Baglickers, gulpers, and my pal Randy

Let me stress off the top that my pal Randy was neither. Instead, we were both welders from Ontario who found ourselves working on the frigate program that kept the Irving shipyard in Saint John busy for the better part of twenty years. After getting the contract, Irving had to go on a massive hiring spree. Once they'd scooped up every unemployed shipyard worker and welder in the Maritimes, they started recruiting in Ontario. That's how me and Randy both ended up in New Brunswick. Randy was an interesting character. Unlike me, he had actual shipyard experience under his belt. In fact, he did his apprenticeship at the Collingwood shipyard, building the last thing of consequence that yard ever launched, the Chi-Cheemaun ferry that to this day delivers tourists from Tobermorey to Manitoulin Island. With his shipbuilding experience Randy was an obvious hire for Irving, whereas I was just a guy who could study a blueprint and make stuff look like the picture. Anyway, we soon learned some nuances about how the locals saw the guys from Ontario, and there were dozens of us; "baglickers from Upper Canada." I shit you not! Working class Maritimers talked like that. Once you got to know the nuances you realized "baglicker" was loosely applied to anyone who did anything to please our bosses. Sooner or later, if youre gonna keep your job, you're obviously gonna please the boss, so eventually everyone was to a greater or lesser extent a "baglicker." What you didn't want to be labelled as was a "gulper." Generously speaking, that was the kind of employee who, when shit upon, said "thanks" and asked for more. Neither Randy or I fit that profile, but I gotta say Randy came with a big dose of over-confidence that got him in hot water from time to time. When Randy was doing his apprenticeship his father was the manager of that yard. Randy himself told me his family had expected much more from him. In high school he was a track & field star, an A+ student, and an all-round man-about-town. And, from his own telling, a completely arrogant and spoiled young man. Collingwood is but a short hop from Wasaga Beach, where every spring your outlaw biker types like to make a pilgrimage. So one fine sunny spring day Randy finds himself in a bar in Wasaga, and there's several pretty gals at the bar, and they're all wearing T-shirts proclaiming "property of Hells Angels MC." Now, if it was me, I'd nod politely and move on. Not Randy. He fancied himself a "ladies man," and set about charming those gals in spite of the fact a half-dozen full-patch Angels were sitting at a table on the other side of the room. Long story short, when Randy emerged from his coma a couple weeks later, he left behind twenty or thirty IQ points. What he carried with him, however, was his over-weening arrogance. I should mention that my time at Irvings yard totalled a little under two years. Those two years can be neatly cut in half. After the first year, my wife absconded with our children back to Ontario. In that first year I had never set foot in a Saint John bar. In the second year, I got kicked out of every bar in Saint John, and Randy was my trusty sidekick in every one of those adventures. But getting back to Randy's arrogance; we were on the same crew of about a dozen or so, and we all sat together for breaks. One of the young guys was a black belt in some sort of eastern martial combat stuff. This kid was early 20s, if that, whereas Randy had a good 15 years on him. Nevertheless, Randy was convinced he could lay a whuppin' on the young whipper-snapper. They had a couple of jousts right there, which were indecisive. It was decided they would square off after work one day. So they did. After our shift, around midnight, two dozen guys head down the railway tracks that lead from the yard into town. I gotta say I'm feeling like a bit of a dorkshit just being there. I mean... two adults having a rassle on the train tracks at midnight? What the fuck am I doing here? Anyway, as any betting man would have wagered, the kid won and the old guy lost. It wasn't long after that I reluctantly left that shipyard job so I could be closer to my children. That eventually led to teacher's college and, in the fullness of time, the pension that now pays my bills. As for Randy, his dad was by then the boss of the yard in Welland. Randy always promised me he'd get me a job there. Never heard from him again, but hey dude, if you're still out there, I salute you, Randy!

Please allow Master Tailor Mark Carney to fit you a bespoke AI straightjacket

I see where PM Carney has decreed that all Canadians "should" become devotees of artificial intelligence. In fact, he proposes to offer "free" AI literacy courses to all Canadians, using their own tax dollars. Sounds like a great deal to me! This looks to me like a continuation of the "get aboard or get left behind" mantra that the AI grift machine has been promoting. It's pretty pathetic when the PM of your country is writing Scam Altman talking points into his policies... SHAME!!!

A brief history of the twenty dollar pizza

First time in my life I tasted pizza was when I went to summer camp at the Guelph Bible Chapel. I'd won a free week at camp thanks to having memorized the most bible verses! I was maybe 12 or 13 years old and the camp was pretty cool... they had go-carts and everything! Then one day in the lunch hall it was "Pizza day." I'd never heard of pizza. It was gross. Fast forward a mere five years or so, and pizza had become a staple of every up-and-coming stoner's diet. By then I was spending a lot of time in the North-East corner of Guelph, where I had some pals within a block or two of Marco's Pizza at the corner of Woodlawn and Victoria. I remember this happening a thousand times over; a bunch of potheads got the munchies and would throw coin in the pot to get a large with the works. That typically ran twenty bucks or so. That was fifty years ago. The other day I'm driving through downtown and I see PizzaPizza has a sign in the window; Large Pizza $20. OK... we're definitely in the get-the-fuck-outta-here zone with this shit! We're no longer eating pizza... we're eating lab-generated crap designed to resemble pizza. And we buy it...

Amish cover band rocks ZZ Top's greatest hits like there's no tomorrow...

I gotta admit I fell into one of those grooves that await retirees who didn't do proper prep for their golden years. I sat around watching Youtube instead. I watched it enough I got one of those automatic play lists that the algorthims make for you. So tonight I got treated to this Amish cover band doing pretty darn good covers of various ZZ tunes, not to mention some AC/DC shit as well! At least I think they were Amish. Coulda been orthodox Jews I guess... funny how the way-out-there guys in all the major religious cults resemble one another! Anyway, I personally am still coming to grips with the fact that I can't tell the difference between ZZ and a cover band... they were twenty minutes in before I said, hey... hold on a minute!

Inflation out of control!.. even the bullshit is inflating...

PM Carney dazzled the rubes with another spectacular announcement the other day. Yessiree, he had signed a "milestone agreement" to ship LNG to Germany, several gazillion dollars worth over the next several decades. Whoopee!!! Let the corks fly! What a great moment! Another spectacular announcement from PM Mark Carney! Unfortunately, as is the case with pretty much every announcement in this year of announcements, it's a nothingburger. The big bucks will start to roll in once we build that gas pipeline through a dozen Indigenous nations that don't want it. I'm guessing the court challenges to that Ottawa over-reach will delay things by at least fifty years. This entire story is wishful thinking on the part of people who really should know better by now.

For a guy who is allegedly not-too-bright and has never read a book, Trump shows more savvy than anybody ever expected

For one thing, the Trump Family grift machine has by far eclipsed anything ever achieved by the Biden crime family. After the Burisma scam fell apart, Hunter was reduced to selling his paintings, modernist masterpieces nobody would have paid ten bucks for in normal circumstances. Is that bush league or what? Contrast Hunter's pathetic attempts to cash in on Sleepy Joe's presidency to what the Trump boys are up to... they're not peddling their paintings at a half million a pop... NO! The Trump boys are manipulating markets in crypto, futures, derivatives of every stripe, and reaping billions for their insider trading.

Embracing small joys in troubled times

Songbirds. I've read one scary story after another about the songbird population being in danger. That may be true further south, but it's certainly not true around here. Here they wake you in the morning and serenade you in the evening... I don't know much about birds. While we keep feeders, my expertise is limited. A blue bird with a comb is a bluejay. A blue bird without a comb is probably a bluebird. The yellow birds will be American goldfinch. Some birds are more enjoyable than others. The red-winged blackbird is pretty enough but quite obnoxious, and its call more a warning to any other birds; "stand down, I'm coming in!" Starlings are worse - just as obnoxious, but tend to travel in large packs. Having them descend on the feeders is like a biker gang terrorizing a small town. And they're really smart too. There's not room for the entire gang to roost on the feeders, so the half dozen on the feeders deliberately dump everything out for their buddies on the ground. Yup, twenty bucks of sunflower seeds and cracked corn gone in five minutes. I picked up an air-pistol at Canadian Tire to guard the feeders. By the second day, all I had to do was wave it in the air and the starlings got their tail-feathers the heck outta there, that's how quick they learn. About five or six years ago a bird built a nest in the roof over the stoop. It's come back every year since to nest in the same place. It's occurred to me that this can't possibly be the same bird who built the first nest six years ago. How do the children or grandchildren of the original nest-buildrs know where to go? I guess it's the same internal mechanisms that tell them how to get to Florida or Mexico every winter. This year the nest building began while there was still snow on the ground. Early last week I heard the faint peeps of fledglings. By now it's a cacaphony every time Mama comes in with a fresh worm, which is, on average, every two minutes. Life goes on...