Saturday, June 28, 2014

Peguis Pavilion - Kildonan Park

The Peguis Pavilion – Kildonan Park


Well I was goin’ to spout off about the business in Iraq an’ the Ukraine. In fact, I got my rage meter cranked up to overdrive an’ was just about ready to fire off the first salvo when I came upon somethin’ earth shatterin’ that temporarily changed my mind.

Me an’ the missus picked up my sister to go have a stroll in Kildonan Park an’ look at the flower beds an’ enjoy some fresh air. We done that too. Of course all that amblin’ around raised our appetites somewhat an’ so we ambled ourselves into the Peguis Pavilion an’ the bran’ spankin’ new “Food Evolution” restaurant.

We shouldn’t a had’a done that. See, we come from a time when the pavilion was designed as a pavilion, much like the one at Assiniboine Park. In fact, my sister used to work at that pavilion in Kildonan Park back in the day. She had a summer job there when she was goin’ to school. Them days, it was a big rotunda with servin’ stations in the four directions. The waitresses had all they could do to keep up with the crowds on weekends. It was like Grand Central Station.

Then they mowed the place down an’ built a new one back in the fifties. The best part o’ that was the change room downstairs where you could put on your skates and use the washroom before headin’ out on the pond. They even had music (such as it was). The only thing was, the leased out restaurant wasn’t that big a deal. Not only that, but there was this giant empty space in the dining area, totally unoccupied. Except for the odd diner. What a waste!

Well the city must’a noticed too cause they closed the place down and started major renovations. When I saw that I wrote to Mayor Sam Katz about my ideas for the pavilion. They should put up a small stage so young start-up bands, poets an’ authors could perform for free to the breakfast an’ lunch crowd, thus getting some exposure for theirselves an’ providin’ entertainment for the people there. I figured it would be a crowd pleaser an’ draw an awful lot of young folks to the park and the pavilion, thus bring some life back to the park. To my surprise, Mayor Katz got back to me sayin’ it was an interstin’ idea an’ he’d pass it on to somebody.

Well I guess they never got the memo ‘cause the first thing I noticed was a great big bar in the corner of the restaurant. A bar? In a park pavilion? C’mon, who thought that up? That’s like having eight ounce wine glasses at communion. An’ the station where you placed yer order took up another fair bit o’ space too. The menu itself wasn’t too bad though. The only thing about it was that it was much better on paper than on the plate. Where’d they get that food anyways? It tasted like hospital rejects. The waitresses were friendly enough an’ pleasant, but totally lackin’ in trainin’.

At a year behind schedule and two million dollars for renovation, it seems the city has created a “make work” project slated for failure. I hate to say it, but I don’t think it’s gonna fly. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.

Saturday, June 21, 2014




That’s what you call what them eye doctors do. I think the reason they call it that is cause if you can read it, you got 20/20 vision. Probly the first six months o’ school, they learn how to pronounce it an’ after that, they ain’t just an eye doctor, they’re a for sure OPHTHALMOLOGIST! – in trainin’ of course.

I called my Ophthalmologist the other day ‘cause I was gettin’ blurred vision in one o’ my eyes. It was one o’ them things that sorta sneaked up on me. The thing is that when you got two eyes an’ only one o’ them is blurred, you don’t figure it out right away. To tell the truth, the first thing I did was to wash the windshield on my car. That didn’t make no difference so I slowly remembered havin’ the wrinkles ironed outta my other eye sometime after cataract surgery. It was an easy procedure done right in the office. The Ophthalmologist gave me some eye drops, froze the eye, stuck a ring in it to keep it open an’ proceeded to iron it all out with a lazer thingamebob. You might compare it to takin’ a hair dryer to the plastic you put over yer windows in the winter time to smooth it out. The whole business was done in less than five minutes except for the wait time while the eye drops took effect.

So you’d figure it’d be a pretty simple affair. Not so, according to that snippy receptionist in the office. “When did you have the procedure done?” she wanted to know.

I looked it up an’ told her five years ago. “Too long,” she says. “You’ll have to go to an Optometrist and get a referral.”

WHAT?  I had a referral in the first place to have my cataract removed. “Don’t matter,” she says with some finality. So I hung up the phone an’ stuck my head in a paper bag to let off steam.

Eighty bucks later, I had a referral to do exactly what I had predicted in the first place, not that they’d believe the owner of the eye that don’t see proper. Well, I made the appointment, but not with them buggers. They wouldn’t miss me anyways.

In my mind it’s the Optometrist should be doin’ that window polishin’ hisself instead o’ some high falutin’ Ophthalmologist anyways. They could set up a whole eye cleanin’ department an’ get some o’ them kids what put together computer parts to do the job. They got steadier hands than most of us an’ with a little instruction, could do as well as any Ophthalmologist, an’ probly better. After all, you don’t need to be an architect to wash the windows on a high rise apartment buildin’ do you? At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.





Saturday, June 14, 2014




See the thing is, my phones don’t work proper. I say phones ‘cause there’s three o’ them in a cordless package these days. You don’t get single ones no more. I guess they figure you gotta be within arm’s length of any o’ them contraptions in case somebody wants to talk to you. By now of course them cordless phones are a little out o’ date, given all the cell phones an’ other paraphernalia, but then, we ourselves are a little outa date too.

We didn’t realize there was anythin’ wrong with them for the longest time. You could still dial out an’ talk to whoever without a problem so there was no excuse to question them. But, technology bein’ what it is, gets a little technical now an’ then. When you call somebody an’ a machine answers, givin’ you a choice of what department you want to talk to, they tell you to press one for this department, press two for somethin’ else an’ so on. Well I could press buttons ‘til the cows come home an’ nothin’ would happen. Even the machine on the other end was gettin’ frustrated. I was expectin’ to hear a pile o’ indiscrete expletives from it.

It all became clear when our security system wouldn’t let anybody into the apartment. I said to the missus, “I’ll go down an’ phone up an’ you buzz me in.”

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll do ‘er. But don’t forget your key card, just in case.”

So I go downstairs an’ dial up. The missus pushed the button on the phone to let me in. There’s a gurglin’ sound like what yer stomach makes after you’ve eaten a piece of rhubarb an’ strawberry pie for the first time this year. An’ the damn door won’t open.

The big box store where we got the dad blamed thing from don’t know nothin’ about problems with them things neither so they give me a one – eight hunnert number to call the manufacturer. Holy cheese an’ crackers! It took at least an hour to get through to the right customer service department an’ when I finally did they say; “If the equipment you are calling about is more than two years old, there is no service on it. You will be required to pay seven dollars and fifty cents for your question.” Well somethin’ like that. I should have my credit card ready so they can charge me.

I had to hang up pretty quick ‘cause all of the sudden the question that popped into my head had nothin’ to do with telephones. So I decided to look them up on the internet. Wouldn’t you know it, they’re bleedin’ money hand over fist, an’ seven dollars an’ fifty cents ain’t goin’ to save their bacon. Maybe if they was to concentrate on servicin’ their mickey mouse telephones instead of  collectin’ seven dollars an’ fifty cents per question, they might not be hemmoragin’ so bad. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

The Long and the Short of it.

The Long and the Short of it


Listen, this argument has been goin’ on since dirt was invented. It already started when Eve got together with that snake of a snake. An’ it all has to do with the same basic thing. Really girls, you’re not foolin’ anybody one bit. We know what you’re up to. Well who can really blame you. After all you got them blossoming bodies bustin’ outa your bloomers, an’ somebody’d better notice. How else you gonna find out who’s tryin’ to figure out how far up your pants your legs go? Or just how cleaved your cleavage is?

If you think for one minute that anybody’s gonna believe the only reason you dress that way is to be comfortable in the hot weather, think again. Two inches or four inches (or however many centimeters that is) on the hemline of a pair o’ shorts or a top ain’t gonna make one iota o’ difference. The temperature you refer to has nothin’ to do with the weather. It has everything to do with the body temperature rising at the remarks you pretend to be offended by. You might as well wear some “Depends” or a “Colostomy” bag to keep all that crap in. The same goes for them guys wearin’ muscle shirts you girls seem to like so well.

Just so’s you know, let me tell you that school, especially middle school is an incubator for learnin’ not sex. Do you see your parents and grandparents goin’ to work dressed like you are? I don’t think so.

But I’ll tell you what though. You got a good point about the schools bein’ wrong in sendin’ you home to change yer pants. What’s gotta change is the curriculum just a wee bit. Right after assembly, they have to have a mandatory “come as you are arc weldin’ class an’ construction instruction. That way you get to see the sparks fly in ways you never thought you would AN’ you get yer exercise at the same time. Not only that, but you learn a trade different from the oldest one in the book too. What could be better?

Just think. You’d win the age old argument and wear whatever you want with nobody givin’ you grief over it an’ the boys could watch you dance every time you got a shower of sparks up your wazzits, or down your wazzits, whatever wazzits you got hangin out. It would completely camouflage your true intent that you could then take to the next level AFTER SCHOOL IS OUT! At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf,

Just sayin’.