind-melting atrocities in New York, Washington, and Shanksville. I personally never saw as much politeness, such a dramatic shift in the zeitgeist, such willingness by Americans to choke down their pettiness. Well, it lasted a few weeks, anyway. Now we’re back to playing politics and ignorantly approaching massive national crises (see Hurricanes, War, Disease, Social Issues on Google).

Or, perhaps, MSNBC will re-broadcast its news feed from the morning of September 11th, 2001 in real-time, so those fragile psyches still trying to recover from the events of that day can….I don’t know…..confront their fears? Cable news is taking “we will not forget” to a whole new level. The 9/11 Truth squad should be Tivo’ing this, that is if they can venture away from Alex Jones’ website or YouTube videos of the guy with half a hand talking about his battle with aliens long enough.

I don’ want to be one of the millions in the blogosphere who smatter the public with their watery speech about all the lives we lost, or conversely, how the government is to blame and how these wars are all a farce to perpetuate the military industrial complex and protect oil. Instead, I want to direct attention back to what matters: the upcoming election.

We have allowed, once again, the media to conduct their three-circus in anticipation that the American people will continue to shirk their responsibility to themselves and elect an establishment representative with no goals or motivation other than to keep the shit flowing downhill.

Barack Obama, Fraud

John McCain, Fraud

There was a significant press conference held yesterday by Ron Paul regarding all the third-party candidates in this election. We as Americans owe it to the people dying in combat to “spread democracy” to at least make a passing attempt at actually instituting an honest democratic process. The two videos below are highly recommended, and enjoy your Patriot Day.

http://www. youtube. com/watch?v=eEw0qKjP7hk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1LMoWqXrE4

Comedians Don’t Want to Die

It was a lame, morose Sunday on June 22nd. I felt a dank, lingering must in my room (probably the fucking dust monster, immortal and immune to cleaning agents and vacuums) but also over my spirit. The previous week was the end of my planned honeymoon with joblessness, and I was awaiting word from a company in India that I applied to. The daylight hours waned and, in front of the amphetamine-like YouTube, I drifted off into a pointless sleep.

The next morning, I decided to attack the day and rise early, make a good breakfast, drink some coffee, and ferociously pursue a new job. Like your typical yuppie go-getter, I turned on CNN Headline News to watch Robin Meade, the gorgeous morning anchor to see what political bullshit or celebrity updates she had for me. Instead, I was leveled like a small child with his back turned to the raging surf. George Carlin had died unexpectedly the day before, and instantly I knew what that feeling had been on Sunday. It was my subconscious preparing me for the devastating loss.

Carlin wasn’t just the man who gave us the iconic routine “Seven Dirty Words you Can’t Say on Television” (seen below) and split from his silly, absurdist humor that made him accessible to crowds outside his counterculture following. He was a critical thinker, now a species loathed by the dominant forces in politics, religion, and sappy American television and media. Leave it to L. Brent Bozell, president of the Media Research Center to sum up how some people will remember the legacy of Carlin.

In the sad final analysis, Carlin betrayed the promise of the hippie counterculture, that the establishment would be wiped away, and only love and peace would remain. He joked that inside every cynic is a disappointed idealist. But hunting for idealism in Carlin’s late work would be a search for a blade of hay in a large mountain of needles. In the end, George Carlin was a comedic genius who lost his sense of humor.

Well, I guess the concept of De mortuis nil nisi bonum is not part of his “research.” I won’t give him any more attention (or links) than he needs because, well such a high-ranking media figure gets his hateful eulogy published on Yahoo. Perhaps the smattering of respect for one third of the holy trinity (Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor) of stand-up comics by the media led Bozell to his conclusion.

I’ll admit, George did seem to be a hunched, scraggly cynic in the end of his performing days, but the man was hard at work tearing at the social fabric until the moment of his death. In today’s smarmy, self-obsessed, glitter-covered, plastic surgery, spoiled-bitches-televised-birthday-parties culture, the counterculture man simply has no choice.

Perhaps that’s what led our fallen comic hero to his bit about America “circling the drain” in one of his final standup tours. I, for one, am glad to have been circling the drain along with you, Mr. Carlin, and your biting wit and brutal honesty might not be tacky and shallow enough for someone like Bozell, but it was a bright spot for myself and many others in this cesspool of culture we call America.

I will never forget you. This blog exists because of you, and I will continue my quest as though you’re reading over my shoulder the whole time. In the ironic circumstance that George Carlin may have headed to some afterlife of which he so scathingly and masterfully poked fun, I will leave you with the man, on death, in his own brilliant words.

Comedians don’t wanna die. It’s only a metaphor, but it’s so true of all of us. We don’t wanna die out there. I don’t wanna die. Jeez, I was dyin out there. It was death out there. It was like a morgue. Course, if the comedian doesn’t die, ya know, if he succeeds…..if makes you laugh, he can say I killed em. So, it’s either me or you, you know? Just like on the freeway. Dying is one of the few fair things in life. Everybody catches it once.

Carlin for you:

Ticker Tape Parade in Detroit Postponed

I’m supposed to be watching “Pi” right now, but instead I’m bombarded by local news reports about Hillary Clinton’s “foot soldiers” being told to “stand down.” Quite the amusing choice of language for a fervent anti-war candidate.

Speaking of wars, how about this guy?

You might be asking yourself, how do I say that name? Or more importantly, who is he? I am the furthest thing from a hockey fan. I get dizzy just trying to watch that puck as it flies around like stray bullets in an LAPD shootout. Most casual NHL viewers/channel-flippers shamelessly admit they will stop on a hockey game to see a good brawl.

It was tonight, however, that I turned on what was expected to be the final game in the Stanley Cup series between the Pittsburgh Penguins and Detroit Red Wings in overtime. Figuring I’d see a goal any second, I left it on while I soaked my aching foot in a bucket of epsom salts (if you kick ass like I do, your foot hurts).

Sidney Crosby, a marquee player in the NHL had already played nearly 30 minutes, a long time if you’re skating and diving and dodging something heavy and fast-moving enough to seriously fuck you up while big dudes plot their next chance to decimate you. I saw nothing from him and immediately I felt what most non-hockey viewers feel. “This is a lame hockey stalemate,” I thought. But the score was tied at 3, so something big was going to happen. I could feel it.

A second overtime was necessary as the Red Wings just couldn’t get the puck by Fluery, the tireless Penguins goalie who defended nearly 60 shots throughout the course of the night. Some of his saves were simply amazing, and you’d be an idiot not to YouTube the overtime periods today if you didn’t watch the game already.

What this post is about though, is the amazing finish centering around Petr Sykora. During the second overtime period, he lipped to a teammate “I’m going to score.” The television commentators pointed it out. I waited, and waited, and waited. By the time a third overtime period arrived, my Sam Adams was perspiring, Jay Leno’s show was pushed back to 1:30 am, and I was wondering if I’d ever see “Pi.” Then it happened.

On a breakaway jaunt down the ice, Sykora took a beautifully placed pass and nearly instantaneously fired a beautiful wrist shot past Red Wings goalie Chris Osgood for the win. The Penguins had staved off defeat for at least 48 more hours, and Sykora had done something I’d never imagined possible in a chaotic sport like hockey. He called his shot. Here’s to you, Pete.