http://www.rock1053.ca

Well, by 10:30 AM yesterday, the Cypress Centre was turning people away for the infamous H1N1 shot as the staff over had reached their capacity or 3000 shots. The free (don’t worry, you’ve already paid for the shot via our tax dollars) clinic will resume again tomorrow and listed below are the clinics firing up next week.

The Other Planned Clinics will be held at Higdon Hall On The Stampede Grounds
Tuesday Nov 3rd 12:30-7pm
Wednesday Nov 4th 12:30-7pm
Thursday Nov 5th 12:30-7pm
Friday Nov 6th 9am-4pm
Saturday Nov 7th 9am-3pm

Following true to Murphy’s Law, the TV crapped out four days before the cable dude is scheduled to make an appearance.

Not having a TV is bittersweet for me. Being a man, owning a television is kinda like coming of age because even if nothing is on, it just feels good running that remote. It’s like sitting in the Captain’s Chair on the Enterprise, knowing that with the push of a button, you can forever alter the course of your destination, whether it be All in the Family or Family Guy.

That’s the bitter part. The sweet part of not being able to exercise the eyes is that I don’t have to put up
with endless hours of American Idol, Canadian Idol, Cat Idol, Food Idol, Days of our Lives Idol and Idol Idol.

No really, I’ve cut and pasted this from today’s edition of the Medicine Hat News. Fortunately it’s my column so I shouldn’t get into too much trouble.

One week after the ‘hamburger in my pocket’ story, I’ve received several e-mails and even a phone call or two questioning my ability to have endured life as long as I have without losing a finger or an ear or even possibly the puncturing of an essential organ. I can sum up my survival success in one word; marriage. If it wasn’t for the Lawdy Mama, I’d probably be hitchhiking down a secondary highway outside of Tijuana right now or pleading ‘dumbness’ to a member of the law enforcement community in reference to my poor decision to sell combination sham wows/snuggees at a discounted price out of the neighbor’s white Econoline van. My list of questionable decisions runs deeper than the South Saskatchewan after a heavy spring but one of my personal chart toppers locked in time was the moment when I forgot where I lived.

We must backtrack to the early 21st century when I had recently packed up my worldly possessions, all of which fit into an old Wool-co bag by the way, to enjoy the finer things in life, namely living in sin. Now the duodenum in my pancreas had been acting erratically or something to that effect and so the boss man sent me home early to refurbish my immune system or in other words, I was as sick as David Hasselhoff after a bender. Several groggy minutes later and a trip across town I was parked in the driveway feeling for the key that would allow me to enter my quarters where the future Mrs. Parker resided and most recently, me. And like a square peg in a round hole, the house key in my hand wasn’t accomplishing its duty, namely to let me in. I jiggled, wiggled and even waggled that key and still I was denied access and so it had become a battle of wits; a door vs. me and so far, the porthole was winning. Patio door bound, I swung around to the backyard oblivious that someone had replaced our garage with one of those do it yourself swimming pools. It should have been at this crack in time when I recognized that I wasn’t ‘in Kansas anymore’ but the combination of living in a new town and a severely clouded noggin’ had dulled my senses.

Out of patience and empty on energy, I still had a surefire means of obtaining entrance to my digs courtesy of Maxwell Smart and the size 12 shoe through the basement window trick. Effective and yet oh so destructive, this wasn’t my best means to accumulate brownie points with the girlfriend, kicking in the window to her house after a convincing debate that me moving in was the next logical step in our relationship. A decision needed to be confirmed however and I was willing to cross that wildly swinging bridge when the time came. Call it karma or possibly a reversal of Murphy’s Law but as I reared and readied my left leg, preparing to kick my way into my new home, I took one final look around me to ensure that I would not get arrested for breaking into my own abode and that’s when I saw it, the Lawdy Mama’s car parked about 40 yards down the street. And as I gazed at her ride with a furrowed brow while standing on a driveway that I was about to find out that I didn’t own, the clues were coming together like the resolution of a ‘Murder She Wrote’ TV finale. The missing garage, the pool I didn’t own, the key in my hand that wouldn’t unlock anything; it was the wrong door to the wrong house. Still one of life’s unsolved mysteries, how I failed to recognize my house by 120 feet is anyone’s guess. Someone phone John Davidson because ‘That’s Incredible’; unfortunately, not in a good way.

So over the weekend the Rock 105.3 staff headed into the downtown area of the Gas City to have some pictures taken, professional style.

A dude by the name of Ming showed up with no less than six cameras and a whole bunch of photo ideas, one of which I’ve posted below of myself and Cassie. (I’m the one with the facial hair)

One of the perks of working in radio is that you’ve ‘heard’ but ‘rarely seen’ and for me, that’s a good thing, as the proof is always in the pudding, or in this case, one really cool stairwell in Medicine Hat.

I don’t have to explain to anyone that has wintered in Canada what this season entails.

Personally, it’s my favorite season even though I can’t ride the Road King but as proof that my beard along with the long locks go hand-in-hand with the cold, here’s some pics of my winter camping trip at Wolf Lake with my best friend, Dr. Jake, my black lab. And yes, I even did come in contact with a wolf.

The following is real. What you are about to read actually happened and not even the names have been changed to protect the dumb asses, namely yours truly.

I’ve never been a man meticulous to detail however that still didn’t explain the leftover cheeseburger patty in the front right pocket of my favorite fall sweater. Not normally prone to sticking cooked homemade beef in the empty spaces of my clothing, my personal history with acting before thinking had reared its ugly several times previous however this specific example would set a precedent in our household that will live longer than the half life of Styrofoam.
I had volunteered to clean up after our 2nd Annual Vagabond Thanksgiving dinner which consisted of not only hamburgers but cheeseburgers as well plus a wide selection of greenery and sauces that would horrify those whose cream corn can’t touch their peas which can’t touch their bread and so forth and so forth. Before the pillaging of the card table turned dinner table commenced, Bob Ross himself would have yearned to paint such a portrait; this was indeed a Kodak moment. And then faster than it took for Premier Stelmach to erase our provincial surplus, (okay, almost as fast) the pleasing presentation and plating of such a feast had been transformed into a detailed facsimile of a landfill site, minus the burning tires but I’m sure that would happen soon enough.

Enter the Cleaner. Armed with only my masculine wits and a partially consumed cheap Mexican beer, (they were on sale) I dove into the after dinner onslaught with the gusto of an eighty-nine year old, three flippered sea turtle. My plan, like most successful attacks, would be very simple and thusly quite effective. The eradication of what remained would consist of two rules; 1) if it looked expensive or breakable, bring it immediately to the house and let more responsible people deal with it, like my wife. 2) If it wasn’t edible or drinkable or something that needed to be refrigerated, dispense with it via the Glad Garbage Guy. With a clear and concise plan of action, I donned my 12 ply, Asbestos laden, bear proof, pink glow in the dark kitchen gloves and like an award winning, baton twirling cheerleader squad hopped up on Ben Johnson pills, everything that wasn’t cemented down or moving was relocated to 120 liters of garbage bag goodness while Judas Priest’s ‘Hell Bent for Leather’ kept me inspired.

A little too inspired it turns out. Without a spare piece of Chinette to house the only remaining piece of Triple A Alberta beef left on the barbecue, I pulled a MacGyver and took advantage of my surroundings, namely a nearly lint-free pocket that was conveniently sewn into the Rush hoodie I had donned earlier that day. With no bun nor plastic bag or even a portion of paper towel to envelop the sandwich food, there it sat, a half pound of cooked to perfection extra lean ground beef in the form of a patty, in the pocket of one of my most comfortable pieces of clothing. I forgot about the lost burger until Dr. Jake, my black lab, would retrieve and immediately consume the marinating meat from amongst a heap of dirty laundry late that night, all under the eye of my Lawdy Mama. And yet more reasons why I will never listen to her phone calls with the Mother-in-law.

So the Rock 105.3 crew headed over to Value Village yesterday with a pocketful of vouchers to get decked out for Halloween and now we need your help.

We’re having a little competition to see who has the most Halloween spirit and so your votes are widely welcomed. The winner over here gets bragging rights while you have a shot at $60 bucks in Value Village goodness.

Feel free to vote by replying to this blog with your choice or you can also do the same on our Facebook site.

Without further delay, here are this year’s entries in no particular order.

1. This is Ian and it would appear this is the only way that our evening wild man will put on any weight. Yes, that’s his real hair. (okay, not really)

2. I always knew that Mid-day man Andrew had a secret and I think this is it.

3. Cassie has been working with me for just over two weeks and she already has a amazing grasp on some of my mannerisms, like her impression of me.

4. And what can I say other than this has always been a life long dream of mine. (no, not to have an eye-patch)

There you go and please, be gentle on us; we’re fragile.

While I won’t be taking in any beer can chicken this weekend for T-Giving, I will be savoring Mom’s sweet and sour meatballs before taking a stroll through my hometowm.

Here’s a pic the last time I was out in the Keystone province along with the name of the very first full time job I secured that entailed ‘fancy clothes’. Swap out the long hair for a clean cut version of me, the plaid jacket for a suit jacket and the nose ring for a earring and that’s more or less me 18 years ago.

After a quick check with Enivronment Canada, (I’m sure they operate out of a basement with no windows by the way), I’ll be combining two of my favorite pieces of clothing, that of my blue fleece plaid and my leathers.

That’s right, it’s the second week of October and if there’s any good to come out of Global Warming, it’s the ability to hop on the Road King for what could be my last ride of 2009.

I’ve put in the call to all of my biker buddies, those working and those who plan on faking one of those instant colds, all for the greater good.

This picture was taken last fall, the very first time I headed out by myself on a highway ride. Somewhere between Banff and Jasper, I think the name of the mountain is called Crowfoot. Gotta get back there next summer.