Sep 26

My Nineteenth Birthday

A friend wanted some Copperfield’s stories, so I shall regale you with the story of my nineteenth birthday, but first I’ll let the uninformed know about the phenomenon that was Copperfield’s.

Every small town has/had a version of Copperfield’s. You know the place, good food, ten-cent-wing night and lots of booze.  It transformed from a family restaurant into a dance club from Thursday to Saturday. There was hot, charismatic waitresses and bartenders; big, huggable bouncers (well, I’m sure someone hugged them); and a great DJ that put the cock in cocky (and anything else with two tits and a heartbeat). It was a very comfortable place to drink for an entire generation and my second home for a few years.

Let’s go back in time.

When I was sixteen or seventeen, I worked as a busboy and bar porter there and it facilitated my foray into manhood. I partied with the rest of the staff after work, and I felt like part of a greater thing. I thought that putting on that Copperfields shirt meant that I was part of the elite team. People didn’t mess with you if you had that shirt on, because everyone had each other’s back. Nobody messed with the waitresses, without getting their head bounced off the center post of the front doors as they were being “escorted” out, or getting surreptitiously punched by a busboy as the doorman was carrying them across the floor. You just felt safe there (or at least I did), but alas, everyone has to move on sometime.

Fast forward a couple years to my nineteenth birthday. I had a double shot of Jack Daniels and a couple of beer for lunch, followed by half a dozen rye and gingers for dessert. I then headed for Copperfield’s for supper and some libations. Because it was my birthday, and the fact that I knew the staff, I was treated to several happy birthday shooters. I was doing pretty good as I didn’t puke until Ferg gave me the “Formula One” (Thanks pal, but I still say it was Scope).

So there I was, happily shit faced, and sitting with a friend, when I decided I might need to see a man about a horse. As I swerved my way to the washroom, a small guy, about my size, said “How’s it going there, Goggles?”

I was taken aback.  Being one who was never into taking shit from anybody, I replied, “That’s really cool to make fun of drunk people that have obvious physical impairments. I guess when you don’t have the mental capacity to be a decent human being, these are the things that make you feel good about yourself.”

While he was trying to figure out the insult I had directed his way, I turned around and set my glasses on the table and remarked, “The goggles are off now asshole.”

That was when his rather large-necked, tough-looking friend stepped in and explained how I was going to have to fight him first if I wanted to get to his much smaller friend.

This seemed unfair to me but my mom didn’t raise me to complain about life not being fair so I agreed to beat up the two of them and then took a couple of steps back to get a better run at this situation. Right about then, one of my bouncer buddies came and picked me up off the ground, reminding me that I was five and a half feet tall, 145 pounds, and as much as I claimed invincibility, that I was in fact mortal.

All of those things may have been true but that didn’t stop me from telling Big Neck that he was lucky the bouncer had me, which seemed like the right thing to say at the time.

It turned out to be the exact opposite of the right thing to say at the time.  Big Neck ran up and started smashing me about the head and neck with his club-like fists. Luckily for me, my friend could walk fast and Big Neck seemed unable to walk and fight at the same time, so the blows weren’t as hard as I thought they would be.

I cheered joyously as the other doormen threw him out and came back to give me a stern talking to. They told me that he was waiting outside, and I had best go sit down and wait for my ride. I guess I must have followed instructions.

The next morning I woke up in my buddy’s pickup truck.  It seems I slept through the rest of my time at the bar, the after party, and the ride home.  I’m still indebted to my friends for preventing my early demise, and most of all to Joey, for making sure I made it home safe with my goggles, and for not letting any hot chicks rape me while I was too drunk to remember it.

Sep 13

Life Is Good. For Me.

Don’t you think?

Sure, sometimes things happen that make you get all mopey and shit, but all in all, I would say that I have been dealt a pretty decent hand.

I have a wife that I not only love, but like very much as well. My health is relatively good, I am usually employed, and I eat pretty well, as is evident by the shrinking pants episodes. Our soap is selling as fast as we can make it, two of the chickens are laying, and we were able to put enough worm compost in the gardens to completely rejuvenate the soil.

I did get laid off a few weeks ago, but as I was filling out my unemployment forms online, a company that I used to work for called to see if I was available, and they will work around my schedule, so that’s extremely helpful. We were also able to get out a couple of times on the quad, and down to Jasper for a little R&R this summer.

Like I said, it’s been pretty good for us.

Too bad it doesn’t go this well for everyone.

Some of you may remember a little spat that was going on in a game I play. I’m not going to link it, because the party involved seems to think that it is a fan page dedicated to him. Anyhow, after letting a few things slip about how they are keeping up with my blogs, I started to get a bit worried that maybe the line had been crossed from the game into personal life. I backed off of conversing in the game, as I should have done from the start, but by now there were more people harassing and abusing me in the game, so I decided to throw caution to the wind.

Bad choice on my part.

Yesterday, one or more of those players started leaving harassing comments on our business website. The first one I played off, as they left a crude, fake email address, and used one of the players from the other team as a user name.

I changed the email, and the name, but left the comment up, because I thought that it might have been a one off, and decided to have a bit of fun with it.

Another bad choice.

Today, I received three more comments with similar messages, falsified emails, and user names.

The three today were sent from the same IP address, which is a Telus address, but the one yesterday was from an Xplornet IP. Do I call the police with them, even though there has been no threats? Normally I would just duke it out on the battlefield, but I have a family now, and other people to worry about.

I have seen them personally attack others in the game, but as far as I knew, it was only in the game. Now it has become malicious in real life and is attempting to attack a part of our livelihood, and who knows what else.

I guess I should at least mention it to the RCMP, in case it escalates further and they can at least have a history of what’s been happening.

I should have just listened to my wife and ignored all of this, but how was I to know that an adult might have so little to do with their time, that this seems like a viable pastime?

Birdman

Oct 06

Therapy Thursdays #1

newtherapythursday

Dear Birdman,

I hear you are an expert when it comes to controlling problem wildlife. I have troubles with raccoons getting into everything year after year and was wondering if you had any advice on how to keep them away?

Frank

First off, can’t you come up with a decent name like they do in the professional advice columns? Something like Rabidly Hating Raccoons, or Not Cool With Coons? Whatever. Just because I have no experience at this, doesn’t mean that I’m cheap and don’t deserve to be treated with advice columnist respect.

Now I don’t claim to be an expert in anything, but I do know that you must be a simpleton if you are trying to keep raccoons away. They are fucking delicious. My advice is to get a weapon of some sort and what I do is throw some rotting chicken or other meat out in the garbage and wait for the little bastards to try and open it. That’s when they taste my stout club,(but you can use whatever) right behind the ear. Another way I’ve heard of is to live trap and drown them, but I won’t trade a speedy kill for extra tender meat, especially if I have to look into those big brown eyes as I slowly lower them into the rain barrel. That’s just inhumane. Some of the neighbours get pissed off with the noise, what with the screaming and flailing if they don’t die right away, but I just send over a small pot of this delicious stew and that usually keeps them quiet for a while.

Raccoon Stew

~ 1 raccoon, cleaned, skinned and quartered
~ pepper
~ 4 cups water
~ 2 carrots, diced
~ 1 stalk celery, diced
~ 2 large potatoes, cubed
~ salt

In a large pot, place the meat and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook for 1 hour.
Remove meat and allow to cool. Discard water.Remove meat from bones and cut into 1” – 2” cubes. Sprinkle with pepper.Add meat back to pot and add water, carrots, celery and potatoes. Season to taste with salt.Bring to a boil, reduce heat and cook until veggies are tender. Adjust seasoning if needed.Serve and enjoy.

Love thy neighbour… if they’re hot,

Birdman

P.S. Please send all questions to birdman@changethetopic.com. They will all be posted on the following Thursday. If you don’t send any, then I will be forced to invent shit, and you won’t like it.

Oct 04

Alls I’m sayin’ is…

I don’t put plates with food on them in the sink because I’m not a savage, and the sink is constantly full of cold, oily water. Other than that, everything is pretty accurate.

Oh, and no more big stories from my phone, until it has autosave anyhow (that took the soul from my bosom). If I get home early enough tonight, I’ll finish the stupid guy in the canoe story.

Tony Danza sucks,

Birdman