Quiet day, but it passed. Thankfully with minimal brain activity.
Woke up this morning in the midst of one of the most vivid dreams I've had in years. It began with a couple of short scenes I've since forgotten about but the main thrust was that I ended up at a comic/record/candy/ice cream shop run by the girlfriend of a high school friend. I don't remember if that friend was around at all, I think not, but I showed up in the morning before it was even open and went inside to hang out with this girl for a spell. It was odd and interesting, like we had some kind of familiarity we probably don't and may never have in real life. Eventually the store filled with her friends and family, all employees, and they got ready to open. Terry Fucking Hincks dropped by for some reason to congratulate her on the opening, which is probably one of the least likely scenarios I can think of.
Golfing was interesting today. I played terrible up until the last couple of holes. I'm pretty sure I was trying to work out some pent-up aggression by swinging way too hard way too often. I mean I swung so hard I started getting some pretty distinct pain in my shoulder blade area by the time I calmed down some. It was also kind of self-perpetuating because it just made me more frustrated that I was performing badly and compounded everything. I need to learn to deal with that better, not let that kind of aggression build up.
Getting a better view of the class divide down here. Grounds staff and day labourers in this community are almost uniformly Mexican, many speaking no English at all. Dad said the crew he hired to landscape their yard was technically the same that Gerry and Sherri used, but the personnel was very different; apparently a few of the guys got picked up by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and deported. The other workers say they'll be back in a few weeks, so apparently they know something the U.S. government doesn't. Kind of shows you the futility of the war against illegal immigrants.
Perhaps the Canadians can see it because they aren't so close to the situation, but there seems to be a consensus amongst these retirees that the economy, at least in the southern states, would grind to an absolute halt without illegal workers. They seem to be doing all the work in Arizona, anyway. When they work, that is; they clearly have a different mindset about urgency and the length of the work day. Gerry and Sherri are getting their back yard re-done and the workers didn't show up until 11;30am (they were expected before 10:00). While waiting for the porch bricks to be delivered they sat in the back yard, ate their bagged luches, even had naps in the sun since it took longer for the truck to show up than they expected.
Dad and Gerry talked with a hint of amazement in their voices about how much more they could get done if they worked harder for the full day and were better planned and organized (they ran out of bricks on two consecutive days before getting the porch finished). But the Canadian retirees don't seem to consider that there might be cultural differences at play, or at least a different mentality about work. Maybe (obviously) they aren't there to work 12 hour days and make more than they need, maybe they take on a job to cover their expenses and that's enough for them. Maybe they have a more austere lifestyle that doesn't necessarily call for all the comforts and conveniences we seek. Maybe its worth it to make a little less if your hours are a little less gruelling, if you're a little more relaxed, if you spend a little more time with your family, a little less time being stressed out. They likely couldn't even maintain the level they work at for a full eight hours; they have to use a pickaxe just to break into the desert soil to dig. They dig all day long with a goddamn pick axe and tamp dirt and bricks with a hand-made wooden pile driver. I would probably need a nap too.
You certainly don't need to make much money here though. Looking through the newspaper today and seeing the flyers for groceries and electronics was downright shocking. I know we have to import an awful lot of produce and other products to Saskatchewan but the price differences are immense nonetheless. The exchange rate alone can't explain it, that's for sure. Dad says they've seen gallons of milk on sale at times for 75 cents. That's astounding. I haven't seen a single cow since I got here! Where's all this cheap milk coming from? There are cows all over our province; how does this make sense? Meat is a stark example as well, literally a fraction of the price charged back home. The per-pound price for chicken and beef here is roughly equivalent to some of the 100 gram prices for fancy deli meat in Regina.
Pa says Part of the reason is that the state lacks the marketing boards/councils that dictate prices. For example, Christmas-sized turkeys, the 30 pounders, can be purchased for five dollars or less depending on how close to the holiday you get. Back home the Saskatchewan Turkey Producers' Marketing Board would set a higher price so that every producer gets a more even slice of the market. There's no regulatory body working for producers here, so they get into their own little price wars and things get super-cheap. It makes a big difference.
Price points follow the same trend for clothing, electronics, and other consumer goods as well. Big-name brand shoes are a third the price I'm used to; I got a brand new pair of New Balance running shoes for $39. I saw a 52" plasma hi-def TV on sale for $600; my dad got a smaller plasma screen a couple of years ago for $2,800 and it was a steal. Blu-ray DVDs sell for half or better of what they are at home.
It might seem a stereotype to us Canadians but excess definitely seems to be the call to arms here, especially when it comes to two of the most stereotypical American recreational aides: liquor and guns. We stopped at the Cabella's shop in Phoenix, a massive "outdoor outfitter" that older gentleman are quite fond of. The building is the size of entire shopping malls at home, large enough to include dozens of taxidermied animals posed on a faux-mountainside that reaches two floors from floor to ceiling. There's even a "museum" of sorts in the back of all the different animals that inhabit the region. That someone has killed. Anyway, we passed by the firearms area and the number of rifles on display was astounding. But that wasn't the half of it; meandering through the footwear section I glanced at a flyer left open on a bench and saw the big sale item this month: handguns! There was a full two-page spread of different pistols available for purchase just steps from where I was standing. I was agog. They were just there, all different styles, price ranges, and "stopping power." They were in Wal*Mart and in small, independent sporting goods stores. It reminded me that, while there is some loose regulation, that shit could be lying within arm's length of any home or person down here. I can't believe with the kind of availability there is anyone actually commits crime; I'm afraid just to look at people funny after seeing that. There's no way I could commit a crime and risk someone "defending themselves" against me.
Liqour is the other big one, as I mentioned. It isn't like some Alberta cities where they're overcompensating by having a thousand "beer stores" on every big street. Its just everywhere; advertised on TV, in grocery flyers, even drug stores carry booze. Its in every kind of store and in every advertisement. The first thing I saw when we went into Costco yesterday (yeah, my folks still shop at Costco, even though its just the two of them) was huge pallets of booze stacked at least 20 feet high. The prices seem insane, 1.75 litre bottles of tequila for $20. Sales are evidently so high at Costco the company has expanded their own in-store brand (Kirkland, I believe they call it) to cover booze. They have Kirkland "French gourmet" vodka, Kirkland 10 year-old Tawny Port, even several varieties of wine. And its littered throughout the store, not just in one back corner of the store where there was at least a dozen tables of product. There was an incredible juxtaposition in one aisle: all the floor-level products were sporting goods, balls, bats, weights, etc. But the entire aisle on the upper levels of those shelves, from eye-level up, was even more alcohol. Mostly beer. I'm not saying there isn't a tangential connection there, but they seem to be at odds.
But we didn't really venture outside the walls of "Sun City" today so there isn't much else to analyze. I think we'll probably end up going to Casa Grande tomorrow for a little shopping and a look at the Hohokam national monument the town is named after. Should be good to do a little learning during this adventure.
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