How to Make a 9 Year Old Honest (The Kelowna Mini-Golf Incident)

So it was Kelowna time again. I was much more prepared this time. Ever since I started burning CD's, I knew I was building a house of cards due to my tendency to not label them. My car now has 40 CD's with no jewel cases, and I don't have a clue what's on them. So taking the quickest course of action, I decided to throw them all in a box, pull out my owners manual, and figure out how to use satellite radio now that I've had it for more than a year. It's revolutionary people!! I found one station alone that broadcasts from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Two days of music, no commercials, no interruptions, no duplicates, perfect.

It was a great drive, with late summer slowly creeping in the sunrises seem to be waiting for me once again. The vistas were remarkable. I tried taking pictures, but it's hard to hold a camera at 160kph, and I kept blinding myself with the flash.

So I finally got up there around 8, and wandered into the office where I was supposed to have a meeting. The lights were off, and I just tossed my stuff on a chair and fetched myself a coffee. As I dropped myself in a seat and stretched out my aches and pains, Alicia the receptionist walked in.

"Good morning John, you're looking well." She said, I instantly knew something was up.

"Alright Alicia, spit it out." I replied.

It turns out the fella I had the meeting with had called in sick at the last minute. Apparently I was here for nothing. I goofed off for a little bit, filled in some paperwork, moved things around on his desk to, well you know, piss him off, and left.

I called the hotel. They had a big convention in and wouldn't be able to get my room ready until 3 o'clock. I had already arranged with my sister to take her kids out in the afternoon, so I just called her up and asked her to bump it up. So was more than willing to oblige, I guess she was having a day like mine. I told her I would meet them at Scandia Amusment Park out on Harvey, Kelowna's mini-golf mecca. She got the kids there in record time, and just as quickly disappeared. It was as if the kids had been beamed down or something.

Now I had never seen Kelowna like this. I had always thought it was the birthplace of the phrase "yeah, but it's a dry heat." It was like Toronto, it was so freakin' humid I could have used my own squeegee kid to scrap the sweat off of me. Gross! I walked Parker and Sierra inside, inside to some fresh hell. The place was packed. Hundreds of kids running around like some magnified version of an ant farm. I pictured my sister driving her car having an out of body experience as she laughed manically at the thought of me being stuck there with the kids. But I stood tall, I would not fail!!

I went and got us the "equipment", it was slightly delayed by Sierra having to compare golf ball colours to her shirt to find the perfect fashionable match for the tony mini-golf crowd.

My mother had warned me of the prowess of these two on the course, but I was prepared, my competitive edge was honed to perfection. (I was also told how my mother had accidentally used a jr. club the last time out, a jr. club is about 2 and half feet long. Not much use for an adult, but this is the same woman that once tried to put water in her tires. She called and asked me why her tires were spraying water at her when she was trying to fill them with air. After a few awkward moments of explanation, she figured out she was holding a water hose.)

We set out on the first hole where Parker went first. He got a hole in one. Sierra pared it in 2. I got a 4. If I thought I was sweating before, it was nothing compare to this, it was as if some mighty reservoir was feeding my sweat glands.

We moved onto the second hole, the kids already razzin' me. Stupid windmill door, $%#@! I had to turn my swear words into muffled sounds that reminded me of the Fonz trying to say sorry or please. Fuh-uh-uh. And Shi-hi-hi. But I still managed to par it out. When I did the score call at the end, Sierra hollered out 3 and Parker said 4. I gave him a long Uncle like glare for a minute, and then motioned him to come talk to me for a minute.

I put my hand down on his shoulder as we walked and said "Parker, is there anything problems you're having at school?"

He paused for a moment and then in a pouty voice said "No, why?'

"Because that was no four man." I said

I used my hand on his shoulder to turn him around back to the green. "Sierra, can you count Parkers shots for me?" I called out. With a certain zeal she started running and pointing from the tee-box yelling "1-2-3-4-5-and finally 6!"

"Now Parker, are you trying to tell me that your younger sister can count better than you?"

"Nana let's me do it!!"

Suddenly, my mothers mini-golf downfall (other than the short club) was evident.

In a momentary lapse of reason I said "Me no Nana, me Uncle!" We laughed it off and went running through the course playing Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker and Princess Leah with our golf club lightsabres. And as you can see below, I let him play King Kong on the helicopter while I turned a blind eye.

It ended with hugs and high fives, works for me.

And I Thought I Was Having a Bad Day

So I was starting my Monday morning a little gruff. I didn't sleep well, and just started working at 5 because I was fed up with tossing and turning. Around 7 I figured it was time to grab a coffee and take the garbage out. (The garbage has been under full attack lately, two bears last week, and a family of coons last night. That's what got me up). I cleaned out the fridge, grabbed the bag and made my way down the stairs. That's when I ran into this little fella.

Seems he found a McFlurry cup in one of my neighbours garbage. Thinking there must be some treasure trove at the bottom, he stuck his head in past the point of no return. Now that's commitment. He wandered around for about two hours, bonking his head on the curb, and on trees. He was spraying the whole time so I wouldn't go near him.

We had called the SPCA, but they said it would be some time before they got here. I got stuck on my conference call, but still would run out to tell various ladies of the neighbourhood that trying to whack it off with a hockey stick was not a good idea.

Finally my neighbour across the street got tired of the commotion. I literally saw him roll the sleeves up on his robe as he stood in his bay window. He came storming downstairs and through the door. He tried to give it a pull to no avail, with exception of a fine spray. Now he was also past the point of no return. He finally gave it a firm pull and it popped of, the skunk now running straight for me as I ran screaming like a school girl back into the house.

Voyage of the Damned

Every summer in Vancouver we have what is called The Festival of Fire, actually it's called The Celebration of Light now, but that's just not pagan enough for me. It is one of the largest fireworks shows in the world. Various countries duke it out over 4 nights to become the fireworks king. The Americans are up tonight, so they will probably just carpet bomb the city. I keed, I keed.

They do it off a barge in English Bay, and the Bay just fills up with boats, normally about 2000. About 350,000 take it in from the shore line. My friend Bobby O. invited 6 of us out on his sailboat to take it in. Brent brought the Dom Perignon, Brenda was in charge of shrimp, Phil of tenderlion, and I with the greek salad, I don't really know what Toby was supposed to do. (For the record, 40 bucks of greek salad from your locale taverna for 6 people is excessive). It was a great show, put on by Canada of course. The fireworks go off to music. It turned into a long night as always. I think I pulled in around 1:30. The fireworks look different, either the boat was rocking or I was, but it's a pretty cool affect.




Ohhhh, ahhhhhh!!!


Yee haw!!

Chrissy and Danielle. They were on a different boat. They were hit by a rouge wave on the way back, and Danielle almost went in the drink. She did enjoy a mouthful of seawater though.

Brenda and the author. (I've just always wanted to say that.)

The crew. Captain Bobby O. in the background explaining to his wife why he isn't home for dinner.


The aformentioned shrimp ring that Brenda got out of the discount bin at Safeway. I am preparing the stomach pump in the background.

Phil. Happy or drunk? You decide.

What it's all about. It's funny, we are anchored off the same beach I meantioned in The Southern Cross.......ironic isn't it?

The Southern Cross (The Power of Music)

The battle of the internet jukebox continues to rage on at the pub. So many songs, so many taste's. The next great war will surely be based on music if not religion.

A friend of mine, Brad, has been plugging the machine like crazy lately, and for the most part I have been digging his tunes.

The other night as I was trying to figure out the vintage of my beer (third week of may I think), "The Southern Cross" came on by CSN. It's a very special song to me. I'm one of those people (I'm probably the only one), that when a song is as stirring for me personally, such as "The Southern Cross", I will not burn it, buy it, or tape it. The randomness of me hearing it is something I hold dear, and something that so instantly takes me away to another place. There is a good chance I had drool coming down my face as I listened. It takes me that far away.

It's a little know fact, but for a spell in the early '90's I was homeless. Not the greatest time of my life, but I did what I could with it, after all I was the only homeless person in Vancouver wearing a $300.00 Nautica sweater, and it was summer.But we will save the meat of that for another blog, I know how Stephanie likes me to get on with these things and not drag it out.

So one night I was lying on my bed of sand and gravel at the beach in English Bay. I was always at some level of alert because if was often I would have to fight for what was mine, sleep was fleeting at best. I would lie and look at the stars for hours. On this particular night there was a speedboat anchored off the beach, a small group partied and cranked some tunes from the boat. I didn't mind, who was I to complain anyhow, I was just the bum in the nice Nautica sweater.

There is a purity to music that carries across the water, it tends to wrap you like a glove. As I lost my gaze into the stars, "The Southern Cross" came on. I got lost in the words and the harmony. And the song ended cruelly quick.I really don't know what came over me, but within 5 minutes of the song ending, I decided my life is not finishing here. I have not seen the Southern Cross!! The Southern Cross is the most well known constellation in the Southern hemisphere. It was what guided sailors to the new world and the lost world. It graces flags all over the world, from Australia, to New Zealand, to Brazil.

I picked myself up and literally brushed myself off, I picked up a handful of sand that I stuffed in my pocket. It now sits in a vial by my desk for whenever I need to be reminded of how I got here.

I still haven't seen the Southern Cross. For me it's one of those things that seems like it should be my final accomplishment, but who knows. I could see me taking Miley down there some time on a barefoot sail charter. Enjoy the song, lyrics below.


Got out of town on a boat goin' to southern islands.
Sailing a reach before a followin' sea.
She was makin' for the trades on the outside.
And the downhill run to Papeete Bay.

Off the wind on this heading is the Marquesas.
We got eighty feet of the waterline.
Nicely making way.
In a noisy bar in Avalon I tried to call you.
But on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran away.

Think about how many times I have fallen.
Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'.
What heaven brought you and mecannot be forgotten.

I have been around the world,
lookin' for that woman girl,
who knows love can endure.
And you know it will. And you know it will.

When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,
You understand now why you came this way.
'Cause the truth you may be runnin' from is so small.
But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a coming day.

So i'm sailing for tomorrow, my dream are a dyin',
And my love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain.
I have my ship and all her flags are a flyin'
She is all that I have left and music is her name.

Think about how many times I have fallen'
Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'.
What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten.

I have been around the world,
lookin' for that woman girl,
who knows love can endure.
And you know it will. And you know it will.

So we cheated and we lied and we tested
And we never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do.
You will survive being bested.
But somebody fine will come along make me forget about loving you.
At the Southern Cross...

The Velvet Rope

It's taking me a lot longer than normal to adjust from my time in Toronto. It never ceases to amaze me how such a minor trip could affect me. I guess hitting the road again immediately after didn't help.

Of course coming home to an empty house is very limited in its merits, so I had to do a "heavens to Murgatroyd, exit stage right...to the Queens Cross even." The cross being my local watering hole obviously.

They were having this Rickards Red event, and giving away free beer, so let me tell you, the clientele were at a near all time low. I just wanted to sit, have a frosty one, and purge my thoughts of the last week. Impossible, the place was packed not unlike sardines with the exception that sardines smell better. They had also decided to change the patio furniture so my status quo was removed. I was suddenly in a foreign land.

Now I know that we all have our Cliff Clavens at our local bars, there is no way around it. The Cross almost specializes at it. Typically, we call them Saturday Night Specials. You have the type that will overtalk your conversation, as if they've known you for years. You have the type that will ramble on for hours about their "theory's", something along the lines of Hitler wanting to take over the west because he was obsessed with contemporary west coast housing. You also have the violent and the ignorant. There have been many times I've had to borrow a line from Jack Nicholson in "As Good As it Gets". It is quite simple but very direct.

"Go sell crazy somewhere else, we're all stocked up around here."

Anyway, I started the velvet rope thing about 8 years ago. We have these imaginary velvet ropes around our tables, and quite often you will hear one table calling to another in almost a soft whisper so as not to alert the person we are talking about "v e l v e t r o p e, v e l v e t r o p e" , it gives us the heads up to circle the chuck wagons errr... tables.

I'm thinking of starting a velvet rope revolution when we are in New York. And don't even get me started on "A" and "B" tables.

Say Cheese!

I bought myself a new camera for the New York trip. Or I guess that is I bought myself a camera, I've never owned one.

It can hold 8000 pictures and keep an hour and 40 minutes of movies. Thankfully, I think I've had about 200 pictures taken of me my whole life, so you don't have to worry about my mug suddenly being plastered all over the Internet.

I don't have the photographic panache of my friend Dan, so I had to get the most idiot proof one available. It even has a "smile sensor" so it won't take a picture until everyone is smiling. Crazy I know. With the people I know, it pretty much means it will never take a picture.

The trip is rounding the bend, now that I have dropped 3 grand on Yankees tickets we, at least I, are past the point of no return. It's going to be a blast, and I couldn't think of a better group to go with.

Now the only trick is to not lose the camera in the next 6 weeks.

The International Silver String Submarine Band

This is for Dan. I used to be able to watch this stuff for hours. Now of course it's censored to hell. The expressions on the sound engineers face are priceless.

And yes, that is a young Robert Blake playing the flute.

Fat Guy in a Little Coat

I saw this on the weekend, and still haven't been able to get it out of my head. Everytime I get dressed now, I'm singing "Fat Guy in a Little Coat."

Make it go away!!

At least it's not as bad as that time I had "Pop Goes the Weasel" stuck in my head for a year.

Yaaa!! You're Number 100!!

Even though I only started the counter a few weeks ago, you are lucky "Things Best Left Unsaid" visitor 100!! Good on ya!!You are entitled to a dinner for two at Red Lobster, if you can find one.

Send the bill to Dan Johnson. Queens Cross Pub, North Vancouver, British Columbia.

Being Introduced to the Most Helpless Feeling in the World

I'm finally back from Toronto. I don't know how a simple 4 day trip can come to feel like a prison sentence, but it always does, especially this time.

I went out to the airport to find out Air Canada had scored once again by delaying my flight by two hours, on one of the most beautiful days that we've had all year. Turns out a plane had broke down in Hong Kong, and they felt obligated to send my plane to help them out, how generous. Of course the people on the 10 o'clock flight weren't affected, they made people on the 9 wait 2 hours and the people on the 10 got to go on their way.

I was out with da boyz the night before, and I was telling them how I hadn't heard from Miley in a couple of days and was no doubt a little worried. She is in Europe for the summer continuing an Art History class, and even though she had been changing countries like socks she still managed to stay in touch. So that night I dropped her a line to see what was up.

When we were finally allowed to board the plane I made my way down the jetway. When I was about half way down my phone went off indicating a new e-mail. I stopped and opened it up. The jetway started to close around me. She explained that a few days before they were up hiking in the hills above Vienna. One of the boys in the group, Christopher Yeates, a new grad still full of piss and vinegar, slipped on a rock and fell off an embankment. He hit his head on a rock when he landed and fell into the water. The other kids raced down the hill in a failed attempt to revive him. He died on impact.

I could read the despondence in her words. We had talked about this trip for a long time, and even though she was feeling some hesitance before she left, she soon realized it was one of her first wide eyed steps out into the world. The boys mother (Miley's English teacher) was also on the trip, I just couldn't even fathom the feeling, I knew how I felt, suddenly alone, somewhat terrified on the jetway. A feeling snaking up my spine like I hadn't experienced before. Yet Miley was alright, I'm so proud of her in how she has dealt with this. My heart pours like a river for his family. The trip of a lifetime has turned into a lifetime of tears.

The flight attendant called out to me that they were closing the door. I snapped out of it (somewhat) and went to the plane. My business partner Michael was already on there, and as I sat he said I was white as a ghost. I explained what happened, closed my eyes and went into thought. I didn't even have time to respond to the e-mail, and now I was locked in this cigar tube for hours. I just wanted to scream. I simply can't describe the feeling, I just felt like I really let her down, there was so much I wanted to say.

I finally wrote when I got to hotel hours later. And as I said before, I am so proud of how she is dealing with it. I suppose a trip of a lifetime includes learning about life and how special and how precious it really is. We only have years and inside the years are weeks, and days, and hours, and minutes. Even the seconds are precious. It takes but a moment for the smile of a child to warm your heart.

I hope and I know that she will find a lot of answers in Europe the next couple of weeks.

Its like I always say. If life hands you lemons, make lemonade.....if life hands you gators, make Gatorade.

There is a memorial fund set up in Christopher's name at the Zion bank in Park City. Account number 098-363054. The family is talking about using the funds for a scholarship to send other kids to Europe. I couldn't have thought of a better idea myself.

Until I Find You

I have found my reading for the summer. I used to be a voracious reader, now I think I write more than I read, not a bad thing I guess, but I suppose you are the judge of that. My reading now is reserved for days at the beach and airplane flights, books that is, I still keep the periodical business flourishing with my impulse purchases.

I picked up a John Irving book that came out a couple of years ago. At almost 900 pages it should keep me going for awhile. I have always dug Irving, his writing style is unmistakable and solely his. The first book I read of his was "A Prayer for Owen Meany," a fantastic book that essentially teaches us that no matter what faults we have, or see in ourselves, we are all here for a purpose. Some great, some small.

I am leaving on a trip to Toronto this week, so I decided to pop into a bookstore before the departure instead of my "holding the plane while I browse" habit that I normally subject my fellow passengers to.

I was intrigued by the title, "Until I Find You," and the cover which has those words written on a tattoo. I have always had this inner belief that there are people out there that I am meant to find, find so I can help them or they can help me. I always dream of the possibilities. There is an old song that I always like to listen to when I come home after a long night, especially the stormy nights when I plunk myself down in the chair in our solarium and listen to the rain dance on the glass above my head. The lyrics go like this:

As I write, I watch the night go down

And I see the lonely twinklin' lights of town

And I think about a girl, out there in the world

She's looking for, she's looking for me somewhere

I heard her sing once at the rodeo

She wore a rhinestone suit of white and gold

And as she sang and played, she stole my heart away

She's looking for, she's looking for me somewhere

She's looking for me somewhere, I know

She's looking for me high and looking low

Oh to live and die it seems, is a waste without a dream

She's looking for, she's looking for me somewhere

And as the morning sun begins to rise

Alone I go to bed and I close my eyes

And I dream about a girl, out there in the world

She's looking for, she's looking for me somewhere

She's looking for, she's looking foe me somewhere

Pretty simple, but a very nice song, great album actually.

People have always bugged me about why I don't "put myself out there." I think that's a bunch of trash. I'm out there every day. I don't need to throw myself on the produce stand to be inspected. I know what I want, and I know it's out there. I find it all the time, sometimes it's sitting right beside me, but it's not the time and place. (Reference my circle theory.) I don't believe in finding who I want to spend my life with through attrition.

I see so many people in empty relationships, so many people killing time. I always say to a friend of mine, "If you can't see yourself in it in 5 years, why are you in it now? You're potentially taking away 5 years from where you are supposed to be."

So I will carry on with my way.....Until I find you.