There's No Place Like Home

My dad told me a joke when I was young.  He asked "Why do you think it's so windy in Saskatchewan?"  I thought for a moment and shrugged my shoulders.  "Because Manitoba blows and Alberta sucks!"  He smiled then we both shared a chuckle.  I always thought it to be a play on words, as most residents of whatever city or province, always boasts there home territory to be superior to anywhere else.  It wasn't until I was older and able to visit these other provinces, where I was able to learn that this simple joke was based more in reality than jest.

I've been to Manitoba only a hand full of times.  It was winter every time and it was cold as f*ck.  The folks were friendly, as their license plate caption implies, but god damn it was cold.  It makes sense why the movie "White Out" filmed in Manitoba, doubling it for Antarctica.  Friendliness aside, though, there was entirely too many french folks for my liking too.  I'm not saying that all French folks are bad.  I have a few friends who are of the French persuasion, and their alright.  But in my past I've roomed with a French bloke and he was quite a bastard, hence my dislike for the people.  How does that old saying go?  It only takes one rotten apple to spoil the bunch?

Alberta, on the other hand...  Oy!  Where do I start?  I had the "pleasure" (and I use that term loosely) of living in Edmonton for about six months of my younger life, and I regretted ever f*cking moment of that time. I lived in squalor, making next to no money, then had the misfortune of rooming with some really skeevy thieving motherf*ckers, which made the experience all the more worse.  That was a number of years ago, but fast forward to more recent events and the province hasn't improved much at all.  People are (seemingly) angry all over.  I met a couple of decent and friendly folks, but two "good apples can't save a basket of rotten ones", I'm afraid.

As some may know I went to the wedding of two dear friends in British Columbia, a province I might add was a real pleasure to visit.  Everyone was so freakin' nice there.  If I had to choose any other province to live in, I'd seriously consider this one.  Aside from the excessively high price of gasoline and the "scary-as-f*ck" taxi cab drivers, my experience in this place was exceptional.

My original plan was to fly out to Kelowna, British Columbia, then rent myself a sporty car, like a Camaro or Dodge Challenger, once I'd gotten there.  However, I thought I'd take some time off from work and drive myself out, stopping at a couple of touristy locations along the way.  My first stop was going to be in Drumheller, Alberta, the proclaimed Dinosaur Capital of the World, on account that such a variety of dinosaur bones were discovered in it's Red River beds in the early part of the 20th century.  I got away from my home late on Wednesday, May 22nd and never got into Drumheller until about 5pm, just in time to discover that the tourist attraction in town was closing.  "What the f*ck kind of tourist attraction, closes at 5 o'clock in the afternoon?" I thought rudely to myself.

The next day I was treated poorly at the Tyrell Museum just outside Drumheller.  I was mistreated and verbally assaulted at a Tim Horton's in Calgary.  A woman flipped me the bird in Canmore, because I failed to wait forever for her to waddle her fat 400lb ass across the sidewalk.  (That may have been my fault, but show some f*cking class.)  I never was really shown any kindness in Alberta, except for the lady at the Fossil Gift Shop in Drumheller, who stayed open later for me to buy some stuff for my nephews.  (She got a kick out of my story about the guy at my work who doesn't believe dinosaurs ever existed, but that unicorns did.)  Some gay, or at least I think he was gay, kid at McDonald's who was just too happy to serve me, and a woman working at the Esso in Canmore.  Everyone else, to my recollection, were kind o' douchie.

My stay in Kelowna rocked.  The gas, I saw at one place, was as high as $1.53 per Liter, which blows, but I never filled up there.  Everyone was super-nice.  As I said, I'd live in British Columbia, if I had to live anywhere else in Canada, rather than Saskatchewan.

Sunday was the day I was to head back.  I'd researched online and found a decent hotel to stay in Calgary.  The plan was to drive to Calgary, stay the night, go to the zoo on Monday, then drive to Drumheller to use my free pass, then home.  The TraveLodge in Calgary must've cleaned one room for the internet site, because the outside of the hotel looked shabby and I barely stepped into the lobby as the stink drove me back out to the parking lot.  I checked the weather forecast for Monday, which called for thunder and lightning showers, and I said "F*ck it!", drove to Drumheller and used my free pass to the Royal Tyrell Dinosaur Museum, which I managed to check out in about an hour, and was unimpressed.  I was always lead to believe that dinosaurs were SO FREAKIN' HUGE, but this didn't seem to be the case with the ones on display in this museum.  The dinosaurs skeletons I saw there, weren't much bigger than maybe an elephant or hippo.  The Tyrannosaurus Rex they had on display, looked like a punk-ass bitch.  Big teeth, sure, but a bitch nonetheless.

I was so happy when I was able to get a hold of my mother, instructing her to bring my cat, Monkey, back to my house, as I was heading home at that moment.  Five hours later, I was stepping into my wonderful house and hugging my beautiful little boy, Monkey.  There's no place like home, indeed.

Tattered Dreams

People say that one should avoid ever meeting their idols, for your perceived idea of who they are and what kind of a person they are, often differs greatly from reality.

I would hardly consider the town of Drumheller, Alberta, Canada as my "idol", nor even in the Top Ten of places to ever visit in my life.  However, the idea of learning shit, especially about dinosaurs, brings out the young boy in me.

I've driven, or ridden rather, through Drumheller, Alberta, two or three times in my life.  I've always wanted to stop and explore, but my travel companions never shared my enthusiasm on the matter.  So when the opportunity came for me to travel through the town once again, flying solo this time, on my way to British Columbia for a friends wedding, I jumped at the chance to stop in the town that had always eluded me before.

Drumheller is said to be one of the largest beds of dinosaur fossils in the world.  A reputation that is not lost on this town.  Dinosaurs can be seen depicting all sorts of colour schemes and elaborate poses on almost every street corner.  Wild colours that would hardly make these ancient creatures blend into the jungle background that once existed in this territory.  The woman at the gift shop was very informative when I was perusing her inventory of authentic fossils and other trinkets.  "This whole area," she told me, "Was once underwater and this creature..."

She pointed to a large fossilized head, approximately 4 feet by about 2 feet in size, perched atop a grand display, "Swam in that body of water.  They grew to be about 60 feet in length, but this skull belonged to an adolescent."  Intrigued by her spiel, I purchased a fossilized tooth that stood prominently out of the stone it was rested in, which I will display prominently upon my mantle when I return home.

In all honesty, I didn't know what to expect from Drumheller.  I knew people must've lived here, but I never realized just how bustling the town actually is.  They have all sorts of shit in this town, including a large furniture franchise (The Brick), a Canadian Tire and even a large lumber yard.  I was pleasantly shocked.  On the surface, Drumheller seems like a sweet little town.  What lies underneath is a completely different story.

Nothing sinister, mind you, just swindling.  Because Drumheller is such a destination spot for tourism, I feel that some of the local merchants may be taking liberties with the economy.  I visited four (4) different restaurants before I was able to locate one whose prices weren't a blatant gouge on the visiting tourists.  The first , was a restaurant called Sublime.  Bells should have sounded off in my head when, at dinner time, nobody was in the restaurant.  Then I saw the menu and alarms really did go off in my head.  I've had the privilege of dining in a few fancy restaurants where the prices were quite high, but you paid for the experience and the ambiance, as well as the well-crafted food.  Sublime was a hollowed out old house, the walls clad in baby puke green and black and was poorly lit, despite the sun shining through the dusty windows.  I quickly made up an excuse and made my exit.  Pork chops were priced at $40.  No f*cking thank you.

Next was Dairy Queen.  I figured I'd opt for a fast food chain.  Decent food for a reasonable price.  NOPE!!  I questioned the woman behind the counter on why the prices were SO outrageous.  "Eight dollars for a cheeseburger?  Add four bucks if I want fries and a drink?  Are you kidding?"  She was Asian, fresh off the boat, I suspect as she had no f*cking clue what I'd just said.  "Eat in or take out?" she repeated.

The owner or manager or whatever the f*ck he was, looked up from his newspaper and called out from his table in the empty dining room.  I don't know what he said.  It was broken English, interrupted by the loud freezer behind the counter.  "I'm from Saskatchewan and the prices aren't THIS expensive.  Is this a Drumheller thing?  Hike up the prices for the tourists?"

"We get from Hea- Office.  You no like.  You go back to Saskatchee-ahn."  I remarked that their pricing was horse shit and once more, made my way out the door.  The restaurant next door, was empty.  I drove down the street and noticed restaurant after restaurant had empty parking lots.  Finally, I came upon the McDonald's and the parking lot was full.  I reluctantly went inside and the place was bustling with a constant hum of conversation from the dining room.  Pricing was the same as it was at home, so it made sense why Rotten Ronnie's was so popular.

Grabbed my shit and headed back to my hotel, where I came upon a "lovely" fella in the parking lot who accused me of trying to hit his truck with the door of mine.  "Sorry." I said, moving out of the way, "I'll move to the other side."

"WHAT did you say?!?" he asked angrily.  "Did you call it a piece of shit?"

"No," I said, concerned with the sudden escalation, "I was just ---"

"It may be a piece of shit, but at least it's paid for!  I hate you chicken shit bastards who utter shit under your breath but don't have the balls to back it up!!"

I was confused and I'm sure it showed on my face.  "SIR!!!  I merely said I'd get out of your wa---"

He didn't want to hear any of it.  Got in his truck and f*cked off.  Now I'm paranoid that my truck is going to get keyed by this angry f*ck, as it's parked way on the other side from where my room is located.

I'm going to get a decent night's sleep (I hope) and get the f*ck outta this place early.  I'm going to stop at the Tyrrel Dinosaur Museum on my way out of this shit-hole town, before heading on to Calgary.  I hope shit improves once I arrive there.  As far as Drumheller is concerned, the town will from this day forth, leave a sour and bitter taste in my mouth.  It would've been better had I bi-passed this f*cking town all together.

I Could Give A

I could give a rat's ass!!!

Actually, I couldn't a rat's ass.  I don't have access to a rat.  Nor do I even know where to access a rat.  I suppose I could visit one of the many local pet stores and acquire a rat.  I doubt they'd cost very much.  Then I could give a rat's ass.

On the second hand, though, I'd be stuck with a rat with no ass and I don't know what sort of medical problems that would produce.  I can only imagine that a rat without an ass is going to bloat up, filling more and more with rat turds, on account of not having a method of vacating it's bowels.  The poor little bugger would eventually explode, spreading rat feces all over the place.  If I kept the assless rat in a shoe box wrapped in duct tape, I suppose that'd contain the exploding rat, although that is only a theory and has yet to be proven by myself or science.  And plus, that'd be awfully selfish of me to steal away the rat's ass to give to someone else to prove I could care less about something, then stuffing the poor f*cker into a shoe box wrapped in duct tape.

When you consider how very little I care about a lot of shit, I'd be tossing out rat's asses out all the time, like a Las Vegas poker dealer.  So then I'd be faced with a plethora of assless rats.  That's a helluva problem.  I've not bought that many pairs of shoes in my lifetime, let alone have enough shoe boxes to contain all the assless rats.  One could double or triple them up in the shoe boxes, I suppose, but cannibalism runs wild in the rat kingdom.  If left in a shoe box, I'm sure one would eventually turn on the other, which is disgusting, not to mention, the cannibal rat would be adding to the compiling poop in it's system, ironically causing it to explode all the more quickly.

A "humane" alternative, would be to purchase myself a snake.  This way, once the rat's ass was issued to whomever, the remaining parts of the rat could be fed to the snake.  I'm not a fan of snakes, though.  Especially, the constrictor variety.  I see them on TV and in that Harry Potter movie, and they always look like their thinking.  I don't like any creature that appears to be smarter than myself.  Not too mention, you always hear about those f*cking snakes getting out of their cages and killing the family pet or worse.  I don't have any small children in my household, unless you include my cat, Monkey.  He's an agile little f*cker, but I don't know how he'd fair against a large constricting snake, and I don't wish to find out.

My not caring about things could run up quite an expensive tally.  Though inexpensive, dozens and dozens of rats would add up quickly, not to mention the cost of a snake and all the shit you need to encase one of those bastards.  My bank account would quickly dwindle, this much I am certain of.

Obviously I've given this subject a lot of thought.  I've also considered the idea that I don't care about a lot of shit.  I don't know if this makes me shallow or callous.  I do, however, have trouble in distinguishing whether I could or couldn't care less.  Nor do I know exactly, when to give a shit or not give a shit about something.  The latter, I suppose, has to do with one's diet.  I suppose if a person consumes a lot of roughage, then they, in theory, could give a shit about a lot more.  Personally, I'm allergic to a lot of stuff like whole wheat products, and therefore am unable to drop a deuce when it's deemed necessary to convey my dislike or lack of care on a particular subject.  I still poop, yes.  I'm not in danger of exploding myself, but I just can't do it at the drop of a hat.

This is quite a dilemma that I'm faced with.  Damned if I do.  Damned if I don't.  I have no avenues in which to confer with on this subject.  Nobody knows the trouble I face on a daily basis.  I've consulted the internet with hopes of finding a solution, but I don't even want to go into detail about the sick shit that has come up.  Suffice it to say, there's a lot of sick f*ckers in the world.

I could invest a lot more time into the discovery of  how to deal with this dilemma.  Lord knows I have the time, but....  When you get right down to it, it doesn't really concern me a lot.  I guess, I just don't give two shits about it.

A Dream Is But A Life

In the past I've had dreams that felt real and sometimes waking up from them was a real disappointment.  Not that I was really unhappy with my life, but the dream life was really really great!

Some of the dreams I'd had, were quite adventurous.  There were even some dreams where I was deeply involved in the pro wrestling world and waking up from that to face my humdrum life, was a complete let down.

My life isn't what I'd call adventurous, nor would I say it's super-fantastic, but I am quite content in the little world that exists today.  I have a nice home, a pretty sweet job, and a beautiful little boy (aka. my cat, Monkey).  That being said, I still have, on a rare occasion, those realistic dreams, so real in my mind that it takes a few moments when I awaken, to realize that it was just a dream.  Last night / this morning, was just one of those occasions.

I'd gotten to bed really really really late.  I'd been slumbering on my sofa, as I often do after a long hard day's work.  My back was bothering me all day long, so once my ass hit the couch, it didn't take very long for my eyes to close.  So roughly around 4 or 5 am, I moved myself from downstairs to my comfy bed, where I quickly resumed a restful sleep.  It was about this time that I began dreaming the real dream.

In part, I think what makes these dreams seem so real to my subconscious, is the fact that the passage of time feels like the actual passage of time.  One minute equals one minute.  Even if I'm only asleep for a couple of hours, as in the case of this morning, shutting my eyes at around 5 am and waking up again at 8 am on the nose.  The time inside my dream felt like about a day and a half, or so.

In my dream, I recall living where I live.  Driving what I drive.  Working where I work.  Everything was exactly the same, except for the fact that I was also attending school.  It wasn't a tech college or university, but it was a grade school.  In some kind of "Billy Madison*" universe, all 6 feet of me, was going to school with children.  Either that or I was teaching.  That part of my dream wasn't very clear.

The ground was snow covered, which these days isn't a surprise (late spring), and I'd left the school for the day.  I was half way home, when I realized that I'd left something back at school, so turned to go back.  The school was located right downtown, which for anyone familiar with Saskatoon, knows that there's no public schools downtown, especially one that would allow a grown adult to attend.  But the Saskatoon, in my dream was far different from the Saskatoon that is our harsh reality.  Perhaps, like the premise of my education, the city's location was different too, despite my living in my same house and driving my same vehicle.

As I neared the school, I had one more turn to make.  A right turn which I, uncharacteristically, cut too sharply, catching a snow drift piled at the street corner, causing my beautiful Honda Ridgeline to rollover onto it's side.  I experienced the rollover from a first-person perspective and like in life, it seemed to pass in slow motion.  I recall the truck tipping.  I remember the shocked looks on people's faces, standing across the street witnessing my accident.  I could hear the metal twisting and the glass breaking.  I could, and still can, feel the sharp pain running through my back as the vehicle came to rest on it's side.  Feeling the cool breeze blow into the cabin of my truck, and being warmed by the blood trickling down my face.  Every facet that could possibly exist in those few fleeting moments, I experienced in real time.

I remember hearing the sirens of the emergency vehicles and watching the flashing red lights as they drew closer and closer.  Admittedly, I vaguely recall being admitted, checked over and stitched up; and released from the hospital.  Instead of going home, I returned to the school.  Whatever I'd left was very important, but I would forget what it was I sought, once I would arrive at the school.  Forgoing whatever it was, I now needed a ride home, and received one from my only option, which was a van filled with homeless people.  F*cking strange, huh?

Instead of taking me home for some much needed bed rest, I was instead escorted to a subterranean terminal of sorts, where I bumped into friends, friends-of-friends, and my brother-in-law, Bryan, who subsequently gave me a ride, but not to my home, but instead to his house, clear across this strange thriving metropolis that did not resemble Saskatoon, my home, in the least.  I grew more and more frustrated with not being allowed to go home and it was around this time that I woke up.

During the time it took for the cobwebs to clear in my foggy mind, I seriously thought about the toll it would take on me at the expense that replacing my truck.  The truck is five years old, and as in real life, it had less than fifty thousand kilometers on the odometer at the time of the rollover.  Insurance should give me a fair price on it, but it would still pale in comparison to the selling price of a 2013 model.  I was more than relieved when I looked around and realized that I was back in my real life.

The Unicorn Guy

The Irish Rovers are a musical group, who formed in 1963 and although their members mostly hail from Ireland, they are considered a Canadian talent, who have represented our fair country at five World's Fairs.  They have many a popular song throughout the decades, including the hits "Puff The Magic Dragon" and "Wasn't That A Party".  What are their relevance to this blog, you're probably wondering?  Keep reading, as I'll be more than happy to connect the dots for you.

Quite often, while I eat my lunch at work, I keep quiet, opting to listen to everyone else's chatter.  Most times, they speak of their private lives, of which I know nothing about.  However, sometimes the subject matter is so ridiculous, that I can't help but chime in or snicker at the goofiness of it all. 

Today was just one of those silly days.  I don't know what lead up to the subject, but someone muttered about horse flies.  They joked about the small insect actually resembling a horse, but with wings.  They all chuckled at the absurdity.  Then the woman, H______ asked, "I've heard of Horse Fish, but they're not real, are they?"

"You mean, Sea Horses?" I asked.

"Yeah.  Sea Horses aren't real are they?"

"Sea Horses ARE real," I reassured, adding, "It's Sea Unicorns that are make believe."

That's when their conversation really took a sharp left.  The sole male at the table remarked, "Yeah, I'm fairly certain that Unicorns were real.  They don't exist anymore, but I'm pretty sure they did."

I couldn't believe my ears.  Did this guy, just claim that the mythical creature, the unicorn, actually lived at some point in the history of the world?

"No." said another, seated at the table, "Unicorns were never real."

"Finally," I thought to myself, "Someone with a lick of intelligence."

"I think you're wrong," he said, "The Irish Rovers sang a song, The Unicorn, so they must be real."

My jaw dropped, nearly slamming my lunch into the table.  "By that logic," I interjected, "Because the Irish Rovers sang a song about Grandma being hit by a reindeer on Christmas Eve, then Santa Clause must be real, too!"

His table (and mine) laughed at the absurd remark, while R____, aka Unicorn Guy, just smiled, realizing he'd just been bested.  Then adding insult to injury, he laid another ridiculous claim.  "Now dinosaurs, I doubt ever existed.  I can't prove that they didn't, but no scientist can convince me that they did."

Wh-wh-wh-whaaat?!?

"They say that they can test their bones and prove that they existed 65,000 years ago..."

"Sixty-five MILLION..." someone said, correcting him.

"Okay.  Sixty-five million years ago.  How can they say it was sixty-five million years ago, if no one was alive then..?"

So B___, the voice of reason at the table, explained the process of carbon testing.  She is very soft-spoken and I couldn't make out most of what she'd said, if anything at all, but of the bits and pieces I did hear, it sounded logical, but R_____, Unicorn Guy, wouldn't have any of it.  "Nope.  The Earth wasn't here 65,000,000 years ago.  I don't believe it for one second."

"Like I said, I can't prove that dinosaurs never existed, just as scientists can't prove to me that they did, but one thing is for sure.  I know that unicorns were real." the man deposed.

In the end, he wouldn't budge on his beliefs.  Dinosaurs are make believe and unicorns were f*cking real, in his universe.  Also the world isn't millions of years old, but only came into existence when mankind arrived.

I can't believe that there are people like this in the world.  Frickin' moronic people like this in the world.  R____ is a likable enough fella, but wow...

In the end, I can't really fault the guy for sticking by his beliefs.  As goofy as they are, they're no worse than the fact that millions of people in the world believe in an invisible man who lives in the clouds, who sees our every move and choices and helps guide us all by listening to your wishful prayers... 

Give me a break!!!