The Provincial Capital that Rhymes with the Most Rude Things

Greetings, gentle readers.
So here I am in Regina, after what was supposed to be a ridiculously rushed transfer from plane to plane, but instead has turned into what looks to be an impromptu four-hour layover.  I expect that the tourism statistics for Regina will balloon after tonight, since the airport is packed with stranded travellers.  WestJet has been gracious enough to give us a $15.00 meal voucher while we wait, but I reckon that I'll wait until the panic rush of the Brioche Dorée subsides until I grab a croissant or two.
To recap:  I was asked to buy last-minute emergency tickets to fly to Las Vegas for my cousin's wedding, an event of which I was previously aware, but not actually invited to attend until work and travel considerations became awfully nasty.  I then went to the Edmonton International Airport at noon with a virtual boarding pass (a scan code on my iPhone) and jumped on the cheapest turboprop smoking that would get me to a connection that would result in me arriving in Las Vegas, Nevada.  I didn't know that modern airlines still used turboprops.  It makes sense, if you consider the short hops between Canadian cities, but I still couldn't shake the sounds of Arlo Guthrie's "City of New Orleans" and the soaring triumphal chorus at the end of "Cry Freedom" as Donald Woods and his family fly out of Lesotho amidst a crawling scroll of names of those who died whilst detained without trial by the Afrikaaner Apartheid government.
But I digress.
First of all, the Edmonton International Airport has set all of its pinball games to the most sensitive tilt settings I've ever seen.  Airports are the last refuge of the arcade, and Edmonton has been let down mightily.  That being said, I still managed to get a replay and a match on the Iron Man game, so if you're really quick, there are two free credits that I've abandoned.
But the departure lounge wasn't all about pinball, oh no.  It was also about hanging out with people who worked at Fort McKay and the Firebag sites and were headed home for the holidays.  That is, until I heard a shriek behind me.  I turned to see a wild-eyed man pointing at me, shouting that "Louis CK told me!"  In typical fashion, I blinked impassively at him.  He grabbed my shoulder and looked over it at my iPhone (the one with the boarding passes), crying "I've seen it!  I've seen it!"  A staff member materialized at his side, saying that she could get him a cold glass of water.
"I have cancer!" he shrieked, then crouched, clutching a chair.  "How do I know?  I INVENTED it!"
He then spun around, dodging the staff member, and ran out onto the concourse crying "REBECCA!"
He ran off away from my gate, and I thought I saw him sitting on a couch, being comforted by some security and border guards.  But if the experience taught me anything, it's that this is bound to be no ordinary trip or vacation.  Strange and exotic things are bound to befall.  Right now, they're befalling in the frozen wastes of Saskatchewan, where the weather isn't too objectionable, but apparently airplanes elsewhere cannot find their way here.  I haven't even made it to the land of Fear and Loathing, and already things are disintegrating.
Oh well, at least if things aren't boring, I might find more things about which I could post.  Man may search for meaning, but I'm just looking for some decent topics to provide copy.
So 2016 is almost over.  The bloodbath of celebrities and cultural icons may be about to draw to a close.  Abe Vigoda's obituary is no longer inaccurate.  Requiescat in Pace, Gene Wilder.  Your long heartache for Gilda is over. Princess Leia and her mother Debbie will never be forgotten.  Bowie, Prince, and George Michael changed the world's soundscape forever.  The universe is a more desolate place, and we can only hope for future generations to continue the tradition of genius and innovation.
Bring on 2017 and the Era of Trump.  May the Berners continue the hard slog to redefine American politics in such a way that it is not a global slapstick routine.
That's all from me in Saskatchewan.
Good night England and the colonies.
—mARKUS