Bumtown

Are homeless people in tents still homeless? They're still technically living somewhere.
The homeless situation in Abbotsford is noteable for how audacious and long it's been going on. I remember getting on a plane to go to Calgary and reading about the homeless camp, and thinking, "Thank God I'm leaving," only to return a week later.That was eight fucking years ago. The camp moves around like a malignant tumour around the town, but it's always there in some form. Last I heard it was in Jubilee Park, which is like Abbotsford's Pigeon Park. I've literally seen a crackhead get beat up by a big black dude there, and I KNOW he was a crackhead because he dropped a bag of crack while it was going on. Still, there's a "Jam in Jubilee" festival going on in that park right now, which sounds like a good way to lure people into getting stabbed.
Where'd all the homeless people go? Homes? No, they moved back across from the Salvation Army in the really shitty part of town. It used to be the site of an old, abandonded supermarket and an old, abandonded building that looked like something out of Fallout 3. Those building have been replaced with shiny, new government office buildings, but the crackheads remains. There were at least seven tents along the road... and then another three or more down the way directly across from the Salvation Army. I guess those guys weren't cool enough to hang with the big crowd. It was the same spot the city recently spread chicken manure to get them to get the fuck out, then apologized for. I wasn't for using chicken manure, but still I thought that it wasn't really fair to the locals (most of whom have packed up and left their unsellable homes), that they were living there.
First thing you need to know is: They have a fucking teepee. I can respect that. My grandpa was raised in a teepee... then he got a job and built a fucking house. Teepees aren't even fucking from around this part of the country. Native used pit houses, wigwams and lodge halls. Fucking hipsters.
There was a couple crouched down inside the opening of one of the tents, with their asses hanging out, almost literally. People were acting all casual and conversation-like, as if theyr weren't living next to a road. The other camp down the road had people jaywalking in front of it, like it's fucking East Hastings. I've never understood that about homeless people. They have no jobs, nothing to do all day, but they still fucking jaywalk everywhere, and not the look-both-ways jaywalking either. They walk righ out in the middle of the road in front of traffic at any time, for any reason, assuming they have reasons. It's like the "chicken crossed the road joke," but with crackheads. In East Van, they had to lower the speed limit just because they couldn't fucking stop people from jaywalking. You can't ticket crackheads, because they don't have any fucking money. They just have your car stereo. So the laws are changed not to stop their bullshit, but to work around it. That's why Vancouver has safe injection sites right next to the places selling the crack. Anyway, I had to slow down and swerve to get around this guy crossing the fucking worst street in the world, just so I could get the fuck out of there.

The Town I Live In

My town just lost it's AHL team, The Heat, which was the only "major" sporting attaction it had for it's $65+ million arena. It was originally labelled the Abbotsford Entertainment and Sports Centre, and will now lose the "Sports" section of it's name as it's rebranded. Attendance for Heat games was the second lowest in the B-Leagues, and for good reason. I'd been to about four or five games during the five year run, when I recieved free tickets through various sources. People filed out midway through the third period of one game with dismal attendance, with one spectator doing nothing but swearing explitives the entire time in front of me and my then five-year-old stepson before stumbling off in a stupour. Another game I attended was jam-packed, but everyone had turned out to cheer the opposing team. Abbotsford is Canucks country, and the Heat was a seed team for the Calgary Flames. The Wolverines they'd been playing were the seed team for the Canucks. Imagine booing your own B-league team because the opposing team is a pre-school for your favourite A-league team. That's convoluted and stupid at the same time. Now people are hoping the Wolverines will move here, but that's not likely to happen. Why would anyone move here willingly? Also: why watch the B-Team when the A-Team is an hour away?
Briefly, the arena was home to it's own lingerie football team, which is exactly what it sounds like. The non-controversy was how Abbotsford is a conservative town known more for it's churches, if it could be said to be known at all. I've had to explain, in detail, what Abbotsford was to clueless people living two towns over from one of the biggest cities in the province. Attendance was poor, and the team folded. The arena can't even keep what's essentially a roller-derby team.
That's no the worst of it. The worst, of course, is the people. Rob Ford is slowly changing the perception of what the world thinks of when they think of Canada. It's not that far off. An Abbotsford man was recently arrested and decontaminated after attempting to cook meth in his BBQ on his patio of his apartment
...
You're probably wondering if I made that up, or if it's possible. No, and no. Yes, he tried to cook meth in a BBQ in a wildly open space in a downtown area. He was arrested after getting into an argument with his neighbours, who were probably complaining about the smell. No, it's not possible, as far as I know, to cook meth in a BBQ, but then I've never watched Breaking Bad.
Abbotsford has a drug/crime problem. It boasted the highest murders per captia in Canada for two years running a while back. It's so bad that even the drug dealers have moved on. The dealers and gangsters all moved out to Kelowna becuase of the better housing market. I shit you not. Even drug dealers won't live here.

I went to the fair today here in town. I walked into the main building and saw a dinosaur display, much like a museum, featuring realistic models and fossils. A second later, I saw the banner over the exhibit, reading, "Creation Truth Ministries." It was a travelling Creationist exhibit which tried to prove the dinosaurs only existed a few thousand years ago, as opposed to hundreds of millions of years. I kept walking. 

I went onto their website, which states, "By definition, no apparent, perceived or claimed evidence in any field, including history and chronology, can be valid if it contradicts the Scriptural record."

From that platform, I marvel at the impossibility of arguing with these believers. They reject both history and TIME itself.That's like saying you were never a baby, because doing so admits that history and chronology are valid and there's no record of you ever having been a baby in the Scriptures. CASE CLOSED!

I don't understand why some Christian groups get into an uproar about the "Theory" of Evolution and why they literally go to the ends of the Earth to try and disprove it. Looking at the site, that's literally what this group has done and is doing. They're searching high and low for any scrap of "evidence" to disprove the "theory." They're digging up fossils and they're searching through caves like actual archaeologists, only after they find their samples they instantly declare them to be fakes placed there by "God," or possibly time-travelling Jesus. CASE CLOSED!
They're using real fossils to disprove Evolution. I don't understand how that works. That's like using a gun to disprove the existence of gun violence. It's like a kind of crazy that you've only ever had described to you in a comic book. It's like the nutjobs who think the pyramids were built by aliens, only these people have Bibles. 

Parking Parkour

Today I had to stop at the courthouse here in town to drop off and pick up my wife. While there, I noticed numerous "towaway zone" signs, which didn't affect me really, because I wasn't parking to begin with. Then, I noticed a handicap spot where not one, but two drivers had double-parked behind, effectively blocking the legally parked driver in the handicap zone (I didn't check to see if there was a decal in the window). Our courthouse is part of a public-service area which includes a firehall, an art museum, a park, a library and most importantly: a police station. A traffic cop has only to walk a few hundred feet from the station door to ticket these cars. Also, I'm assuming the courthouse is full of lawyers and judges, all of whom are feeling quite litigious on any given day.
I couldn't wrap my head around what I was even seeing with the park job and I wish I had a camera. The handicapped spot was part of a pair that were side-by-side. They were fenced in by the curb on either side of the spots. Now: the other handicapped spot was empty for some reason as the driver of the third vehicle had parked INFRONT of the spot. That meant that the driver in the occupied handicapped spot couldn't back up straight because there was a vehicle there, and even though the spot next to him was empty, he couldn't slide over and back up there because there was ANOTHER car parked next the car parked behind him, and curbs everywhere else. Unless he jumped the curb, drove across the grass and onto the sidewalk and onto the busy street in front of him, he wasn't getting anywhere.Also: there were other available spots nearby. The parking lot wasn't full.
No one had ambassador plates.
In my mind, I imagined these people were all in court fighting charges of doing the thing they were currently doing.

Sign of the Times

The Dollar Giant store in Abbotsford recently converted into a Dollar Tree, which (as you can probably guess) is the exact same store. I watched them, however, paint the outside a slightly different shade of green, and then take down the lettering that said, “Dollar,” and replace it with new lettering that said, “Dollar.” At that point, my mind was blown. Today they have a, “Grand Opening,” sign outside the store. I’m fairly certain all these “changes” took place to fuck with the elderly and the easily confused. Imagine, walking into a store you had only recently visited, pay for your purchases, and as you leave and you’re about to get in the car to go home, you look back and notice something is amiss. Then it slowly washes over you, and you worry you’ve slipped into an alternate dimension, one where Dollar Tree is King.

Abbotsford seems to have the most dollar stores per capita on the planet, and this isn’t the first one to change hands. A dollar store at the 2nd rate mall went under. They couldn’t keep up with the stiff competition with all those other dollar stores, who sell the exact same items at the exact same price. How does a dollar store ever emerge the victor in the retail warfare game when they’re identical copies of themselves selling Chinese poisons disguised as discount goods?

Retail itself is confusing. Linen’n’Things went under, and all the employees were laid off. Then they opened up a new Bed, Bath and Beyond, which is the same store, in the same space as the old one. Zellers is closing down the same way, and becoming a Target. These stores get officially close and sit empty, then the new company comes in and “changes” everything. I literally cannot tell the difference between Linen’n’Things and Bed, Bath and Beyond. Not the layout, not the merchandise, or the pricing. It baffles me. The minimum wage workers who unfortunately work at these stores, in the meantime, are shit canned. Even if they’re hired on to the newer store, there’s still months and sometimes full years in which they’re helpless as the renovations take place. They’re better off looking for work in a whole new field. I guess this happens in Canada more than anywhere else as US retailers look to buy space by buying out established Canadian brands. The only exception is Best Buy and Futureshop, which are the same store, but somehow co-exist, usually right next to each other. Literally, right next to each other. Throwing distance. They sell the exact same things for the exact same price. Now their mutual chains are crashing because everyone buys their expensive electronics online at a cheaper price, so eventually there’ll be two empty stores instead of just the one.

A Sad Affair at the Fair

I went to the local Agrifair here in Abbotsford, mainly because I had read on the BC government job search website that there was going to be a Job Fest held there, and I desperately need to find something less demeaning to do for a living. I assumed that a “Job Fest” was similar to a, “Job Fair.” This was not the case. They had a stage with a live local band playing, inflatable props and a booth with some iPad set up. There were no recruiters, postings, or anything of that ilk, making it worse than attending a high school guidance counsellor’s office. The iPads were set up with an app game that suggested a career path for you based on your likes and dislikes. By pressing all the options that would be associated with an excellent worker, I was given the career option of, “Coach,” nature’s pedophile. It gave me this job, and only this job four times in a row. Then it showed me how bad the job market for a coach was, and how little they made. Basically, it told me to go fuck myself. I honestly don’t know what purpose any of it served. One would assume a Job Fest put out by the B.C. government would be there to highlight job opportunities in B.C., which it didn’t. B.C. has a major problem with talented and young workers shipping off to Alberta, because the money’s good. It looked like they invested a lot of time and money into a project that’s a proverbial Bridge to Nowhere.

This was really the only reason I wanted to go to the fair this year. I even brought fresh resumes to hand out. I felt more or less an idiot, considering I spent $10 to get in. This was the saddest I’ve ever seen a country fair. For starters, all the carnival rides were shut down until 5 p.m., because they were too hot. It was around 12 p.m. when I got there. All the people in attendance were sitting around under shaded trees. To be honest, I didn’t think it was that hot out. How would a carnival function in a place like Texas, I wondered, if they had to worry about things like the seats getting too hot? This was Southern B.C.. People from warmer climates visiting on a sunny day have to bundle up to stay warm. Just as people from the prairies always mock us when we complain about a cold winter, we too would be mocked for complaining about a hot day from just about anyone outside our borders.

I walked through the farming equipment museum which is a hot spot for all the old coots, and they were just completely dead. They were laid back in their chairs like they’d just run a marathon. It was lunchtime, and there were no line up at the food carts. Even the lady selling ice cream looked tired and lonely, which didn’t make much sense considering. Looking through the carnival rides, I felt like either the Joker in his favourite hideout, or Scooby-Doo investigating a mystery. A small child wanted one of the toys being offered at the carnival games, but his father was unable to procure it for him because the game itself was closed.

There were multiple musical acts onstage, with no one watching. Listening to them in the background, they sounded not that bad. Like better than semi-professional to professional acts. No one was really paying any attention to them at all, even with their music blaring across the fields. The band playing at Job Fest had only two spectators that weren’t being employed to be at Job Fest, but a gig is a gig.

Occupy Ball Street

Occupy [fill in the blank] has reached around the world to most major cities with freeloading hippies living in them, and now it’s coming to your backyard. Or, more specifically, my back yard. Yes, according to the local paper, Occupy Abbotsford is coming this Saturday, SATURDAY! SATURDAY!!! You'll pay for the whole seat BUT YOU’LL ONLY NEED THE EDGE!!!

Actually, it makes a lot of sense, so long as you’re a jobless, pot smoking hippie. All the shiftless losers featured in Occupy Vancouver are being kicked the fuck out after a drug overdose death, along with mayoral candidates complaining about used needles, fire hazards and rodents. Instead of moving four blocks over to East Hastings St. where they’ll continue to live just as they have but slightly out of the public view, they’ll apparently set up their tents down near the town library here in Abbotsford, which happens to be four blocks from my house. That means more homeless people jaywalking across the street during my daily commute. Abbotsford has all the essentials an Occupy movement needs. It has a high unemployment rate, and the few job prospects there are are mainly minimum wage. It also traditionally has a high crime rate with easy access to the drug trade, so stay tuned for more drug related deaths. People here are generally pissed off, and take pains to have it known.

What does Abbotsford have to do with Wall Street? Nothing. You’d struggle to find people in Vancouver who could even find Abbotsford on a map, despite being an hour’s drive away, so imagine the global impact we have when we don’t even rank locally here in B.C.. It’s really just an excuse for the homeless to set up a new homeless city, after their last one, Camp Hope lost all hope. One day, Abbotsford will be magically transformed into a Hobopolis, and shifty-eyed drifters will come from all over the world to squat in our backyards and defecate in our gutters.

Honestly, though, I support the Occupy movement to the extent that it gets me laid. If you want to protest, go protest. It worked out great for the students of Kent State. But if you come complaining to me about inequity, you can go and fuck yourself. I’m barely hanging on by a thread. The whole town is probably hurting too. So who the hell are they complaining to? The Fat Cats at the public library? They couldn’t even find a business centre to protest, because they have no idea where to look for one.

Racoon City

Last night, while driving home in the rain, three things happened in rapid succession near to the street by my house. First, someone began honking frantically on their horn while I drove though a green light at the speed limit, making me look back in the mirror and wonder what the hell someone’s problem was. Two seconds later, I had to brake and slow down because four teenagers were jay-walking the five lane road while wearing dark clothes. At night. Several feet later, after accelerating back to normal speed, I immediately had to brake again as I saw a racoon dart across the road in front of me and directly under the rear wheel of the car in the lane beside me. The car kept going, likely because it never saw the racoon, but the driver probably wondered at the bump they just hit. They slowed a little, then kept going. Meanwhile, I looked out the side of my window to see a tail twitching. There was a car directly behind me, and nowhere to pull over. I kept driving, but wondered if I should stop and see how it was. Then I remembered I knew nothing about first aid for wild animals. It’s not as if I could take it to the vet, where they would immediately put it down and throw it out like last week’s leftovers, then advise me to get a series of rabies shots to my spine. Even if I were to get out and move it to the side of the road I could be hit by a car in the dark, rainy night, or be scratched and bitten by a diseased, half-dead animal. This is what I told myself as I finished the drive home to make myself feel better.

It was Canadian Thanksgiving, which in a way is also the same as Homeless Day. No one gives a crap about the homeless or less fortunate on any other day of the year besides Christmas. I certainly don’t. People are supposed to donate canned food for the Salvation Army, and help out at the homeless shelters. I certainly don’t do any of that. I’m barely scraping by as it is, and it’s going to get worse for me in the coming months. That’s why I’m so unsympathetic in general, because I’m lower-class already. Also, it helps if they didn’t rummage around in my garbage all day every day, for years on end.

I went out later that night to closest liquor store to buy a Pumpkin Ale the lady in the store told me they didn’t have, and wasn’t even available in Canada, despite the fact I saw it in another local store. I was too lazy to drive the extra few blocks, so I bought the cheapest beer they had. By the front door coming in was the same homeless man I had seen a day earlier while trying to park my car at the grocery store. He was walking down the middle of the lane directly towards my car, so I had to physically brake and wait for him to shuffle past just so I could keep moving forward. That was enough to piss me off, or anyone for that matter. Roads and right-away are very simple concepts. Jaywalking is one thing: walking in the direction opposite to traffic in the middle of traffic is another. He sat outside the store’s Starbucks and watched me enter and leave intently, but I kept a wide berth. He looked newish. It’s not that big of a town and you usually have an idea who the homeless people are.

In the liquor store that night, he was arguing with the counter lady about the returns he was trying to trade in. As I said, this was Thanksgiving, and he could have been visiting any shelter to get a hot, free meal, and take the day off being a bum. The lady wasn’t having any of it, and told him to speak to her manager, who wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be available until the next day, which is a roundabout way of saying, “Get the fuck out.”

We both left the store at the same time, and as I was buckling into my car, he was tapping on my car window. I waved him off, and he kept tapping. Then I told him to, “Fuck off.” He kept tapping, so I said, “Fuck off,” again. If I’m in my car, I don’t want you near me. There could have been a thousand things he could have wanted: either he wanted money, he wanted a ride, or he wanted to sell me drugs or something he stole, or all of the above. I didn’t want any of it. I drove off, angry. I didn’t feel bad, though. Sure, it’s Thanksgiving, and I’m told to care about this kind of shit by a half-assed society, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to care. That night, I wasn’t visited by the Ghosts of Thanksgiving, so I think I’m good. I have real responsibilities, and the imaginary ones I’m supposed to be engaging in as part of being a Good Samaritan don’t really solve any problems.

Garbage Day

For the second time in three weeks, the garbage man has refused to take one of my trash cans. I left out one trash can, a recycling bag, and an extra tiny bag of trash on the curb this morning. They left the full trash and slapped a form-letter sticker on it basically telling me to go and fuck myself, and also that they would only accept two trash cans per week. …Which meant that I was under the limit. I live in a basement suite, so it’s not like I’m paying the garbage collection directly, although I am paying well up the ass for my current living space. I have no idea what to do with the garbage if they don’t take it. I super don’t want to stuff it in my car and drive it to the dump. That’s what trucks are for, and I don’t have one. When I first moved here, I was stuck paying an extra month’s rent on my old place for not giving a full month’s notice, so in response to that, I would drive out there and leave all my extra garbage and recycling in their dumpster. That’s not really me being a dick. After all, I’m paying them a large, hefty sum for absolutely nothing. I had to turn in my keys and everything, so it’s not like I could go into the old place and hang out. Anyway, I don’t even want to get into a whole situation where I have to call up the garbage collection company and kindly ask them to stop being dicks, because that didn’t work out too well for Homer Simpson.

Baby’s First Parade

I took my son to his first parade today, for Canada Day, which is a lot like the Fourth of July, but without all the Tom Cruise. Since we moved, we could walk to the end of the parade route. We could have walked last year too, but we are lazy, lazy people. Abbotsford is a multicultural town, in that it has two cultures: white people and brown people, but the white people are still in your face about it. Case in point, this:

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I’ve seen this around town before, but I didn’t have a camera to capture the madness of it. This is a creepy van painted to look like a S.W.A.T. team vehicle, but if you look at the decals, you’ll see that this is the Spiritual Weapons and Tactics van. It’s not just one van, either: they have two. What does a religious group that’s apparently targeting kids with their X-treme logo do with two creepy vans that roam the city? Plus: bonus points for putting Jesus on the “T.” I’m sure he’s thrilled to be associated with you. So if you’re in Abbotsford and the S.W.A.T. team squeals to a stop next to you and someone demands you get in the back of their van: don’t. Hey, maybe these people do good work for troubled teens, but it’s still giving me the heeebie-jeebies.

There was also a youth gay pride group marching in the parade, because gays love them some parade. When you think about it, ever parade is a gay parade. These courageous youths had the misfortune, however, to be sandwiched in between two religious groups, because it’s Abbotsford. It may have been intentional, but then it’s be hard to find a spot in the route that wasn’t between two overtly religious groups. Really, being gay teenagers surrounded by a bunch of Christians who think what they are and what they’re doing is wrong is a fairly accurate depiction of their lives in Abbotsford. I wonder if there were any kids in the Christian floats who would rather have been in the gay pride march, but of course would have been ostracized. Or vice versa: if there was gay teen whose moral values defied them being in the parade, but they went along with it anyway due to peer pressure. Those are the kinds of things I think about. I also thought about the, “It must be low tide at the pier!” joke when I saw a Cheerleader stretching her leg over her head. That is why I’m a dangerous person to society at large.

I saw another float go by with a blonde girl in what was clearly a Canadian Mountie costume she’d bought at a sex shop. The crowd was in my way, so I couldn’t see the sign to tell what the float was supposed to be about. Apparently, a church. I think that’s a better way to drum up attendance than using disguised pedophile vans.

Ever been in any kind of crowd, where you find a good spot, and then as you’re priding yourself on you selection, everyone sort of just budges in. As time goes on, they get further and further to the curb until they’re in the middle of the street, and some cop has to shout at them collectively? It’s nothing new, but it’s still weird. People keep inching forward as a mass, and if you’re not paying close enough attention, you’ll look over and see everyone’s moved ten feet in. More evidence that people are sheeple.

The Building Next to Mine

As I drive in and out of my underground parking garage, I can see the building next to my own. For about four months, I noticed one window had an air conditioner in it, with an extension cord running down to the floor below, looping through the patio railings of two other apartments, and up a floor to an outlet on the patio of a third apartment. This, to me, was ballsy. Obviously, anyone venturing onto the patios of the two apartments below could see this cord. The apartment the cord was plugged into seemed deserted, but even then, anyone surveying the apartment for rental would likely come across this cord. If it was deserted, wouldn’t that mean that the power should be disconnected? Was someone away for an extended period of time? Why were they still paying their electric bill? Had someone actually agreed to this arrangement? From my experiences living in Abbotsford apartment buildings, I can tell you that 70% of the people living in them are Japanese exchange students who treat the building like a dorm. They constantly wander from apartment to apartment building like gypsies in a confined space. Could a similar situation be happening there?
I’ve seen people out on their patios in the two lower apartments. Obviously, they saw what was going on. They did nothing
A week ago I saw the cord had become unplugged. A few days ago I saw the air conditioner had been removed, which is strange because it’s now the summer. The cord had been left in place for the winter and spring months where one traditionally does not need an air conditioner. The whole scene followed some type of Bizaro logic that I can’t follow.

In the Ghetto.

LiveJournal Tags: Abbotsford

Off of MSN news. For the third month in a row, Abbotsford has one of Canada’s 10 highest unemployment rates.

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August '09 unemployment: 9.0%
July '09: 9.0%
Source: StatsCan
Technically, this picture is of Mission. Maybe 10% of the water in the bottom left corner may be Abbotsford, though. Don’t think you can fool me, interwebs.

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A Never-Ending Sea of Rage

Technorati Tags: Abbotsford

LiveJournal Tags: Abbotsford

That’s what the feeling this town induces. I saw two people doing drugs right in front of my building, where I sometimes see kids playing. They’re sitting on top of the wooden boxes newspapers for delivery are deposited, staring down everyone who drives to the end of the cul-de-sac. There’s an entire woods behind them where they can fuck around as much as they want, but they’ve decided they’re going to be out in public. You can see them plain-as-day when you open the door. The extent of their subtlety is to crouch down behind the box to do whatever drug they’re doing. I’m sure they leave their paraphernalia where kids can find it. Classy.
Sometimes I think: hey, I know where they’re going to be, I know what they’re going to be doing when they get there. Remote detonator charges? But that would be a crime. An awesome crime worthy of the Joker, but a crime nevertheless.
Also pissing me off: the air quality. It like poison out there. It’s not L.A. bad, but considering Abbotsford’s slogan is, “City in the Country,” you’d think that I might be able to suck in some fresh air once in a while. Seriously, this is a cow town. It’s like soup. Hot, thick soup.
Also: some bitch made headlines here in Abby when she said some dude snuck in from her balcony and raped her. It was a lie, but it wasted valuable police time, and it made people close and lock their patio doors during a heat wave. Classy.
Plus: There’s a he-she wannabe living in our local prison who’s trying to get a sex-change, and complaining about all the abuse they’re getting in prison. Maybe you shouldn’t have beaten your room mate to death and then you wouldn’t be in this situation. The dude wants his dick snipped off using tax dollars so he can be in a women’s prison. Look: we all want to be a women’s prison. I’ve seen “Caged Heat.” Show time is fun time. Snipping your dick off isn’t the way to go. Also: fuck you, but not literally. Bubba will do that for you, you murderous piece of human excrement.

Goddamnit.

They say no news is good news. Unfortunately, every time I open a paper, I read about another reason why I should move away from Abbotsford. Here’s the crap that’s been going on in my town:
During the Agrifair last week, some asshole left their baby and their two other children, both under four, in a locked car while he went to go and get drunk at the Beer Garden. Now: I know back in the day people use to do that shit all the time, while smoking their Laramines and listening to the Big Bopper. At some point, though, they would have thought to themselves, “Hey maybe I should roll down the window.” This wasn’t just a hot day, mind you. It was one of the hottest days on record. These kids nearly died. On the news they showed a stereotypical cop with a ‘stache trying to comfort this poor crying baby. Heartbreaking stuff. The asshole in question was a stereotypical piece of white trash leering at the camera while he was being led away in handcuffs. Of course he had on his Tapout shirt so every knew he was gangsta. Classy guy.
Then, in a unrelated story (possibly), someone found a bag of bloody clothes in a dumpster last night. Very bloody clothes. Suspicious stuff. Could be nothing. Could be something.
Now, just a few minutes ago, I was reading an article on MSN about Canada’s 10 Hardest Hit Job Markets. I’m clicking through it and I’m seeing a lot of towns in Ontario related to the collapse of the auto industry. What’s number 10 on the list? Abbotsford. My town. 9.0% jobless rate for July. Why?
No fucking clue, aside from the fact that every second person is either growing, using, or dealing, and I’m not just talking about the green stuff. We have no relation to the auto industry, or any of the other major markets that have recently collapsed. The only places I know of to go out of business are A&B Sound, Pet Cetera and Linen and Things, and it’s not like those people couldn’t find other work of that calibre. On the other hand, Abbotsford’s basically farm country. The only real businesses employing more than ten people are retail outlets and dinky little manufacturers. Not a lot of choice between them. A city that has the highest murder rate in Canada doesn’t exactly attract high-end business.

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Is That Honky-Tonk Man? I Think I Saw the Honky-Tonk Man. It IS the Honky-Tonk Man…

Technorati Tags: wrestling,Abbotsford

Recognizing a pro-wrestler from twenty years ago is a skill precious few posses. It helps that the wrestler in question is wearing a mullet and mutton chops. It’s not a combination one finds in nature, no matter how far South one travels. He’s one of those people you can’t help but identify. It’s like running into Mr.T. No one else dresses like Mr.T unless it’s Halloween, and in those cases they’re usually in blackface. It’s a testament to how unique some wrestlers look. Many of these performers are already 6’5” and weighing in at 350lbs. Then they decide to paint their faces gold, or carry around a python. It’s like putting up a neon sign pointing to a fire, or a hot chick getting a tattoo on her massive jugs. I’m just saying that if Hulk Hogan was in line in front of you at Starbucks, you’re going to know it’s him before you see the ‘stache.
The Honky-Tonk Man was never a major player, but everyone knew his shtick. He’d come out lookin’ like Elvis, and break a guitar over on someone’s head. People never used to break guitars before Honky-Tonk Man. He started that. In the wrestling ring, at least.
It wasn’t quite so surprising running into the Honky-Tonk Man, considering it was at a county fair. That’s typically where you’d expect to meet someone with the word, “Honky,” in their name. Did he have an aura around him? No. He’s not Rick James. He was about my height, however, leading me to believe I might be able to take him. Not necessarily in a fight, but perhaps in some form of non-athletic competition.
It was odd to think about how long he’d been in the “game.” The parallels between him and Mickey Rourke’s character,“The Ram” from The Wrestler, were considerable. The only difference is that Honky-Tonk could probably have won that Oscar. Plus Mickey could probably kick his ass. Honky-Tonk had the tan going on, but he wasn’t all ‘roided out. He was just a man with a job, signing autographs and wrestling in a little-known franchise.
Mostly, though, I was reminded about how my ex told me she had to see Honky-Tonk’s penis as he got changed. Once that image is placed in your head, you can’t get it out, even with a shotgun. You wonder if he’s got mutton chops around his balls, and thoughts equally as disturbing. I wanted to tell him, “Hey, I know a chick who saw your dick.”
To which he would probably reply, “Who, your mom?”
The truth is sadder by far.

“Hey, Want to Buy a Shirt?”

In the two seconds it took me to move from my car to the door of the liquor store yesterday, I was accosted by a crack head. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially given the locale I was in. One key thing to note is that there was no crack head nearby as I exited my vehicle. If I had intended to be cautious, I would not have noted his presence. That is because he swooped in by bicycle. Crack heads these days are very mobile when they can pick a bike lock. They have to be if they want to find crack.
One thing about having your bike stolen: if you ever find it, you rarely want it back. It’s usually going to be in the river somewhere. Amsterdam is one of the most bicycle friendly cities in the world. It is also one of the cities where you’re most likely to have your bike stolen. When they drain the canals in Amsterdam, it reveals a bicycle graveyard. It is not enough for a thief to merely dismount a bicycle he no longer requires and be on his merry little way. He must dispose of it like a body. If bicycles were more flammable, I’m certain they would be torched on a frequent basis like cars. This destruction is what makes bicycle theft a “theft” as opposed to “borrowing.” I don’t understand the reasoning for this. It’s the same mentality a person uses when kicking over a sandcastle. Human beings may not be inherently evil, but they are douchebags, so I assume they do it to ruin someone’s day. Or perhaps that as bicycle thieves they realize that they have an excellent chance of having their stolen bike stolen from them, and this angers them on a professional level.
Anyway, this particular crack head was different from other in that he didn’t merely want money for nothing. He had something to sell. A shirt. A navy blue Hanes shirt still in it’s package. He lauded it’s freshness like it was fish he had caught that morning. Likely he had stolen it earlier, then realized he had no use for it. Ever the entrepreneur, he tried to turn a profit on it. No such luck. You see: I was already wearing a shirt. I wonder what he would have sold it to me for if I had gone in on the deal. Would it be an outrageous price? Would I be expected to haggle and bring the price down for this dubious shirt?
The only thing that could have made this encounter more random was if he was trying to sell me the shirt he was wearing. That would have been fucked up, and cliché. Losing the shirt off your back.

Technorati Tags: Abbotsford,weidos

Sleepover

Technorati Tags: Wal-Mat,idiots,Abbotsford

LiveJournal Tags: Wal-Mart,Apocalypse,idiots,Abbotsford

I know there’s a recession on, and the availability of camping sites not currently occupied by German tourists is limited, but day after day I see the Wal-Mart parking lot filled with RVs. These RVs have “camped” out overnight in their lot, for nights on end. I’m fairly certain that at least one camper seems as if he has moved there permanently. I used to see one camper trailer painted with Biblical nonsense and forehadowings of the Apocalypse, although I forget what his slogan was. He was advertising himself as the person to talk to in case of Armageddon. No thank you. If you’re what’s left after the Rapture, I’d rather move on. He use to be there every night. Now it looks as if he’s been forced to move on as others take his place. Maybe he felt like he was in Ground Zero, and hurried away on his perpetual escape.
I know that the Wal-Mart parking lot probably isn’t the choice destination, but I worry that these mobile-slum dwellers will complain to me out their sliding windows that I’m making too much noise as I drive past them on my forklift. I don’t know what I would do in my rage then.
Today a woman called to me and complained that I had not explained to her that items taken from the store had to be paid for.
…Yes. In today’s civilized society, I am still expected to explain how stores work to people, and it’s considered a failing for not realizing the vast stupidity of others.

Down in the Dumps

Technorati Tags: trash,recycling,Abbotsford

I seriously have to question why we bother with recycling bins in my town. There is literally no reason for them to exist any longer. Seconds upon placing a can in the trash, a crackhead will come up and take it. Don’t believe me? As I was stopped at a gas station today, I decided to empty the trash out my car. The timeframe between placing a can in the recycling bin and the moment a crackhead came up to take said can out was less than a minute. I had also thrown a can in the trash, as I couldn’t be bothered to sort every little item. The crackhead also went through the trash container to collect the can there as well. So I could have thrown my can into either receptacle and it would still have been collected. I’m not making life any easier for him by placing it directly in the recycling, as he will still check in the trash. Technically, I could have just left it on the sidewalk, and he would have picked it up. If not him, then someone else. Hence, not only does the recycling bin not count for anything, but the trash can has become outdated as well. Fascinating, when you think about it. I can litter without littering.
Why does this occur? Well Abbotsford is the murder capital of Canada. Those murders are connected with the drug trade. Abbotsford is flooded with drugs of all kinds, shapes and descriptions. Shit I’ve never heard about, probably, and gangs are at war over who controls it. Who’s buying all these drugs? It’s not just the poor, it’s all kinds of people, but the more drugs you buy the poorer you get. Then you’re reduced to rummaging through trash cans for pop bottles to buy more drugs. Sure, not everyone in this situation is a drug addict, but society treats them all with the same regard, so what difference is a little distinction going to make? Fact of the matter is: living in an apartment building, I see these people as often as I see my neighbours as I enter and exit the facility. They’re unavoidable. My bags of trash are cut open, rummaged through, and sorted, making the recycling bins next to the dumpster good for cardboard and plastic only. With cans and bottles I can do whatever the hell I want.

Murdertown, Canada.

Abbotsford, the town I live in, has become the murder capital of Canada. Again. Meaning that his isn’t the first time. It was also the murder capital back in 2003. Furthermore, the town has a murderer named after it, “The Abbotsford Killer.” In all fairness, however, he was also a rapist.
The vast majority of murders committed here a a part of a drug war between two gangs called the Red Scorpions and the United Nations (no relation). The police are constantly trying to reassure the public that they are in no immediate danger, as these are targeted killings, but some of the people getting killed are just kids selling dime bags in school. They took two teenagers hostage out of a public park, drove them off and killed them and left their bodies in a car for police to find. And I thought I had it rough in high school. All I had to deal with was murder threats and savage beatings.
The Province chose to approach this tropic by interviewing someone from Abbotsford’s other group of undesirables: crotchety old geezers. The had a photo of one of the old farts who spend their days riding around on their rascals, but still have no clue how to drive. These are the ancient bastards backing up into you as you try to manoeuvre your shopping carts around them at the grocery store, then make you wait in line as they use pennies to pay for their discount cat food. What this this fine fellow have to say? Well, for one thing, he carries around a stick for beating on the young’un’s. Yes, a stick. It’s the perfect weapon. It’s wooden, and it’s sticky. You can use it to deflect bullets. In a town that’s supposedly the national capital for murder, you think you’d be able to pick someone with a more interesting story than fending off a mugging (allegedly). You know, someone who might have been a witness to one these murderers. I suspect, however, that these people are understandably too afraid to talk.
One error The Province printed: they quoted someone as saying it’s still a decent town. No. No it is not, sir. They closed down Popeye's Chicken. THEY CLOSED DOWN POPEYES CHICKEN. Remember the days when you could say, “At least I have chicken!” Those are gone. Abbotsford is a city with a hockey arena and no hockey team. They have an art gallery with no art. Millions have been invested in both projects. They flaunt the price tag. These missing necessities are all forthcoming, but that is a murky future. Meanwhile: property taxes are skyrocketing on houses no one wants, mainly for fear of being murdered. A gas tax is coming soon as well to pay for more crap.
The Province also cited how cheap it is to live in Abbotsford, compared to Vancouver, of course. We do not live like kings. Mainly because there are no jobs paying more than minimum wage. That’s why most kids turn to crime. It’s either that or get a job working in the prison, or becoming a cop. It’s a system that’ll keep feeding itself. I don’t foresee Abbotsford attracting much in the way of business with these conditions, although I see new office buildings going up. We’ve run out of place to build houses, so now we’re building condos. Condos no one buys.
Meanwhile, in the same paper, people are decrying the use of new identification systems in local bars and clubs. Some locations force you to have your Driver’s License scanned and your photo taken before entering the premises, in order to protect people from the kinds of violent crimes I just mentioned. Sure, it’s invasive, but then so is every aspect of our lives. We’re constantly under surveillance. My work has over forty security cameras. A computer logs every time I take the elevator down to the parking garage in my apartment. Castle Fun Park knows every game I play at their arcade. Any human being can discern every aspect of my person from my Facebook profile. We’re simply deluding ourselves into thinking we’re not inches away from having chips implanted in our necks. The only reason they haven’t is because they already have tracking chips in our cars, our cell phones, and even our pets. I personally have no problem with having my picture taken before going into a bar. We know crimes can take place there. They wouldn’t be called “bar fights” if they weren’t held in a bar. Plus this procedure should cut down on under aged drinking, so you don’t have to worry about that girl you picked up being jail bait. I do have a problem with someone having access to my address. This could actually lead to more crime. After all: they know I’m not home, and they now know where my home is. The bouncer is clearly on steroids, and his job probably doesn’t cover those expenses. All he’s got to do is call his buddy, and all my shit’s gone. As for misusing my personal information: that’s just a given. Every place you shop now, or website you frequent demands your phone number, e-mail address, etc. They buy and sell that information to other, less reputable businesses. There’s probably millionaires who do nothing but collect your data without your consent.
A judge has ruled the practice of collecting date in this manner illegal. Which means we’re more likely to be shot next time we go to eat. Hmm…
Why do I live here? Is it the entertainment value?
Want to hear some good things about Abbotsford? Mill Lake Park. Castle Fun Park. A convenient airport. The Abbotsford Air Show. Lou’s Bar and Grill. Fat Freddy’s Pizza. It’s a quick drive to Vancouver. That’s not enough to want to raise your family here, which I’m currently doing unsuccessfully. Meh.

Technorati Tags: Abbotsford

Busking Without the Busk

Abbotsford has never been a classy city. A trip to the multi-million dollar Reach Gallery exhibiting it’s “rich” history this past week has proven that to me. It’s a lavish facility housing little more that the refuse of a past generation: logging implements, arrowheads and traditional Sikh garb. Basically, whatever people had in their basement crawlspaces they could give away and housed under glass as if of unspeakable importance. Archaeology is a dubious pursuit at best, and these are hardly treasures to be displayed thusly. These effects are little more than the plastic sporks we use at KFC. The art itself reflected local landscapes and not much else. To me, art that acts only as a snapshot doesn’t do much as art. In summation: it’s a $32 million facility with about $160 of exhibits.
Every town has people standing on street corners and meridians with signs stating how hungry and poor they are, but I’ve been noticing a surge in number of people doing this in the past few weeks. I believe I counted five the other day. Two of them are out by the Home Depot and Wal-Mart. I know this because I have to drive by them four times a day. This is a pair who camps out behind the Home Depot doing drugs. I know this because I’ve stumbled upon them doing this as well. Typically, in the States, illegal immigrants hang out by the Home Depot hoping to make an honest -albeit still illegal- buck performing menial labour. I believe these two offer nothing in exchange for cash, which they then spend on drugs.
The other day, while sitting in my car waiting for my girlfriend to get off work, I had the window rolled down because it was about eight-four degrees. This was apparently enough of an invitation for a crackhead to come up to me and demand money, saying they were hungry. This was at 9:40 at night. The only thing a person like that would spend money on at that time was likely drugs. A car is supposed to be something of a private sanctuary. Lately, it’s come under attack by the people waiting at traffic lights. There’s even those who wait at fast-food line-ups and beg for money as the people wait for food. They ask for money, of course, and not food, although they still use the old excuse of using that money for food of coffee. Crack is one hell of a drug.