It all comes down to the criteria...

It just occurred to me.

I'm from a place called "The Rock." Its proper name is The Province of Newfoundland and Labrador (Lab-ra who?) and any serious Newfoundland Nationalist will strictly refer to it as The Republic of Newfoundland.

In a few weeks, I'm moving to a place called The R.O.K. Its proper name is The Republic of Korea. The Rock and The R.O.K. both have the same pronunciation.

Coincidence? I think not.

Although these two places are both Republics with the same name, they are in fact very different and it should become obvious which one is better.

When comparing any two locations, it is always important to choose the proper criteria. Anyone who knows anything about history knows that the best criterion for comparing Republics is Nationalistic Swimwear. I'm happy to say The Rock wins hands down. Check it out.


For those unfamiliar with The Rock, green, white, and pink were the colours of the flag before Newfoundland was invaded and taken over by Canada (or something like that anyway...). These colours also look great on swimsuits.

I know you're wondering about Korea's Nationalistic Swimwear (well, I couldn't find any on the web) and probably saying to yourself "This sure doesn't seem like a fair competition until I see some R.O.K. bikinis." And I somewhat agree with your point, but until someone presents me with pictures of Korean babes scantily clad in the Tae Kuk, The Rock is the winner of "The Best Republic Called 'The Rock'."

Coincidence? No such thing...

It's quite simple really...

I was watching TV the other day and realized how entertaining America's Funniest Home Video's really is (or America's Funniest Videos as it's called now). It's one of the few shows that every person who's ever been exposed to it had to laugh at something. Whether you get your kicks from kicks to the nuts, people falling down, cute animals doing extraordinarily strange things, unintentional destruction of property, wedding night mishaps, adorable kids acting up, there is something for everyone on AFV.


If you don't enjoy this show, you must not be human. It's as simple as that.

"Pump my gas, pump my ass" - Leprechaun

Squirm.

Yup.
That's right.
The notorious N. Reid from Reidsville.
That's who I saw in Banff.
Now just imagine that.

We were outside the bar for a cigarette when this familiar figure walked by me with a decent looking gal. In my drunken stupor the only word I could force out of my lips was "SQUIRM?!"

Then I heard It...

It's a sound that once you hear It, you never forget It. It sounds how I imagine an oversized leprechaun may sound if you told it a real good joke.

It was Squirm's laugh.

Still as distinct as ever.

Then he spoke.

"I haven't heard that name in a long time b'ys ."

I just looked at my buddy Brian Crane (he's from my hometown) and we couldn't believe our eyes.

Another great helping of unlikelyness dealt out by my good ol' friend Banff.

You see, Squirm was a significant figure during my adolescents. Back in the day, me and my friends snuck into the pool at Squirm's cabin for a late night swim, and then an unnamed friend took a shit in there before we left.

Squirm is older than me and he used to have a Geo Tracker. I can remember waiting for him to get off work to buy us beer and give us a ride to the beach to drink them. There'd be about 10 of us in that little thing and he didn't give a fuck. He worked at an Esso gas bar and for some unknown reason, we referred to all employees there as "Ass Pirates."

It seems like eternities ago that I used to walk into Subway and hope that Squirm didn't serve me. The rumoured pimples on his back kinda spoiled my appetite, but the man could make a great sub, I must admit, and if you did end up with him as your chef, you would be quite pleased with the result.

I can't remember what he said he's up to now. But I bet it's a lot cooler than what must of us are doing. The guy has a decent girl and lives in a party town. Is there much more a man from Reidsville could ask for?

I say "Well done Squirm!"

Improper disposal of waste...

I just got back from Banff. I went out there with a friend from Deer Lake to see the band Canary Mine and to get on a party. I know the band from the audio school I went to in Ontario and I haven't seen any of the guys since I lived at Castle Sketchator a few years back. We were winging it the whole weekend and everything managed to work itself out much better than if we planned anything. I slept in a van and my buddy slept in his truck for both nights, which ain't too uncomfortable when you're drunk as fuck and just need somewhere to lie and pass out.

To the uninitiated, Banff is a small tourist town neatly tucked into the Rocky Mountains about 140 km west of Calgary. Nobody in Banff is from Banff, and just about everyone is a tourist on vacation. The streets are alive with people and everyone is happy.

As planned, we got extremely drunk Friday night and I blacked out as usual. After the lights went out in my head, I was up dancing and fell onto the stage, or as James says (he's in the band), "Richard comes thrashing through and passes out face first on the stage." That's not 100% accurate though because I didn't "pass out," I just tripped and fell. Then some dude comes up to the stage and the band thought it was the bouncer coming to give me the boot outta the place but it wasn't. The guy came and helped me up and I carried on like nothing happened. That's how I roll... smooth, cool, and collected.

Check out "Banff p. 3" to get James' account of the night. He keeps a tour log on the band's site, and he was likely more sober than me anyway.

We leave the bar when it shuts down and hang out on the main drag for a bit, which ain't much. By this point I really gotta piss so I walk over into a corner and go about my business. As soon as I began a cop drove by, saw me there, cut a u-turn and sure enough, he was coming for me. My corner stall is in the pic below, directly behind me.


My buddies warned me to be nice to the officer because I could've easily been taken to the drunk tank. I don't really remember what the cop was like, but I'm gonna assume he was a dick and I was very cooperative. Even after my total cooperation, he still gives me a $115 ticket for "Improper Disposal of Waste." I woke up in the morning and reached in my pocket to find the crumbled up pink citation and then it all started to come back to me.


When all was said and done, awesome night, old friends, deadly people at the bar (hanging out with people from all over the world), awesome bar staff, awesome band, couldn't of had a better night. The fact that nobody is a local is great because there’s so much interaction between everyone because there are no cliques, no regulars, just a conglomerate of people out to have a great time.

And oh yeah I almost forgot the best part of the whole weekend. I ran into someone from Deer Lake at the Rose and Crown Pub. He used to be an Esso Ass Pirate (for the half-a-dozen people who know what that means) and soon retired to sandwich artist.

Her only joy was on fire...

This is my second blog entry in the same day. That doesn't happen much but I've had an "interesting" day by comparison.

At work today, I went out for a smoke with the receptionist and a nurse (both whom happen to be felloe Newfoundlanders). The nurse wanted to hide away because she's ashamed of being a smoker so we went over in this little corner by the pharmacy. There was a lady there who was at least sixty years old. She was in an electric wheelchair enjoying a cigarette.

The nurse began to talk to her, asking her about her condition. This lady was in rough shape. She only had one leg. Her other leg was in a leg splint (if that's what it’s called) wrapped up in bandages. Both of her arms looked like they had shrunk as they didn't proportionally match up to her head and torso. But her hands were the most disturbing part for me. If her hand was in a fist, her knuckles would protrude as if they were extra fingers. It was only when I had my cigarette half finished that I figured out what was going on with them. I thought she may have had amputated fingers or something but it was just the way she was holding her cigarette that made them so hard to visually comprehend.

She talked about the doctor reconnecting her tendons while the nurse listened in like everything was normal. The woman in the chair said she didn't think the doc actually reconnected them so the nurse asked her to move and bend the leg and so forth.

I found this whole situation almost unbearable. This woman perfectly had her wits about her yet she was practically a mutant and I'm not sure if I've ever pitied a person as much. Then I thought about how I would feel if she was a little crazy and I don't think I would have felt nearly as bad. To me, right or wrong, this woman was missing out on a life which she is totally capable of living mentally, but physically she bound to her chair. In a way, I almost wished she was crazy so that maybe she couldn't comprehend the magnitude of her disability and thus wouldn't fully be able to realize her situation. I've had a few cigarettes with another older lady whom talks about her pet birds in every conversation. Whether or not these birds ever existed is not important because her whole thought process revolves them. She opens her window and calls their name and they fly right in, so she says. I don't know why she only talks about her birds; maybe it’s the only thing in life that is worth remembering for her. If so, she has at least chosen something that she is completely happy to talk about over and over again with no loss of enthusiasm.

The lady whom I smoked with today does not share this enthusiasm. "You reach a certain age and you just keep falling down. Falling down, over and over. And the doctors try to help and thanks to them I lost my leg from a mosquito bite. You just keep falling. They tried to blame it on everything but themselves. They even tried to blame it on this (she points to her cigarette)" At one point, while I was trying to keep myself composed, she said something like "I may start to cry" but I didn't catch the overall context of what she meant.

The nurse said she heard of people losing their legs from bites. The lady said something got infected and amputation was the only option, and the nurse followed by saying "They say that if you go into a hospital healthy, you're not gonna come out of the hospital healthy."

This nurse formerly ran a methadone clinic somewhere in the United States so she must be used to seeing the downtrodden. I, on the other hand, am not. I can barely eat while a handicapped person is sitting across the room from me, let alone joke with a dismembered lady who is perfectly sane living a life of relative misery.

As the nurse talked to her I realized something. Smoking is probably one of the few things this lady can do like other people and fully enjoy it. So to all of the non-smoking whiners out there (and not all non-smokers are whiners), get over it. Sure, smoking kills, but it also gives some people a small reason to carry on each day, but more importantly, it gives them something to look forward to each day. And it also forces people into uncomfortable situations that force them to things they may otherwise avoid, such as the situation I was put in today.

To that, I say "thank you for smoking."


And thank you Uncle Sam (?)

Put a smile on...

I saw a homeless man today while I was waiting for the number three bus on Fifth Street here in Calgary. He appeared happier than most street people probably because he had a load of fresh gear. Not only did he have a nice new shiny black garbage nearly full of recyclables, but he also had two full sized hiking bags. One of these bags had "Outdoor Fun" embroidered on its face and I can honestly say that was the first thing that came to mind when he appeared out of the shadows. I wanted to ask him what he had in the bags but I obviously didn't.

"Hey there buddy! You seem to be doing alright for yourself. When I moved up to Calgary a few months back I took three bags of luggage with me. And you have two bags. Did you just move here as well sir?"

After I had this imaginary conversation, the man got down to business and started digging in the surrounding trash cans. Here in Calgary, a lot of the trash cans have a metal cover which is practically air tight. Their only purpose these covers could serve is to keep food fresh for people like my double baggin' friend here. There ain't no raccoons or squirrels downtown is there? Maybe there is but I haven’t seen any.

So after searching three garbage cans and finding nothing but a few recyclables, the man begrudgingly strutted to the fourth and final treasure hole, hoping it wasn't already plundered.

As he opened up the metal lid, I watched his already happy demeanour transform into a carriage of joy. He reached in, carefully removing any obstruction, and steadily guided his find out of the forgotten refuge.

In his hand he held a McDonald's Happy Meal, box and all! Inside this treasure chest was one third of a cheeseburger and half an order small fries.

What better way to enjoy some outdoor fun than eating a free Happy Meal in the city sun. I can't think of better way to start my morning.

But he wasn't the only one basking in his delightful meal, as I too must selfishly admit that as I was sitting there all I could think in my head was one simple phrase...



I'm lovin' it!

Cowboys are intimidating...

I went to my first rodeo today.

The Ponoka Stampede (PS) was the scene and hungover was the one common element of our crew. The PS is the final qualifying round before the Calgary Stampede so the level of competition is world class. We only caught about an hour of events and it cost $15, but I have to admit I enjoyed myself a lot more than I thought I would. I got to see about six events with bullriding being the last and most exciting. Cowboys must have a screw loose or something.

My only regret is that I didn't get to see a chuckwagon race because it started too late and we had to get back to Calgary. I am making it a priority to see these races here at the Calgary Stampede, which I'm certain is gonna kick ass.

So the rodeo was awesome, and the party the night before was probably awesome as well, but I don't really remember very much of the night. We never got to my buddies place until about 8:30 so its fair to say everyone was getting pretty trashed by the time we arrived. For some reason, my drinking powers are always out in full force when I go to Ponoka and I drank eleven of my twelve beers in record time. Luckily I didn't open the flask of Tequila I brought with me because if I did I wouldn't be writing this today, I'd be hugging a toilet. I don't know what happened when we got to the bar, but apparently my roommates were locked out of the bar banging on the window trying to get someone to let them back in. I walked out to see what they wanted and then we were all locked out. We got back in eventually because the bouncer explained to us that he was just tryna get all of the indians outta there. I don't remember any indians, and I shouldn't, because I don't remember much else.

So I blacked out as usual and really have no idea what happened from the time it got dark until I woke up in the morning. I don't even remember leaving the house and going to the bar. I don't remember my roommate Jacobs puking on someones lawn on the way home. I don't remember dropping illicit substances in the toilet. I also don't remember much from my first two weekends in Ponoka, but I've been told I passed out on the kitchen table my first party there, and I passed out on the basement floor during my second party (I remember this because I woke up on the floor fully clothed with my glasses on). On this trip, I intentionally fell asleep in the same place because all the other beds and couches were taken and I even managed to change my shirt before going to sleep. Impressive hey. When I'd open my eyes I could see red ants all over the concrete floor, but I was laying on a blanket so I figured I was safe.

What I've learned from my trips to Ponoka is that I need to be around at least four people from Deer Lake (my hometown in Newfoundland) to get on a proper rip. And three of the four should've been a part of my core group from high school. I'm still working out the math on this but so far each experiment has produced the same results: Me getting shitfaced beyond belief.


And loving it!