Sep 29

Copperfield’s

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 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 do a little history now. 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 every night after work, and I felt like part of a greater thing. I thought that putting on that Copperfields uniform 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 others back. Nobody messed with the waitresses, without getting their head bounced off the center post of the front door 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, but 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 things make you feel good”.

While he was trying to comprehend 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 to get to his much smaller friend.  Right about then, one of my bouncer buddies came and picked me up, reminding me that I was five and a half feet tall, and as much as I claimed invincibility, that I was in fact mortal.  That didn’t stop me from telling Big Neck, that he was lucky the bouncer had me, which seemed like the proper thing to say at the time.

Actually, it was 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 punch at the same time, so the blows weren’t as hard as I thought it would be. I cheered joyously when the other doormen threw him out, and came back to give me a stern talking to, while explaining that he was waiting outside, and I had best go sit down and wait for my ride.

The next morning I woke up in the back of my buddy’s pickup.  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, and not letting any hot chicks rape me while I was too drunk to remember it.

Make sure you practice your long division,

Birdman

Sep 28

We have a winner

This was a pretty easy decision Stacey.

I was BBQing some burgers when I got home from work and avoiding the shrieks of an eight year old who has just realized that her doll has been thoroughly molested. I knew it was inevitable that I would have to witness some discipline tonight, shit was just getting out of hand. I don’t dole out a lot of punishment myself, and it’s probably a good thing, because I’m kind of old school that way, but I am at the ready to give a bellow whenever called upon.

This is a dramatization

Luckily the girls are very good and get along just splendidly, but every so often, they have just had enough of each other and things get heavy. I’m lucky(I think) that my lady is extremely patient when dealing with her children, and treats them like real people. Where I would probably just yell as loud as I could until someone paid attention to me. She calmly explains what is going to happen next and why the consequences that are happening, are happening. It’s actually quite amazing to me that fighting with your child until you cry out of frustration and eventually have a nervous breakdown, is not in fact the key to making children behave. (I am so sorry Mom, I love you very much) So with the TV and ipod privileges taken away, they both ate their supper and calmly asked if the could ride their bikes. I was thinking there would be no way that was happening, not after that display of childishness. When they were told that they could ride on the sidewalk until dark, I was a bit surprised and skeptical, but said nothing, because her methods have been working so far.

A little bit younger, but pretty frigging accurate

Twenty minutes later they arrived and explained that they had apologized to each other and went about the various studying and doll playing that leads up to getting ready for bed. Wait, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. There was no shouting at them, no one got spanked, or better yet The Belt. Now that I think about it, they weren’t even grounded, or put to bed. I’m totally confused now because kids need to be spanked and yelled at once in a while, ask my Dad. I don’t understand these newfangled ways, but in the year we’ve been together they’ve seemed to work pretty good. I find it crazy that I am not talking to them like they are too young to understand the complexities of how life works. When they ask a question, I answer them like I’d answer anyone, and they seem to respect me for that. They are actually much smarter than I was at their ages, and a hell of a lot cuter. That’s saying a lot, because everyone said I was the cutest little fucker they ever did see, but that was a long time ago, when people drank more cocktails during the day than they do now.

C'mon I was cute. Right?

Please hold me in your arms,

Birdman

Sep 25

Old horses

Well, I dragged my slightly crippled ass to the ball tournament and kept the bench as dry as I could for the real athletes on the team. I still don’t understand how we got a fourth game, but we did, and that’s all that matters. I didn’t get to see the final game, but I was there in spirit (which, incidentally, is usually better than when I show up), and I still get to go to the dance later, so yay for me. I am going to be the designated driver tonight, and try to present myself in a respectable manner. This is a new endeavour, so wish me luck. I was able to resist beer, jello shots and pregnant gummy worms, so I should be able to make it through the night nursing a beer or two.I’m actually looking forward to hanging with the gang tonight. Sure we knock back a couple after the games, but most of them were well on their way to being shitfaced when I left at 2:00 pm, I shudder to think about how fun those bastards are going to be by 8 or so.

I used to play ball a lot when I was young, and enjoyed the hell out of it, but when I started driving truck, I couldn’t commit to any specific times during the week, so I didn’t play anymore. We actually lucked out this year, by finding a very fun and cool group of people, that coincidentally, play on Sunday nights, and don’t give a shit if we win or lose. That’s our kind of crowd, and our kind of schedule. I can’t wait to barrel roll for you bastards next year.

 GO STRAY CATS GO 

Please don’t let Kenny drive,

Birdman

 

 

Sep 24

I was expecting a little more fanfare than that.

You would think that after being off for three days, I’d at least get a bugler or a piper to announce my return to work. I mean, I am the star employee, aren’t I? I guess he did ask if I was feeling better, so that’s kinda good, and I had a pretty easy day, as far as trucking goes, but not one cartwheel, YAHOO or town crier. Hmmmmm, maybe mom was right, I may really be replaceable. Damn her and her all knowing ways.

Speaking of completely random topic changes, (and that is why we’re here, isn’t it?), why is it that it’s mostly men that pay for sex? I would think that all this talk about equality would have changed things on that front. I know all kinds of single women that are always going on about how they can’t get laid. Yeah right. Like you don’t have the time to walk into a bar and yell, “I’m horny”. You ladies can deny it all you want, but if you’re just looking for a quick romp, seven out of ten men will jump on that pony and ride it til it dies. Thankfully, I’m one of the other three guys, you know the ones that are usually drunk in the background guffawing and shouting encouragement to the others and then running home to tell their better half how they didn’t have any fun, and were only thinking of her the whole time.

I really am one of the lucky ones. After thirty eight years of searching, I found the perfect match for me in every way. Every day is something new and amazing, and I wake up each morning excited at the thought of getting off work and going home to those three beautiful ladies. I know there are a lot of dads out there that completely understand that feeling, but this is all new to me. Up until now, the greatest connection I’ve ever had, other than my mother, was with animals. No not like that, you bunch of freaks. I mean that bond, where you would do anything in your power to protect them, because you can, and they might not be able to fully protect themselves. Where you value another life more than your own, and have recurring visions of what you would do if a bear attacked them, or a car veered off the road towards them. You know every time that you will sacrifice yourself to give them the chance. Jesus, that’s pretty grim, if those are my visions, right? Should I maybe see someone about that? I truly hope it never comes down to it, but if it does, I already know that I will be riding that bear to the ground with my thumb in it’s eye and my Leatherman in it’s neck,screaming “Get them to the car, I’ll be ok”.

Don’t let the bedbugs bite,

Birdman

Sep 23

I May Have Jumped The Gun

Birdman

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been trampled by a herd of Woodland Caribou. I guess I got feeling a little too rambunctious and invincible at the thought of finally being rid of the stone. I have slept and lounged around all day, and barely had enough energy to type this blog entry up.

I’m back to work tomorrow, so I guess it’s good to rest. What the hell am I saying? I shouldn’t be feeling this old yet. I’m not even forty for the love of Pete. Wait, am I forty now? No, I’m pretty sure I’m thirty nine still.

Holy shit, time is starting to gain ground on me, and I don’t like it. Two weeks ago I was riding my bicycle with my brother on what we thought was the longest bike ride taken by man. We got to pack a lunch, and ride to the gravel pit, where we set up camp and ate our sandwiches, hand picked apples and cookies. We had a wineskin full of Freshie and a few survival tools in the backpack (I think there was a compass and a jackknife). We were knights on our hard journey, and no one could have told us that four miles could easily be cycled in an hour or so. Okay, maybe that wasn’t two weeks ago, but it certainly couldn’t be have been thirty years, could it?

image

Every once in a while I’ll notice it in the mirror. The lines, age spots, tired eyes, etc… I wonder what we do it all for? Is this what life was intended to be like for the human race? I have a hard time believing that from the dawn of existence, (I’ll let you all figure out what that means) we were meant to work our asses off, just to be able to possess some “things”. I love Thoreau’s outlook on life from the shores of Walden Pond. He realized that there is more to life than keeping up appearances and slaving your life away for someone else. He wanted to live his life deliberately, and so he did.

There is a life to live out there, and we shouldn’t go to the grave with any regrets, so call your brother up. Ask him if he wants to go for a ride or a beer and talk about how you miss those days. Maybe that gravel pit is still there, or the offspring of that apple tree. Eat a couple of apples while you throw rocks at nothing and think back to simpler times. Cherish these moments, because you can, and because you never know if you’ll get the chance.

Enjoy what life has to offer my friends,

Birdman

P.S. Don’t have too many beer when you get together. There are few things worse than staving drunk assholes, crying about how they need to spend more time together, and vomiting beer mixed with sour apple chunks.