I’m almost 30 and I’ve been thinking a lot (too much?) about the future and what it holds for me.  Frankly, it scares me and I’ve never felt less ready for anything in my life.  The thought of being 30 makes me feel even more insecure and causes the last drops of my confidence canteen to drip away into a stream of tears and oil from my 1994 Camry.  Years ago, when I was in college, I had an unabashed look on life that didn’t have the scars of the “real world” tattooed all over it.  I am relatively wiser now but I have none of that gung-ho, care-free attitude I had in college – an attitude that I miss and am unsure how to regain.

Perhaps I just need to be challenged.  Ask any and all of the teachers who had the (mis)fortune to have me in their classroom.  They’ll tell you that I had a penchant for acting up when I was bored and unchallenged.  My 8th grade Social Studies teacher said I’d go on to be a successful business man and that’s still not an unreachable goal.  As a kid, I wanted to be an airline pilot and, later on, an architect.  (My brother beat me to that by a mile, but I’ve always kept my eye out on architecture programs.)  I’ve also wondered about being a television writer, a standup comedian, a music journalist (this happened already), a professional drummer, and a graphic designer.

Years ago, thanks to an ego inflated by a younger youth, I used to think I was brilliant and could do a lot of things.  I no longer feel that way and continue to fall into a crevasse of insecurity that’s dug by a lack of confidence.  Where did I go wrong?  I shouldn’t focus on that particular question because it’s all negative.  The question I need to focus on is, “where do I go right… again?”

A few weeks ago, I bought one of their garter belts at Sharks Ice at San Jose.  As kinky as that sounds, I have to inform you that the purpose of these garter belts are to hold up hockey socks and nothing more… unless you’re a real freak, but that’s neither here nor there.  Basically, each of the 4 ends of these garters have a rubber peg doohickey thing (it’s a technical term) that inserts into a metal loop while grasping the top of the sock in between.  I misplaced a couple of these rubber peg doohickey things, rendering those garters useless.  I mentioned this to a teammate and he suggested I e-mail the company.  So I did, finally.

Mere minutes after I sent the company an email this Friday evening, Carol Modell responded and quickly offered to send me four of the rubber peg doohickey thingies (again, it’s a highly technical term).  Replacement parts for a simple hockey garter belt are an afterthought, if that, in a complicated world but it’s nice to know that a company and its employees are willing to satisfy a customer (an absolute stranger, no less) with a couple of parts worth a few cents.

Obviously, Elliot’s trade stock would be much lower at that time but I think it’s a risk worth taking.  Leclaire just hasn’t shown enough consistency to be deemed the savior of the Sens’ net and make Elliot expendable.  Few would be talking about Steve Mason if Leclaire had stayed healthy.  Granted, he’s played on bad teams but so has Marc Denis who was durable enough to end up on the loss column 102 times during his last three seasons with Columbus.  That’s almost as many games Leclaire has played with the same team since he made his debut in 2003.

The only reason Leclaire is regarded so highly is his high draft position – #8 overall in 2001.  Oddly, I doubt Senators fan would be as excited if Rick Dipietro (#1 overall, 2000) and his brittle hips and knees showed up with his gear at Scotia Bank Place in Kanata looking for a starting job.

Look, I don’t know Pascal Leclaire and I don’t want him to fail but he just hasn’t done anything to make the Senators comfortable enough to warrant trading away a good goalie who can be great in Elliot.  That’s what this longwinded rant is all about.

I was born in San Jose’s O’ Connor Hospital in 1981 but I spent some of my early years in Juan Jose Rios, Sinaloa, Mexico.  From ages 4 to 7, I lived in an incomplete brick house on the same lot that my maternal grandmother’s house rested on.  In the summer of 1988, my immediate family, which consisted of my parents, myself, and two older brothers, made the 3-day trek back up to San Jose, California in a 1979 Chevrolet Caprice Classic Wagon.  When we arrived, we stayed at my dad’s friend’s place about half a block from the 2-bedroom apartment we would share for the next 14 years.

A few weeks after we moved into the apartment that holds many of my memories, my mother, middle brother, and I headed to the Capitol Flea Market at closing time.  This was a great time to go because sellers would leave all the stuff they didn’t sell and latecomers would have free reign over the leftover items.  During this particular Summer night in 1988, my brother and I managed to grab a forgotten and beat-up tape recorder from the pavement and a worn cassette by some guy named, “Billy Skier.”  That’s how we pronounced his name, at least.  The album was called, “Don’t Say No.”  For months on end, we listened to this tape and the first song, “In The Dark” became permanently tattooed in my brain.

By October 1989, we had saved up enough money to buy an NES and my brothers and I would spend the weekend evenings eating cheap Little Caesar’s Pizza, listening to “Billy Skier”, and playing video games.  We were dirt poor but I’d be hard pressed to remember another time I felt safer than I did at that point.

Almost 20 years later, I cannot listen to this song without being overwhelmed with emotion.  I’ve always believed in the power of song, but no other song takes me back to when I was a kid like this song does.

Suddenly, I want to eat some cheap pizza and play some Super Mario Bros. 2.  Who’s with me?

My next class is on Thursday night and I’m looking forward to being tired and achy that evening.  At least I know I’ll sleep well.

In the meanwhile, take a listen to “Lincoln Highway Dub” off Sublime’s Robbin’ The Hood.  This song was the basis for their most widely-known song, “Santeria.”

Moments later, with seconds left in the game, the Sharks rushed into the Kings’ zone for one last attack and Vincent Damphousse fed a perfect pass from the bottom of the near faceoff circle to Brad Stuart who scored easily from the slot with just 3 seconds left to send the game to overtime.

During the extra period, Damphousse picked up a loose pick in the near Kings’ faceoff circle, turned back towards the hashmarks, and fired a wrister over Roman Cechmanek’s glove for the winner and for a spot in the San Jose Sharks’ list of memorable moments.

Immediately after the game ended, this is what the Yahoo! Sports NHL front page looked like.  Notice the last score on the right. (Click for full size):

Finally, the correct score popped up after minutes of refreshing my browser.  (Click for full size):

Bonus: Here’s the video of the comeback for the full experience.

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff… and it’s all small stuff
Richard Carlson, Hyperion (1996)

For weeks, a friend kept suggesting that I read this book and I finally relented today — and I am glad I checked it out from the library instead of buying it.

I am utterly boggled as to how this terrible book became a best-seller.  I appreciate the meaning and message, but it was so thin in actual content that it left me feeling cheated and annoyed.  The book is nothing more than a list of 100 generic positive affirmations stretched out over 200+ pages and it ends up being trite and repetitive.  Frankly, there is more valuable advice on the side of Starbucks cups.

Each chapter is barely a page long and contains just a bit of dull anedoctal evidence to support the theme.  To add to the misery, you will find yourself experiencing déjà vu every few chapters as you read essentially the same thing Carlson wrote a few pages back.

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff is just a terribly simple book geared at weak people who lack so much confidence that they can’t even tell they’re being scammed as they read it.

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