At two this afternoon, I knew we were going live tonight. At 2:45 I knew it was over. The short story is that the folks doing the printing had a major copier malfunction. But there was a workaround. And then their power went out.
Sometimes the Hockey Gods send you a message. And then they cut your power just to emphasize the message.
It's too bad, too, because I was pretty proud of it. Now it's the lost episode. Oh well, at least we still have Sunday.
In brighter news, a guy I work with, who is a hockey fan and just a good, good guy, got me a pipeline to a huge pool of ready-and-willing vendors. So if you see some young guys out selling and they look like little punk bastards, feel free to tip 'em. Someone stole a bunch of their band gear and they're trying to make up the difference. Word on the street is that you won't like their music, which means they're probably the next big thing. So give 'em an extra buck and maybe they'll thank you when they're on MTV Cribs.
In other news, assuming the Hockey Gods don't piss on my parade for the third time in a week, we'll be out on Sunday. And I'll be trying to finagle my way up to make Randy Karraker put me on his post-game show like he'd mentioned. Keep your ears open, maybe I'll be drunk and say something stupid. Or sober and say something stupid. The odds are pretty similar on both.