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When he lived in Saskatchewan, he knew a girl whose favourite animal was hedgehogs. She was exactly seven months younger than him and she had brown hair and brown eyes and she weighed 125 pounds and she was an accountant. Once he saw her eating salad at Boston Pizza. The gumline on one of her incisors was a little higher than the other one. Her favourite hockey team was the Saskatoon Blades. He bought her a hedgehog beanie baby for her birthday. But when he went to her place to give it to her, she was gone. She'd moved out. Didn't leave a forwarding address or anything. He has never seen or heard from her since. He still has the hedgehog. * The hedgehog has traveled with him to Quebec, Alberta and now Ontario. He can't bring myself to get rid of it. He knows that the girl from Saskatchewan is gone. The hedgehog is his only link to her. Having said that, I should mention that the hedgehog has never enjoyed prime real estate in his apartment. For yea

You never see a chicken die of old age. Chickens are stupid and that's probably a good thing. We kill millions of 'em a day and then we eat them and shit them out. A chicken's life is meaningless. Unlike cows, they don't even get to stand around in a field and say moo.  A chicken's life is pretty much cluck cluck head-cut-off. Right now there are over 50 billion chickens in the world. People eat chicken everywhere. The best way to eat chicken is from a restaurant in Calgary called Chicken on the Way. Calgary is the best city in the world. If Calgary was a woman, I would be married to her. THAT is Chicken on the Way. Holy smokes doesn't that look at least ten billion times better than what you get at KFC? Seriously, the people at Chicken on the Way should PAY me to advocate for them. My facebook notes have probably sent more people to them than TV advertising. This one time I was working at a hotel as a shuttle bus driver and I had just

When I was in high school, my chemistry teacher was a baby. True story. I was a little underwhelmed when I walked into the class and saw this infant writing quantum equations on the blackboard. At first I wanted to complain but then my friend, Nicole, shushed me and told me to be quiet. "Babies make the best teachers," she said. The baby's name was Mr. Goo and although he was only five months old, he knew his stuff. Mr. Goo taught us about polar-covalent bonding and chemical reactions while he was eating pablum. Talented kid. Well, it's been 25 years since I was a high school freshman, which would make Mr. Goo 25 years old now. I looked him up on facebook. He currently works for NASA, where he is designing an apartment complex that will be built on Neptune (he says the heating costs will be high.) Come to think of it, Mr. Goo also taught music. Mike Carr, you may have to back me up on this, but didn't Mr. Goo play a mean trumpet? It was either

Does musical taste define personality? Not all the time. Look, if I'm driving in a car with someone and all I hear coming out of the stereo are hymns and gospel music, I'm probably going to think the guy is a Christian fellow. We can have a nice conversation about the Old and New Testament and maybe enter into a good old fashioned Calvinism/Areminianism tete-a-tete. But if I'm driving in a car with someone else and I hear them listen to a hip hop song about banging hos, I'm not going to conclude that the dude is a thug or a gangster or a pimp. When I worked at the Sherbooke Record, we routinely got CDs from record companies who hoped we'd review them in the paper. We never did but I sure got a lot of free CDs. On one of them was this mean looking black dude standing in front of a subway track somewhere. He was dressed in blue jeans and a hoodie. He was scowling like he wanted to kill everyone in the world. I listened to half of one track and

Dear editor: Greetings from the Parkerville United Church Women's Social Committee. We placed a classified ad in your paper eight months ago (we were looking for rocking chairs) and since we support your newspaper, we are asking you to support us. We are getting ready to host our annual roast beef dinner, which we have every year. At the end, we will be donating $5 to the cancer society (proceeds from our rocking chair auction.) We would like to invite YOU to our roast beef dinner (cost is only $20) tonight at 7 p.m. I know this is short notice but the Parkerville United Church Women's Social Committee needs your help promoting our annual roast beef dinner, which we have every year, and also to let the community know we care about curing cancer. I will tell our roast beef dinner committee to expect you at 7. Sincerely, Dorothy Horton, president Parkerville United Church Women's Social Committee. - Hi Dorothy: Thanks for your letter. Unfortunately

Well, where would they go for lunch? Not to anyplace that served pork, that's for sure. Muhammed wouldn't touch it and Buddha probably wouldn't either. Christ probably would since He said that it's not what we put in our mouths that defile us, it's what comes out of them. So they would probably do vegetarian. Buddha wouldn't eat a lot. I know modern depictions of him show him to be fat but apparently he was quite skinny. No way to be sure though. There are no photographs. What would they talk about? I don't know. Muhammed would probably insist that Jesus was a great prophet and Jesus would say He was more than that - that he existed before Abraham sprang into existence, that He is the great I Am. Look, I'm pretty ignorant on the Koran and what Buddha said and I don't really want to make a bunch of jokes at their expense. So maybe I'll just use this note to say that Christianity really doesn't mix with much. A long t

In my neck of the woods, most people know who I am. I edit the local newspaper so I guess I'm something of a minor celebrity. When I go out, people greet me and I am often left wondering who they are ("you did a story on me six years ago.") Once I was eating supper in a local restaurant when a man came up to talk to me. He told me that my job was very important. The reason he told me this was he had this nutty conspiracy theory that he wanted me to write about. I spilled no ink over the theory but I did my best to tell him that my job is not "very important." In fact, it's no more important than the jobs of people who dig ditches, bag groceries, shovel snow, or flip burgers. At another newspaper so many eons ago, one of the reporters used to laugh at his colleagues who thought themselves indispensable. "If you think you're indispensable, stick your fist in a bucket of water and then pull it out. See the hole you leave? That'

I rarely bathe. This is because I am a guy. Guys shower. They don't bathe. Bathing is for women. Seriously, if someone says: "When I get home from work, the first thing I'm going to do is unwind in a hot bath," I assume the speaker is a woman. When a man gets home from work, he unwinds by eating raw meat, punching something and then watching Dr. No. About 15 years ago, my parents renovated the basement and had a downstairs bathroom installed. They did not put in a bathtub, only a shower. That's because my brother and I lived downstairs and we didn't need to bathe. If we were chicks, there would have to be a bathtub AND another electrical outlet so we could do our hair. (Side note: One of the glass walls of the shower fell out about 13 years ago and it was never replaced. For more than a decade, the hole has been covered by a garbage bag and a whole lot of duct tape.) Now my apartment has a shower and I rarely get to use it because everytime

When we were kids, our next door neighbours were the Sectors. The wife's name was Ruth but I don't remember her husband's name. They were Jewish. I discovered this when my dad and I were returning from a church service. I asked my dad if he knew anyone who was Jewish and he said that the Sectors were. Mrs. Sector actually welcomed me into her home so I could pepper her with questions about her faith. They were good neighbours and they looked after my sister and I on the night our brother was born. There are two things I will always associated with the Sectors. The first is Rusty, the Sectors' dog. Rusty was white, probably a poodle cross. Mrs. Sector used to brush his teeth on their back balcony. He was a good and friendly dog and I think I was allowed to walk him once or twice. The second (and I know my sister is expecting this, probably suggested this title just for this) is Modidlyandy. This painting (or one like it) hung in Ruth Sector's livi

Apparently, I'm a good dad, though I'm not sure if I am yet. My son is 11 months old. He has six teeth and he likes to eat his socks. He likes baths and white bread and armpit zerbits. Babyhood is a pretty cool phase but I'm not sure what to do as my kid gets older. The one thing I definitely want to do is get him into magic. I'm not a professional magician but magic has been good to me these past 30 years. I don't make my living doing it but I do supplement my income and I make a lot of people very happy in the process. I wish the same for my son. One of my magical mentors once told me that when he was very young, a relative, who happened to be a professional magician, gave him a copy of Dai Vernon's Cups and Balls manuscript and ordered him to perfect it. He did. He makes a living doing magic today. When my kid is about nine or 10, I will sit him down and tell him how I think the world works. I will tell him that the world doesn't ow

On March 20, 1990, I went to the Aerosmith concert at the Olympic Saddledome in Calgary. My guest was Nikki J, who was a fellow Grade 10 student at Bishop Grandin. I was a huge Aerosmith fan. Nikki wasn't, but she went with me anyway. My middle name just happens to be Tyler and that may be one of the happiest coincidences of my teenaged life. How many girlies did I impress by flashing my driver's license, using my thumb to cover up my real last name. "Are you related?" they would ask. "No," I'd say, figuring a lie would get me in more trouble than the truth. The tour was to promote Aerosmith's album Pump, which it released last year. My best friend, Jason, who was an amazing guitarist, told me that Aerosmith's songs were all about having sex. I disagreed. So we listened to Pump and analyzed each song. Young Lust - sex FINE - sex Love in an elevator - sex Monkey on my back - overcoming drug abuse Janie's got a gun - a gir

June 5, 1989. That was the day I left my underwear at Calaway Park. This is Calaway Park: As you can see, Calaway Park has a roller coaster and a log jam ride and all sorts of games and corndogs and sidewalks with dried vomit on them. But back in the 80s, Calaway Park was licensed to use Flintstones characters. Once I was walking to the Ocean Motion and I ran right into Betty Rubble. Betty shook my hand and we had our picture taken together. Hey Shteevie. Long time, no see So what was I doing at Calaway Park? Well, my good friends Jay del Corro, Cade M and Kelly P all had a job selling Easter Creme Eggs at Calaway Park. Kelly loved Easter Creme Eggs and she ate at least 437 of them a day. We used to have to hide them from her because she would always find them and scarf them down. Jay drove his 1972 red jalopy into the Calaway Park parking lot and we all jumped out. We were about to walk into the park when we noticed that everybody inside was naked. &quo

Phooey on everyone who says that vegging in front of the television is a waste of life. I have seen amazing things on TV - and not just David Copperfield walking through the great wall of China. No, I have seen even more amazing things. Brilliant things. Proof that humanity is doomed. - Sometime in 1989, I saw a TV news program where they were interviewing a warlock who claimed he had a magic donkey that granted wishes. I am not making this up. There was a shot of him chanting and shaking incense around the donkey's butt (or the ass's ass.) Later, when the interviewer asked him if he had any proof, the guy said "well I wanted (Democrat Party candidate Michael) Dukakis to lose; he lost." Then he smiled an ugly smile. Yeah, right. The only reason Bush won that election is because you prayed to your magic donkey. Dumbass. - The early 80s on Saturday mornings were great times to be couch surfers. That's when the cartoons came on. Dragon's La

If you’re a 13-year-old girl and you live in the city, you are going to have challenges. At 13, you’re too young to get into a Mature rated movie, so your only options are General Audience rated films like Disney. They don’t make PG movies anymore. And if you live in Calgary, it can be extra hard because you’re too young to get a part-time job and that means you can’t get pizza at Pizza Bank (best pizza in the world) or Chicken on the Way (best chicken in the world) and of course you couldn’t buy clothes at Ardene’s. * I did not know about Ardene’s until Jules told me about it. We were at West Edmonton Mall to go to the waterslides and Jules asked me if she could get some clothes there. At first, I thought the store was called Our Dean’s. I was wrong. Jules was in heaven. She got a shirt and a surprise bag and then we ate supper at the Old Spaghetti Factory, which was good, but not as good as Pizza Bank or Chicken on the Way. * I never was a 13-year-old girl

I like Corn Flakes. Corn Flakes is a good cereal. Pour some milk on it and whammo. You have a great way to start your day. Some people don't like Corn Flakes. They prefer Frosted Flakes. Really what they're saying is: "I like Corn Flakes but they're not giving me diabetes fast enough." More people like Frosted Flakes than Corn Flakes. This is why you see Tony the Tiger pitching them on YTV and during Saturday morning cartoons. They're G-r-r-r-r-reat! I guess diabetes is great too. Everyone knows that Tony is the name of the Frosted Flakes tiger. Pop quiz: What is the name of the Corn Flakes rooster? It's Cornelius. * I know of only one real life person named Cornelius. That person is Cornelius Crane Chase, also known as Chevy Chase. Chevy Chase used to be my favourite actor. I used to think European Vacation was the funniest movie ever. Now I just think it's the fourth funnies movie ever. It is behind UHF, History of the World and

I'm always surprised when someone wants to hug me. Most of the time it's pleasantly surprised. If I suspect you're a pickpocket or if you're covered in moldy cheese or if you haven't bathed since 1994, I may not want to hug you. Otherwise, hugging is fun. On Christmas Day, I was at this church function and I saw a friend who was volunteering there with her little sister. I went over to say hello and something in my mannerism must have told the little sister that I wanted a hug. She hugged me. It was a perfectly good hug. That hug said Merry Christmas. It made me happy. Once in Calgary, Char and I were dropping her seven-year-old daughter off at her dad's place. Before the daughter got out of the car, she jumped into the front seat to hug me. I will always remember that hug.   There used to be a little boy in Kingston who I would visit once a month and whenever I left, he was so sad to see me go that he would hug me to death. He is not a littl

The following journal was delivered to me last week. All I know is that the person who wrote it claims to be named Kim. Day 1 Hello. My name is Kim. I just won a holiday to Area 51. I am here now. It is fun. My suite has a waterbed and colour television and a tablet so I can check my email and play candy crush and watch Toddlers & Tiaras on youtube. The toilet has blue water in it and the shower curtain has pictures of Mickey Mouse. There is room service too and I am getting chicken nuggets and Tahiti Treat. Ooh, Sex and the City is on. Gotta go. Day 2 I woke up at 5 a.m. to a really big bang. The glass door that opens on to the balcony shattered and the screen of my tablet cracked. I called the nice lady at the front desk and she said it was caused by a sonic boom that was done by an experimental aircraft. My ears are bleeding. Last night I dreamed that I was a monkey. Day 3 There was a Star Wars marathon on TV and I watched all six movies back-to-back-to

I got my first fountain pen on Valentine's Day of 1998. It was a Waterman pen, black, shiny as polished ebony, with gold accents. It was given to me by my then girlfriend. It was more than a gift. She was telling me she believed in me as a writer. Since that day, the pen has been through hell. It broke once and I had to send it to a repair facility in New York City. Then I dropped it on its nib, causing permanent damage. I don't know where that pen is anymore. I think it's in a motel room somewhere in San Jose. Ever since, I've embarked on an unsuccessful campaign to replace that Waterman. I DO have another Waterman but it's a cheapie - a five dollar plastic job that leaks all over my fingers. I bought a Visconti fountain pen in Calgary a few years ago but that broke on me and the cap won't go on right. I bought another one from a woodturner in Martintown and while I like it - it just ain't, you know, boss. I was planning on splurging o

As further evidence as to what a hip cat I am, let me tell you what I did with the Amazon gift certificate my sister sent me for Christmas: I bought books on Christian theology. To my credit, I also bought David Mamet's On Directing Film but for the most part, Shteevie's latest Amazon delivery looked like what St. Augustine might have purchased had he lived to see 2014. I'm a big fan of Zondervan's counterpoints series, which is where Christian theologians with opposing views share their opinions on controversial topics within Christendom. After they defend their views, they get to pick apart the perspectives of their colleagues. It's great fun and I even managed to befriend one of the contributors from the book about the Canaanite genocide (hi Tremper Longman III.) Now I'm the first to admit that I'm a big stupid idiot and I'm way too dumb to wade into the minefield that is comparative theology. I guess if I had a brain like Walter Mart