7/19 – 7/20, Bummer drive and Edmonton: You know, the 1,300 mile journey from Fort Collins to Edmonton seemed daunting at first, but after shedding a couple hundred miles off the journey and witnessing the jarring manmade urban splendor of such cities as Casper, Wyoming, we realized that drive was actually not only daunting, but actually very boring. The saving grace was the never-disappointing natural beauty of Montana. I can’t say I blame all those hill jacks who live there who want to make their 20 acre ranches with all the cars on cinder blocks, the sadly malnourished but loyal hound dogs, and the Ron Paul 2008 and 2012 yard signs into sovereign nations ala Mr. Show. Anyhow, we decided to split our journey to Edmonton in twain by staying in a town called Lethbridge, Alberta, just over the Canadian border. Our border crossing, by the by, was as painless as could ever be expected, as the border guards were stoked to hear that we love Propagandhi and let us through without much of a hassle. I wonder what their favorite song off Today’s Empires Tomorrow’s Ashes is. Garrett managed to find a vegan hardcore kid on a couchsurfing website who said he’d put us up for the night. This was stoking, because his house turned out to be a MTV cribs style mansion and we slept more comfortably than we deserve. Thanks bro! Okay, so we finally arrive in Edmonton, scoped out the venue, and ate some spectacular vegan food from a restaurant called Padmanati. The show was great. Old Wives opened the show and played a well-oiled brand of pop punk that brings to mind the heyday of Lookout! Records. We played and were well received, particularly by the 5 or 6 skids throwing each other around in the pit. The Dopamines killed, per usual. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation erupting pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. Garrett, Brian and I(Tim) went on the hunt for some of that famous overpriced Canadian beer, and on our journey helped an elderly woman on her way home from the doctor walk to her apartment building with her groceries. Hooray for helping! As the show came to a boozy end, we hatched a plan with The Dopamines to share a single room in a hotel with a strip club in the basement. We decided to go to said strip club to celebrate The Dopamines’ hardly-working merch guy Dave’s birthday. I have never been a huge fan of strip clubs, but there were certainly some noticeable differences between Canadian and American strip joints that I felt were interesting and worth expanding upon. Canada, like the EU and I’m sure several other countries doesn’t have a $1 or $2 bill. Anything smaller than $5 is represented only with coins. You can see where this creates a logistical problem for dancer and strip club patron alike. The answer lies in posters personalized to the individual dancer, rolled up like a bugle of sorts and held suggestively by the girl as she encourages customers to toss coins into the funnel. Even more interestingly, the coins that miss the makeshift funnel thing are collected by a magnet on a stick operation that sort of looks like a metal detector. They’ve got it down to a science, up here! We wound down the rest of our night steeping in the ironic contraposition of what it was to help that elderly woman with walking down the street versus what it is to help out some young girls by pitching loons ($1 coins) into a paper funnel held between their legs. A line of thought that doesn’t lead to very flattering places… A couple old Simpsons and Golden Girls episodes washed the thoughts from our heads as we drifted off to a drunken sleep.
7/21, Calgary: The Dopamines are a bunch of rich kids. Brutal hangovers left us in shambles as we rolled across their 1 ½ star hotel room floor telling fart jokes and passing Mikey Erg around. Desperate attempts were made to wash away the pungent scent of shame and stripper perfume, decimating what little integrity the hotel’s shower ever possessed. With clean bodies and a clear conscience, another savage craving soon entered out stomachs and hearts. Realizing we had been in Canada for almost 12 hours, the time to consume poutine was nigh. The GPS was set for The Big Cheese Poutinerie in Calgary and away we went. Our veins rushing with gravy lube and stomachs churning cheese curds, we ventured onto “sexy 17th St” in Calgary. We disgusted all these hotties as the temperate Calgary sunlight illuminated our true dirt-turkey physiognomy. We took the “Pepsi Challenge”, and it was just about the saddest thing ever. You ever order a whiskey and Pepsi? Hell no, you would be a virgin until your dying day ordering that horsepiss at a bar. Double-Whiskey COKE, no ice, is what keeps these gents content. We then sauntered into a local park to watch a few locals play Weakerthans covers then jumped in the van to head over to the venue. The Old Wives opened for the second night in a row, engaging the crowd with soaring three piece harmonies and solid punk jams. The Dopamines were too drunk to play and just awkwardly touched one another on stage – I for one, was aroused. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. Like rabid cats shot up with beer-tranquilizers and corralled into kennels, we finally got in the van, cozied up in our sleeping bags, and prepared for an overnight caravan ride to Vancouver.
7/22, Vancouver: The treachery of mountainous roads forced us to pull over at a rest stop and wait until daylight to continue. We woke up on the fringe of Banff National Forest between a spiked crag and a rushing river -truly a breathtaking way to wake up. We ate a heart-healthy breakfast with our favorite big-gurls, The Dopamines, and teamed up to continue our trek through the Canadian Rockies. The drive was a grueling all-day adventure, and we arrived just in time for load in and sound checks at The Venue. TBR’s tour manager, Cory, came through with a clutch 30 rack that accompanied our delish falafel dish dinners. We stumbled across the street to spend our last of Canadian coinage on arcade games then navigated through a myriad of crusty bo-bo’s to discuss the marvels of modern sea trade we spotted along Vancouver’s river shore. Local sluggers, The Isotopes, were first up to bat that evening and they hit one out of the park. Rocking out several Americana baseball-themed songs, they kept up momentum and lead the crowd in a sing-along of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”. The Dopamines spilled whiskey all over their dirty shirts and choked on fog smoke, all the while playing their instruments like a bunch of thalidomide stricken children. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. We crashed with some new Canadian buddies and found the bottom of their Jameson bottle and waxed awkwardness under the influence some really awesome weed. I slept in the van and a bum watched me pee on the side of the street at 5 in the morning while I drunkenly tried to keep my footing – it was a bonding moment, his name was Larry.
This. For 20 hours.
Next level delicious technology, player.
Fake-ass spicy ginger beef, that's smart!
The elevation of Edmonton. Praise his name, dicks.
The great one lifting the cup above his mighty cranium like it ain't no thang.
Calgary is a ten from this angle, bro...
Canadian Rockies. Shit got real.
Boredom and pickles. Boom!
This lethal mixture is called the Barnett Family Haircut. Tasty bevs.
Blog Epilogue (Epi-blogue?) Gimmick!!!
Here's the deal. Because unemployment and general dickery made a bored idiot out of me, I put an Elway-ian spin on some classic internet memes. All you guys have to do is give these following pics some hilarious captions, and you could win some free shit from us! Don't be a dick and send them shits to firstname.lastname@example.org!
Sudden Clarity Joe