FOUR UNRELATED THINGS.

Every once in a while all the evil gremlins that can plague a parts department will get together over a beer and plot to destroy a good working relationship with one customer. They don't normally work together but sometimes the planets align just right and...

 1) It is prime riding season in early May and a customer requires a part to get his motorcycle back the road.

 2) The part is one of the smallest bits on the whole damn bike but one of the most expensive.

 3) When the part is ordered the manufacturer says there are 3 in stock but 15 minutes later when the order is placed...poof...gone.

 4) The part is now back ordered with no ETA and will be coming in on a boat from Japan.

 5) The boat from Japan finally docks in Vancouver...during a dockworkers strike.

 6) The truck finally picks up the parts in Vancouver and sets out for Toronto for distribution...driver stops in Calgary for a coffee at the restaurant next door to our shop...unbeknownst to us.

 7) The distribution centre in Toronto finally gets the part, puts it on a shelf, loses our order, finds our order and puts it on a truck for Calgary.

 8) The Calgary distribution centre gets the part, loses the part, finds the part and puts it on a truck for delivery to our shop.

 9) We are the last delivery on the truck. On its way it hits a tree. The part is transferred to a second truck. The second truck is struck by a meteor. The part is transferred to a third truck and then delivered.

10) Part is finally in our hands. We make the call to  the customer. "Merry Christmas, your part is here".

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Why does water taste better in a water glass? It tastes weird in a coffee mug. Wine tastes better in a wine glass and weird in a water glass. Coffee tastes best in a mug and, well, I think you get the point. What I wonder, though, is do these things really taste better in the designated glassware or muggery, or have I been brainwashed by marketers?  I don't have an answer but I do have a cupboard and hutch filled with a plethora (yes, plethora. I be edumicated) of single purpose liquid holders.

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I am at an awkward stage in my life. I am lucky enough to still have my parents hanging about spending my inheritance and kids of my own who are thinking the same of me. When I don't hear from my folks for a couple of weeks, or from my kids, I get worried, phone calls abound, messages are left and concern grows. Inevitably, when the calls are returned, they were busy playing hockey or golf or skiing or out for a walk or a drive...and that's just my parents. I gotta get a life of my own.

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I don't like going into downtown Calgary. The lanes are narrow, the streets are always one-way in the opposite direction you need to go, 7th avenue is Calgary transit only, 8th avenue is pedestrians only and the one road from the core to 10th avenue is made invisible by the latest military grade stealth technology. And then there's parking.

This is how parking works in downtown Calgary. You will never find street parking as there are only 3 spots and they are always taken. There are privately owned lots that will tow your car because you are 30 seconds late but you were late because the lot attendant was slow in taking your money. Which leaves the parkades. Oh my...the parkades.

Here is how the parkades work. First you have to find one with space. Then you drive up and get a ticket. Next, the 300 mile drive as you go switchback and up and switchback and up then circle left then circle right; over and over again as you pass hundreds of empty spots that are reserved 24 hours a day for rich people who never park there. Once you find a spot and park you then have to find a way out. Stairs will dead end, elevators won't work and rappelling down the side of the building is frowned upon by the constabulary. Assuming you know the magic password that gets you out, you do whatever silly thing you needed to do downtown and reverse the exit process to get back to your vehicle...oh, I forgot...payment.

Payment is handled by an automated box. It takes Visa, MasterCard and American Express...but not a debit card. It takes cash in the form of bills and cash in the form of coins. It gives change in the form of bills but NOT in coins so if your parking bill is $6.00 and you put in a $10.00 bill, it cost you $10.00 to park.

Then there is the drive out. I really don't know how the engineers built these buildings but as you take the spinny roundabout ramp down the parkade to the street, the building itself also spins so your exit forces you to go out onto a one way street in the opposite direction to which you require. This one way street will also be the only one in the entire city that goes 28 miles without the ability to turn around.

I'll stick to the suburban malls, thank you very much.

DESIGN BY COMMITTEE.

Most of us are familiar with the old saying "A camel is a horse designed by a committee." A saying that tells us that what ever is being referenced is pretty much goofy, illogical, useless, or more difficult to use than it needs to be. We all see or use or live through something like this fairly often...or maybe it's just me.

Here are three examples of what I mean and have dealt with, personally, in the last few months.

BOW TRAIL/CROWCHILD TRAIL INTERCHANGE.

This little beauty had me in her evil clutches a couple of months ago. Here we have two major roadways that actually cross but, near as I can tell, don't allow direct access from one to the other. I thought that couldn't possibly be right so I pulled up MapQuest and had a look at the intersection. Scratched my head in confusion. Then I went to Google and brought up an image of a ball of yarn that a meth addicted kitten had played with. Oddly similar.

Here is what I wanted to do: Merge off of Bow trail onto Crowchild trail then turn right on Memorial drive and head home.

Here is what I had to do: Drove down Bow trail in the far left lane because I wanted to turn left. Saw a sign on the far right that said "Crowchild Trail North Next"...the rest hidden by a tree. Well, crap, if the sign is way over there on the right...zoomed across three lanes of traffic just in time to catch the last word on the sign...next "Left"...crap,..zoomed back across three lanes of traffic and made a left. Don't know what street I'm on but follow for a bit to next intersection that says "No Left Turn" even though that's the way I have to go to Crowchild trail. Look across the intersection and see this goofy u-turn road. Zip across four lanes of traffic to goofy u-turn road, make u-turn then turn right. Speed up to merge onto Crowchild. Merge onto far left lane (weird) of Crowchild trail. See sign on far right that says "Memorial Drive Next Right" By my calculations that is in 17 feet...at 70 KPH. Zoomed, again, across three lanes of traffic and made the exit on two wheels. Safely on our way home I reach across and pry the Explorer's fingers out of the dashboard.

VEHICLE REGISTRATION AND INSURANCE.

I don't know what it's like elsewhere but here you must insure a vehicle before you register it. I needed to do both for my new old Nissan TARDIS (It's bigger on the inside...and really a Sentra) so headed off to my local AMA. I usually love the AMA...not this day. Stood in the information line to ask what needed to be done first because I couldn't remember. Got the answer and went to stand in the insurance line. Got to the front where they took my name and was told to take a seat. Sat around for a bit until an agent became free. Sat with her for a while as she seemed to struggle doing the insurance paperwork for the car...but at no time said anything was wrong. Finally printed off a pink slip and sent me over to registration. Stood in line there for a while. Finally get to my turn where a nice lady plugs away with my paper work and says "The Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) is not showing up as correct...is your car here?" Then this very nice lady came with me out to the car, checked the VIN, found out that the"6" should be a "G" and back we go. Now it all works. She prints off the registration and sends me back to change the VIN on the pink slip. Stand in line for a bit till it's my turn and told to have a seat. Finally get back with the same insurance agent who takes the paperwork and says "Oh, that was the problem. I couldn't find the VIN so I overrode the system and forced it."

"Um." says I.

TIM HORTON'S

I don't really care for Tim Horton's coffee, I find it a little weak and the new dark roast seems to be the same coffee in a dark cup. I do, however, like the food (except the donuts) quite a bit. So every once in a while I will head over to my local Timmie's for a breakfast sandwich, hash browns, muffin and, because I am there, a coffee. And this is where things start to bug me.

Upon entering, you stand in line to place your order. While waiting, a nice little old lady in a Timmie's uniform walks by and asks everyone how they are and if they are ordering food then wanders away. I don't know what this is about. Once you reach the till you place your order, check it and then pay. You then move over to the left where you stand in another line where you wait for your coffee and muffin. Coffee and muffin in hand you walk all the way across the store to stand in another line to wait for your sandwich and hash browns. This is weird. If I used the drive through I would only have to deal with one line...but I don't do drive through...because for all the mucking about inside, at least they get the order right. Drive through, about 1 in 10.

CARS

As most of you know I am a motorcycle guy. I love bikes. New ones, old ones, fast ones, slow ones, big ones, small ones; I like 'em all. (Well, almost all, don't like white ones.) Put me with a like minded soul and I will happily yak about bikes for hours.

Cars, on the other hand. not so much. For me the car is a way to get from point A to point B, in reasonable comfort, safety and in a timely manner. When other folks start talking cars, my eyes glaze over and I am likely to wander off in a trance and walk in a wall. In all fairness, of course, others do that when I talk bikes so, to each his own.

Now, to the point. I have a new (to me) car that I am quickly, much to my surprise, falling in love with it.

Due to an accident in September (not my fault), my last car was written off. I was quite sad about this as I had bought the car brand new, 10 years ago, and had enjoyed a reasonably trouble free time with the thing. I then had to go car shopping with the minuscule insurance payout I received from the insurance company, as I had no desire to finance a car.

 My oldest son, bless his conniving heart, found me a 1989 Nissan Sentra, (well within my budget) and gave me a call so I could go look at it. I had visions of a bit of a rust bucket with 500,000 kilometers and maybe a dead rodent or two nestled in the upholstery. Well, no such luck. It was low mileage, very low price, no body rust, new tires and search as I might not a rodent in sight...or smell.

Then the big test. I opened the door and slipped my 6 foot tall 210 pound frame behind the wheel. Adjusted said wheel, then the seat, then the mirrors...hey...I fit! Started it up and went for a drive. An underpowered puddle-jumper but with all lights and indicators working. No shimmy's or shakes at speed and brakes that work. Check out the goodies. Heater works and so does the A/C...wait...A/C? I got a car with A/C! Check the stereo...yup, all good..wait..is that..could it be? Yes! A cassette player! I still own cassettes...what a gem!

And now the weird thing.

I was at the supermarket the other day. Pulled into a spot and as I got out I checked to make sure I was not crowding the parking stripe on the drivers side. Finished shopping and was walking out and noticed there was a lot of space between the passenger side and the other parking stripe. Hmmm, the car is smaller than I thought.

Then, just a day or so later I pull into the driveway and my youngest son watches me get out and he asks how I fit in that tiny car and I said it's quite roomy inside. And then it hit me. Bigger on the inside than on the outside...

I own a 1989 Nissan "TARDIS"!

And if you don't know what a TARDIS is then firstly, shame on you, and secondly, GOOGLE it.

I be happy.

SHAMEFUL STUFF

There are many shameful things going on in the world around us. Some affect us all and some affect us on a personal level. Here are a few that have poked me in the eye in the last while.

SHAMEFUL PARENTING
A little while back my brother-in-law and my niece flew in from Vancouver to visit for a couple of days. One evening my niece and I were in the living room watching TV; I stretched out my arm and pointed to her with my index finger and said "Pull my finger." She looked at my finger, then to me, tilted her head, her face registering puzzlement and said "Why?" I was stunned. Why? Why? You don't know why? What is wrong with you? I then proceeded to explain and asked her if she had really no idea what this was all about. She didn't have a clue.

This is just, plain and simple, shameful parenting. How could anybody raise a child and exclude the "Pull my finger" lesson. Thank God I was there to correct this. I am, however, very concerned what else is missing from the poor girl's education.

SHAMEFUL FOOD
Oh, the foods I eat. Shameful, simply shameful. Weenie beanies, fried Spam, pizza, fast food burgers by the truckload. Vegetables and fruit are only consumed by accident. And I can't even spell exercise without spellcheck, let alone do any. It is a tribute to God and good genetics that I am still alive to write about it. Thanks Mom and Dad.

SHAMEFUL PRODUCT RECALL.
The other day I came across a product recall for an off road machine with a safety problem. Doesn't matter who built it or what the problem is, that's not the issue. I  thought to myself, how could the manufacturer let that happen? Then I read the recall notice really closely and what it said, in English, as opposed to "lawyer speak", is this...

"If you don't do the pre-ride inspection like we told you to in your manual and then you take the machine into an environment where your manual said you shouldn't take it and then do things with it for which it was not intended as per your manual and then don't clean it like your manual said and then ignore the required maintenance as scheduled in your manual...then there could be death and destruction. So, because you are an illiterate moron, bring the machine in and we will make the change required, at our cost, to save you from your idiotic self."

SHAMEFUL READERS
I was at an event this weekend that featured about 40 different, published authors from our very own city. This was an opportunity to see what a diverse and talented writing community we have in our own backyard. A chance to meet, and talk to, some very interesting people...and spend some money in support of the arts and personal literacy. Even though several media outlets (print, radio and TV) were asked to cover, or mention, the event , none bothered...Shameful. This event should be huge. I have high hopes for next year.

On the up side, I got to spend several hours having one on one time with some amazing people. Time well spent.

SHAMEFUL PROCRASTINATION
People have been asking how my book is coming along...so here you go.

1) Found a notebook to jot down ideas...wrote down some TV shows I didn't want to miss...lost the   notebook.
2) Figured out how to use my cell phone as a recorder so I could record ideas...lost my phone.
3) Got new phone but got no ideas.
4) Grew a goatee so I would look more authorly.
5) Went to a "Meet the Authors" event. Got motivated so went home for a nap.
6) Wrote this instead.
7) Had another nap.

See? Progress!

SEPTEMBER HELL.

Not sure who's in charge up there but, dammit, I want some answers. Am I being teased? Is this a test? Have I done some wrong and am being punished? This month, so far, has been a giant pain in the ass and I want to know why...and who's responsible.

Started off well enough; on the Wednesday before the long weekend it was a nice day so I was taking the bike in to work and, from there, all down hill.

I don't know if I put my cellphone on top of my saddlebag, the pocket of my jacket and not zipping it up or left it on the roof of my car while packing up the bike; regardless, it's gone. Got hold of Rogers to let them know and order a new phone; specifically a Samsung Galaxy S5 and made a point of saying definitely NOT an iPhone 5. Rogers said no problem but it might be after the long weekend before I get it. Imagine my glee when on that Friday UPS drops off my new phone...an iPhone 5. Let Rogers know and sent it back that same day and here we are 9 days later still waiting for the right phone.

Fast forward to the next Friday. Another nice day so taking the bike to work again. At the end of the day when getting ready to go home I am slipping my glasses on after putting on my helmet (I have to take my glasses off first to put on my helmet) when I feel something snap. I pull out my glasses to see what happened only to find half of one frame arm stayed in the helmet.  Great, they are my only pair. Get home and break out the tape and a toothpick  so I can jury rig a fix until Saturday.

Take my car to work on Saturday because I don't trust sliding the patched up glasses into my helmet. Call my optical store to see what can be done and they say bring 'em in so we can have a look. At lunch I hop in the car and head over there. They take a look at their records and say "Shouldn't have happened but they are still on warranty. We will replace the arm at no cost." Hallelujah, something going right. Should have kept my mouth shut.

On the way back to work I come to a stop to make a left turn. As I wait for on-coming traffic to clear I hear squealing tires behind me and...Bang...say bye-bye to the left rear end of my car. Oh joy, now I get to deal with an insurance company. Thank Smurf the guy who hit me admitted guilt to the cops. Maybe that will help.

As I write this it is September 7. I can hardly wait to see what the rest of the month dishes out to make my life such a pleasure.

TARGET ACQUIRED: MOTORCYCLE

A couple of weeks back a friend and I were discussing inattentive car drivers and how they tend to increase the sales of new underwear to motorcycle riders through the use of cars as "weapons of motorcycle destruction"...usually unintended, but still harrowing experiences. Getting cut off, merged into, turned in front of, you know, the usual stuff that scares the crap out of us on every other ride. It was at this point when my friend brought up an interesting tidbit.

He tells me there was a study done a while back, in Finland or Moldavia or Sierra Leone or Tierra Del Fuego or some such place, that stated that the worst offenders of car related attacks on motorcycles were the owners of Volvo's. Being the half deaf goof I am, I thought he said vulva's, and I thought he was saying women were the cause of all my riding related heart attacks. I wasn't surprised by his sexism, he is a musician after all...albeit, a drummer. After sorting out the confusion, it turns out that owners of VOLVO'S, as per this study, have an incredible sense of safety, as they are all wrapped up in their bullet proof Swedish tanks and thus have absolutely no regard for anything more than six inches out from any of their bodywork.

I took this with a grain of salt (and some tequila and lime) but started paying attention to the actual make of vehicle that may be trying to kill me. The very next day as I am riding down 16th avenue I see a car coming down the ramp to merge into my lane. There is nothing but room in front of me and not a vehicle in sight behind me. Being the paranoid rider that I am (you don't get to be my age as a rider without being paranoid) I check to my left for an escape route; yup, all good. As I maintain my speed I keep my eye on the car to see if it will pull in behind or in front of me. As it pulls up beside me, sure as shit, it starts to merge into me. As I take my pre-arranged escape route I give the driver my best "You dumb asshole" look. It is, of course, totally wasted on him as he was oblivious to everything around him. Care to guess what he was driving? I kid you not...a Volvo.

So, okay then little drummer boy, I am now willing to consider the Volvo study.

But then this happened.

I left for work early one morning last week to take a bit of a ride and enjoy the day. Near the end of my ride my route would take me  for a 6 km. sprint down Deerfoot Trail. As I merged onto Deerfoot a car swerved from the lane to my left and cut me off only to zoom around another car and speed off. It was an Audi sports car. Barely a minute later a car, also in the lane to my left doing 20 kph under the speed limit, cuts in front of me causing  some hard braking. The car? An Audi station wagon. And then, another short minute later, (just like the Volvo from the week before) a car merges from the right...damn, now I have to stop at WalMart for a pack of clean undies. That car? An Audi sedan. Three car attacks in less than 6 kilometers and all by Audi's. The Germans seem to have taken umbrage at the Swede's and are on the attack. Hide the women and children...and motorcycles.

THAT WHICH DOES NOT KILL YOU...

I have been riding motorcycles for over 40 years. Small bikes, big bikes, dirt bikes, street bikes, dual purpose bikes, pocket bikes; if it has two wheels I have taken one for a ride. Without exception, every bike I have owned or ridden has attempted to kill me.

I am not attributing actual malice to the machines, I ain't one of them there  anthropomorphist's! Not that what I do in the privacy of my own brain is anybody else's business...but I digress.

I suppose there could be a machine conspiracy hell bent on taking me out, but I can't figure out why I would be a target. And who would be orchestrating this? Although, I did see a puff of smoke up on the grassy knoll.

Okay, getting way off track here.

I thought I could just be a bad rider but I have never had an incident while carrying a passenger. This, then, makes me wonder if, while riding alone, I am more likely to let my attention wander. Or, perhaps, more likely to take risks. But I don't think this is it either as this shit never seems to happen when driving a car.

Is there, then, a higher power up there with vengeful thoughts aimed at me? Have I ticked off the "Great Gazoo" somehow and am now the target of his wrath? If that is the case, he's not very good at this as he keeps missing...unless that's the plan. Is the plan so diabolical that it's taking over 40 years to come to fruition? Seems a bit out there though...even for me.

Karma, then? Could I have been even more of a jerk in a past life than I am now? Was I in the habit of kicking puppies, stealing candy from kids or or taking two from the "please try one" sample rack at the store? I don't think so. Seems pretty selective for Karma.

I dismissed an alien connection right off the bat of course. Aliens trying to kill me would just be silly. When I was abducted they really seemed quite pleasant. They asked "Take us to your leader" so I introduced them to the Explorer. We had tea and all was good. Turns out they were just looking for directions.

Shit, I just tripped over my own feet and spilt cereal on the dog...oh...I'm clumsy...please disregard the above.

5 MARRIED THINGS

When working on a long term relationship there are any number of things you can do that can keep it nicely on track. Every couple has to work out what things will work best for them and not everybody is going to use the same ones but here are my top five.

1) ANTICIPATE. The Explorer and I have learned over the years to anticipate each others needs. While we were sitting out front of the house, enjoying a hot summer Sunday, I was reading aloud the directions on a bottle of some lawn fertilizer I was about to use. When I came to the part where I say "Keep Out Of The Reach Of Children" I turn to, jokingly, hand the bottle to the Explorer, just as she is jokingly, I hope,  reaching to take the bottle out of my hands.

2) HUG. This one will probably work for most people. I am not really a hugger but I am also not, contrary to what you may have heard, an idiot...usually. I can tell when the love 'o' me life is a little bit off. I may not know what is wrong but I do know she likes a good hug. It seems to work. Just to be safe I will also throw in the occasional, random, just for the hell of it hug. This makes her smile...which makes me smile...which makes life good.

3) DATE NIGHT. Yes, with each other...or not, I suppose, I did say each couple has to work this stuff out for themselves. This is just as it sounds. Go on a date, talk, re-connect, catch up then go home and have wild, hot, sweaty...oh, I'm sure you get the idea.  Oh, and try not to scare the dog.

4) TOYS. No, not those kind of toys, well, maybe those kind of toys, but that's not the kind of toys I mean. I mean "Do it on your own" hobby kind of toys. Motorcycles, big screen T.V.'s, stereos, that kind of stuff. The stuff that you can do by yourself that lets you turn your brain off for a bit and re-charge. Just because you are married doesn't mean you have to do everything together. And if the old ball and chain wants new toys too...let him buy his own stuff.

5) LAZINESS. This one really works well for the Explorer and me. My lovely wife is constantly being hit on. From 20 year old hard bodies to 95 year old geezers (with walkers and oxygen bottles in tow) and every age in between. I, of course, have my own bevy of beauties at my fingertips...literally, at my fingertips...and it's only $9.99 a month to subscribe. But here we are, almost 25 years married and still together. That, my friends, is what laziness can get you.

Will these work for you? Maybe not, but for us...yup.

THINGS I DON'T BUY

There are lots of things in this world that I don't want to, or can't, buy. Things like a 30 room mansion or a Ferrari or suits or crunchy peanut butter or romance novels or the latest, greatest phone. This is not about these things; this is about things that I actually need, or use, but never seem to buy. I own them but I never seem to buy them. This is not about magical elves or cracks in the fabric of the universe that stuff falls through...it's just odd.

COMBS
For those who know me, my owning a comb at this point in my life seems a little, okay, extremely silly, as well as a waste of time. But when I was younger, and furrier, I did use a comb. Always kept it in my back pocket where it would press an image of itself into my wallet. When it would, inevitably, get lost, there always seemed to be one hanging around the house that I felt free to take. Looking back on it, my baby brother was probably wondering where all his new combs were disappearing to...until now. Serves him right, he with the still flowing locks.

LIGHTERS
Okay, yes, I am a smoker, bad bad me. The point is lighters. They are everywhere. I never seem to need to buy them. On top of the fridge, find a lighter. The drawer with BBQ tools, find a lighter. Inside my car, the Explorers car, under the couch cushions, in a re-usable shopping bag, in a coat pocket, on top of the washing machine...they are friggin' everywhere. I sometimes think lighters are not even manufactured, they just breed like bunnies. How Bic makes any money is beyond me.

SOCKS AND UNDERWEAR
This one is more of a 56 year fortuitous circumstance than anything else. As a kid living at home my mom bought my socks and undies. As I got older and moved out there was Christmas and birthday presents that included them. As a married man the Explorer has always picked them up, while shopping for other things, to replace the ratty, old (but finally broken in) ones that were driving her mad. If I ever end up truly on my own I'm going to end up living in sandals and going commando.

GOLF BALLS
I like to play golf. I don't play often and I don't play very well but I do like it. Because I am, what some would call a hack, I go through an inordinate number of golf balls when I play. Fortunately, I have a supplier of slightly experienced golf balls...my Dad. I don't know why he wants to give these used balls away. To me they look perfectly good and, as far as I'm concerned, a used ball that didn't get lost obviously knows where it's going and I can use the help.

SHIRTS THAT ARE NOT T-SHIRTS
I work in retail and as such I wear a work shirt. When not working I tend to wear T-Shirts. Any other time where neither would be appropriate I wear, well, hand me downs from my Dad. Golf shirts, dress shirts, short sleeve casual shirts; I have a closet full from my Dad. It's not that I can't afford my own shirts or don't know who sells men's wear but Dad doesn't want them and they fit me and, for the most part, they aren't weird looking and I don't have to shop. Win, win, win and win.

I don't know if these things happen to other people or if they are just another, in a long list, of my life's little quirks. Don't really care because, so far, it works for me.

OTHER PEOPLES STUFF

A while back, while suffering a bit of brain lock, I made a request on Facebook for some blog post ideas. I received responses from two people. One person suggested I post on my most embarrassing moment or the most interesting person I have met. The other person suggested I post about Calgarians and Stampede. I wasn't sure if she meant Calgarians and their relationship to the Stampede or if it was two separate topics. As I am lazy I did not ask for clarification so I am going to make them separate topics.

So, in no particular order, well, actually in the order I want to present them, here is my take on the supplied topics.

STAMPEDE

The Calgary Stampede has been around for over 100 years. It is part of our western heritage and deserves a place in our modern western, and Canadian culture. Do animals get hurt? Sometimes they do and it is unfortunate. If that bothers you then don't go. If it really bothers you then do some research into how the animals, the horses in particular, came to be in the Stampede. I'm not your mommy so do your own research like I did. They are better off doing what they are doing.

Do I go to the Stampede? Hardly ever anymore but my reasons have nothing to do with any of this. If you don't go because you think you are protesting animal cruelty by doing so, well, just take your annoying ass back to Vancouver or Toronto where you can eat your tofu and sip your $10.00 a bottle water and watch some weird National Film Board of Canada film and feel smug and righteous. We don't care.

The Calgary Stampede is, without a doubt, "The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth."
'Nuff said.

CALGARIANS

This is difficult. What makes someone a Calgarian? Do you have to be born here? Is there a number of years you have to live here to adopt the title "Calgarian"? Do you have to be a supporter of Calgary sports teams? Do you have to wear a cowboy hat for 10 days in July or or not wear a cowboy hat for 10 days in July? Is there something inherently different about those who live here that marks them as Calgarians, as opposed to someone unfortunate enough to live elsewhere? Is it civic pride or pulling together in times of need? Is it extraordinary bad driving?

Beats the hell outta me.

THE MOST INTERESTING PERSON I HAVE MET

This was interesting and quite thought provoking...and thus brain hurting. I have met a lot of interesting people in my life. I find all of my friends interesting, which, I suppose, is why they are my friends. I consider all of my family interesting too. Which is a fortuitous thing because I can't do anything about family. I don't know anybody famous but there are famous people I find interesting. I am vain enough that I hope my friends and family find me interesting (but not "Interesting" if you catch the difference).

But if I had to choose "The most interesting person" that would have to be my baby brother. If he reads this I am sure he is cringing and thinking "What's that idiot talking about now"? Don't worry bro' it's good stuff.

My brother is smart, good looking (although that's genetic so might not count but pisses me off), well educated, articulate, artistic, sarcastic, funny as hell and brave. He has made interesting career choices at unusual points in his life. I think of him as a free spirit in a non hippie un-weird sort of way. I enjoy his company immensely and look forward to any time I can spend with him...which is not nearly enough.

I even find his love of Coronation Street interesting...if a little disturbing.

MY MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT

This topic was surprisingly difficult just due to the mind numbing number of embarrassing moments in my life. Every time I started typing about an event, another would pop into my head and I would pause to reflect...is this one more or less embarrassing than the other...and start over. Again and again this happened, to the point where I was getting embarrassed at the number of embarrassing moments. Fortunately, one event started beating out the others on a consistent basis. So here it is, and it may not seem that bad to some but it has stuck with me for 30 years.

Fire up the way-back machine and travel to 1984/85 (This I can't remember). I was on a motorcycle trip with a friend, traveling in the good old U.S. of A., and we were coming to the end of a long, hot day. At that time I was riding a 1984 Honda Goldwing Aspencade. For my non riding friends I offer a little perspective. At the time, as it is now, the Goldwing was the premier touring bike. Saddlebags, trunk, stereo, big engine, helmet to helmet intercom, bells, whistles, doo-dads and gee-gaws. A 2014 model Goldwing is $30,000.00.

Anyway, back to the idiocy. We found a motel worthy of our budgets and pulled into the parking lot in front of the motel office. Now, this particular motel had an outdoor swimming pool in full view of said office. I got off the bike, took off my helmet and set it on top of the back trunk and went into the office to check in.

 On the way out I noticed several scantily clad women-folk frolicking around the pool and coyly eyeing the motorcycle dudes. Acting cool as a cucumber, I hopped on my bike, fired it up, gave it a couple of revs to make sure said babes were giving me their full and undivided attention and took off. Remember the (very expensive) helmet sitting on the trunk? Good for you if you did because I completely forgot about it and off the bike it went, impressing to no end, I'm sure, the fair young ladies.

Having no choice but to retrieve the helmet I made a hard right turn, putting me even closer to the pool, and the now blatantly staring lovely young things. This, of course, offended the triplet gods of physics, gravity and coolness who then ganged up on me. Down went the expensive bike and yours truly with it. The Three Stooges couldn't have performed a better slapstick moment. I bounced up, lifted a 750 pound bike back on its wheels, shoved my shredded dignity into my back pocket and skulked away. Never did hit the pool.

And there you go.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

The other day a friend of mine and I were chatting away on Facebook when she made a comment that surprised me a bit. She wrote that I may have been the "One That Got Away". Now, we were only 13 years old or so when we dated but her comment, after all these years, still made me giggle and blush a bit. But a little later I started thinking; what happened there? Did I break up with her? Did she break up with me? Did summer come along and we drifted apart? I was going to ask her but she is one of those people who is blessed (cursed?) with one of those horrifyingly long and accurate memories and I was afraid it would turn out I was a gigantic, insensitive, horse's ass at some point. This is not uncommon for me, I am ashamed to say, so I kept my yap shut.

Then that got me thinking, and remembering, some more. Another lovely young lady,with whom I remain friends, had said something similar a few years ago. We had never dated; when one of us was single the other was in a relationship and then vice versa. This went on, back and forth, for several years. But none the less, I had, apparently, gotten away.

This, then, brought about even more of the whole thinking and remembering thing. At one of the several High School reunions I have attended, a third lovely lady mentioned to my wife (the ever beautiful and long suffering "Explorer"), that I had gotten away and broke her heart. Again, a convenient gap in memory keeps me from either confirming or denying.

This all leads me to one inescapable conclusion; for the first 28 years of my life I was one hell of an escape artist. Or was I?

I am not, nor was I ever, a "Ladies Man". Never the "Bad Boy", or "Jock" or the quiet, introspective, "Intellectual" that, at least in my (and Hollywood's) mind, gets the girl, only to dump her, and move on to the next prospective conquest. Nope, not me. I was the guy on the fringe. Not quite funny enough to be the class clown, nor smart enough for the smart clique or the geek clique. I was just, well, me. What was it that made me the one that got away? Beats the hell out of me! I always felt I was the one that got tossed back.

Until the Explorer.

It was a blind date set up by mutual friends. She hated me. I liked her. I was persistent. I had puppy dog eyes. I won her over with my charm and devilish good looks. In reality I think I wore her down to the point where it was easier to date me than put up with the pestering. And here we are 27 years later.

So, there you have it. I'm sure there are lots of reasons why things turn out the way they do. Why some get tossed back or why some get away. And I sure hope no one was expecting me to toss out some possible answers because I still have no idea. But I don't care. I'm the big fish in my little pond and that's the way I like it.

PLAN "B"

There are a whole lot of people in the world going through life with a plan. Timetables, life goals, financial goals, career goals, retirement goals...then there is me. I never really had a plan. I spent my early adult days merrily skipping through life with the thought, in the back of my mind, that shit will just work out. Then I met the "Explorer", fell in love, had a kid,  got married, had another kid and continued to be in love; but still no plan.

The "Explorer", however, has a plan. It is a simple plan. The two of us will spend our days merrily skipping through life hand in hand with the thought, in the back of our minds, that shit will just work out...until the end when (and this is the core of the plan), with no particular method in mind, we shall bow out together and haunt the kids. This is plan "A". I, being the puppy dog that I am, wag my tail, run in circles and bark "Good plan, works for me!"

Last night I discover there is a plan "B". I am not involved in plan "B"...except for finishing the original plan ahead of schedule, and alone.

While out on the back deck, enjoying the evening and catching up with each other's day, the "Explorer" drops the plan "B" bombshell. "If you do head off to check out the other side without me", she says, "I know a guy who, should his wife suffer a similar fate, will hook up with me."

My tail wags a little less enthusiastically.

I am, however, a realist. As I give her plan "B" some thought I remind myself of a few things. I am 9 years older than the "Explorer" and a man and therefore more likely to skip out first (according to statistics) and I do ride a motorcycle, which ain't the safest way to travel. With these things in mind I realize the "Explorer's" plan "B makes sense. And because shit happens, I need a plan "B" too!

This is where I bump into the two biggest roadblocks for a sucessful plan "B". I have no idea what I am doing and how the hell am I going to get somebody into my life when I suffer from the most debilitating of conditions ever to afflict a man.

I am a moron when it comes to women.

If a lady's subtle hints of interest in me is not followed with a smack upside of my head with a 2x4, I will, as I have several times in the past, react in a manner conducive to nights at home alone. How I ever managed to find the lovely "Explorer" and keep her in my life for the last 27 years is more of a testament to the existence of a higher being than any smarts on my part. My only saving grace is I am very aware of this shortfall and my plan is to circumvent the problem through delegation. I will petition my friends for help finding me  a plan "B" partner.

So, here we go...my resume: I am house trained, have a job, am reasonably hygienic, have most of my own teeth, some of my own hair and was even romantic once. Spread the word, my friends, what a catch!

I am counting on everyone I know to help me out with this. My only alternative will be to implement plan"C". I do not like plan "C". It involves long, rambling, in depth conversations with myself, out loud, in public places...and living with way to many cats in a small, funny smelling studio apartment.

I sure hope plan "A" works out.

MOTORCYCLE MECHANICS 101

Most of us have replaced an automobile battery at one time or another. Take the bolts off the leads and the retaining strap, remove the leads from the posts, pull the old battery out, put in the new battery and reverse the process to attach all the parts. Job done, 15 minutes.

Then there is the motorcycle, mine in particular.

As with all projects it is most important to get all your tools in order. You will need a flashlight, a magnet, a wrench, several screwdrivers, a white tarp, knee pads, a first aid kit and lots of the liquor of your choice. Some of these may seem a little counter-intuitive, like the screwdrivers, but will become clear as we get further along.

First off, lay out the tarp and park the bike on top. The tarp will cushion the nuts, bolts and screws, if dropped as you take them out (and will definitely drop, over and over again when trying to put back in), so they don't bounce off the concrete and wander away to live with the single sock missing from the morning laundry. And as the tarp is white you will almost have a chance of finding the darn things.

Take out the two bolts holding the top of the battery case in place, dropping one on the tarp and the other into the bike frame. Use the flashlight and magnet to locate and then dig out the one in the frame and find the one on the tarp by kneeling on it and embedding it in one of your knee pads. Set these aside somewhere you will forget about when you need them later.

Take out the four bolts holding the front of the battery case. See above for the dropping and digging and kneeling procedure. This step will also include the skinning of knuckles (both hands) thus bringing into play the first aid kit. These bolts should be placed in a tray or dish you can kick over when reaching for them when it is time to put them back into place.

At this point the battery is fully exposed. Take out the bolts holding the positive and negative leads repeating the dropping, digging, kneeling and first aiding then remember you have new nuts and bolts for the new battery in the box.

Pull out the old battery and replace it with the new one. Start replacing the nuts and bolts and case parts in the reverse order as above. If done properly the knuckle skinning will be in the opposite direction making a nice symmetric design.

You are now done. It is at this point the knee pads perform double duty. Drop to your knees and pray to the Deity of your choice, turn the key and push the starter button. No flames, no explosions and the bike starts?
Congratulations!

Oh, almost forgot about the alcohol. The bike is now running, insurance and registration are current and in place, time to go for a ride. Open the garage door and...of course, it's pissing down rain. Time to drown your sorrows.

Welcome to motorcycle mechanics.

NURSERY RHYMES

Eenie meenie miney mo

Catch a tiger by the toe

If it hollers let it go

And then it eats your face off, bro.

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99 bottles of beer on the wall

99 bottles of beer

Take one down and pass it around

The flu or a cold  is now brewing for all.

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London Bridge is falling down

Falling down, falling down

London Bridge is falling down

Now the Thames is full of cars

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BUCKET LIST

Ah, the Bucket List. The lofty yet to be achieved goals, the sights not seen and the deeds not done; all neatly written or typed in a list to be marked or ticked or crossed off as each is completed. All in the hopes of finishing before you "Shuffle off this mortal coil." Or in the vernacular, Kick the Bucket.

I do not have a bucket list. I do have a bucket...and a sponge and a mop and a list from the "Explorer" but it involves things SHE wants me to do before I die and if I kick that bucket I can darn well clean that mess up too.

But I digress.

My list (more of a sticky note really) is a list of things high on others "want to do" list that I have every intention of avoiding and said items can stay in that bucket keeping the sponge and mop company.

So, for better or worse, here is my list of top 5, never to be done in this (or any other) lifetime, items.

Swim With Sharks - I don't know why this is on anybody's list. Am I the only one who remembers the Jaws movies? Sharks are big and mean and always hungry. Want to swim with something? Swim with dolphins. Or better yet, hit the hot tub.

Get a Tattoo - I have nothing against tattoos. I like tattoos. I have friends with tattoos and both my sons have pretty cool tattoos. I, however, don't like getting shots. I whimper and cringe at the thought of a flu shot let alone 5287 shots in a row in virtually the same place.

Run a Marathon - Well this is just silly. A marathon is 26 miles long and 26 miles is very, very far and I am very, very lazy. I mean, really, this is why we have cars. Now, if a shark with legs and tattoos was chasing me...nope, gonna take the car.

Bungee Jump - Let's see, tie a big rubber band to my feet, stand at the edge of a platform, hurl myself off into the void...did that pimply face kid in charge even look up from his texting to see if the other end of the rubber band was attached to anything? I'll pass.

Skydiving - This one seems to be a big one with the bucket list folks. I, on the other hand, was paying attention during my high school physics classes. Things like gravity, acceleration, mass, velocity and the all important deceleration. You know the old adage..."It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the bottom."

Nope, life is pretty good as it is. I think I shall just keep puttering along and enjoy the ride.

BOYS CLUB

I am a member of the Association of North American Men Without a Clue. We get together once a month and discuss the things we know about the women we love and why they haven't killed us in our sleep. What this means is, in every chapter meeting all across the continent, we sit in a circle and stare at each other for an hour, shrug our shoulders in unison and then go for a beer or six.

Membership is fairly easy, only four things required.

1) All prospective members must be married and have been so for at least 10 years. This shows a certain level of commitment and a goodly number of the various self preservation genes. Those who have succumbed to the so called "7 Year Itch" or have taken a "Break" need not apply. We, as members may not know what the hell is going on but we will keep plugging away.

2) Colours. All prospective members must be firm believers in the existence of 9, and only 9, colours. These colours are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, black, white, pink and purple. Pink and purple being in the group so you can appear worldly. Three hundred and fourty seven shades of white does not make sense in our clueless world.

3) Footwear for the Men Without a Clue is not a fashion statement but a functional part of daily living. Prospective members will own one pair of black dress shoes, one pair of tennies, one pair of footwear relating to work (unless black dress shoes fit the bill), one pair of winter boots and any footwear relating to specific sports. The only exceptions would be sandals complete with black socks and slippers shaped like cartoon characters or fuzzy animals.

4) Permission slip. If you need this explained you are not member material.

We are the clueless. This does not mean we are stupid, it's not the same thing. We are happily committed to women who, for whatever their reasons, feed us, look after us when we are sick, drag us to doctor appointments, make sure our shoes match before we walk out the door and a thousand other things that make us bearable in public.

We have no idea how we got here, why these lovely creatures picked us out of the herd or where we go next. Doesn't really matter though. Lead the way my love.

NEW STUFF.

Standing in my kitchen this morning and started wondering about the nature of time...well, sort of. My kitchen is about 12' x 12' or 144 square feet and within this not overly huge area there is, and this is just so weird, SIX clocks! One on the stove, the coffee maker, the microwave, the portable phone, the phone charging base and the decorative teapot shaped clock on the wall. And if I am in the kitchen it goes up to eight with my cellphone and wristwatch. A 30 second power failure pretty much defines how I spend the following hour.

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We all have our little quirks. Some stranger than others but harmless none the less. Most are even understandable to other people. The "Explorer", however, has one that I just don't get. The light of my life, the apple of my eye, my reason for life itself has a massive aversion to flat surfaces. Table top, kitchen counter, bathroom vanity, bedroom nightstand, it doesn't matter, if there is more than one square foot of flat surface it must be interrupted with something decorative. It is almost magical the way it happens. I can be in the kitchen, by myself, and clear the island of everything thus leaving a flat surface. Turn around to put something in the sink, turn back to the island and WHAMMO...a vase. I am both amazed and a little scared by her ability to do this.

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When did the rear windows in our cars change from something used to see what's behind us into billboards?

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Bicycle accident on major road, walked away; motorcycle accident on side street, walked away; passenger in car that hits a pole, walked away; passenger in car that hits another car on highway, walked away; several high speed falls on downhill skis, skied away; tossed off motorcycle doing a high speed braking demonstration in front of students, skulked away; tossed into a tree off of dirt bike, limped away; got the flu and end up in the hospital.  Apparently, it IS the little things in life...

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Every once in a while I think about getting a tattoo and then I think about what my mom might think and then I get scared and then I don't get a tattoo and I hear my dad saying "Smart move".

MORE RANDOM THOUGHTS

As per my usual morning ritual, I was outside on the deck, buck naked except for my top hat and monocle, book in one hand and cup of tea in the other, when all of a sudden...just kidding, of course...I drink coffee not tea.

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Irony was one of many literary forms that baffled me. I could never get a grasp of the concept. No matter how many definitions I read it never seemed to click in what passes for my brain. Then one day I was in the parts room at work reaching up to the top shelf to grab some stuff. On top of the stuff I needed was a box. As I wiggled the bottom box out from underneath the unwanted top box, the whole damn thing falls off the shelf and cracks me a good one on the head. I ask myself what the hell was in that top box because that hurt...oh...construction hardhats. Irony successfully demonstrated.

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I know a lot of artistic people. Family and friends who write books, play parts on stage, play musical instruments, write music, sing professionally, paint...I like crayons, they are tasty; and so is paste. I am the royal fool in the Kingdom of the Arts.

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I am worried about my bellybutton. It is getting much too deep. Not sure what's going on.

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I used to make fun of people who wear sweatpants in public. I no longer do this as I have matured and, well, got fat. Sweatpants rule.

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Porn is so prevalent on the Internet you can type any search request in google, add the word boobs, and there you be. I know this because I have a thirst for knowledge...and boobs.

GREAT CANADIAN NOVEL

Finally getting started on my novel. First job, pick a genre then an opening.

THE MYSTERY NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see his butler, Jeeves, at the foot of his bed with a cleaver in one hand and a feather duster in the other.

THE THRILLER NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see the beautiful Russian spy at the foot of his bed with a silenced pistol in one hand and a martini in the other.

THE WAR NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see the enemy soldier at the foot of his cot with a rifle in one hand and a grenade in the other.

THE FANTASY NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see the ogre at the foot of his bed with a battle axe in one hand and a sword in the other.

THE ROMANCE NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see the naked woman at the foot of his bed with a case of beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

THE SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy solar system. He awoke to see the alien at the foot of his anti-gravity sleeping platform with nothing in its four hands but 6 inch razor like claws.

THE HORROR NOVEL
It was a dark and stormy night. He awoke to see the ghost of his last three murder victims at the foot of his bed.

Well, this doesn't seem too hard. TALLY-HO!!!

POLITICS.

I know I am not the first person to notice that when asked a question, fluffy or hard hitting, no politician worth his salt will give a straight, or even relevant, answer. They can prattle on forever dodging the real question until the asker wanders away with glazed eyes or drops dead from old age. But how far will a politician go to avoid answering even a straight forward question that has only one possible answer?

Lets set the scene. The leaders of all of Canada's Federal political parties have gathered together in Mrs. Huffernoodle's class of 8 year olds to answer the little darlings skill testing questions.

First student up is "Little Timmy" (because I love a cheap cliché).
"How much is 2+2?" He asks all innocent like.

LEADER OF THE GOVERNING PARTY
Well, Timmy, that is a very good, but complicated, question. In today's economic climate it is virtually impossible to foresee the intrinsic value of a thing. Is 2 really worth 2 or is it now a handful of beans or has it's value risen to a goat and 3 chickens? These are complicated times and require convoluted solutions. We will conduct a full investigation in the 2+2 matter and should have a definitive answer by the time you retire.

LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION PARTY
Timmy, as usual, the Honorable Prime Minister has avoided the question entirely. And we, as opposition, want to know WHY! We have irrefutable evidence that the P.M.'s office has known the answer to the 2+2 question for months but for political reasons, has kept this from the public. It is just one more scandal to leak out of the P.M.'s office this year. We promise you, Timmy, that should we be elected, our first order of business will be to find out who knew about 2+2, when did they know about it and why it was not made public.

LEADER OF THE WANNA-BE PARTY
Timmy, It does not matter what 2+2 equals. What matters is it is not 1+3 or 3+1 or any other unequal division of goods. For too long the rich get richer on the blood and sweat of the working class. No, Timmy, the question is not how much is 2+2 but the much more important 1+1+1+1 equals bread and circuses for everyone.

LEADER OF THE OFFICIAL SECOND LANGUAGE PARTY
Timothee, as the question was not posed in both official languages it is a Constitutional Non-Non to answer at this time. Please submit your question, in writing, in both languages, and we will add the request to our next referendum.

LEADER OF THE ENVIROMENT PARTY
Good question, Billy. 2+2 equals whales...and climate change...plus pipeline protests...and...has anyone seen my other sandal?...oooh brownees (giggle titter giggle giggle)...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

IT'S MAGIC

There is magic in my life.

Not the "Wow, married for 25 years, that's magical!" kind of magic. That was hard work, team work, commitment, communication and compromise. Nor is it the "Great job raising the boys, that's magical!" kind of magic. That, too, was hard work, team work, commitment, communication and compromise.

Nope, I'm talking good old fashioned mystical magic. Magic wand waving magic; Hogwarts style magic; nose twitching, bewitching kind of magic; a freaky, goose bump raising, boy is this weird kind of magic.

It's a magical blanket, well, a comforter to be exact, and it is incredibly powerful.

I have not been sleeping well lately and it has been concerning "The Explorer" so she said it was time for some big time ju-ju...THE BLANKIE. Just an ordinary looking comforter on the outside but holy smoke what power. First night, fantastic sleep. Second night, another fantastic sleep. Every night since, great sleeps.

Why hasn't this magical blanket been on the bed all along , I ponder? "The Explorer" explains that you don't just toss around powerful magic like an old tennis ball. It requires responsible use and great care. It must not be used frivolously.

I don't care.

The blankie is mine...aren't you, my precious...

THE MATHEMATICS OF ME

I was born in 1958.
The day of the month was 27.
My name, Richard Loucks, has 13 letters.
1958 + 27 + 13 = 1998.
My month of birth is May or the 5th month.
I have 2 siblings.
5 -2 = 3
1998 divided by 3 equals...oh, poo...666!
Well, I didn't see that coming. I am actually quite a nice guy! Evil? Me?

Let's try this again.

I am married to a lovely lady who was born in 1967.
My first son was born in 1987.
My second son was born in 1993.
1967 + 1987 + 1993 = 5947.
One son is 26 and the other is 21
5947 + 26 + 21 = 5994.
I am 9 years older than my wife.
5994 divided by 9 is...what? Again? 666?
This is not going as planned. Trust me, I am a sweety.

Okay, one more time.

My height is 72 inches.
My inseam is 32 inches.
72 times 32 = 2304.
My shoe size is 10.
My waist is 36 inches.
10 times 36 = 360.
2304 + 360 = 2664.
My wife and me and our two boys equal 4.
2664 divided by 4 is...well...I'll be darned...666!

Okay then, I accept my fate. BWAHAHAHAHA, I am evil incarnate. I shall implement my devilish plans for world domination...tomorrow...after a good nights sleep...and a sensible breakfast.

HAIKU

Bacon mushroom cheese

and two patties dripping juice

arteries be damned.

--------------------------------

My wallet is light

the bills just keep on coming

screw it, time to nap.

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The wind in my hair

If helmet laws were no more

and I still had hair.

--------------------------------

Toilet paper roll

hanging over or under

the cat still attacks.

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Snow snow snow snow snow

shovel shovel shiver sigh

sacroiliac.

AND ONCE AGAIN...STUFF

I am a fan of Science Fiction. I have been reading it for as long as I can remember and going to S.F. movies since I could afford it. There are thousands upon thousands of SF books out there yet Hollyweird keeps pumping out re-makes. "Total Recall", "Judge Dredd", "The Day The Earth Stood Still", "Robo-Cop"...the list is long and depressing. Can't find any good original ideas out there? Really? Try the Library.

I am not a nervous driver except when when being followed by a tailgater. I hate that. The only thing worse is a tailgater so close I can see the Handicap Parking Permit hanging on their mirror. How did you qualify for that permit? Sure hope it wasn't a result of tailgating some other poor bastard. Or, even worse, I sure as hell hope you don't drive like that with a handicapped passenger. BACK OFF.

Why are all the most influential people in my life women? The "Explorer" the "Instigator" the "Motivator" and the "Mominator". All these women have, in one way or another, challenged me to push my perceived limits. This is all their fault...except for the nicknames...that would be me.

I have two healthy, vibrant parents, a lovely and loving wife, two boys who make me proud, great friends and a job I love. Who needs money? Well, I wouldn't mind giving rich a try too. You know, trying new and different things and all.

I vote. If there is an election, be it Civic, Provincial or Federal, I vote. I am not so naive that I think my vote makes much of a difference but it does give me one thing for sure...the right to bitch about government. If you don't vote don't talk to me about how horrible the government is; you don't have the right.

Quick notes...you can put corn in anything...Pepsi or Coke? Who cares when there is single malt...Thin crust pizza rules...Chocolate or peanut butter not chocolate AND peanut butter...life is to short to, no. life is to short.

CANADIAN, EH?

There are times, like now, when I find myself wondering about my Canadian-ness. Not if I am a Canadian because that I surely am. I was born in Canada. My parents were  born in Canada. And my family tree stretches back to the late 1700's in Canada. But my Canadian-ness; the things in your heart and soul that make you Canadian, just don't seem to sit right with me. Yes, I am polite, yes I apologise often and yes I like having four seasons in a year but there are so many things that the world thinks are inherently Canadian that I just don't get.

I don't like hockey. I have nothing against the game, it's fast and rough and exciting for a lot of people but not for me. Hell, I can't even skate, much to my father's disappointment, I'm sure. You should see the old fart out there on the ice at 80 whatever years old still whizzing about with elbows a-jabbing. Me, I put on skates and hit the ice...literally. If I can stand up at all I waddle about like a drunken penguin...without the cuteness factor. Screw hockey.

I don't love Tim Horton's coffee. It's o.k. coffee and if somebody is going to Timmie's I'll have one but it's not my first choice. And I'm sure as hell not lining up out the door for a cup. Good Lord, lining up out the building and down the sidewalk for a coffee...nope, not me. I'll take a Starbucks or even a Second Cup, given the choice.

I absolutely hate poutine and I've never even tried it. I mean, really, french fries and gravy AND some sort of gross, lumpy, white cheesy like substance all piled together? What the hell is that? I can't even watch other people eat it. I am often told I should try it because it is good. Well, no, it's not good, it's gross and icky and as I am, at least chronologically, an adult, I don't have to try it. French fries need ketchup...on the side. Oh, and no vinegar either, Mom, that's gross too.

I love Canadian football. This may seem counter-intuitive; how could loving Canadian football make me feel less Canadian? Well here's how. The NFL appears to be the league of choice in Canada. I live in a city of over one million people and we can't seem to fill a stadium that seats about 28,000. Vancouver, Edmonton, Winnipeg, Hamilton, Toronto and Montreal also have the same problem. The only exception is Regina, but that's Saskatchewan and, well, it's Saskatchewan...nuff said.

So, there you have it. I was born here but am I, deep down, really Canadian? I do like moose and I think our money is kind of cool.

AGING GRACELESSLY

As I get older I am finding the strangest things going on with my assorted parts. Not the usual stuff like rampant growth of nose, eyebrow and ear hair or the additional wrinkly parts cropping up or the increasing effects of gravity on the moving parts. These things are to be expected. It's some other stuff that is concerning me.

It seems the hair on my head has learned to multitask. It is either turning grey, growing in wild, goofy spirals or abandoning ship altogether. I find this fairly impressive considering the rest of me can't brush my teeth and walk down the hall without bumping into a wall or door.

I will also find myself getting up and wandering into the dining room, needing something from both the kitchen and the bedroom, but stopping dead in my tracks, racked with indecision, wondering which way to go first. I will stand there like the proverbial donkey confronted with two separated bales of hay who ultimately starves because he can't decide which way to go.

Then, of course, there is the whole staying up to party problem. Well, not really a problem anymore as I just can't do it. New Years Eve, this year, I looked over at the "Explorer" and said, "It's 11:00 which makes it Midnight in Saskatoon so Happy New Year, I'm off to bed."

But the worst thing to happen lately is scaring me a bit...a lot...tremendously...
I was watching a very trashy movie the other day called "Avalanche Sharks" (I won't explain it, you would think I was making it up so Google It). The movie takes place at a ski resort that seems to be occupied solely by college girls in bikinis. (Like I said...Google it). I am watching this travesty of a movie, actually getting bored, when during one scene a guy goes by pushing a snow blower and I think to myself...Hey, boring, busty, bikini babe, get out of the way, I think that's Honda's new HSS928 snow blower and I want to see it...

Oh please, somebody put me out of my misery.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Happy New Year to everyone, unless you follow the Julian calendar, in which case that was yesterday, or you are Chinese whose new year is January 31, or a follower of the Islamic calendar whose new year is in October, or Mayan whose calendar is...well...over...Oh, screw it, Happy Wednesday. 

Now, I know a lot of people ring in the new year by making resolutions but I have never been one for that. I know myself well enough to realize I am, for the most part, too lazy to follow through, so why bother. When people inevitably ask if I made a resolution I tell them I am going to go another year without trying heroin or crack cocaine. Insert your favorite Rob Ford joke here.

I did have a (fleeting) thought, that I would start an exercise program this year. Nothing crazy, mind you, no point in being silly about the whole thing. No gym membership, which just turns into another monthly bill shrinking  my wallet but not my waist. No fancy exercise machines as I already have lots of things to hang clothes on. No weird, fad foods like vegetables unless strategically hidden in my pizza. You know, just a basic exercise program.

As it turns out, good old Ma Nature has taken it upon herself to construct my exercise program for me. Starting last October, three times a week, outside I go for 45 minutes of cardio and weightlifting and the only equipment I need is a snow shovel. So far so good...no heart attacks.

I did have a plan for the first day of the new year. I was going to do a whole bunch of nothing. Started out okay but best laid plans and all that. Got to thinking about making some bread in the bread maker. Checked the pantry for ingredients and need flour. Okay, need a trip to Safeway. Oops, Ma Nature wants me to perform my workout. Okay, now to Safeway. The "Explorer" says "Hey, you going to Safeway"? Right, start a list. Okay, NOW to Safeway. Successful trip, time to make bread. Hit the pantry for the ingredients. Hmmm, this pantry is sure disorganized, I'll just shuffle some stuff around. Right, bread. Crap, I'm hungry. Throw a little something in the oven. Much better now. Crap again, dirty dishes. Okay, FINALLY everything into the bread maker. Double crap, more dirty dishes. I really should have just gone to 7-11 for a loaf of Wonder bread. This better be worth it.