lofty company

My first trip to the Centennial Library in Hay River provided me a with a nice guffaw. On a rack, sat a book about a tool that I don't think really should have been in the company of its shelf-mates greats. Among the Beatles, Pavarottis, Buddy Hollys and Kurt Cobains, I found a book about... Clay Aitken???

One of these things just doesn't belong...

Really?

Actually, maybe it's not the only book that doesn't belong... and I guess I shouldn't be surprised, as this is definitely not the only spot where this is happening.

Although really, Clay Aitken on that shelf would be like a book about Herb Mathisen's bank account on the same shelf as literature on Warren Buffet, Jay-Z and... ah fuck, Clay Aitken.

i liked it better before

Sign on highway out of Hay River:

It said something else when we drove out of town three weeks ago. I laughed.

This photo is untouched. The fuzzy parts? That's probably someone from the town repairing the hilarious hijinks perpetrated by someone with too much of something on their hands... I'm talking about time, you sinners.

I liked what it said better before.

hay river: day one

I've been a resident of Hay River for exactly 24 hours now.

It's not like I'm seeing new things, because I've probably been here at least a dozen times in my life, but it was cool to walk around by my lonesome for lunch today and talk to people, which I never did much travelling here in the past for hockey tourneys or school track trips, spent in a laugh-filled (and later, lager-filled) bubble with an entourage of cohorts.

Today, I had a delicious sub at a certain downtown eatery (which I am convinced will sustain me during this stint, with its array of flavoured coffee creams and homemade donuts) and was entertained by a man behind the coutner who candidly told me -- an acquintance he'd known for all of 10 seconds -- about the time he almost lost a nut when he was eight. I didn't even find it wierd. I almost found it endearing. And, who knows, if things had gone differently for him, perhaps he might not have had the balls to tell me the story.

Also, the sound of a train wailing away at one point this afternoon was a sound I haven't heard in a while. It always conjures up some sort of Steinbeck-esque, existential rambling nostalgia -- I don't know why, because I've never lived it, only read about it -- but it was refreshing to have that feeling again.

Other than that, haven't seen or done much of anything, as I'm trying to get settled in the office that doubles as my residence.

Might not see anything tonight either, with the NCAA championships and the Blue Jays opening day battling for boob tube attention.

day after tournament torture

Back from Hay River and forgetting about the destroyed left arm that was crunched into the boards backwards away from my body by a large defenseman as I was reaching for a puck; the charlie horse above my ass from getting slew-footed in front of the net Friday night and having my pant pad jab me; a burnt left hand brought on by a brief bout of fried-chicken deprived shakes on Saturday night that turned a large cup of French Vanilla coffee into a canister of napalm that left a mark on me; and my Mr. Burns legs that had to be hefted into Slader's truck with my arms, I feel great.

Four games in three days -- five if you count Thursday. Lotsa, lotsa hockey. Tied the first, won the next two and then lost the last game by one. Should have been different that last one, but I missed a gimme and two other beauty chances. It felt great to grind out a couple games though, particularly after becoming so accustomed to losses so far this year.

On a personal note, I felt like I played really well the first two games, but completely got my ass kicked in the third and fourth games. I couldn't backcheck and I ended up watching a lot of goals get scored while coasting in panting at the blue line. I've been trying to work on my all-around play since getting duty at centre, but those two games were definitely a low point. I lost my will. It's funny how that happens. When you're down by a goal, tied, or up by one, everything seems so much harder. But when you get up by three, you feel like you could skate for days.

Also, it was kind of neat to play in front of people. For our games against Hay River, it felt like a lot of the town came out and kids were running around with hockey sticks, playing makeshift games with crushed up beer cans. During some big 'A' division games (I should qualify our tournament -- we played 'B') the bleachers were nearly packed. It definitely felt like a community event and I'm sure all the players appreciated it. I love that arena too. It looks and smells old. But vintage old, not decrepit.

The weekend was definitely not only about hockey though, as Hay River and the boys we picked up to play with us once again proved more than hospitable -- I'm gonna have to get some memory foam pillows after staying in the guest room a friend's mom prepared Friday night. Hay Riverites know how to party and each time I've been there for this tournament or for baseball, there has never been a shortage of things to do. This year, it was rockin barefeet at a house party, tossing gloves and the odd empty beer can into a ceiling fan and trying to control where they went, and watching a mortified young lady get razzed after she "plunked a deucey" that plugged the toilet.

The five and a half hour drive back to Yellowknife was painful but not just from the hockey torture. There were a few times I hurt from laughing.

Monumental human questions were posed like "Where did the saying lukewarm come from?" or "If you're last name was Gibson, would you call your kid Giblet?"

Mindy and I spent an hour of the drive deliriously creating the fictional life of Dwarfton Dwarfton III, from upper-Dwarfton in the Province of Dwarfton. He became the 45th President of the United States -- and first president dwarf -- amongst many other things. He carries an axe and traps things and loves Battlestar Gallactica. He has seventeen brothers and sisters, all named Dwarfton Dwarfton. 

Also, I have a new favourite accent, loosely based on a guy named Bill Gibson, who Slader and Keegs impersonated earlier in the weekend and then Mindy and I over-slaughtered: "Let's play some heeeee-key."

The best/worst though was the Grey Cup broadcast, which although entertaining, featured the worst selection of ads ever assembled. The small local station from Montreal must have only gotten a few minutes to sell ad space, because they had just three commercials throughout the entire four hour broadcast... and two were for radio programs on their station. The other was an ad for Brault and Martineau, some furniture company in Quebec who -- I had singed into my brain for life -- "take care of you." 

By the end of the Grey Cup, I could repeat the ad nearly verbatim. We began placing bets on what order they would play the ads.

It was demonic. It felt like some Satanic plot to wear down the customer. I was starting to think homicide. I felt like anyone tuning into this broadcast would back me up and testify on my behalf, that these three people (two hosts and one voice guy) needed to be stopped. We talked about how both radio personalities and the furniture ad guy would be found dead and no one would tie the murders together until someone who listened to the broadcast (most likely driven to check themselves in to an insane asylum or something) phoned in and explained the whole ordeal.

The Montreal Alouettes lost the 96th Grey Cup 22 - 14 to the Calgary Stampeders last night. In a completely unrelated story, 73 Brault & Martineau stores were firebombed across the province...

A few of the best lines pulled from the weekend:

"How would you feel if the porno you starred in was only being sold for $4.95? How are you supposed to take that?" - Binio after an ad for adult toys and videos (starting at just $4.95!!!) on Sirius radio, somewhere between Kakisa and Enterprise.

"I killed a girl and I liked it."  - parody of that Katie Perry song. The running joke of the tourney about Mac T's 1984 blunder. (I really do feel like Satan is probably fluffing my syphilis pillows on the bed my mouth is starting to make for myself in hell.)

"That was my first goal in 15 years." - Slader after popping the game-winner against the Tlicho Warriors, his first goal since the minor hockey days.

Excellent!

Yes, Wayne. Herbiberous is feeling most excellent again.

Hey all you out there on the interweb. I know the last post was sort of a tonal shift here on Slingin Lingo, and for that I apologize. You do not come here for sad rants. You come here for corny jokes.

As well, to address the declining number of posts, I'm feeling a little burnt out when I get home, and after sitting in front of a computer all day, writing words, words, words, and trying to fix 'em together coherently in an orderly fashion to purty up my stories, sometimes the last thing I want to do is turn on the computer and write. Sometimes I'm finding my brain is drying up of ideas worse than an old lady's... umm... mouth after smoking a big doobie? (I also apologize to anyone I haven't responded to through email. I seem only to be capable of responding in two sentence, facebook wall posts... It's kind of pathetic.)

Anyways, I just spent a very satisfying week with friends, past, present, future, scored a beauty at hockey tonight (amazing breakaway pass from PH) and am set to head out to Hay River for a hockey tournament this weekend with a stellar group of compadres. Things are looking up and I'm starting to get that bounce back in the step.

I hope this weekend rejuvenates the old bones here and I come back an energetic young biberous.

Party On!