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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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He's introduced by the other temps, their awe comes through in the introduction, he needs no introduction...we've met him already.
It's Benji, King of the Temps. Benjamin - Benji - the classic temp, missing his front teeth, but in a charming way, Native American, off the reserve, he'd done time in Montana, 10 years or so, couldn't quite explain why, assault, etc. Short, muscular, built in the upper body, the top 2 1/2 feet, but spindly in his legs and with slight and delicate little hands for such a pugilist. He speaks 12 languages, Cree, Ojibwa, Navajo, Cherokee, more even, none you'd know, he knows the Sioux, thinks I might have a claim, but they're from the US,..
"...They were sentenced to be hanged. No attorneys or witnesses were allowed as a defense for the accused, and many were convicted in less than five minutes of court time with the judge..."
Beni's lazy, he shows up for work, on the Temps Bus, every day, and it's his regularity and bullshit, not performance, that recommends him. He's become King of the Temps. He can be found cleaning up the site, gesturing towards the work that needs to be done with an empty magnet, he's the air of authority and knowledge that the other temps respond to, it seems absurd, really, but he's got an elevated status with the other Native-American temps, a sort of god-king thing going, like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse now...you can find him anywhere, everywhere, bullshitting about what he's doing, what he's done, but always the empty magnet, or the empty garbage bag (if he's been off collecting bottles & cans...), he directs the other temps towards the nastier jobs and walks himself in the other direction, he knows them all, when the regulars go missing he tells us on what charges and for how long.
He disappears, weeks on end, he's been charged with assault, punching a police officer, hard to reconcile with the Benji we know, Drunk & Disorderly, well, that's easy, passed out on somebody's lawn and he's woken with a start and punching blindly, we all know the feeling...
Over lunch he's on the phone with "his attorney", business concluded he sets up a golf date, he wants to play chess with me, a bit of an intellectual as well, and so I try him on the mental chess, his response is to shout out the name of the pieces he knows, "Horse" or "Castle-thingy", he's got a whole host of middle class aspirations, the company was dangling the temp-to-perm carrot in front of him, he's lurching for the bait, can't wait until he gets on permanent, he's going to buy a truck, a Mustang, a Camero, a Harley Davidson, he's gonna make the temps work, too, put them into teams, give them deadlines, he's got it all planned out, if they don't perform they get DNR'd (do not returned) on their slips, he's a born leader. If he doesn't go back to jail, the hearing's in a few weeks, there's a possibility given his abundant priors that he might be away for some while...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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"What do you think of Nenshi?" she asks, and I'm stuck for an answer. He hasn't been much in the press lately.
Now clearly the man is a lunatic. To expect corporations, especially in Alberta, the dead-end for most migratory birds, ( & here, & here, & here), to in any way bear liability for the destruction of the environment? Where would the Oilsands be? Where would Syncrude be? (or, perhaps a pun on "Crudely Sinning"?).
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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For a while I lived with Homunculus. A little man, older, retired and perpetually broke, he needed the money, I needed a cheap place to live.
As a condition of my living there I was treated to his opinions on everything, most, all of which weren't worth hearing and perfectly exemplifying the old adage "The unexamined life is not worth living", but he was long dead anyways, a fearful little man, waiting to corner me when I woke up to share with me some new-aged flash of insight, share worries that the government was concealing the truth, share his life's work, to warn the world's people against vaccinations, against contrails and taxes and the fluoride in the water...always something new...
He spends his days, 4:00 AM until 5:00 PM, on his computer "researching", as he calls it, miraculous resurrections, alternative medicine, government conspiracies and cover-ups, this, balanced with entire days, weeks, of defragging and fixing his computer, restoring his internet connection. He's too busy to get things done, leaving his room only to go for cigarettes. He fancies himself one of the Illuminati, his mission in life, if only he can get his computer working, to disseminate all the disinformation he's acquired, debunk the myths of evolution and science, if he saves just a single life it will all be worth it he tells me, ending with:"Think of the children..."
Once a week or so he heads on down to the food-bank, he's eligible, collects his box of groceries, takes them home, throws 90% of it away, "Not organic" he tells me, he refuses to eat anything that's not organic, he won't be poisoned by GM foods, then after lecturing me and filling the trash with the new groceries he heads off to co-op to buy himself some sausage rolls...
His kids, they avoid him, only call when they need money, a favor, he resents any intrusions upon "his work", his time sitting dazed in front of a computer screen, overwhelmed by the amount of drivel on the internet, his brain working to fit it all in, conspiracies, more conspiracies, everyone is out to get him, I should be worried too...
There is a certain Genius to his Idiocy, a life completely lived in denial, his house, a mausoleum, his perpetual avoidance of any sort of real thought or action, amusing, but sad, and I was due back in the real world...
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Bankview from my balcony. Every morning, 5:00, 6:00, 7:00 AM, the tribes of the Calgary homeless search the dumpster across the way for bottles. It's as if they have a schedule, know when the drunkards will be waking up and dumping the empties over the balcony, searching the dumpster, shopping carts, makeshift trailers on bicycles, garbage bags slung over shoulders, there's a rhythm.
And the dog walkers, mostly small, indoor, apartment-style dogs, teacups, a good looking couple chatting, her, small, fit, cute, him, larger, fit, handsome, their dogs exactly the same size, one a terrier, the other a pug, chatting, holding his dog, her dog back, they're trying to mount, obviously hitting it off, the couple, the owners, they're hitting it off as well but daren't be so forward...
And evening, the drunks on the way home from the bars on 17th, cabs, cars dropping off late night partiers, a couple of attractive girls making out in a vintage convertible, young, lipstick-lesbians, 1:00 AM, try not to look or stare, but one catches you looking anyways, stares back through the passenger window while her partner fumbles and gropes her...
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Spotted this in Nelson:
"Professional Water Witcher". What should of been of interest to me was the "Placer Gold Deposit Pinpointing". Imagine my interest when I found out the owner of the business also works as an Elvis Impersonator.
Nelson. The happiest place on earth.