The Quest (for Tube Skates)

I've begun to see signs around town inviting young girls and women to come out and join a ringette team.  The sport reminds me of my youth.  Constantly being drug to rinks where my sister would be playing ringette.  I never enjoyed watching her, but her playing, afforded me some trips to different parts of the country, as her team would be invited to participate in tournaments.  The first (and only) NHL hockey game was the Edmonton Oilers versus the Hartford Whalers, waay back when Hartford still had their franchise.  I attended said NHL game, with my dad, who had escorted my sister and her team to a tournament in Edmonton, Alberta.  I don't remember anything about that weekend, except us two cheering for Hartford amidst a sea of Oiler fans.

My sister got involved with the game of Ringette in it's inaugural season.  The Ringette Association had come to our school and put on a demonstration, inviting all the young girls to come out and join a team.  My sister was so excited when she came home, ringette information in hand.  We didn't have a lot of money, when we were kids, but my parents managed to scrounge up the money for the necessary expenses.  The one item that I am reminded of the most, were my sister's pair of skates.

Probably the characteristic I adore most about my mom is her naivete.  There's an innocence about it.  She may knowingly be making a mistake, but she does it anyway.  Sometimes it can be annoying, but usually it's an endearing trait and a cause for a good chuckle.

In addition to all the equipment my sister was required to have before stepping out on the ice for the first time, my sister needed ice skates. Traditionally, at the time, girls skates consisted mainly of figure skates, with the jagged toe.  For safety reasons (obviously) figure skates were not allowed.  I remember being drug along on the adventure of driving all over town, searching for a pair of girls tube skates in my sisters size.  High and low, this way and that way, my mom followed lead after lead to find these skates for my sister.  Then finally, just before my mom was going to surrender to defeat, she found a pair.  They were perfect.  The right kind.  The right size.  Everything.  They even had faux fur around the top of the skate.  My sister was over the moon with joy, proud of her new skates and excited to begin a new adventure.

Fast forward to when she shows up to join her new team in learning the art of the new game, RINGETTE.  My sister is so proud of her new skates, she pulls them out and almost puts them on display for all the revel in her skates.  To her surprise, all the other girls had regular "boys" black tube skates.  I don't know how that revelation affected her young psyche, but she played that entire first season with those white tube skates with the faux fur around the top.  We didn't have a lot of money, so she had to keep them until she grew out of them.

My mom could have ended her shopping day early, by simply buying the boys black skates and everything would have been fine, but she chose not to look outside the box, instead dragging her reluctant son and anxious daughter around town looking for a white elephant, of sorts.

Been 10 Days, but Day Two of Calgary Expo

As the title indicates, it's been ten days since I reported my experience with Day One of the Calgary Expo, but I will explain the long delay between blogs, hopefully, in this blog, today.

First, however, is my thoughts on the City of Calgary.  I know that, like every other city in the known universe, there's a sign at the outskirts welcoming visitors and new residents.  A truer statement, this will never be.  I barely felt welcome in the City of Calgary, except for Day Three, when I was welcomed into the family home of one of my traveling companions.  The rest of Calgary, on the other hand, I received nothing but complacency or rudeness.  That was just from the citizens.  The drivers, are an experience all unto their own.  The sign coming into Calgary should read: Calgary - Like It or Leave It!

When I was going for my driving test to drive a school bus (yes, I'm fondly called "Mr. Bus Driver", by my kindergarten to Grade 8 passengers), the individuals (two of them, as I failed my first road exam) both indicated that Alberta drivers were among the worst they'd ever seen.  One even indicated that he was traveling in a southern U.S. state and was cut-off, nearly sent flying into a ditch, by a vehicle bearing an Alberta license plate.  So Albertans aren't just shitty drivers at home, but they spread their shittiness all about.  But just to reiterate, in Calgary, the drivers seem to be at an all-time high for shitty driving.  At one point, I tweeted the Calgary Police (@CalgaryPolice) and asked if they had a policy against texting while driving.  They responded by indicating that there was a province-wide law against distracted driving.  I concluded back to them that they should let their drivers know.

Drivers and shitty attitudes, aside, Day Two of the Calgary Expo was pretty cool.  There were more people there, obviously, than had attended the first day, so it made moving about a little more difficult, especially as I was saddled with a duffle bag slung over my shoulder, in it, a plentiful bounty of (mostly) Mick Foley memorabilia.

I had known the infamous Mick Foley was to attend the Expo, so I tried to psych myself up for meeting him, but when I first laid eyes upon the Hardcore Legend, I panicked and shuffled over to the line up for Trish Stratus.  It was much shorter and though she was to arrive shortly, it'd afford me enough time to calm my nerves.

I was supposed to meet Trish Stratus years before in Saskatoon, but due to an injury the night before, she was unable to attend and was replaced by "Victoria" (Lisa Marie Varon) & "Lita" (Amy Dumas).  Amy Dumas was also at this Expo, signing autographs and such, but she was extremely rude to me at that meet & greet in Saskatoon, and I've never forgiven her since.  Trish was nice, when she finally arrived.  Not what I expected.  She has a very small frame and dainty features.  I shook her hand and as much as I've hated my small hands, they dwarfed hers.  I couldn't believe that this, for all intense purposes, "little girl" could throw around all those people that I've seen her toss, in the ring all those years ago, but she did.  She's one tough little lady, that's for sure.

When it came time to meet Mr. Foley, I was ushered aside by an orderly, who indicated that it was VIP's only, who were meeting him and if I wished to see him, I'd have to return that evening.  I was both disappointed and relieved.  So after clearing it with my traveling companions, I returned at five o'clock and waited nearly one hour to meet Mick Foley.  I took this time to become one with the world, calming myself down so I wouldn't panic or faint.

Another advantage to waiting for the later event to meet the man, was the prices of autographs went down.  In the AM, I glanced at the price list and saw that it was $50 per autograph to get a book signed (I had two books), $40 for any other signatures (I had a wrestling figure) and $40 for a picture taken (with your own device, I might add).  That was going to be a pricey visit, I thought, but as it turned out, those were VIP prices and the pricing came down for us "regular" folk.  $40 for each autograph or two for $60.  I spoke with the rep who was seated there before Mick arrived and he gave me a deal; Two books, a figure, an autographed picture and a picture taken with Mick, all for $120.  Essentially, I got two free, and because the dolt working my camera phone screwed up and took two pictures, I snuck and extra, although Mick is already looking away in it.  Calgary on Day Two, sucked balls, but it was almost worth it, because I got to meet Mick Foley.  I'll try to explain the experience in it's entirety in a later posting.

We'd eventually depart and begin our quest to look for a nice eating establishment.  It was the birthday of one of my traveling companions who was excited to have a nice dinner at the Hooters that we'd been passing on our daily treks to and from the Expo.  "I'm in the mood for boobies!" she said, or something to that effect.  I can't remember because all I heard was "boobies".  I don't know who was more disappointed to learn that the establishment had been closed down, her or me.  I know I was in the mood for some boobies, too.  After much consideration, we settled on The Keg, which is somewhat of an upper scale eating establishment.  I felt quite under dressed in my T-shirt and shorts.  I don't know what thoughts were going through the mind of the kid next to me wearing some kind of f*cking bird on his head.  The prices were outrageous for the minuscule portions laid on the plate, but at least it tasted fine.  Mine did, anyway.  The server, Trent, was tremendous,  Outgoing and friendly, until the food arrived and we barely saw the motherf*cker after that, and when the bills came and he failed to get the gratuity he felt he deserved, I'm told he got outright rude with my compatriots.  Birthday supper ruined by a worker with no life ambition.

I would have reported all this last Friday, but for some odd reason, when we returned to the hotel, there was no wi-fi.  I couldn't log on to Facebook or even Google, and when I went to the desk to report the failure, the guy behind the counter, instructed me to return to my room and call him to complain.  By the time I climbed the stairs back up to our third floor room, the internet had miraculously come back online.  By this time, though, I was in such a bad mood, my mind frame prevented me from any sort of creativity.

About seven years ago, I went on a little solo adventure to Edmonton, Alberta.  I'd worked and lived in Edmonton years before and never got to do some of the shit I'd always wanted, so this trip was kind of special for me.  However, my experience was short-lived as traffic and alike was striking out against me.  My planned trip of about five days was shortened to about three.  I believed at the time that Edmonton sucked and that Calgary had to be better.  This past weekend, with driving about in this confusing city of trails and circle-jerks, I'm proclaiming that Edmonton IS the better of the two cities.  There's no confusion there.  Get an address and you can find it quite easily without a map.  Calgary is quite the opposite.  My heart goes out to my friends and family who live in Calgary.  They're much stronger than I am.  Or maybe their driving is as shitty as the rest of Calgary.  Who knows?!?

We Three Kings

Growing up, one of my best friends shared my first name: Jeff.  Off an on, we were best friends, then bitter enemies.  Once we got into high school, though, we'd settled on being really good friends.  In the twelfth grade, the two of us became friends with another kid, from another school.  Ironically, his name was Jeff, too.  It was strange, but high school tends to be kind of a f*cked up time, anyway.

One Saturday afternoon, the three of us ventured to the downtown mall.  It's a place that I, personally, very seldom visited.  To this day, I still avoid the mall, downtown, due mainly to the cluster of homeless and street urchins that frequent the mall.  No matter the time of day, I do not feel safe.  However, as a brazen teenager, I was less concerned about personal safety.  Especially, when strolling the corridors with my pals.

In addition to all of us sharing the same first names, we also all possessed the same small stature.  Not weak, per se, but we weren't hulking testosterone-filled adolescents.  Average sized guys, but easily bullied if the opportunity ever presented itself.  On this Saturday afternoon, the opportunity presented itself.

A couple street urchins, as I call them.  Hoodlums, would be another name.  Peoples of questionable ethics, would be the a more "politically correct" terminology.  Today, I'm sure these delinquents are probably screwing the new inmates at whatever penitentiary they're currently incarcerated in, but at this time, I think they were still amping up to bigger criminal activities.  

I remember there were a couple of them.  Big and tall.  They definitely towered over our small frames.  "Give us your smokes!!" they commanded, cornering the three of us into a small alcove in the mall corridor, stuck between the A&W restaurant and some novelty gift shop.  I remember everything seemed to go dark.  I don't know if their size was blocking out the light or if it was fear warming over me, in either case I was fearful.

Being asthmatic, I never smoked cigarettes.  Neither did Jeff.  Jeff did, but they never asked him, directly at first, instead making the demands for cigarettes in general.  Of the two delinquents, the big guy in the rear, kept a look out, standing with his back towards us, his head swinging back and forth.  Left and right, perusing for security of any sort, while the big guy in front of him, standing over us, began drilling us for information.

Standing over me, staring at me through dead empty eyes, he demanded "Give me your smokes!"  I stuttered telling him that I didn't smoke.  He stared silently at me for what felt like forever. "What's your name?!" he asked softly, but menacingly.  I stammered as I told him.

He stepped to his right, my left, and repeated his demand to the next Jeff, who also told him he didn't smoke.  The punk stepped in real close and softly requested his name, just as he had with me.  "Jeff," he answered.

The immoral culprit did a double-take, looking at him then back at me, suspecting something was aloof.  He then took another step to his right, our left.  He placed his hand on the wall, posing his face directly in front of the third Jeff's face, as if daring him to strike back.  "Give me your smokes!"

Jeff shook his head, claiming he was out.  The hoodlum looked back at the two of us, who were staring at the floor, not making eye contact.  "And what's your name?"

"Jeff..."  This viscous prick, stopped, angrily staring back at all of us, determined that we were all lying and disrespecting him and he was ready to beat the living shit out of the three of us.  "You think this is a f*cking joke?"  Just then, his buddy tapped him on the shoulder, warning him that security was strolling up the promenade.  "You're lucky!" he said before he and his partner in crime rushed off in the opposite direction.

I don't remember a lot of my life, but I seem to remember the bad shit quite vividly.  I can recall every emotion that rushed through my body when a guy pulled a gun on me, in Edmonton, Alberta, aiming it straight in my face.  I can remember every emotion that I felt when I was physically beaten three days before my seventeenth birthday, by my drunken father, like it was slow-motion.  All the bad shit, I can remember the most intimate of details.  The day that me and my two friends, Jeff and Jeff, nearly got beaten to a pulp, simply because our parents liked the name Jeffrey, I can remember like it happened yesterday.

I'm not friends with them anymore.  I can't remember why...

Blink of an Eye

I had a discussion the other day and the subject of my father being a farmer came up.  "Where does he farm?" the fella asked me, to which I quickly responded, "He passed away a few years ago..."  Then it hit me.  It wasn't a few years ago.  It isn't even ten years ago.  This past May marked the 15th anniversary of his death. I can't believe it.  Time flew by in the blink of an eye!

It's not often that things hit me like that.  The passage of time is fleeting.  It goes even faster than that, if your sitting behind a computer or game controller.  Many times I've sat down to check my email, then glanced up at the clock to discover that six hours had passed me by.  What the hell?

I remember years ago, playing Duck Hunt on the old generation one Nintendo game system.  I was going to have a quick game before turning in.  It wasn't until I saw the sun coming up, that I realized what I'd done.  That stupid laughing dog tricked me.

I shudder to mention the Tang story, but it makes for a good laugh.  Years ago, I lived in Edmonton for a short while.  During that time, I experimented a little bit with getting high on marijuana.  One particular night, we hit it pretty good and I disappeared, for what I'm told was a few hours.  When finally they came looking for me, I was discovered in the kitchen, eating grape tang out of the cannister and I'd been doing so, one finger at a time.  The next morning, when I woke up, I thought I'd broken my finger as it was stained a deep eggplant purple.  I took a helluva ride, that night.

Today, I was in my car driving home from an appointment.  Usually I listen to Howard Stern, but it was a repeat where they were goofing on Oprah, so I tuned into another channel.  Pink was playing and the song was "Don't Let Me Get Me".  It's catchy and I like Pink, so I let it play.  Looking down at the screen on my Sirius receiver, I was shocked to see that the song was released in 2002.  "F*ck me!" I uttered out loud to myself.  "I remember when that was new!"  When did Pink become a retro-tune?  Twelve years since it's release.  I'm feeling frickin' ancient, right now.  Thanks a lot, Father Time, you prick!