16 August 2017
14 August 2017
Was a time if you attended games at Nat Bailey Stadium you would have attended with my friends and I: The Beer Army. We had some kind of fun in the bleachers there.
Then the AAA franchise fucked off to Sacramento and The Beer Army found better shit to do than follow the A franchise which took its place. Much as people around here lost interest in NBA basketball after the Grizzlies fucked off. Disloyalty is not something us Beers take kindly to.
The Expos scramming South sealed baseball in a coffin for what I figured would be the rest of my life.
Today though I found myself once again in the East End grandstand. The baseball was good (Salem's wild man starting pitcher Stetson Woods made a fan of me); the beer cold as ever; the fans both charming and civil, qualities of Dope City that are getting rarer by the day.
12 August 2017
Woke up this morning
My dog was dead
North Korea is still there
Same goes for the President
Systems Normal All Fucked Up Baby
Difficult to comprehend
When I live in a country
With a Prime Minister
On the cover of the Rolling Stone
And the province I call home
Is an Eco-Socialist Paradise run by pot smoking craft brewers
7 August 2017
Drank a little with my mom and Reggie yesterday. Sonja on the red, scotch for me, beer for my mom, Reggie on the rum. Martinis at 5:00.
Red moon when the sun went down.
After a time my mom disappeared for a spell and when she reappeared she produced an old air mail envelope postmarked 9 SEP 1976. Addressed to my mom and Beer Sr. Written by Beer Jr.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I've been in school a week now. The amount of fucking homework is stupendous. Teachers and my fellow students say it hasn't even started yet.
My subjects are English and European History (1603 - 1715); Geography - physical, climatology and mapwork; English - Shakespeare, short stories, Milton and poetry. Those are my A levels. In addition to those I am taking Political Science and General Studies. English kids' studies are too advanced for me in every other subject offered but I should be able to ace all that shit.
The guys in school are super. Everybody is a fucking rocker like me. Going to die young or get crippled trying.
The teachers don't like to come down to your level and talk to you. Very academic. Make me write everything with an ink pen. They all go the pub every day for lunch.
Weather is very warm!
I received Axel's letter. Tell him to try not to drink as much as his big brother.
I'm in the pool tourney with one of the lads and his girlfriend at the Nag's Head tomorrow. Eight Ball is new to them so maybe I will show them up.
I just finished reading 75 pages of a book called "Introducing Shakespeare." Fucking English think they invented the language. Shakespeare is ok but he is no Hunter S. Thompson.
During games period Wednesday afternoons I am playing field hockey. I scored 3 goals today and added an assist. (A star is born!) They don't know shit about hockey in this country. All they know is football and they aren't even that good at that.
I took the wrong bus home from the pub yesterday. When I asked somebody where the fuck I was when I got off they could not understand me because of my Canadian accent.
I went into London last weekend. The English people seem concerned about all the wogs in their country. That's what they call darkies here. Wogs. I don't think I would want to be a wog in this country.
Saw Piccadilly, Oxford Street, Carnaby Street - all tourist shit. Saw one of the Queen's cars too - or it could have been a decoy. Fucking Roller - all the windows smoked in. The IRA want to fuck her up. I don't know what they are waiting for.
We went to a pub and drank 18% beer. That was fucking excellent. I didn't even heave until I had to roll down the car window on the way home and paint a flame down the side of their car. Fuckers must have wanted me to heave making drink beer like that.
Let me know how the Canucks are doing next time you write. Crap I'll bet. Those motherfuckers are never going to win shit!
6 August 2017
It has been sweet (if not innocent) (aside from the gang war) (and the fucking smoke) as a country fair princess here in Steepleton the past few weeks. Long accustomed to cabinet positions and undue influence in both Canada's and British Columbia's distant capitals we are now bereft of both. Even our Liberal Member of Parliament, a political featherweight, who having made his Ottawa riding our pop star Prime Minister like a bug boy on a champion thoroughbred has discovered hick town berry farmer heavyweights such as himself have less influence in that assembly than the dust on the shelves of the Parliamentary library.
One of our sad excuses for a provincial MLA has been raising enough of a mutinous fuss within the new Official Opposition to suggest he has eyes on the now vacant leadership of that wayward ship. I suppose I should wish him well but I shan't. My hick town and its overly Christian, yet unchristianlike political success stories, have yet to ever produce a Premier. Not likely to happen if he is successful in a leadership bid either - the rest of the province can put up with a Steepletonian in a cabinet post but leary as a Haitian refugee in America of someone from my city attaining Dear Leader status.
If only Steepleton would grow up, as Canadian cities all eventually do, and elect Socialists to replace the crackpot conservative as a car dealer with a cocaine and prostitute habit lot who have, since white folk and their brown sawmill workers settled this once pristine Indian territory, controlled city council with the backward flair of the last man in town holding the reins of a horse and buggy.
5 August 2017
There have been forest fires here in British Columbia. We are a much treed place. It is summer. Fires in British Columbia during summer are about as notable as a sunny day on the moon. British Columbia in summer is like a fire place jammed full of matches in a house full of unethical Anarchists.
Difference is the big bad Anarchists have been busier than usual.
We are bathed in the orange glow of the sun. We are choked by smoke thick as a licorice milk shake. We all smell like we have been camping for a week five minutes after we have showered. We are dazed. Confused. We lack oxygen.
It is like living on another planet.
The government, ever helpful motherfuckers they are, suggest we spend the day in malls because their air filtration systems are among the few capable of filtering out the microscopic particles choking us to fucking death.
Trouble is our malls, very damn few of them at any rate, do not have bars. Only one I can think of that does is Nordstrom's. Sonja and I will be there all weekend drinking their cold beer, red wine and breathing their air.
See you there, motherfuckers.
3 August 2017
I do not have all the records released by many artists. Guess I lack the completeist's zeal. If my first record had been Jerry Lee Lewis's album he made in 1970 with his sister Linda Gail called "Together" (one of Jerry Lee's few not on a shelf of mine) I would have ruined the uncommon joy I got when I put it on for the first time last night. So good I briefly wished I worked in a meth lab in Tennessee instead of fucking sawmill in British Columbia.
I am even missing a live album by Lou Reed, couple of the same by Neil Young and the Drive By Truckers and a 45 by DOA.
I do, however, have every motherfucking record by Steve Earle. Got his newest on the turntable this very minute. Is not making me want to develop a heroin habit like his records used to do.
Heroin is not half powerful enough to numb the pain that is 2017.
1 August 2017
The firework show in Dope City never fails to attract one fuck of a lot of spectators. Hell, I even went once.
My punk rock buddies joined our fellow firework lovers one summer in the early '80s.
I would have one of my fellow punk rock buddies tell you the story of our Fireworks Night but none of them remember the experience clearly.
We got a little fucked up. Somebody (not saying who!) had to take a shit and there was nowhere to shit so they shit in the manicured garden outside one of the apartments with one of the best views of the fireworks.
"You can't fucking shit there!" somebody yelled at the shitter.
"Fuck you I can't," the shitter corrected him.
The yeller, a bottom floor dweller, slammed his window closed and ran out to show the shitter he meant business. The shitter's friends were with him by then, having finished pissing on the side of building just out of sight of the yeller.
Steel toe boots. Black leather. Steel belt buckles. Bad fucking attitudes.
The shitting in the garden did not seem so bad all sudden like.
30 July 2017
Dope City once had something I regarded as its best quality: it was easy to get the fuck out of. Not so much any more.
Been nearly a generation since you could fly out without spending far too much time and money doing so.
The ferries to Canada's 11th province require similar amounts of patience and money to make an escape.
Despite a billion dollars in improvements to the highway north to go visit Gene Simmons it remains clogged as an Indian train station.
The highway to the east is generally more clogged than an Indian train station's loo.
The only remotely convenient way out of Dope City left are the train that takes you upriver to the east and drops you near my place. No one does that unless they are coming this way for a weekend Bible retreat.
If, as I predict will happen under our new government's watch, the rail line which too passes near my place re-opens after being closed to the public for much longer than I have been alive, opportunities to become better acquainted with your Bible (and, to be fair, some excellent bicycling routes) will have more than doubled as the southern rail line ends much further to the east.
29 July 2017
Not clear what value my Anarchist/Communist opinions have when comes to who the fuck Social Credit choose to be their next leader. Fuck them, eh! Like the Canadian dollar, however, I consider my opinion to be undervalued much of the time.
My choice for the new Social Credit Leader would be Ellis Ross - fucker who took Skeena for Social Credit for the first time in a long time. In politics, you must always (always) follow where your momentum takes you.
If it takes you to the fucking bushes, so be it.