insert witty title here

Newly elected Prime Minister Paul Martin exclaims: "Guess where this is going!" to Canadian taxpayers







Stay tuned for tomorrow's one-year anniversary blog post!

Dan decided that the weather was cooperative enough to go for a flight this morning, so he and I drove to the airport where his Cessna 150 is stored (parked?). As you can see from the link, it’s only slightly larger than my little sports car was – in fact, I had more elbow room in the car.

After much fussing about, we received tower approval for departure and Dan opened the throttle and we roared down the runway. Okay, replace roared with buzzed like a lawnmower on crack if you want a more accurate visual. Just at the point of liftoff Dan abruptly eased back on the throttle and announced to the tower that he was aborting the flight because his airspeed indicator wasn’t working - which is one of those useful bits of airplane you don’t want to fly without.

So we taxiied back to his parking spot, secured the plane and went to Costco instead.

Frankly, I was only going along to be polite anyway, because I’ve flown in enough tiny airplanes to last a lifetime. As BB King sang: the thrill has gone.

In other news, today was Canada’s big election day. Tomorrow morning our American neighbours to the south may have a brand new Canadian Prime Minister kissing up to them.

Dan and his girlfriend are still asleep, so I've taken my morning coffee and padded downstairs to check my email and update the ol' blog.

Like most northern towns, this one seems to have a bylaw that requires 90% of the residents to have an incessently barking dog in the backyard of their house. It reminds me of that scene from 101 Dalmations where all of the dogs in England send a cross-country message to Pongo and Perdita that the puppies have been located. I drifted off to sleep around 2300 to the lullaby of woofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoof...

Around 0330 this morning two carloads of drunken kids (I'm at that age where anyone under twenty-five is a kid) pulled into the driveway of the house next door and had a car-stereo blasting competition for about forty minutes. Dan's g/f jumped up, called the cops and then went back to bed. A few minutes later Archie Andrews and the gang pealed out and about ten minutes after that, a patrol car pulled up.

Neither Dan nor his girlfriend were getting up again, so I pulled on my shorts and a t-shirt and went out to let the cop (a cute blonde) know that everything had resolved itself and thanked her for coming out.

Crawling back into bed, I thought about how much more efficient it would be if folks here just trained their barking dogs to drive themselves around the neighbourhood with the car stereo cranked to the max.

So here I am in PeeGee (that's what the locals call it). It was a nice eight and a half hour drive to get there...the only drawback was that my left arm, which was exposed to the sun the whole way up, is now noticibly darker than my right arm.

To even 'em off, I guess I'll have to stick my right arm out for the drive home.

On the road again...

I'm leaving tomorrow for Prince George, which is about an eight hour drive north of here, to visit an old friend named Dan. I've lived in Prince George twice since moving to British Columbia: once when I arrived here in 1987 (fresh off the bus from Montreal) and again in the winter of 1992. In fact, Prince George was where son #2 was born.

Dan bought himself an airplane last year and I promised him that I'd let him take me up in it. I can't say that I'm all a'quiver with anticipation, but I'll give it a shot. If I end up as a greasy spot on some hillside, remember me to my homies...if I had homies.

On a lighter note, I'm announcing another writing contest - with a postcard from Prince George as the winning prize. The word this time is chopsticks.

Like last time, the person who uses the word the most creatively in their blog is the winner. The contest closes on Wednesday, June 30th, at midnight (Prince George time). You can either email me a link to your creation or you can put the link in my blog comment box*.

Dan has a computer (they even have the internet way up there - but it requires two carrier pigeons, a tin can and some string) so I plan on keeping to my usual blogging schedule. Who knows, I might even find something interesting to blog about for a change...








*Scody, if you go for it then just email the whole thing to me because your blog is proving impossible for me to access.

Here's a Canadian crazed gunman story - with a truly Canadian ending.

Playful dog defuses shooting spree plans.

While it ended well, the fact that he followed all of Canada's firearm registration laws to acquire his arsenal goes to show that the one billion dollar system isn't capable of preventing the kind of tragedies that it was supposed to.

I remember an incident in Quebec a number of years ago, where some airline pilot who hated the world got drunk and deliberately plowed his car into a bus stop full of people.

Here in Chilliwack, a guy was caught throwing bricks off an overpass, trying to smash the windshields of cars driving along the highway below. The week before he'd successfully gotten a rock through the windshield of a full greyhound bus, almost blinding the driver and causing a major vehicle collision.

So if we aren't going to be able to stop these nutjobs, then what can society do?

I'm not sure what the solution is. Perhaps the bottom line is that there isn't a solution...at least not one that doesn't involve eliminating every firearm, car and brick in Canada.

My mind is a blank today, so I'll just offer up this quote from M. Scott Peck:

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.

Television is a funny medium - it mirrors our society but it does so with constraints that society doesn't generally follow. Take profanity as an example.

The "F" word is frequently used in popular movies (often to excess, but that's another story) and I doubt that in this day and age there's anyone between the ages of ten and a hundred and ten who hasn't thunk it if not outright said it.

I'm not suggesting that the "F" is appropriate, but as a society we accept its usage a lot more than we did twenty or thirty years ago. However television still seems to be catering to some 1950's-era demographic, so what they do for the small-screen edition of mainstream movies is find an alternate, more tasteful word.

Unfortunately these days, the usual replacement for a strong "F" phrase tends to make really dramatic moments comical instead. Let's use the movie Speed as an example. First, the original :

Dennis Hopper as the crazed bomber: "Pop quiz hotshot, I have your partner hostage and enough plastic explosive strapped to me to level this building . What do you do?"

Keanu Reeves as the steely-eyed hero: "Fuck you!"

And now the television edition:

Dennis Hopper as the crazed bomber: "Pop quiz hotshot, I have your partner hostage and enough plastic explosive strapped to me to level this building . What do you do?"

Keanu Reeves as the steely-eyed hero: "Forget you!"

See what I mean? Kinda loses something in the watering down process.

On the bright side however, this opens up all sorts of possibilities for bringing soft-core porn to prime time:

"oh angie, I just wanna forget you all night long!"

"oh steve...forget me! forget me faster!"

"oh yeah baby, I love it when you forget me like that!"

"oh steve! you have such an enormous...crockpot!"

I couldn't think of a good wrap-up to this post, so I'll just say that I've tried using "forget you!" out loud but so far all it's done is make people wonder if I'm off my medication.

As I was driving to Vernon last Tuesday I had a chance to put my recently refreshed first aid skills to the test: a small pick-up truck lost its tie rod and did several roll-overs about 30 seconds before I got to the scene.

By the time I pulled over, dug out my little Costco first aid kit and trotted up to the wreckage, the driver was standing up though the shattered sunroof and calling for help.

The passenger-side roof had been crushed inward, trapping the unconscious passenger in his seat. I got to the vehicle at the same time that several other people did and one called 911. Since the nearest town was a good forty minutes away, myself and two other people took care of the victims while several other people controlled the oncoming traffic.

We got the driver out and seated him by the side of the road. He was fully conscious and although he had also hit his head, he was insisting that he was fine.

His passenger was still out and two of us supported his head with c-spine control while the third cleared out as much of the personal effects (that had been tossed around the inside of the truck cab when it rolled) as possible to make room. Since all of the windows had shattered we had good access to the passenger from both sides and from the back - although there was no way to open his door.

As he slowly regained consiousness we talked to him and assurred him that he was okay. For about ten minutes he faded in and out, asking what had happened each time he came to. He also began complaining about a lot of neck pain and trying to arch his back - which made holding him still pretty challenging. He wasn't bleeding too badly - some glass cuts on his face, but he sure wanted to get out of that truck.

Then the nausea set in and he started throwing up. Since I was holding his jaw from the front, I got to experience the full effect as it splashed across my arm and down into his lap. I'd expected it to happen so I just ignored it, reassured him and concentrated on holding him still as he did.

About thirty-five minutes into it the poplice showed up and the ambulance followed shortly. The attendents put a cervical collar on him and four of us slowly worked him out of his seat and onto a spine board.

After that I scrounged up some cleanser from the ambulance so I could wash off the barf, left my name and number with the police and headed on my way.

I phoned the hospital there this morning to see how things worked out but they couldn't tell me anything. I hope they're both okay.

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there. My kids took me out for a Father's Day lunch and when I asked them where we were headed to eat they said: "To the food court at the Mall!"

And now the moment you've all been waiting for...

The three people who took me up on my contest offer were:

Kimberly-Ann of Wilson World, scody of Disconnected Ramblings and Just Me of Blushing Virgin. My thanks and admiration goes out to them for making my blog contest a success!

Of these, I'm afraid that scody's blog just would not open for me despite numerous efforts on several different computers...so unfortunately I still haven't had the opportunity to read his. But I did promise a winner today...

And that winner is:

Just Me, with her very imaginative entry entitled Hot Potato.

Just Me's postcard will be flown to her free of charge, where it will repose amongst the other treasured possessions of her life.

Second place goes to Kimberly-Ann, who created the wonderful Ode to a Potato.

In my opinion, both entries were superb and to paraphase Nathan Hale, I regret that I have but one postcard to give for my contest.

A big round of applause for all three contestants!

After luxuriating in the polyester linen and florescent lighting of the Prestige Inn, I have returned to hearth and home.

The hotel wasn't that bad I suppose...but it had one of those poorly designed showerheads. The kind that offers up a thin ring of water but you could put your whole head in the center of the spray and your head would stay dry. I heard someone refer to it as being in "the eye of the shower" - which is a pretty good description.

Thanks to those of you who offered up a writing submission - I shall announce the winner in tomorrow's edition - providing I can access Scody's blog, which is currently proving reluctant to open.

I'm heading out on the road again this week, this time to the interior of British Columbia, where I'll be spending time in the towns of Vernon and Kelowna before returning home on Saturday.

While I'm away, your challenge for the week is to use the word "potato" in at least one blog post. The person who uses "potato" the most creatively will get a free postcard from sunny Kelowna.

You can leave a link to your blog post in my comments section, or you can email it to me.

The contest ends on Friday at midnight.

I don't talk much about politricks, but in two weeks one of these guys is going to be the next Prime Minister of Canada:

Paul Martin, the current Prime Minister



Stephen Harper, the leader of the Conservative Party of Canada



Jack Layton, the Leader of the New Democratic Party of Canada


oops, this is Mr. Layton:



They all come from essentially the same social strata of society, so all you're really voting for is whichever power structure is supporting them: big business for Mr. Martin, western rednecks for Mr. Harper and environmentalist social workers for Mr. Layton.

Me? I'm voting for the Video Professor. He'll get me up and running on Windows in less than an hour, absolutely free.

Last night I took my oldest boy to see The Chronicles of Riddick at one of the local theatres. It's rare that I get an opportunity to spend time alone with him and I appreciated the chance.

At thirteen he has size ten feet and only an inch to go before he's my height. Naturally quiet and amazingly patient with his younger brother and sister, he has a wry sense of humour and takes a lot of pride in the fact that he's now the 'man of the house'.

He and I have had our challenges but he's a good son and I'm proud of him.






ps: the movie rocked! three thumbs up!

If God/Allah created everything for a purpose and if we mere mortals are incapable of understanding God/Allah's big plan...

..then why do people presume to know what God/Allah likes and does not like?

You lose a loved one and people say "it's God's will. We cannot understand why He does these things. You just have to accept it."

Then these same people run off to tell the world what God/Allah thinks about homosexuality, abortion, America, communism and low-carb foods.

Listen folks, stick with one story or the other. You either know the mind of God/Allah or you do not. If you do, then tell me why God/Allah gave my grandfather alzheimer's.

If not, then mind your business.

Have you seen this horrible television show?

In the words of the producers...

In an elaborate hoax, auditions for The WB's Superstar USA were held in Las Vegas, Minneapolis, Orlando, and Philadelphia. The best singers were sent home while a gang of hopefuls, with more guts than talent, were chosen by The WB's Superstar USA's expert panelists, Tone-Loc, Vitamin C and television producer Briggs to remain on the show.

So the premise is that the world watches as these naive, tone-deaf warblers make fools of themselves in the mistaken belief that they are actually talented.

And these poor, duped kids cannot sing. I mean they are so bad that I actually put the television on 'mute' because they were too painful to listen to.

At this stage of the show there are four hopefuls left:

A large, peroxided, flamingly gay man who goes by the name of Jo-Jo. He sang (and *shudder* danced to) Beyonce's 'Crazy in Love'.

Jamie, a volutuous blonde who sees herself as Jessica Simpson with Celine Dion's voice. Except it's more like Jessica Rabbit with Roger Rabbit's voice.

A semi-anorexic latina by the name of Rosa who is convinced that she has more talent in her little toe than Jennifer Lopez can ever aspire to.

And then there's Mario, who's so scrawny that he makes Rosa look like Roseanne. If anyone is going to end up committing suicide over the humiliation of being put through this cruel hoax it'll be him.

None have heard the others sing, so the big conclusion next week is when the awful truth comes out for all of them.

Admittedly, the person that the judges consider to be the worst singer will get $100,000 and a recording contract along the lines of Mike's buddy William Hung. But the kids who come in second, third and fourth get nothing but shame, mortification and years of mockery in their hometowns.

Rest in Peace Ray Charles

Up in the mornin'
Out on the job
Work like the devil for my pay
But that lucky old sun got nothin' to do
But roll around heaven all day.

Fuss with my woman, toil for my kids
Sweat till I'm wrinkled and gray
While that lucky old sun got nothin' to do
But roll around heaven all day

Dear Lord above, can't you know I'm pining, tears all in my eyes
Send down that cloud with a silver lining, lift me to Paradise

Show me that river, take me across
Wash all my troubles away
Like that lucky old sun, give me nothing to do
But roll around heaven all day

Send down that cloud with a silver lining, lift me to Paradise

Show me that river, take me across
Wash all my troubles away
Like that lucky old sun, give me nothing to do
But roll around heaven all day

Here's a gruesome news item:

Man's Body Lies Undisturbed for 20 Years

...Police believe the man had been unable to repay bank loans and had stopped showing up for work, according to the newspaper reports.
But nobody noticed his death because the real estate agency managing the property went out of business after the building was completed in 1973 without ever having found renters, he said. The building had been unoccupied since it was completed....

It reminds me of the story last winter of the Eastern European fellow who hung from a school rafter for a year before anyone noticed him.

What I find so disturbing is my potential for experiencing a similar fate. Perhaps not now, while the kids are young, but what about when they've moved on with their own lives and I'm living alone in my golden years?

I don't mind dying alone of exposure after falling and breaking my hip, but I don't want my body laying in some mouldy basement corner for umpteen years because no one was ever concerned enough to find out why I disappeared.

Mind you, dead is dead so it shouldn't matter...

...but even roadkill gets noticed.

As promised, here are my answers to everyone's questions:

Jaded Angel asks:

1) What do you consider to be your #1 personality flaw

Do you mean something that I consider to be a flaw or something that other people consider to be a flaw?

I think my biggest flaw is my uncomfortableness with relaxing and letting my guard down around other people. It's probably been my biggest limitation in personal relationships. On the other hand, the most consistent thing that people complain about is my lack of patience with other people.

2) What do you see as your #1 physical flaw

This one's easy: myopia. I've been wearing glasses since grade three and my eyes are too wonky for laser/lasik surgery to completely correct them.

3) Say it would not effect or interfere with your dietary lifestyle, and you could eat ANYTHING (not anyone! we're talking food here) you wanted. What meal would you want?

fresh Maine lobster with a side of fried clams. mmm-mmm good!


Faith asks:

1. What were the circumstances behind your first romantic kiss?

It was a hallowe'en party. I was 15, she was 14. Everyone was in the basement of this guy's place making out to Led Zeppelin. What can I say? It was 1978...

2. What superhero/villian would you like to be?

For superhero it's Aquaman (which is ironic since I'm such a poor swimmer). I'm not sure which villain I'd be, but I'd definitely be shopping here

3. What types of websites do you spend most of your time on when *not* blogging?

I don't seem to have any 'regular' sites I visit. Other than work stuff, I usually check out what Matt over at Extreme Web Surfs has found. He did get me hooked on playing Name That Porno. It's not a porn site: you have to come up with a funny porn knock-off title for a regular movie.


Nicole asks:

1) What's your favorite movie?

Les Unes et Les Autres, followed closely by Diva, Metro and 1900

2) What's your favorite sport?

motorcycle racing

3) Do you prefer boxers or briefs?

Actually I prefer going commando, but these days it's briefs for jeans and boxers for slacks.


Claire asks:

1) What was the greatest adventure of your life?

I'd have to say parenting, but I realize that it probably wasn't the context you were thinking of. In the Indiana Jones context, it would be my decision to move from Montreal (where I grew up) to British Columbia, with nothing but a backpack and a Greyhound bus ticket. If I hadn't taken that step into the unknown, I'd still be working a dead-end factory job in Montreal and would never have had the experiences and adventures that have come my way since.

2) Most challenging time of your life?

As far as emotional challenges go, it's a toss-up between my 11th year (when my father tried to kill himself several times and both parents abandoned me) and my 38th year (when I lost my wife & kids, my dog died and I had to sell my sailboat).

3) And what about the most peaceful time?

Being a father of three, it was each of them sleeping on my chest when they were newborns. I think it's the most important period of bonding between a father and his child...that first six months when they fall asleep on you and you happily lay there with a back cramp so as not to disturb them...watching their little fingers clench in their sleep...that soft, warm milk breath on your skin...I'd give up my eyesight to have that time again.


Sarah asks:

1) why can't we ask about #35?

because #36 says "I'll never tell"

2) if we ask enough times, will you tell us more about #35?

possibly, depending upon the questions..

3) why do you keep pointing out item #35 if you don't want anyone asking about, anyway?

you'd be surprised how many folks have regularly asked me about #35 and I want folks to ask something else.


Just asks:

1) If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

From what I've seen of the world (which admittedly isn't much), my vote goes for Cape Neddick, near the town of York in Maine. Although I could get used to this too...

2) The aliens have landed, and you now have 24 hours before you're turned into a turnip. What do you do in those 24 hours?

Resist the alien invasion or die trying.

3) What's your favorite book, and why?

So many to choose from...this is a hard question to answer. My favorite childhood book was Go, Dog. Go! and it's my daughter's favorite too, so it gets the vote.




Thanks for all the excellent questions!

Kool Rock over at Revolut(i)on has offered to answer any three questions that his readers care to pose.

I think I'm gonna regret this but...

...since I'm a shameless plagerizer and have absolutely no thoughts of my own to blog about today, I'll make the same offer:

Post your three questions* and I'll answer 'em in tomorrow's blog.




*and no asking about number 35 in my 101 things list!

The Transit of Venus

Totally unavailable to us West Coasters, folks on the East Coast will be able get a partial view of Venus' transit across the face of the Sun.


(Venus: the Barney of the Solar System)

Watching the televised 60th anniversay D-Day memorial in Ottawa this morning, I was struck by the order of priority for wreath laying:

1. David Pratt, the Minister of Defense
2. Stephen Harper, Leader of the Conservative Party of Canada
3. Jack Layton, Leader of the New Democratic Party of Canada
4. LGen George MacDonald, Vice Chief of Defense Staff
5. The Minister of Culture
6. the Associate Deputy Minister for Veteran's Affairs
7. The Deputy Mayor of Ottawa
8. A Veteran

I'd really like to know how a veteran of D-Day ranks behind all of these ass-clowns? The fucking deputy mayor of Ottawa has precedence over a D-Day veteran in wreath laying? Give me a break.

And regardless of whether or not Canada is in the midst of a federal election, what business do Harper and Layton have following the main representative of the federal government on a memorial like this? Why not invite the frigging Greens and the Potheads too for crying out loud? Then after all these fat politicians - none of whom have ever served in the armed forces - have had their photo op, the veterans can follow and maybe sweep up after them while they're at it.

Just across the border lies the town of Lynden, Washington. Every four or five weeks I've been driving there on a Saturday morning to buy my breakfast cereal - which I can't seem to find locally. I pick up four or five boxes and that tides me over for the next month and a bit.

I've never been much of a breakfast eater. Unless I had some particularly strenuous day planned, for the past twenty years I've started my day with two cups of coffee. It's been a challenge to consiously eat more and mornings can still be difficult - with my early-morning stomach often groaning at the thought of having to digest solid food.

If you've seen my daily diet then you know by now that I'm not a very inspired chef...it's pretty much the same things every day, with more emphasis on nutrition than on taste.

Some folks at work seem to take a lot of personal interest in my diet, stopping by to quiz me while I'm eating my two daily cans of tuna, or my little bag of prunes. I don't see what there is to be so interested in myself, but perhaps it's the fact that I'm so consistent in it that makes it fascinating.

Regardless, the one advantage to a simple diet is that I don't have to spend much time agonizing over what to eat. Instead I can devote that time to remembering all the delicious things that I used to.

And from the "Who Paid These People For This Research?" department, comes a news headline destined to rock the very pillars of biological science:

British Ducks Have Regional Accents, Researchers Say

Stay tuned for the following planned follow-up studies:

Do British Geese Treat Their Duck Cousins With Disdain?

Do Minke Whales Have Evenly-sized Testicles?

Are Canadian Moose More Courteous Than American Ones?

Are Scottish Sheep Really Nervous?

If you've ever watched toddlers play, you've probably noticed that when they want a new object they don't walk around the toys, books or other things that lay on the floor between them and that new object; instead they walk through them with a sort of single-minded obliviousness to anything else.

As a parent you wonder "don't they even notice those little pieces of lego imbedded in their bare feet? don't they realize that walking over their brother's artwork isn't appropriate?" But the fact of the matter is that they don't. Kids will blithely stroll through anything once they've fixed their eyes on something that they want. It's what kids do.

What's disturbing is realizing how many adults have not outgrown that behaviour:

From the guy with the grocery cart who blocks the entire aisle while deliberating between the creamed corn and the snow peas; to the woman who ties up traffic behind her when she comes to a complete stop at the parking lot entrance so she can figure out where she wants to go next; to the folks who argue with police and ambulance attendants because they want to keep driving down the road that's been temporarily closed off because of an accident: it's all an extension of the same self-absorbed behaviour.

But of course, what's acceptable in children isn't acceptable in an adult.

I suggest that it's evidence that they aren't really adults at all...instead I think of these people as just very large and often dangerously unsupervised toddlers.

Here are three recent google queries that led people to my blog:

"nipple suit"

"brian = sexiest organ"

"causes of incontinence in dalmations"

Sorry folks, Brian is no longer the sexiest organ, he was replaced by Rufus. I don't want to even try and visualize what a nipple suit would look like; and as for your leaky dog, why not try a doggie diaper?

Today I'll be at my 1st Aid recertification course - which I have to take every two years. It's just the standard CPR and bandaging course so it's only a day long.

When I was still living in hell, my boss volunteered me for the ten day industrial-strength first aid course. I said I'd go but that I wasn't making any guarantees that I'd be interested in saving anyone who worked at that office. They sent me anyway, counting on the assumption that the milk of human kindness hadn't spoiled within me.

Let's just say that it's a good thing that assumption never had to be put to the test.

"What's that you say? Speak up, I can't hear you over those choking sounds you're making..."