Miniblog: Canada Day

Leonard has always believed Canada Day is for getting really drunk during the day.  I’ve been swayed to that point of view.

In fact, I think I’ll start tonight.  Vodka Coke binge drinking until I pass out, then wake up, greasy Tim Horton’s breakfast, and find a patio.

That is, if I was going to wait until I was done work to start drinking.  If…

Happy Canada DAy!

Published in: on June 30, 2010 at 1:18 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Miniblog: Fuck Golf

Mark Twain is smart.


Mark Twain once said “Golf is a good walk ruined.”  I agree.  I hate golfing.  But which I mean, actually golfing.  I hate hitting the balls with the clubs and then finding the balls and then knocking them into the hole.  I’ll play video game golf, but mostly as a social activity.  

I do enjoy the way golf is played now.  I love getting absolutely shit-faced in a public place and driving around in a little golf cart.  I feel that most modern golfers aren’t really worried about their scores.  They just want to have a couple of drinks while they drive around the course.  Hitting the ball down towards the hole is just there to kill time until the beer cart girl returns. 

The number 3 reason to golf


I still don’t golf often, because it’s expensive, people usually expect you to at least look like you’re playing the game, and I don’t like dressing like a golfer, or even someone allowed on a golf course. 

There is one thing I really don’t understand about golf.  Why is it considered a business appropriate event?  Tall works in sales, and he often has to spend his days on a golf course.  I’ve gone to a golf event for work as well.  I can tell you that the Bailey’s hits the coffee early in the morning, and you drink while you golf for work.  If it’s a full tournament, there will be meals with more liquor and generally raffles and prizes. 

But isn’t it against pretty much every business’s code of conduct?  I mean, the idea behind work golf events is that you’re there to conduct business, to make offers and sales while golf is the background.  But golf is the background to drinking, riding in a cart, and staring at beer cart girls.  You shouldn’t do any of those things in a work enviroment.  Once you’re drunk, you shouldn’t be making business deals, and when there’s prizes, aren’t those almost like bribes? 

I really don’t see why it’s considered acceptable to do business on the golf course.  I’d be fine if it was allowable for other things.  Why can’t you go bowling or to karaoke?  Why is golf, which is less of a sport and more of a drinking game, considered okay as a serious background?  I mean, it’s about as serious as go-karting, when you get down to it.

Miniblog: Wheels

When I moved back from Japan, I decided I didn’t need a car.  This decision was made, in part, by poverty on returning, as the exchange rate turned three months savings into one within a couple of weeks.  So I lived in Calgary, carless, and got used to it.

When the money started coming in, because no one raised in a stone’s throw of my Dad’s work ethic will stay unemployed for long, I still didn’t get a car.  I could have gotten something cheap, just to get around, but there was no need.  I lived and worked downtown, so every part of my life was in the same area.

Then my savings started going up, and I could have bought my first ever brand new car.  But then again, there’s travel.  I love going places, and I usually want to go further than I can get by driving.  So instead of getting a Mazda 4, I went to visit Japan.

Even when my work relocated to the edge of nowhere, I came to enjoy the hour on public transit.  It’s a time to write, or to read, or to play Nintendo DS.  I’ve been so long without a car I don’t miss it day to day, and instead of paying for insurance or gas, I get a bus pass and put money away to travel.  I think right now, it’s a better choice.

But my parents are going to Europe for a couple of weeks, and since they’re flying out of Calgary, they’ve decided that instead of paying for parking, they’ll leave their car with me.  I’m still on Dad’s insurance as an occassional driver.  So for the first time in years, I’ll have a car in Calgary.

I don’t plan to abuse it.  Maybe a trip to Ikea.  And Peter’s Drive-In.  But that’s it.


The Baby Stag

I recently went up to Edmonton to visit a buddy of mine from high school just before his wife had a baby.  I asked them what they wanted me to call them in my blog, as per my naming convention, and she told me to make up nicknames for them.  She requested they sound like 80s supervillians.  So she is Malinmar and he is Professor Destructo. 

This was my first baby stag.  It is a party you have before the baby is born, when you don’t have to worry about being too quiet or being a bad influence.  It’s more bachelor party than baby shower.  The party was a Saturday evening, so Kodie and I drove up that day, planning to sleep on our hosts floor.  We brought amusing gifts for the baby based on old inside jokes.  We fascinated the guests who arrived before us.  I had my ninj-brella because it was raining, 

A weapon? Protection from the rain? Or both...

And our vodka was in a crystal skull. 

Magic Vodka

Yeah, prop comedy.  How far the mighty have fallen… 

I grew up with Professor Destructo.  When I think back to my earliest memories, his house is the first friend’s I remember playing at.  We took figure skating lessons together, including a performance dressed as Ewoks, and went to the same school from kindergarten to grade 12.  It’s a bit odd to visit him at the house he owns, with his wife, to celebrate his first child.  It’s really cool, but it’s also weird.  I can picture him as an unsteady four year old dressed as Wicket, and he’s having a baby.

I may be remembering it wrong, but I think we looked like this


Malinmar is a different story, because I’ve only known her as an adult.  I met her at their wedding, and took a liking to her right away.  It could be that I like to be famous, and I feel famous when I hang out with her.  In Harvey, the greatest  play of all time, Elwood Dowd says “You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” when someone knows his name, and more about him than he knows about them.  I always feel this way with Malinmar.  Professor Destructo has told her reams of stories about me, but as we haven’t lived in the same city since high school, he never had many chances to tell me about her.  She’s also read a great number of my blogs, so she knows what I think about things and we always have great conversations about things I’m interested in, on which she has insightful ideas. 

The best part about her, though, is she’s good for Professor Destructo.  They compliment each other with different strengths and a genuine desire to look after each other.  When Professor Destructo gets lost, which happens because he’s easily distracted, she’s there to right his course.  When Malinmar gets down, he’s there to lift her up, and he’s never happier than when he’s doing something to make her smile.  They also speak the same way.  They say “realistically” constantly.  I made a game out of it, to see if what they said afterwards was realistic.  It’s similar to when you try to determine if people are using irony after they say “it’s ironic.” 

This was one of the biggest gatherings of my friends from high school, probably since Malinmar and Professor Destructo got married.  We drank at their house, and Ryan dominated the room.  This always happens, because he’s got an incredible presence, and all eyes end up on him.  He’s quick witted and gregarious, and always seems to be the center of the most interesting conversations.  So we listened to stories about the drunkest he’s ever been, and how everyone reads the letters of the “Anonymous” tattoo on his arm upside down, and due to the script get “Snowhound” instead.  

I think I realized why Kodie and Ryan always got along so well.  Kodie rarely speaks, but with Ryan there, no none notices or cares. 

Rounding out the group of people I spent everyday in high school with was Skippy.  Skippy and Professor Destructo stayed close like Kodie and I did.  For Skippy’s last birthday, Malinmar got him a doll so he could practice not hurting the baby, just before she announced her pregnancy.  Skippy is a series of contradictions.  He looks like a biker, with a bushy beard, standing 6 foot 3, and you have to really pay attention to notice the guy is brilliant.  He doesn’t want you to know.  He listens to really heavy metal, or the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra.  He will constantly make comments designed to display how negligent he is, until someone actually needs help, which he gives freely and with gusto. 

There were a bunch of other people there as well, some whom I knew, others who had gone to university with Professor Destructo, Malinmar, and Ryan, and others who’s relation I couldn’t trace.  Kodie, Skippy and I spent a while catching up or listening to Ryan, until it was time to bowl. 

I haven’t been five pin bowling in years, mostly because I have an easier time finding ten pin.  We took up three lanes.  We drank beer at bowling alley prices, which is the true meaning of bowling. 

The bartender was a cute girl in dreads who was eating out of Ryan’s hand as soon as he spoke to her.  He felt bad, being unavailable as she kept throwing herself at him with mounting desperation.  We kept egging him on to find out facts about her.  Between being the center of attention, and really just being asked to talk to the cute girl, he couldn’t deny us.  By the end of the night he knew her age, whet she was taking in uni, where she was born, and nearly every biographical fact she could offer, except for her name and how to get her on the phone.  I think he broke her heart. 

Skippy bowls regularly, and destroyed our scores by the end of the first game.  Professor Destructo couldn’t believe I came in second, probably because in high school I was notoriously bad at sports.  The thing is bowling is less a sport and more a drinking game.  There’s a certain  buzz I can catch that makes me a competent bowler. 

By the second game I had passed it and came in near the bottom of the heat. 

Kodie watched us all silently, pleased to see how easily things could go back to the way they always were, at least for a night. 

After three or four games (I’m really not sure) we returned to the house.  Skippy had to head out, and as he was the sober guy in a crowd of drunks, I really don’t blame him.  Kodie and Malinmar had a long discussion about religion.  He kept dragging me into it, no matter how I tried to escape.  I’d find another conversation, but he’d need to check a fact with me.  

Not long after Kodie realized he was drinking, and as usually he decided he had better vomit and pass out.  I had long discussions about movies, superheroes, and heard a harrowing tale of betrayal in those pre-dawn hours where exhaustion and the haze of vodka mean everyone who’s still awake can be trusted, and you’ll only remember topics, not specifics.  It’s when truths come out, the sort you wish didn’t have to be true, but need shared when there’s no light left, just to purge the darkness.  If you’ve never lasted to five am, I can’ t really explain this twilight to you.  I encourage you to learn pacing, because these are the most human moments in the world, and if they aren’t painfully sad, they are ridiculously perfect.  You won’t know until they happen, but every one is a treasure of truth. 

Soon after, I was asleep on the couch.  I woke up to the 2009 Astroboy movie playing, which has Nicolas Cage, Donald Sutherland, Nathan Lane, and Kirsten Bell.  It’s better than I expected, and is worthy of that cast.  Malinmar got up soon after, and was puttering around the kitchen, making breakfast for everyone.  I offered to help, but she tod me I’d just be in her way. 

Despite my knowledge of breakfast cooking, a talent even Gilly will admit I possess, I’m never offended when I get kicked out of a kitchen.  Anyone who doesn’t want your help probably knows exactly what they’re doing.  Malinmar made the best French Toast anyone has ever eaten.  Ever.  She also made a range of bacon, from deliciously soft, to ruined crispy, so that even freaks could have their burnt, ruined bacon. 

Ryan’s mom lives in Edmonton, and she joined us for breakfast.  She spent a far portion of the meal trying to convince us she had never done anything wrong and neither had her son.  We had grown up with him and spent the previous night listening to him trying to figure out which story was actually the drunkest he had ever been, but he quietly nodded, letting his escapades slip below her radar. 

I don’t quite understand it.  I’m proud of my mistakes.  I’ll tell anyone about the time I jumped out of a moving car, or why I can’t drink scotch, or the tale of Tequila Bender 2006.  My mom, much to her regret, keeps reading my blogs and sees hears the tales of my escapades.  I think she prays constantly that David never takes up blogging. 

Unlike Skippy’s Birthday, which I call November Absinth Massacre, Kodie was able to move the next day.  He drove us back to Calgary, talking about how he wants to plan a camping trip with me, Skippy, Ryan, and, if he can leave the baby for a few days, Professor Destructo. 


Since this was written, the baby has been born.  This kid doesn’t know how lucky he is.  Baby Destructo couldn’t come into a more loving home, and couldn’t ask for a better set of people as parents.

Miniblog: Transporters

It looks like it’s going to be Star Trek week here.

You know what I wouldn’t trust?  Transporters.

Super Death Machine.

Do you know what’s supposed to happen every time Scotty beams someone up?  Let me break out the science in this little bit of science fiction.

First the beam scans you, and finds out where every one of your molecules are.  This is why they need to lock onto individuals.  Once they have this information, the machine takes you apart molecule by moleculeBasically, it kills you as completely as is truly possible.  It takes all those little bits, and moves them somewhere else at the speed of light, and reassembles them.

So, when it’s done, are you you?  Are you your own clone?  Are you a recycled human being?  conceivably, with the right raw material, the transporter could be used to clone anything it’s ever moved, as long as it keeps the information of how to rebuild something in its system. 

And how screwed up would you be if there was the smallest defect in the process?  If a zero didn’t get carried, or the computer errored out on a line of code?  Odds are, it would kill you.

Basically, when transporters are built, I still plan to take  the shuttle train to Still-Alives-Ville.

Published in: on June 18, 2010 at 12:00 pm  Comments (2)  
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Miniblogging: Picarders

I understand being a geek.  I am one.  I own all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, and most of it was purchased the date the box set came out.  I know a lot of geeks, some for video games, some for comics, some for TV shows, some for role-playing games, and generally, if I don’t share their interests, like Matt’s love of anything with giant robots, I understand their fandom in something a step off the mainstream.  There’s a solidarity that comes with people who share a slightly uncommon interest, especially when it’s something you generally don’t want to tell a first date about.

What I don’t get is one very specific type of Trekkie.  The normal kind, I understand.  They’ve let their love go too far.  It’s a different type I’m talking about here.  The Picarders.

I know a number of girls, completely without any other geeky interests, who absolutely worship this man:

This is what women really want.

Captain Jean Luc Picard.  They’ve watched all of Star Trek: The Next Generation.  They love Picard beyond reason, and beyond that, they do not partake in geeky things.  They do not have large video game collections, or know the difference between DC and Marvel, or have an opinion on the difference between D&D 3.5 and 4E, and they don’t have a favourite Whedon series.

S1 partakes in this fandom, and so I asked her why.  She told me that it’s because he’s powerful, educated, and well spoken.  Women will over look the fact that he was old when their grandparents were born because of these things.

As an educated, well-spoken man, who is aging, ever so slowly, the fact that all I would need to be irresistible to women is power, preferably in the form of an armed faster than light spaceship, well, it’s not something I hate.

Bumpy’s Cafe

There’s this little café I pass on the way to work with a really cool kitschy sign.


Bumpy's Cafe

I always want to head in and check it out, but it’s downtown Calgary, so it’s hours are designed to cater to the flow of business.  They aren’t open late and I’m not getting up early.  I figure it’s cool; downtown Calgary is a ghost town at night, meaning where it isn’t empty, it’s scary.  They shouldn’t have to stay open late because I want to know if I like their food as much as their sign.It is open on weekends, but every time I think about going there, I realize I’d be walking to work on my day off, and it’s just too much to bear, so I never go.

But then I took a week off to hammer out a new draft of my novel, and that Monday morning, I wasn’t quite ready to get to work when I got up.  The idea of walking towards work, then stopping at a café on the way there, and not going in, appealed to me.  So I finally went to Bumpy’s.

While I don’t own a lot of it, I tend to like people who like kitsch.  I may be using the word wrong, but I considerate to mean pop-culture artefacts maintained in part for their novelty value.  People who are into kitsch tend to be eclectic in the best possible way.  They will sample anything, and keep the best of everything, and combine it.  Bumpy’s is cool as soon as you walk in, from the stuff hung on the walls and the retro 1950s ad art style.

I found it a little confusing, as I couldn’t find the wall mounted menu, in part due to the layout.  I didn’t need it that badly, because I know I wanted an ice mocha.  A coffee shop that doesn’t have that should probably just give up.  I did want to see if they had any cool mind-blowing drinks I’ve never heard of.

This menu is a secret. I challenge you to find it.

Being downtown in Calgary means you have to be fast.  People won’t wait, and someone else is willing to be fast if you aren’t.  Speed trumps quality, so if you’re not fast, it doesn’t matter if you’re good.  Bumpy’s was ready for this.  They had a lot of people working in there, and they all seemed like the kind of kids who would hang out there when they weren’t working.  They had some really cute alt and hipster chicks in the crowd behind the counter, but unfortunately I didn’t get to talk to them.  The friendly guy who took my order was awesome and helpful and I almost can’t fault him for being a dude.


Looks alright, but


I got my ice mocha and a breakfast Panini, and this is where things fell apart.  I have a sweet tooth, which is why I go for the mochas.  This one was heavy, and a bit bitter.  Maybe this is more authentic, or some sort of fancy coffee reason I don’t know.  I’m a Canadian boy, and as such Tim Horton’s has taught me Mocha means it should taste like hot chocolate and coffee mixed together.  I expected that, just cold.  Maybe that’s wrong, but it’s like serving unsweetened ice tea in Canada; if you don’t warn your patrons, you’ll lose them due to their expectations of a different product.The Panini was heart breaking.  I expected some twist, like a peppercorn cheese, or sautéed mushrooms.  This may sound hypocritical after what I wrote above, but here’s the deal; mochas are very common, and you can generally expect them to taste a certain way.  Calling a sandwich a Panini means you have a fancy press, and you’re planning to take some liberties with the standard recipe.

This was scrambled eggs and crispy bacon between slices of dry toast.  It was like an egg McMuffin that had quit trying.  I honestly kept waiting for a surprise twist, and became so disappointed I nearly couldn’t finished.  

The prices were in line with what I had expected, which would have meant more if I had liked anything I bought. The sad thing is, it’s such a cool place.  It’s just not a good café.  I still might go back, but mostly just to hang out.  I’d order a cheap drink from the awesome staff, and consider it rent on whatever chair I sat on.


Rating: 2.5 Stars

  •  Atmosphere Star
  • Staff Star
  • ½ Price Star

 Joey takes suggestions.  If you have something you want him to write about, leave a comment or a private message, and he’ll do or review what you’d like.

Miniblog: Cheating at Twitter

Did you know Japanese people cheat at Twitter? Seriously. I mean, you get 140 characters, right? Well, in English, Japanese People takes 14 characters. A 10th of what you’re allowed. In Japanese, it takes 3.

THREE! That’s a 47th of what you use in English!

They can write way more. We need 4.7 times as many characters! So I figure they should be allowed 29.79 characters. That’s all they get.

Make Twitter fair. Take away Japanese characters

Published in: on June 11, 2010 at 12:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Mini Blogging

About two months in, I’ve finally decided what schedule I want to set for this blog.  I was considering three updates a week, but in order to do that, I would need to spend a minimum of two hours a day writing blogs.  Doing two blogs a week halves that, but it is still two hours of blog work every day.

This is so high because of the quality standard I want to maintain.  The blogs I’ve been putting up are rewritten twice, at the very least, and I need to get the pictures, which sometimes means going back to the place I’m writing about, because I didn’t know I’d need pictures when I was there. 

I don’t have a problem writing that much.  I tend to write an hour or two a day.  The problem is, I like to work on a variety of projects.  In order to do two or three updates a week, the blog needs to be my primary project, and I really really want to finish the first draft of my novel.

So I’ve decided each Monday, I will put up a full blog, like the ones I have been writing.  On Wednesday and Friday, I will mini-blog.  These will be things I write quickly, just to have them out there.  The updates can occur any time during the day, instead of being pre-written to go up at midnight.  While I will maintain quality, it won’t be as high as the official weekly update. 

I may be looking to the news or Youtube for inspirations for these mini-blogs when I have nothing else too say.  If I end up with a big enough buffer on real blogs, full blogs will start appearing on Wednesday and Friday, as long as that buffer exists.  I’ll also put up a real blog earlier if it’s time sensitive, like a review.  Otherwise, they’ll be quick little ones like this.

Published in: on June 9, 2010 at 12:32 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Back Alley With My Brother

I don’t try to keep up with David, my younger brother, very often.  I tend to feel old amongst his friends, mostly because they’re much younger than him, too.  I’m Methuselah in their company.  He sometimes gets caught up in trying to impress his group of acolytes; servers, bartenders, and hangers-on, who are drawn to his gregarious personality.  He forgets that they would already follow him over the brink of reason.  He doesn’t need to go big to impress them, but somehow he always decides he needs to out drink them, out party them, out go-without-sleep them, and generally out do them.


Then again, he is my brother, and that does lend itself towards a certain flair for the dramatic.  I’ve just gotten too old to need to do a shot of tequila or stay up till 5 am to prove myself.  I only do those things when I want to, not because someone else thinks I should.  

David gets along with my friends, but I live in a calmer world.  I mean, watch how early in the following tale we lose my social group:  

On Saturday night of May Long Weekend, I invited Matt, Ren, and David over for the sort of thing that lives more in my sort of social gathering than my brothers.  We watched Yatterman, a strange and wonderful piece of Japanese … something.  

Technically a movie, but …

We watched it with no subtitles and drank every time it made no sense.  Ren kept predicting the fucked up things in the movie, like the flowers were missiles, or that Yattergirl could deflect them with a stick.  

The movie is pretty fucked up, so we were nicely drunk by the time it ended.  David and I decided we wanted to go to a bar.  At the mention of such a thing, Matt and Ren vanished.  Matt had important World of Warcraft raiding to do, and Ren, not always the most social individual, was in no mood for the drunken general public that night.  

My friends, in general, are not partiers. 

David asked me to call anyone I knew who would join us.  I scrolled through the contact list on my phone.  There were maybe three people in there who might have gone, and they were out of town.  So he furiously texted a bunch of people while I played poker on my phone as we rode the train to the Back Alley

While drinking, my BlackBerry photography skills are minimal at best...

 We arrived to find a short line out front, who turned out to be smokers finishing their cigarettes before they headed inside.  It appeared the city had been abandoned for the long weekend.  We flashed our IDs at the bouncer and checked our coats.  

 Of all the clubs I’ve ever been to, the Back Alley is by far the best.  The first time I came, it raised my expectations for all clubs forever after, and nowhere else has ever come close.  Mostly, it comes from the music.  Very few clubs play music I like, as I find most dance and top 40 jarring.  Back Alley plays Modest Mouse, the Proclaimers, Rage Against, ACDC, and all sorts of stuff you don’t hear outside of pubs.  I never find myself praying to Zeus to fry the sound system with divine lightning to save my sanity.  

Not the ghost town I had expected

 On top of that, they always keep the crowd at a good size.  Even on the long weekend, we were pleased to find the place was busy, and the dance floor was packed, but we could move, and find a space to breathe if we needed one.  The staff is fun, and seems to enjoy their jobs, even the tit-shot girls who pour a shout of tequila down patrons throat from a hip-holstered bottle, and then motorboat the drinker.  I was a bit surprised they still do this, but I guess they’re will always be a market.  Even the bathroom attendants are unobtrusive and helpful.  Other places, I find them creepy, mostly because in University, the clubs that had them either needed them to ensure you weren’t coking up in the bathroom, or they were selling coke.  In the Back Alley, you never notice them until they drop some liquid soap in your hands and turn on the water, and they keep the place far cleaner than you would expect from such a busy club. 

David and I did a lap around the dance floor, on the off chance anyone we knew was there.  Apparently, even David’s texting was fruitless on May Long, the busiest camping weekend of the year.  We grabbed a pair of stools by the dance floor, and enjoyed a couple of beers and the scenery. 

Two cute girls slid off the dance floor, brunettes in little black dresses, barstars in their prime, and they ask my brother if he’s David.  He feels famous, even though one girl went to school in Stettler with Bev, our youngest sister.  They wanted to dance, but David knows me.  “You need a couple more first, right?” 

“I’ll be fine,” I told him, waving him towards the floor.  “You go, I’ll have some beers and people watch.”  Barstar2, the girl who wasn’t from Stettler, looked really disappointed as the three of them went back to the floor. 

Cute girls don’t know it, but they love to be ignored. 

By 12:34, focus was not my strong point.

I don’t know why, but I always feel part of something when I’m enjoying the same music as people around me.  I always get that feeling in the Back Alley.  I’m involved in whatever everyone in the building is involved in, and it’s not like a Starbucks, where people are in public, but each table is an island.  Everyone is here, in the same place.  I think it’s something we avoid, with iPods and carefully ignoring everyone around us.  I know I’m guilty of it too, and it’s nice to step out into a bigger world, even if it’s just for a few hours. 

I'm 93% certian this is the bartender I'm talking about

When I went and grabbed another beer from the bartender, she’s par for the course here; stunningly gorgeous, down to Earth, and glad you’re there.  I often find servers in busy clubs seem bored, and are faking that you’re not a hassle.  Staff at the Back Alley treat you like you’re attending their party, at their house.  Sure, they’re busy, but they’re having a great time, and it’s really important to them that you are too.I got lost in the crowd, enjoying the people around me.  I saw old friends running into each other by surprise, new couples clumsily batting tongues as if they’re alone, people lost in the sound and dancing their hearts out, and the strange, flamboyant people with Mohawks and feather boas, trying to find themselves and praying no one notices they’re lost.  I mouthed the words to songs and slipped like a shadow through the club, soaking up all the spilled drops of life stories. 

After a while, David and the Barstars came off the floor, and we did a round of Jaggerbombs.  “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by the Proclaimers came on, and Barstar2 and I shouted the lyrics at each other.  She asked us if everyone from Stettler Line dances.  As she did, the only country song they play all night comes on, and it was “Cadillac Ranch” by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, so in the back of the bar David, Barstar1 and I formed a line and showed them what we learn in Junior High School in small town Alberta. 

I was trying to be a good brother here, and wingman for David.  The problem is, he hadn’t chosen his Barstar of preference, so we kept switching girls.  Since he wouldn’t pick, I was waiting for them to do it for him.  They either couldn’t decide who wants whom, or neither is willing to settle for the runner up, or “Little Brother” prize, as I like to call him. 

This went on for a while, and at some point later in the evening, we got separated from the Barstars, who find guys who will buy them drinks to impress them.  Suddenly, they seemed very thirsty.  David is poor, and I was just sober enough to remember it’s often a mistake to hook up with a 20 year old Barstar.  I’m not saying I wouldn’t, but I’m not willing to spend fifty bucks to get her drunk to seal the deal.  Or twenty bucks.  We gave them another beer (which is a unit of time in which it takes us to consume a single beer, we really weren’t buying them drinks by this point) to choose cool over guys who have nothing to offer but a drink, and then headed over to say goodbye before we grab a cab. 

They were super disappointed, but they walked away from us, so we returned the favour.  David grabbed both their numbers, and they were also disappointed when I don’t ask.  They have little to offer me outside of their little black dresses, except being out of their little black dresses, and I’m not taking a rain check on that.  Barstar2 hugs me goodbye, which catches me unaware, and is really awkward until I call her clingy.  David and Barstar1 laughed, and she caught on that it was a joke.  She seemed to learn an important lesson about whoring herself out for vodka slimes. 

David and I took a cab back to my place, where he crashed on the couch.  I have a very small stash of Aquarius, and after drinking hard for twelve hours, I decided to pre-cure my hangover. 

This is what magic looks like

As I fell asleep, I thought about how after I go to most clubs, I don’t want to go back ever again, or at least for six months.  I never get that with the Back Alley.  I was ready to go back the next day…


Final Rating: 5 Star

As stated above, I love the Back Alley, so that get all the stars:

  • Drink Star
  • Staff Star
  • Price Star
  • Music Star
  • Atmosphere Star


Seriously, did you go to Joey’s Twitter yet?