This evening my wife was sitting at the desk, probably looking at some video on youtube. Her sister was watching over her shoulder holding Charlie.

The sister-in-law has a habit of holding Charlie vertical with one hand under his hind quarters and one hand on his chest. I’m not sure if this is comfortable for him but he gets really excited every time he sees her so maybe he does.

So there they are, watching some video when there is an audible tooting sound. It unmistakably came from Charlie. Charlie has definitely farted before (that little dog can clear a room) but it’s always been silent.

This is the exhaust end. Beware.

There was a pause of astonishment that this usually silent killer had decided to give his best impression of the horn section.

Then came the realization that the sister-in-law had her one hand directly covering Charlie’s posterior and she was holding him right beside the Missus’ head.

This made me smile and for once you really could blame it on the dog.

~Kbshea

Ps. Fart jokes are always funny.

Calgary, Alberta, Canada (this is just above Montana for those of you whose geography lessons terminated after the 50 states and their respective capitals).

My brothers and I, accompanied by our significant others, and my very-good-best-buddy descended upon the city for a weekend of cowboy-inspired shenanigans.

As I mentioned in my last post, the catalyst for our gathering was the Calgary Stampede.

The Missus and I arrived by plane Friday night around 9pm. Historically, travel by dogsled has been a cheaper, albeit lengthier option of travel but the effects of global warming have all but shattered the passenger dogsled industry in the more southernly stretches of Canada.

We were met at the airport by the older brother  (note that older does not necessarily imply more responsible) who we’ll call “Doctor.” He quickly whisked us over to a small party being hosted by the younger brother and his “lady-friend” (his words, not mine) who we’ll call “Pinky” and “the Brain” (I’ll let you figure out which is which).

My very-good-best-buddy, we’ll call him “Raymond,” had already arrived and managed to pull together some team jersey’s for us.

Being a few hours behind I quickly donned my jersey and dove head first into the action with a can of Pilsner in one hand and a gong in the other. After all, this was “Gong Show ‘09.”

The night progressed as they usually do. We drank slightly faster than is truly responsible. And we told embarrassing stories about each other and poked fun as our way of saying we were glad to see each other (when you grow up with 3 brothers there aren’t a lot of “I” statements being made).

By midnight Doctor and Pinky’s shirts were sufficiently shrunken from the dryer so we could now hit up a bar and our first taste of the Stampede night life.

The tell-tale signs that you’ve found a Stampede caliber bar are the bails of hay out front (in case your horse gets the munchies).

We walked in to a live band in cowboy hats playing country music. Perfect. We saddled up to the bar, ordered a few pitchers, and got down to business. We drank, we danced, we made comments about the people who were uglier/skankier than us. It was a good time.

But like all good times, this one came to an end right around last call. Doctor put Mrs. Doctor in a cab and Raymond left to find his truck where he was going to grab his over-night bag and make his way to the condo where he’d be staying.

Note: We found out the next day that Raymond decided that a cab ride would be too expensive so he slept in his truck. At least it’s a king cab.

Pinky and the Brain led us back to their condo where the Missus and I passed out on the blow-up mattress. Doctor decided that the couch would work for him.

Time to get some rest before the real show begins.

~Kbshea

No such thing as a little gong.

It took less than 48 hours but noise we made on the weekend of July 10 will resonate through my memory for years to come. Plus, we had an actual gong to legitimize the festivities.

The usual suspects were there: two of my brothers and and their significant lady-friends, my very good best buddy, and the Missus. And the playground we’d be playing in? The Calgary Stampede.

For 10 days at the beginning of every July Calgary hosts the largest outdoor rodeo on Earth along with a large midway and agricultural exhibition.*

Along with the bulls and the blood, the dust and the mud, are rides, games, fried bread in various forms, livestock shows, farm equipment sales, and cowboy hats. Oh, and did I mention that there’s beer? And lots of it?

For those 10 glorious days the entire city of about 1 million inhabitants magically turn into tourists in their own home. It’s amazing.

Because here’s the dirty little truth: there just aren’t that many cowboys in Calgary. Maybe 15, 20 tops. This is ironic because Calgary is known as “Cowtown.”

Real cowboys.

All the real cowboys (and cowgirls) come from the surrounding countryside, the Great Plains of Canada and the US, the vast expanse of Texas, California, and the Land Down Under.

So, for the other 93% of us, the Stampede becomes an excuse to indulge our secret John Wayne fantasies right down the the public drunkenness, bar fights, and scoring with the damsel in distress.  With every bar, restaurant, beer garden, and corner store offering drink specials, mechanical bull rides, radio-style contests, and much more, things have a tendency to get messy.  And not just because of all the cow patties and road apples.

Showing off the guns.

So messy in fact that, according to my younger brother, the crime rate goes up; divorce cases increase; drug use, alcohol consumption, and prostitution sky rocket; emergency wards are flooded; and, apparently there is a spike in the birth rate 9 months later.

Tangent: I find this last one a little iffy. Conception in July means a spring baby, which is quite common if one is trying to avoid pregnancy during the hot summer months (I hear it’s very uncomfortable).

Regardless, the Stampede is a gong show. So we decided we should be there. Part II will be up in a day or two. Stay tuned.

~Kbshea

* This claim may or may not be true depending on which factors used to determine “large.” The National High School Finals Rodeo has the most participants (about 1,500). The Stampede is by far the largest rodeo in Canada and it’s $2 million purse ranks it as one of the richest rodeos around.

For almost a year now I’ve been periodically sitting down at my keyboard to spout off on random topics or regale the ethernet with stories of my tomfoolery.

Even during my ranting and raving I have tried, and largely succeeded, to keep a sense of humour throughout my writing.  Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.

Slight tangent: A study forced people to mimic smiling by biting on a pencil for an extended period of time and then gauged their feelings. Researchers found that these people overall were happier than those subjects who were not required to “smile.”  Apparently, happiness can cause us to smile and smiling can also cause us to become happy.

But sometimes life happens and even the clown has to remove his make-up and put away the squeaky nose.

If you’re used to reading this site as a way to distract yourself from whatever tedious task you are trying to avoid, or if you’re just not interested in hearing a sad story, then I would suggest not continuing on and come back in a few days when I’ve returned to the lighter side of life.

If you are interested in continuing on then click the link and I’ll meet you on the other side.

1. Uggs. I don’t care how comfortable they are, they look incredibly sloppy. And no matter how trendy they are they just don’t go with anything except sweatpants and if you’re going to go out in public, we’d all appreciate you putting yourself together at least a little bit.

How could you possibly leave this tied up on the street?

2. People who take their dogs to restaurants, tie them up outside, and then proceed to spend the next hour inside having dinner. People, either leave your dog at home where they can at least roam around the house instead of looking so incredibly pathetic tied to a parking meter, or eat dinner outside where your dog can actually enjoy your company. Your pets are loyal to you, return the favour.

3. Pedestrians. I don’t own a car and so this is coming from one pedestrian to all the rest. This is also mostly aimed at people in the Bay area, though it definitely extends beyond regional borders. I only have one question, what the f#@$ are you thinking? Okay, maybe two questions. Do you really think that a set of laws that drivers only need to know 80% of are going to be enough to protect you from 4,000 lbs. of steel when you are convinced that you have the “right of way?” In reality, the right of way belongs to those who are bigger, and a car is always bigger. Please value your life more than some higher ideal you may hold about whether or not vehicles should stop for you. Dumbasses.

4. People who ‘mm-hmm’ too much. I’m all for people being active listeners and I think that it’s important to make enough eye-contact and give enough verbal feedback so as to continue the conversation. But. Have you seen Old School where Will Farrell and his wife are in counselling and the counsellor goes, “mmhmm, mmhmm, mhm, mhm, mhmm”? (There’s a tree with a nest.) Now take that 4 seconds of movie gold and put it in a real conversation over a 20 minute period and it can get annoying. Really annoying. What this says to me is that you’ve been trained to pretend to listen but you’ve already determined what preconceived response you’re going to give and you’re just waiting for me to shut the hell up so you can tell me why I’m flawed. Awesome. Please be my friend. (By the way, if you haven’t seen Old School yet, we can no longe be friends.)

5. These people. Saw them on the street the other day. I don’t even know where to begin with these people. Honestly. You compared Obama to Hitler? Really!!!???!!

6. Bluetooth ear pieces. The problem with bluetooth ear pieces is two-fold. The first is that it validates those dip-sh!!$ who think it’s cool to be seen talking on one of these things. Wrong. These are tools to help people who are forced to be on the phone for countless hours, or who drive and are required by law to use one, or who constantly have their hands full but have to talk to their boss anyways. The second problem is that I no longer have a clear idea of who is crazy.  I can no longer tell who is jabbering on to themselves and who is just having a completely ridiculous conversation with someone and I don’t know because they have long hair, thus, covering up the ear piece.

7. Sapporo beer. This one is simple. Sapporo beer can be found in almost every sushi restaurant and is a decent imported beer. The problem? It’s not imported from Japan. It’s imported from Guelph, Ontario which is about an hour from Toronto. Even in Toronto this beer is sold as an import even though the beer you’re drinking never crosses a national border. Because of this, I drink Asahi in sushi restaurants and I’ve found that it’s generally cheaper. Don’t believe me, check the can the next time you buy one. Correct me if I’m wrong.

And, I’m out.

~Kbshea