Wal-Mart owns Value Village
I was sad to learn this. But it was never a favorite thrift shop, just another one on the route, a little more expensive than most, but it just made my treasure hunting a lot easier.
Yeah, you wonder but never get around to googling it and when finally you do this is what you find out. Never again.
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- Category: Link of the day
A buck a potato - Man Shopping
And, while day tripping at the CO-OP I spotted these:
I mean, I might be day-tripping but the daughter is laughing as well, a buck for a gold-foil wrapped potato. This is absurd. This is man-shopping, too lazy and stupid to buy a bag of potatoes someone out in a hurry to get the barbecue going buys these, the gilded foil must be to elevate them above the status of regular foil-wrapped potatoes, justifying the 4, 5, 10-fold increase in price. And the plastic bag with a potato in it is proof there's no overestimating human stupidity...
Membership pays? Who?
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- Category: Miscellany
Micro-dosing on Acid
This is a new thing and I'm already seeing the benefits.
I mean, I have an enormous amount of respect for this, and so have been hesitant to try it since my last big trip, but had I when I was here over the winter there's no doubt I'd have been a hell of a lot more productive.
Now, first of all, the effects - well, they're subliminal. They're supposed to be anyways, only I'm unable to cut up the already tiny square of paper into tinier bits, I can get it in half, in a quarter, but after that the little bits, even with the best of glasses, are disappearing, and so I make do with quarter tabs. There are ways to reduce it further, but I'm finding a quarter works fine, given that a full dose for me is somewhere in the tab-and-a-half range.
The effects - noticeable, supraliminal even, you know something's different, you're a little more alert, a little more aware. Perspicacious.
The rule is - day 1 on microdose, day 2 and 3 on recovery, repeat on day 4. Day 2 and 3 you can get a hell-of-a-lot done, it's a bit of a mental cleanse, all the trifling procrastinations and trivial thoughts have been swept away, your mind is clear.
And so, arriving in Calgary late on Saturday night and exhausted come Sunday morning I microdose again. A quarter tab, but I'm so enjoying the effects that I take another quarter. And, while still a low dose the effects are even more apparent. I'm not tripping, there are no fairies and leprechauns or swirling Aztec or Mayan symbols opening portals to infinity, but - I'm substantially more alert, more - acute, my vision is widened and includes the peripheries. The day - beautiful, cloudy, sunny, a deep blue sky, is somehow all the more perfect. A perfect day squared. And watching people - at Beano, at the Midtown CO-OP, I find myself seeing less the people and more the relationships between them, their most exaggerated qualities, the ones they'd most like to project, caricatures of themselves. This microdosing, it immeasurably improves the day, maybe not suitable for work but a fine augmentation to a short visit to Calgary...
I'd heartily recommend this.
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- Category: Conversations
The Dirty Hippy
A new regular, courtesy of the hotsprings who have apparently barred him. Smaller, slighter of build, tanned, maybe 70 years old, shirt optional, long beard occasionally held in an elastic, a long fringe of hair around a bald pate, anywhere but here he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Here he just sort of blends in...
The first time, a beer, some appetizer, he's telling me he was just at the hotsprings, 7 hours in the pools, he's exhausted.
"7 hours?" I ask incredulously, 7 hours, that's a lot of time to be soaking in a hotpool, I've rarely done more than an hour, 2 tops, but he takes my comment to heart and gets aggressive- "Don't tell me about the hotsprings - I go 4, 500 times a year..."
I'm mentally doing the math, this - well, it's not quite impossible but it's absurd, excessive in the extreme...
He continues in that vein, I stop hearing him.
The next time, sitting, having a Jamesons' on the rocks, a song comes on, it moves him to tears. We've got a playlist, "Oldies", the owner created it, no song written after 1975 ever plays, I stopped hearing it a long, long time ago, but something on it has touched him, he comes up and pays for his $8.00 drink with $4.00 in quarters, tells me how special that moment was, I offer to try and replay the song for him but he looks at me horrified, there's no way I could ever replay that, ever....
I shrug off the missing $4.00, cover the difference, out here, this isn't a rare thing...
The next time I see him, the same again. He sits on the patio, no shirt, no shoes, there should be no service but we're in the Kootenays after all. It's a windy day, I go out to drop him off a menu, he's put a small package on the table, I move it to hold down the menu, keep it from blowing away, he moves it off the menu and tells me tersely - "Don't touch my stuff".
He's an asshole, but it's my job after all...
He orders a Stella, the beer of choice for European trash and soccer hooligans. And pretentious hippies. And bringing it out to him, through the windows of the restaurant I see him fling the menu off the table, it hits the balcony and bounces to the floor. When I deliver the beer and pick up the menu he explains coyly "The wind must have blown it away...".
Come time to pay and he's inside in a frenzy, Did I hear the shots fired? 7 of them! Across the lake! Of course I heard nothing, do I know why? Because I was inside!! There must be a bear! And depending if it ran uphill or downhill it'll be on his property!! And he pays, and, again, he's a dollar short, but I shut up.
I'm tired of paying to serve assholes, he's the classic bad hippy, the one acid trip too many, never came back, his moral elevation, it's failing, there's nothing for him to stand on, he's just an asshole and now he's barred from our restaurant as well, I'm only waiting to tell him in the no-uncertain terms that he's not coming back...I'm a man of infinite patience, but when it expires...
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- Category: People