The Batmen

Earlier tonight, was the Floyd Mayweather/Pacquiao fight in Las Vegas, Nevada.  The much talked about fight that has filled the public airwaves for weeks upon weeks.  It was touted as the biggest match of the century.  I don't know if that last statement was true or not, but I must admit that it's the first sign that professional boxing still lives, as far as I'm concerned.  I know very little about the two men facing off against one another.  I recall Manny Pacquiao faced off and demolished comedian, Daniel Tosh in a fight that rivaled the intensity of the legendary Butterbean/Johnny Knoxville fight.  As for Mayweather, I remember him from Wrestlemania XXIV where he knocked out the Big Show with a right hook, clad with brass knuckles.  Between that and his repeated arrests for beating women, I had my fingers crossed that he'd get beaten like a government mule.

Whomever was the chosen favourite by the masses, everyone had an opinion and offered them readily via social media.  I love the immediacy that Twitter and alike provide to us, the common folk.  Other information provided about the event tonight, was thousands of looky-loos reporting who they saw in the crowd.  The likes of Justin Bieber, 50 Cent, Beyonce and Jay-Z were spotted looking on, just to name a few.  The names that caught my eye, however were those who are best known for their portrayal of the Caped Crusader, Batman.

In one tweet, the author admitted to popping out of her seat when she noticed, Michael Keaton, Christian Bale, Ben Affleck and even Adam West, all peppered throughout the Las Vegas crowd in attendance.  I thought for a second, they forgot Val Kilmer and George Clooney.  Then I paused for a moment, realizing...  We would ALL like to forget about Val Kilmer and George Clooney, as far as their failed attempts at portraying the Dark Knight.

I never heard a whole lot about the fight.  Some people posted ten second videos of the action, but it wasn't enough to get a real feel of what was happening.  Even those who'd promised to tweet a play-by-play of the action in the ring, must've been so overwhelmed by what was going on that they simply forgot to do so.  Then again, at a $99 cost for the Pay-Per-View, I wouldn't waste my time burying my nose in my smart phone, rather than focusing on the television.  From the few tweets that I did read, it sounded like Pacquiao was giving Mayweather a thorough beating.  This is why I was shocked when I read about the outcome... SPOILER ALERT, apparently that piece of shit Mayweather won the fight by unanimous decision.  This is truly disappointing.  I was hoping Mayweather would get beaten to a bloody pulp, like the Italian Stallion did at the end of Rocky.  It's written that Pacquiao was fighting with an injured shoulder, which begs the question, given how much money was on the line, wouldn't the boxing commission want both fighters to be in pique condition?  I don't know.  I don't follow this sport.

In the comics and movies, Batman often fought the bad guys like, Bane and Joker while under physical duress.  Perhaps someone should have whispered in Manny's ear and reminded him that he is the PacMan, not the Batman. 

It's All Greek To Me

As a guy, I of course hate asking for directions.  I'm not entirely certain of this, but I believe it's a predetermined trait exclusive to the male DNA.  Almost as if a female scientist began the Human Genome study with hopes of pinpointing the exact strand that makes a man unwilling to consult outside aid for directions.  Personally, I can read a map pretty damn well, so my reluctance is rarely called upon.  However, I have been known to swallow my pride, pull the car over and ask a local for directions for a desired destination.  More often than not, I'm given adequate, easy-to-follow instructions and we're well on our way.  However sometimes...  Sometimes you get someone who, I don't know if they're deliberately trying to f*ck with me or if they're really that f*cking stupid.

There's a plethora of terms that can translate into the measurable mile, but it's the non-specifics that tend to plague my fragile mind.  "It's just over yonder." they'll say, leaving me scratching my head, wondering, is it past 'yonder'?  Like, do I have to physically cross over yonder to get there?  What the f*ck is a 'yonder', anyway?  Or they'll say, "It's up the road a piece."  A piece of what?  A piece of pie?  A piece of dog shit?  I hear that it's English that's pouring out of their mouth holes, but I haven't got the foggiest idea what the f*ck they're saying...  The one term that takes the proverbial cake (I wonder if it was a 'piece of cake' that other fella meant..,) is when they wave their arm in the direction and tell me, "It's down the road a spell."

I wasn't such a great student in school.  Some reading difficulties and I tended to daydream a little, but what I was able to catch in my math class, none of it referred to a spell.  My English classes covered grammar and spelling, and I can spell words better than most, though I do falter once in a blue moon, but as for math class, a 'spell' never was mentioned.  Granted, I never took calculus or trigonometry or any of those complex math sciences.  I don't know what the f*ck all that shit was about, but I can be fairly confident that no spells or sorcery was dealt with in those forums, either.  So, what the f*ck is a 'spell'?

How far is it?  What is it's measurable distance?  Being Canadian, I (along with most of the world) was taught the Metric System.  A series of tens, hundreds and thousands, blah blah blah, and so on.  It's a fairly simple program for measuring distance and mass, that the Americans seem to dismiss a little too easily.  My father was raised learning the old Imperial system that measured distance with miles and feet.  Weight with pounds and mass with gallons and/or bushels.  I remember asking one time, how big a bushel was and he pointed to a basket and said "About as big as that."  I was so confused by it all.  However, he never once mentioned the elusive 'spell'.  He never informed the family that he was going to go fishing at such 'n' such lake, located one hundred spells from home.  No.  He never did that, because he was a smart man.  Not some f*ckin' rube from around the way.  (*Apologies for using 'around the way'.  I don't know how far that is.)

Mathematics is universal.  Literally.  No matter where you go on the planet or out in the galaxy.  Wherever you are, two plus two will always equal four.  And whatever you call it, a mile will equal a mile and a kilometer will equal a kilometer.  And I guess, the same will go for stupidity.  As Forrest Gump's mama used to say, "Stupid is as stupid does."  If people are going to continue using f*cking dumb-ass terminology, then we're always going to have men parked at the side of the road, frantically looking over a map, rather than asking for directions.

Silent Movie

I love going to the movies.  Ever since I was a child, I've found it a calming escape from a life otherwise full of turmoil.  It's no surprise that growing up wasn't the easiest experience for me.  Perhaps it wasn't as terrible as that of some children, but it had more than it's fair share of horror.  So while some kids might get into mischief, I always found it more relaxing to escape into my imagination for a couple of hours, being a fly on the wall of someone else's existence.

My joy of escape can also be reflected in the tremendous library of movies and TV shows in my personal collection.  I've lived in this house of mine for going on seven years and though I've got a ton already alphabetized, there are still hundreds still packed in boxes from when I moved in.  I haven't got the foggiest idea of how many DVDs and Blurays I own, but there's probably thousands of stories that I can dive into and escape my reality for awhile.  That withstanding, the experience of watching a movie on the silver screen has never left me.  I enjoy getting out of the house, meeting up with friends (or sometimes not) and watching a fun flick in the cinema.

Movies have come a long way in the last decade, let alone over the span of my lifetime, and it's progressed leaps and bounds since the days of Laurel and Hardy (pictured above), and the price of a ticket has reflected these improvements.  Seems like the crisper the sound and visuals are, the pricier the admission gets, not to mention the second mortgage one needs to take out if refreshments are desired.  Generally, I'm satisfied with a simple over-priced soda.

Along with the progression of the movies, so has people's personal devices.  Although some people still insist on sparking up their iPad's and other nonsense, for the most part it's pretty good.  A good number of people obey the warning clip that precedes the previews, that suggests people shut off their personal devices.  I've never understood those who insist on distracting themselves with texting or Facebook during the movie, given how expensive movie tickets tend to be, not to mention being so ignorant as to ruin everyone else's movie experience.  And don't get me started on the people who choose to talk throughout the film.  They tend to frustrate me and all those around them, too.

What baffles me the most, though, are the idiots who bring their children.  If the movie is a cartoon or something family-oriented, then bring your kids.  I understand.  The subject matter is aimed at their simple minds, so I'll sit back and try to enjoy myself regardless.  However, these ignorant cusses who drag their six month, twelve month or 24-month old babies to watch an action movie riddled with curse words, gore and mayhem caused by machine gun fire and explosions...  I don't understand.  I get it, that babysitter's cost an arm and a leg, nowadays.  Little Becky-Sue is charging double-digits to watch your little rug-rat, instead of being content with a crisp five dollar bill, but dragging your brat along with you and allowing it to chitter-chatter throughout the film, shouldn't be allowed either.

Tonight, I went to watch the latest Fast & Furious film.  The whole series is a little silly and tongue-in-cheek, but they're fun for me to watch.  Fast cars, explosive action and hot chicks galore.  Ya can't ask for much more than that in a movie, except maybe NOT BRINGING YOUR F**KING CHILD TO THE MOVIE!!!  I tried and tried to ignore this silly little shit, that kept throwing his apple juice on the floor, pulling the hair of the people sitting in front of him or just being a complete f*cking nuisance on his parents.  At one point, I had enough and I stormed out of the theater and approached one of the ushers.  I said to him, "At the beginning of the movie, you show a clip that tells people to shut off their phones.  Then you have one that tells people to not talk, so that the other people can enjoy the movie, but you need to have one that tells people NOT to bring their f*cking babies.  Why is it acceptable for people to bring their kids to a grown up movie and allow them to talk throughout the entire movie??"

The munchkin looked at me, blankly, and replied, "I can look into getting you a refund."  I shook my head with defeat, telling him to shove his refund up his ass.  "I don't want a refund.  I want you to shut that kid up."

Nothing was done about it.  So I clenched my teeth, and watched the remainder of the film.  From what I was able to catch when I wasn't distracted by how much I hated children in that instance, the movie was pretty f*cking good.  I may try to catch it again, at some point down the road, not sure when or if I will do so in the theater.  I'm glad that I have a big screen TV and an awesome sound system.  As I will, for sure, be purchasing this movie to add to my ever-growing collection, and escaping my pitiful reality once more.

I remember going to the movies when I was a kid and sometimes, I was the only person in the theater.  There's something truly special about being the only one in the theater, being able to sit wherever and having the movie played especially for you.  It's as close to heaven as I'll ever get.

Tits 'n' Ass

A few months back, myself and a friend had the distinct privilege of seeing Australian comedian, Jim Jeffries perform his unique comedy act, here in Saskatoon.  It was shocking, vulgar and hilarious as all f*ck!  As his show came to a close, Jim got somewhat serious for a moment, passing on a message to give to charity, but more specifically, charities for Colon Cancer.  He went on to explain that most money goes towards Breast Cancer charities, but not as much goes towards Colon Cancer.  He never elaborated on this message, but I gathered that someone close to him either has or succumbed to colon cancer.  A valid message, all the same.

I came away from that show, wondering why so much charitable donations go to breast cancer and not so much to other cancer charities.  Then it donned on me.  I think I may have been looking at a picture of Katy Perry or some well-endowed female starlet, when the reason became clear.  The solution was simple: Everybody loves boobs!

Now, I do mean everybody.  Women love their boobs!  And men love women's boobs.  I think even gay men, have a certain affinity for boobs, male or female.  So, yes!  Everybody loves boobs!!  Not many people like an asshole!  I'm a great example of this.  I don't have colon cancer, but I am an asshole, which explains why I have so few friends.

It's all crystal clear.  Breasts rule and assholes drool!  However, you feel in either case, though, if you have the cash to spare, give what you can, whether it's for the love of boobs or to ass cancer, out of spite.

Day Three - 300,000 plus

The first person I spoke to at the Expo on Saturday, informed me that there was an estimated 300,000 people attending the Comic Expo on that Saturday alone.  That's roughly the entire population of Saskatoon, crammed into the small Calgary Stampede site.  It's no wonder that parking on the grounds was filled before the venue even opened for the day.

Our trek to the convention was without much drama.  We'd traveled the nearly straight line for a couple of days, so my co-pilot didn't need to consult her GPS, which I believe was conspiring against us in the days previous, often feeding us wrong turns 'n' such.  On this day, Saturday, it was already speculated that the influx of people would be incredible, but I never expected that traffic would be lined up as far back as it was.  Blocks upon blocks!

When the Stampede site was within visual distance, is when the stupid f*cking drivers started trying to dart in ahead of me.  I may not be the best driver at times, I still stand by my proclamation that I am better than most drivers.  There was a train track that dissected the street leading to the entrance.  Having seen the transit trolley pass frequently in passing days, I chose not to park my vehicle on the tracks.  It's the safe thing to do, after all.  There is very little that I take pride in more than my truck and having it smashed by a train would not make my day (or life) very enjoyable.  However, this dumb bitch, yes I know I shouldn't use the term, but it's deserving, bypasses all who have been patiently waiting behind my rear bumper, and darts into the space between me and the car in front of us, parking her lazy ass on those tracks.  Oh how I reveled at the idea that a train come and smash the f*ck out of her little SUV.  We'd be late for the Expo, sure, but what a memory to take home with us.

Unfortunately, no train.  The traffic pulled ahead, but not by much.  Enough that I could pull ahead, clearing the train tracks.  The dumb f*ck behind me, failed to practice the same safety as I, and pulled up right behind me, blocking the tracks.  Why do I mention this?  Why, the lights began to flash and bells sounded, indicating the train was fast approaching.  Suddenly, asshole starts hammering on his horn for me to move ahead, but I couldn't move ahead.  It wasn't my fault his parents raised a stupid child.  Sadly, the light changed to green, allowing us to move forward and dumb shit's life to be spared.  Yet, I'm the bad guy?

Long story short, parking was filled and we were instructed to try the north end of the complex.  Ultimately, we found alternate parking and for a cheaper price.  It was a little further to walk, but it was a nice day, so I didn't mind, although one of my companions was dressed in a great big gown as a "punk version" of Beauty & The Beast's Belle.  I can't imagine walking all that distance, hiking up the gown, was all that much fun.  Just one of the perks of being a guy, I guess.

Me and the kid with the stupid bird hat attended a Q&A with some of the "deceased" stars of The Walking Dead, which was okay, but the questions people asked these guys was borderline retarded.  I can attest to the fact that nervousness can be overwhelming.  I experienced some of that the day before in meeting Mick Foley.  At one point, I almost broke into tears, but I don't think I said anything overly stupid.  I made a couple jokes, which Mick was quick to respond to, in classic comic fashion.

After the Q&A, we met up with our friends and soon parted ways again.  It was around this time that I spoke with a couple folks running booths in the pavilion, one fella who worked with leather making masks and helmets.  He was quite interesting to speak with.  A part of these shows that I do enjoy.

I will never be one of those kind of people who will dress up for one of these conventions.  Not unless I was extremely passionate about something, but the only thing I like that much, aside from my cat, is wrestling, but I don't have the body or commitment to pull of a look so bold.  On the other hand, I do appreciate some of the effort put into other costumes.  I saw a guy dressed as Starlord from the Guardians of the Galaxy.  I wanted so much to go up to him and ask:

          Me: Who are you supposed to be?
          Him: Starlord.
          Me: Who?
          Him: Starlord!  Awe, come on, man!

It would have been classic, just like it happened in the movie, but I doubt these nerdy f*cks would have the audacity to recognize the scenario.  Hell, I ran into a giant of a man dressed as Groot and when I requested a photograph, he nodded, instead of muttering the words, "I am Groot."  Three simple words, but no.  Some days I wish I could walk around and only mutter three words.  Life would be so much more simple.

The guy pictured above was an incredible Batman, in my opinion.  He was more than happy to pose for a picture, giving me not just one stance, but a couple.

I grabbed a couple T-shirts that day, but it was SO god damned crowded, I kept getting knocked about and I was growing more and more upset with each blow.  It was at this time that I was informed by how many people were on the grounds.  "Three hundred thousand." I was told, which I thought was an exaggeration, but given the crowds inside were literally elbow-to-elbow, and outside wasn't much better, I'd estimate that the figure was pretty dead on.  I was so relieved that I'd got to meet Mick Foley the day before.  I never ventured into that hall, but I can only imagine the crowd waiting to meet him was staggering.

After only a couple of hours, we decided we had enough and departed.  Walking back to the truck, it felt like an incredible weight had been lifted off.  I actually felt stress falling away from my body, like smoke and embers floating away from a campfire.  On the way back to the hotel, we stopped for ice cream beverages.  I had a chocolate shake, while my passengers indulged in rootbeer floats, and all was well with the world.  That night, we went for supper at my friend's sister's house, where I met for the first time, friendly Calgary people.  I could hardly believe the contrast between how pleasant and welcoming they were to how stubborn, rude and ignorant the rest of Calgary seemed to be.  Oddly, though, what I found most memorable about the visit, was their cat.  This spry little cat came up to me a few times, looking for attention, which I was more than happy to give, being that I missed my cat.  He was small and energetic and to my surprise, SEVENTEEN years old.  I was floored.  I couldn't believe this cat was seventeen.  What was most memorable, for me, was the actions that the cat did next.

Everyone was distracted by the hockey playoffs on the television, but I don't really give two shits about hockey (an odd thing for a Canadian boy to admit, but nonetheless true), so my attention was on the cat and trying to coax him back so I could pet him some more.  Instead, the cat chose to bathe himself.

Now allow me to paint the picture.  I was seated on a small sofa, with my friend M_____, her boyfriend, D____ was on the stairs next to her, and the rest of the family was spread around the outer wall to his left, all looking at the action on the television set.  My eyes are on the cat, whose leg is propped back behind his head and he's washing his "manhood".  Suddenly, I noticed a little reddish-pink nub growing.  It's growing and it's growing and it's pulsing and it's growing.  I'm not staring at it, but at the cat's eyes who has stopped licking and his stare is fixed on my friend M_____ seated to my left.  His nub is in my peripheral, my eyes locked on his, his fixed on M_____.  It was like a beastly show 'n' tell.  He never got her attention and frustrated, he kicked his leg down and left the room.  Probably to go rub one out, but that's purely speculation on my part.

We stopped for an (expensive) ice cream cone at Dairy Queen before retiring to our hotel.  At some point that evening, we'd all agreed that we had enough of the Calgary Comic Expo and removed the wristband that allowed us entrance to the festival.  Day Four we would come home instead of dealing with the masses of nerds and freaks.

Day Four began with our packing shit up, (and my forgetting shit behind).  Then we went to a thrift shop and McDonald's then one more stop along the way.  A massive mall outside Calgary, near the town of Airdrie.  It seemed nice.  It had everything you can imagine.  Even a bear.  I don't ever plan on (realistically) moving, unless something truly extraordinary happens to me, but if I did, Airdrie, might be a nice destination.  It seems like it has every amenity I would require to be a recluse.  But I'm happy where I am, for now.  No plans on moving.  Plus, I don't think I could be the asshole behind the wheel that seems to be required to live in Alberta, anyway.

I have to admit, though, the best part of Calgary was my pretending I didn't know who or what the Calgary Flames were.  Calgarians would mentions something about the Flames, who were in the playoffs at the time, and I would play dumb and bewildered by what they might be.  "Are they some sort of sporting team?"  I would ask and watching the blood drain away from their faces was priceless.  At the Expo, there was a lady selling license plates with the Flames logo on it.  I asked what the Flaming C was all about, adding that I'd seen it in a number of places, but had no idea what it stood for.  "The Calgary Flames", she told me proudly, to which I responded that I'd never heard of them.  Among all the A-holes I'd encountered during my brief stay in Calgary, these few folks were the least dickish, probably thinking I was retarded for never having heard of the Calgary Flames.  Whatever.  I get my fun from where I can find it.

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?!?

Calgary Expo - Day One

Woke up early this morning, packed the truck full of shit and rushed across town to pick up friends before heading out west, Calgary bound, intent on attending the 2015 Calgary Comic Expo.  This is the second such event that I have attended, the first being in Saskatoon, but in comparison, the Saskatoon version is pretty small.  I had heard stories of what these larger events entailed, so I've entered this scenario with predisposed thoughts, but so far, while scaled up in size, I can't help but think, I thought it'd be bigger.

Granted, it is only the first day and we've had limited exposure.  Tomorrow we're going to tackle a whole other venue we discover via a highly confusing event map.  Also happening tomorrow, I'm going to meet the Hardcore Legend, Mick Foley.  I've been stoked all week long, dreaming (and wondering) just what the hell I'm going to say to the man.  As the minutes and hours pass by, I will admit I'm becoming more overwhelmed with anxiety.  I hope I can hold it together when I do finally meet him.  I have a great deal of respect for the man, as a pro wrestler, a writer, an entertainer and an all around genuinely nice guy.  I know from personal experience that sometimes our heroes let us down when we meet them, but I know in my heart that Mick is the real deal.  More on that subject in the coming days.

The one thing that I do know for sure, is that Calgary, in the sense of maneuvering about in traffic, is insanely moronic.  I don't know who the dumb f*ck was who decided on the meandering streams of traffic, but it is confusing as f*ck.  So confusing, I might add, that the GPS in my friends phone, was barely able to provide a definitive route in order to get from point A to point B.  Either that or it was "the reader", but I'm sure she'd flat out deny that.

Over all, Day One has been uneventful.  Just an opportunity to get our bearings.  We have three more days of this insanity.  Now I'm chillin' at the hotel, headphones on and listening to Bert Kreischer's Bertcast with MMA fighter, Brendan Schaub, disrespect the physicality of professional wrestling, using the my most hated word in the English language....: Fake.