1984 called and reminded me – I was a goof.
… other than partying hearty on the weekend. In Alberta at the time you could get a case of 12 “Beer” beer (Stubby bottles with “Generic” yellow label that said simply “Beer”) for $5.50. I think I made $8-something an hour – slightly more than double minimum wage, so you do the math. I had a lot of good weekends. Just looking at that pic makes me want to crank up the Quiet Riot again and crack a cold one.
No girls, though. Subsequent testing has revealed that they were allergic to me. I knew you’d ask so I thought I’d just get that out of the way now.
As for the story behind the picture: I worked for Alberta Parks and Recreation in a Provincial Park. Someone had called in about an injured bird – One of the Park Rangers had gone out and brought back this juvenile Blue Heron that had been hit by a car. He took the picture while I restrained the bird. It did bite me BTW – it had a vise-like grip on my thumb at one point. Calls were made and the bird was taken to an avian rehabilitation centre a half hour away where it’s injuries were assessed as too severe to be treatable and sadly, it was euthanized.
I have an ex-girlfriend – Van Halen actually played her High School before they were big. Her FBF’s are way better. But she grew up in Cali and I grew up in S. Alberta in a place with a net pop. of 380 (including strays) at the time and this is what you get.
Screw all you rich kids,
I’ll be back
Image: Old Cards, © jacsonquerubin, Creative Commons.
The revolutionaries at Minor Literature[s] have my short story “King of Diamonds, King of Hearts” up today – you can read it here
Much thanks to the team at Minor Literature[s] – they were a treat to work with. If you do read this don’t hesitate to give them a “like” on their Facebook or a shout out to their Twitter @MinorLits
It’s one thing to hack away at writing like I do – but to be a publisher takes commitment.
The Alberta Provincial Flag.
I need to preface this by saying there was a provincial Election in Alberta yesterday – for my American friends it’s the equivalent of choosing a new governor and state reps at the same time. I might approximate that incorrectly because I have no idea how the American political system actually works. Personally I think we should adopt the Australian model where Britain empties its jails and sends ’em on over and voila, government of the people by the people just happens organically over a couple of brews, but I digress …
So yesterday I went to the same Tim Horton’s I usually go to for my daily dose – the same young lady of middle-eastern descent was working the counter as/usual. I ordered and when she brought it over I said “Are you excited to vote today?”
“No,” she said quietly, ‘I’m not allowed to vote.”
“WHAT?” I said, loud enough for the other people in Tim’s to hear me. “NOT ALLOWED?” Excuse me for saying but that is. F*cking. Bull. Shit. Women can vote here, have been able to since the 80’s. Our mothers and grandmothers went to jail and endured police brutality to win the right to vote. You take me to the man who says you can’t vote – father, brother, uncle – I don’t give a shit – and I’ll tell him what I just told you and I’ll call the goddamn cops if I have to.”
Everyone was looking at us.
“I’m not allowed to vote because I’m only 17,” she said
Today I went to a different Tim’s. I thought I’d change up my routine, make some new friends.
In regards to elections all I can guarantee is that in this one, everyone got what they deserved. It may not be what they think they deserved, but they got it anyways.
Odalisque, Adolphe Weiz
Got a call from a girl I used to go to University with yesterday – She had been out for lunch with a mutual friend and apparently my single status had been discussed.
“You know I was crushing on you big time back in the day” she said. I wished I knew that then – I remembered her as being very attractive, very smart, and with a great sense of humour. It felt good to hear it.
“Let’s go grab a drink at OJ’s while I’m in town,” she said, “And catch up!” (OJ’s is a local pub where at one time one of the bar stools had my ass-groove.)
“Sure,” I said, “But I’m not sure if you’ll recognize me. Hair’s a bit thinner, sad to say.”
“I’ll recognize you” she said, “And besides, I like that look.”
“I’m a little heavier too though” I said. “A little softer around the middle. It sneaks up on a guy.”
“I like a cuddly guy,” she said, “And I’ve gained some weight myself!”
So I hung up.
Internet Dating: Visualized
In no particular order:
- You have “Man hands”
- Just how many dogs do you own? Can you get along with people? Don’t answer – it’s a rhetorical question. I already know the answer.
- You have a mean face, possibly because of/compounded with “Crazy Eyes”
- You look like an Ex of mine
- You are an Ex of mine
- Pic is not a selfie … which means it must be 5 years old meaning you’ve doubled in size since then in real life
- You look like my cousin
- You are my cousin
- You’re a dude – no judgement, but you are on the wrong side of the app, buddy
Bonus Round: I saw you on two other dating sites 4 years ago, and although I’m on/off these things as needs be I’m pretty sure you have been on the whole time.
There ya go blog readers. Remember: Hail Satan, drink coffee.
I’ll return shortly, like a Velvet Elvis that get’s “re-gifted” through the family every Christmas.