03/18/2010: "Top Bets"

Hi All,

Another week, more top bets. Savvy blog readers will see I've plagiarized myself on #3. Nothing else to report.

Weekend's Top Bets Mar 12

1. FREDERICTON. So, like, I took this pottery class and it was groovy like a movie. I dug my hands into the clay, man, working with the flesh of the Earth Mother. I'd roll out of bed at noon and walk to pottery class laughing at the corporate drones working their nine to fives, slaves to the imperialist machine. I made this beautiful big bubble out of clay, with a little bowl on top; I slipped it over my head like a diver's helmet, put a big knot of "Mother Nature's Magic Herb" in the bowl, and took deep nourishing breaths. I wandered onto the street, lit a clove cigarette and laid on the hood of a parked car, drinking up the sun and blowing a few notes on my pan flute. Some squarejohn in a tie tells me it's his car and that I ought to get my raggedy ass off it. "Hey, do you own the water, you crypto-fascist nazi?" I say. "Do you own the SKY? It's for everybody, the birds and the grasshoppers, narc." The guy says he owns the car, yeah, and also the psychedelic tee-shirt shop down the way - and guess what? My business was no longer appreciated. That totally harshed my mellow, man. Where am I gonna buy my tie-dyed bandannas now? Pottery course at Leo Hayes High. March 13 & 14, 1 - 5pm. $135. 468-2030.

2. SAINT JOHN. I was low on scratch and aimed to spin a five-spot into a sawbuck by passing a few hours at the bingo hall. So I dust off my dabber and sit down next to this tortured old fossil in one a them motorized scooters; Treasure Trolls barricade his bingo cards like armed sentry guards. I’m a few dabs shy of a tidy payday but the free gutrot’s pressing at my britches, so I hit the mens - when I get back this old coot’s flappin’ MY card crying, “Bingy! Bingy!” “You sandbaggin’ viper!” I say. Epithets were thrown, accusations tendered ... unfortunately, I’d accrued some ill-will amongst the locals for certain shady doings previously committed. A burlap sack went over my head, things went black, and I woke up in the cattails along the river with Rascal treadmarks crisscrossing my chest. Worst of all: a bright red bingo dab on my chin. The mark of the pariah. I was no longer welcome at that bingo hall. 25-cent bingo at the Millidgeville North End Lions Club. March 13, at noon.

3. MONCTON. Heartiest felicitations and hark! I didst awake to discover, to my great chagrin, that my royal castle was under siege by cunning knaves, scoundrels, and rank highwaymen. They didst rudely eject me from my lodgings, keeping for themselves my darling queen, Esmerelda, and my loyal fool, Digby Duggans. They forced me to wander the plains - once a mighty King, now a penniless cuckold! My humors were in wretched disarray, bile and phlegm co-mingled. I didst come upon a vast fortress, an ‘arena’ they are called; inside was a Home Show. I approached the nearest vendor and said: “You there, commoner! Build me a castle with parapets, minarets, and a moat and drawbridge to keep out the dragon of Dinesh.” The blaggard said: “How much can you spend?” I turned out my pockets; a few sad ingots pinged off the floor tiles. “But I am your sovereign,” I said. “I work for folding money,” he said. Oh, thou puling worm! Thou pitiable, louse-ridden, donkey-dumb, fart-in-a-windstorm and truly most damnable fiend! Home Show. All weekend at the Moncton Coliseum. 506.852-3377.

4. FREDERICTON. My blushing beauty Handsome Maggie says to me, she says: “Hey, there’s a Family Arts workshop. Let’s go.” I didn’t know if this was her sly hint that she was in a ‘family way,’ but we went to the gallery and each sat behind an easel. The instructor said to paint each other’s portrait. So, okay, I make sure to capture Maggie’s nice puffy frizz of hair, her high proud forehead, the way her upper canine pokes out’n her mouth over her bottom lip like a cutesy vampire. Well, then Maggie shows me her portrait: my smile’s all droopy-arse and my teeth like rotten bits a corn, my nose lookin’ like a busted-off carrot stuffed into a snowman’s face! Then she flicks her Zippo, sets fire to the canvas, kicks the easel over and runs away laughing fit to bust. That woman’s got a funny way of expressing her affection. Family Arts workshop at the Beaverbrook museum. 2 - 4pm. $5 per person. 703 Queen Street. 458-2032.

5. SAINT JOHN. Handsome Maggie cast a scrutinous eye at my loyal Alabama tickhound, Mudds LaRue, and said: “You ought to get that mutt cleaned up.” Ole Mudds had danced some kinda inter-species mating dance with a skunk out behind the garbage bins t’other night, so I admit he smelled a bit hummy. I took him to the groomer, a German fellow; he eyeballs poor Mudds, says: “Oh, vhat a horrid sing, is zis dug. Ee schtinks unt ees fur looks like somesink zat clogs up zee drain.” But he purses his lips and flutters his eyelashes and goes: “I lof zee challenge.” He disappears with Mudds behind a curtain. I hear clipping noises, running water, Mudds whining a little. Next I see him, Mudds has got fey purple ribbons tying back the hair over his eyes and his toenails been painted - pink! “Ees a hundsome doggie now,” says the scourge who done it. He gives me a rhinestone-encrusted leash what to walk ole Mudds with. My poor dog stares at me with a piteous expression, like to say: ‘What I ever done to you that I deserve this treatment?’ When we’re walking out the door he gnaws on the back of my ankle and runs down the road, slipping and sliding on account of his freshly-painted toenails. Come back, dear Mudds! I’ll always love ya! Good Guys Pet Supplies Grooming Seminar. $200. March 13. Starts at 9:30am. More info: www.goodguyspetsupplies.com

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