There really is nothing to post about anymore. If you remember, this blog used to include posts that involved serious thinking and analysis. Now? Not so much. That's just what happens to the hockey world in mid-July. It starts to look like a barren wasteland of sport... We'll see how this little number goes, but this Offseason Journal thing might stick around -- but only if it appeases you, o gracious viewers and commenters.
6:20 AM EST: Nightmares. Jason Blake is haunting me. Somewhere in Toronto, he's sitting around counting money, and doing whatever else it is that Jason Blake does. I imagine it involves coloring books and, you know, looking like a fetus... All that stuff he said about loving Long Island? A load of you know what. What an asshole.
8:15: Sum 41 is right. Waking up is really fucking hard to do. All I can think of is lying in bed, after those nightmares of Fetus kept me up.
8:20: Finally out of bed. I've got to be at work in 40 minutes (if it's relevant, I'm a lifeguard during the summer). First things first. Check TSN, I must. Something important had to have happened while I was asleep. There's been too little going on. I hope Forsberg signed, even if its not with the Islanders. Any news will do. Any news at all.
8:22: Stumble downstairs. Turn on computer. Alexei Yashin is on the front page of TSN. What the?!?!
8:23: Worst possible thing I could have seen at this hour of the morning. TSN must have it out for me. Evaluate potential options for suicide. The high ceiling in my kitchen is looking like a noose would be nice and cozy in there.
8:24: Realize that Yashin is no longer an Islander. Sigh deeply, and remove noose from neck. The photo was only in reference to how he, among other second tier free agents, has not been signed yet. Come to think of it, a picture of
Mark Messier Waterworks McGee would have been the worst TSN headline to wake up to.
8:35: Time spent on the computer in the morning always flies. Some mornings, I check only email and TSN, but it still takes more than 10 minutes to do so. That's just impossible. Later I'll investigate possible black holes surrounding my desk.
8:40: Soft food for breakfast. It's necessary after such a shock to the system. Frozen waffles will do.
9:07: Arrive at work. No blogging today, there's no computer in the general vicinity. That's what happens when you work at a pool.
*intermission. Go grab a soda or some shit.
2:02 PM: Quittin time! I love any day that's a half day.
2:20: loltrade. Eh, that's not as catchy as lolcat. I'll keep trying... Seriously, throw me a friggin bone here. The Sens trade Peter Schaefer to Boston for Sean Donovan. Nope, not interesting. Don't care.
3:15: Random trains of thought. The Hurricanes re-acquired Matt Cullen for some no name players and a third rounder in 2008. Is it just me, or does Cullen look like post-90210 Jason Priestley, if Cullen changed his hair and aged a decade. Ok. That might be a bit of a stretch.
Still living off of “90201” fame
What's with all the trades? Do we need to remind GMs that this is the middle of free agent season?
3:19: What if I just blogged in questions all day? Would you like that? Is this the most irritating thing ever or what?
4:45: Considerd adding a poll to the site. Realized that I would be the only one voting. Maybe I can teach my dog to use Firefox.
7:33: Late dinner tonight. Had to hit the gym for a little bit to get jacked. It's obviously not working. Leftover chicken parm. Reminds me of Ray Ferraro, Mr. Chicken Parm himself. Where is John Buccigross when you need him?
7:41: If Ray Ferraro is Chicken Parm, then who is Leftover Chicken Parm? No idea. Where's Buccigross?
9:47: It's almost time for the Mets game. The game is on late here on the east coast, cause they're in San Diego. It's Spanish for 'a whale's vagina'. I think that would be a great nickname for Mats Sundin.
10:35: Despair. What a terrible day for hockey. The most amusing part was that I actually got to say whale and vagina in the same sentence without making a fat chick joke. That's pretty hard to do. That being said, I feel as though hockey doesn't exist. Good thing there are only 70 days left till opening night. I'll make it. 'No sweat' I say, as I shake like a crack addict who needs a fix.
10:41: Click. Post this sucker.