Do a cup of Joe with Joe.

I won't until Joe says so. He's had two of his Cup drivers upside down here this week. He's not going to be happy.

I spin around on the swivel chair and look up at the ceiling; Oliver being Oliver being Oliver being Oliver. I am suddenly aware of the separation between my-actual-self and myself-as-seen-by-others. Who would win in an arm wrestle? Who is better-looking? Who has the higher IQ?

He said, 'Joe, you're ready to manage. Go,' ... That meant a lot to me, because it was like a father telling his son he was ready for the world.

Mum was determinate to crush my spirit and put a stop to my behavior once and for all and she beat me up so violently, so often, that I finally understood I must never question her or so much as look at her directly again.

We have bigger and better things to look forward to: the Stanley Cup Finals.