Holy shit did it ever snow a lot this weekend. Well, not that much, but enough to cause some major carnage on our roads. I guess people forget we live in a northern city and thus a little snowfall should be expected as November draws nigh. In spite of the crap weather's best efforts to bugger up my weekend, I actually had a pretty good one. Friday, me and D headed to Bistro Praha for Czech beer and schnitzel the size of my head. Oh, and crepes, delicious, boozy crepes. Then we checked out Clint Eastwood's "Flags of our Fathers" which was only okay. Well shot (especially the action bits) and competently acted, it just seemed rather trite, which is off considering the subject matter.
Saturday, I defended the honour of the Moustache at the first ever Covered In Oil/Battle of Alberta ball hockey extravaganza. It was rather wet. That evening featured a somewhat tepid Halloween party, the highlight of which was yours truly's brief reign as karaoke king (99 per cent on "Hey Jude" and "It's Not Unusual, bitches.) And then we got a flat on the way home, in the midst of the snowstorm with help (the AMA) tied up everywhere. Fortunately, we were able to snag a ride home with G's missus' parents, so it worked out in the end. Well, for me anyway: ain't my car stuck on the west end with a buggered-up tire. Finally, Sunday was he kind of Scotch and Guinness drinking, beef-stew making, sexy movie watching day that befitted such a snowy Sunday. There. Don't you feel better for knowing all that?
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