January 12: The best experience of my life
I remember the day I graduated from junior high school. The ceremony
took place in the massive gymnasium at Bishop Grandin, where most of us
St. Stephen's kids would be going. I was dressed in a double-breasted
navy blue blazer and I had a mullet and lots of zits. The year was 1988.
I was a nerd, a geek, a loser. I fully expected that every girl would reject me on the dance floor. But that didn't happen. I had a full dance card that night and pretty much every girl I asked danced with me. Later, I even attended the after-grad party at Earl's Restaurant, where I was delighted to find myself accepted. When it was time to leave, people shook my hand and asked if I was going to Grandin in September. Many of them seemed happy, even relieved, to learn that I'd be continuing my educational adventure with them.
At about 1 in the morning, my best friend, Jason, and I walked up to the Mac's store at the corner of Elbow and Southland. We bought slurpees - or whatever the Macs equivalent of Slurpees was - and went to the back of the store, where someone had deposited an old bus seat. We sat down on it, just like we did pretty much everyday on the walk home from school, to drink our slurpees and talk.
I was high on life. I'd been expecting, probably even hoping, to be mocked all night by my fellow 15-year-olds until I fled Bishop Grandin and ran home to my bedroom and a well-deserved night of self pity. But instead, everyone else accepted me, treated me like their peer. I told Jason that it was the best night of my life.
Jason, who had actually had sex before (though he might have been lying about that) looked at me critically. "Dude, if this is the best night of your life, I feel sorry for you."
And so where do we go from here?
Well, I looked up to Jason, who was actually eight days younger than me but he was taller and he could play guitar and everyone liked him. Even so, I couldn't feel ashamed for thinking my junior high graduation was the best day ever. (My high school prom was far from the best day ever but that is a completely different story.)
But junior high is now more than a quarter century in the rear view and it would probably relieve everyone who loves me if I would simply stop brooding over it. Today, if you were to ask me about the best experience of my life, I doubt I'd say junior high graduation. But I don't know if I could give you a definitive answer.
I could say the birth of my son but, sad to say, that wasn't a great day. The nurse almost forgot about me in the waiting room and I was fetched a mere 30 seconds before my boy made his grand entrance. Instead of basking in jubilation, I was pissed off at the medical staff for robbing me of the experience.
*
I had one experience in San Jose. My friend, Tom, and I had just watched the Calgary Flames lose to the San Jose Sharks. After the game, Tom introduced me to a friend of his who was somehow able to convince me to go to a lingere bar.
Now the lingere bar sounds like a place where aspiring soft porn stars might seek to be discovered but it's not like that all. This lingere bar was about the size of a living room in your typical suburban home. The lights had been dimmed down to 10 per cent and 90 per cent of the people in the lingere bar were middle aged Asian men. The lingere bar did not serve alcohol. There was a beverage menu where you could order soda, tea, mango juice, chocolate milkshakes or fruit smoothees. Every drink was five dollars.
The drinks were served by delicate Asian flowers who worked in their underwear. One girl wore a blue lace bikini set but there was another girl who had little daisy pasties on her breastices. Now and then, the Asian flowers would stand on a chair and dance. They weren't good dancers. They danced the way my best friend's kid sister danced to Bon Jovi in front of her bedroom mirror. The music was strange too. It sounded like Zamfir, master of the pan flute, against an electro-goth synth beat.
The middle aged Asian men were impassive as they watched these women dance. They would take money from their wallets and lay it at these women's feet. Sometimes, the girls would make $30 for a two-minute dance.
Somehow, I wound up in conversation with one of these Asian flowers. She told me she was a university student and that she lived at home with parents. She wore a cross around her neck. I asked about it and she told me she was a devout Catholic. I asked her if her parents were offended that she worked at a lingere bar and she said no. "I'm not getting naked," she said.
That was not the greatest experience of my life. And although I don't think Jesus would give me a big thumbs up for going into that lingere bar, I didn't feel as bad as I would had I spent a couple minutes perusing the magazines in the top rack at the local convenience store.
*
I've been doing magic shows since I was 15. My first show was for a Presbyterian church's youth group's Christmas party in downtown Calgary. My mom drove me to the gig. I was charging $10 per show. They paid me $25.
The jubilation I felt was a great experience but I can't say it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. Nor will I say it was the best magic show I ever did.
So when was my best show? Well, the last show I did was two days before the new year. It was a last minute show. A local woman called me to see if I'd be willing to entertain her family for an hour. I said yes. It was a great show. I made lots of people smile and their applause made me smile too.
That was my best show ever.
Ask me that question in a month and I may have a different answer.
*
I am taking a page from the Keith Richards playbook. A reporter once asked him what was his best show with the Rolling Stones. Richards reply: "The show we did last night. That was a pretty good show."
Smart man, Keith Richards. He's not going to relegate his happiest memories to the distant past.
In his novel Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut lists his protagonist, Billy Pilgrim's, happiest memory as being a sunsoaked nap he takes in the back of a truck during World War II. The point of the book seems to be that we'd be happier if we focused on the good times and ignored the tragic.
*
One New Year's Eve in Regina, I went dancing with a Hungarian girl who looked like Maria Fredriksson from Roxette. That was a pretty good experience.
Once, after getting fired from one newspaper, I had job offers from two other papers within a few days. That was a pretty good experience too.
On February 13, 1987, I kissed a girl for the first time. That was a good experience.
One November, I told my mom that I wanted a video camera for Christmas and she told me that was out of the question because money was very tight and she didn't even think she could afford a new winter coat. So my sister and I pooled our money and went out and bought her a new winter coat and we gave it to her on her birthday, which was November 10, and the way she looked at us afterwards was a pretty good experience too.
Another time, I designed this really intricate town-wide treasure hunt for the kids at the local Youth for Christ coffee house. And I got to watch all these ecstatic happy teenagers run around the town, deciphering clues and hunting for the treasure and that was a pretty nice experience too.
I was a diehard Pittsburgh Penguins fan in the early 90s and I got to watch them win two Stanley Cups. I saw my Saskatchewan Roughriders win three Grey Cups. I took my godson to meet the UFC fighter, Matt Hughes. I went to Ireland. At my high school graduation, I got to dance with the girl in the white pants. I used to belong to a writers' group in Calgary and once, when I was the last reader to read, I overheard someone say "looks like they saved the best for last." I saw Prince perform twice, Weird Al twice and Amanda Marshall three times. I made a little girl in Calgary very happy one day by taking her to the waterslide park in Edmonton.
All great experiences.
Today, I took my son to the Museum of Science and Technology in Ottawa. That was a great experience.
Was it the greatest experience of my life?
I don't know. I'm not going to rank it. Why should I?
And hello happiness.
I was a nerd, a geek, a loser. I fully expected that every girl would reject me on the dance floor. But that didn't happen. I had a full dance card that night and pretty much every girl I asked danced with me. Later, I even attended the after-grad party at Earl's Restaurant, where I was delighted to find myself accepted. When it was time to leave, people shook my hand and asked if I was going to Grandin in September. Many of them seemed happy, even relieved, to learn that I'd be continuing my educational adventure with them.
At about 1 in the morning, my best friend, Jason, and I walked up to the Mac's store at the corner of Elbow and Southland. We bought slurpees - or whatever the Macs equivalent of Slurpees was - and went to the back of the store, where someone had deposited an old bus seat. We sat down on it, just like we did pretty much everyday on the walk home from school, to drink our slurpees and talk.
I was high on life. I'd been expecting, probably even hoping, to be mocked all night by my fellow 15-year-olds until I fled Bishop Grandin and ran home to my bedroom and a well-deserved night of self pity. But instead, everyone else accepted me, treated me like their peer. I told Jason that it was the best night of my life.
Jason, who had actually had sex before (though he might have been lying about that) looked at me critically. "Dude, if this is the best night of your life, I feel sorry for you."
And so where do we go from here?
It wasn't quite like this...
Well, I looked up to Jason, who was actually eight days younger than me but he was taller and he could play guitar and everyone liked him. Even so, I couldn't feel ashamed for thinking my junior high graduation was the best day ever. (My high school prom was far from the best day ever but that is a completely different story.)
But junior high is now more than a quarter century in the rear view and it would probably relieve everyone who loves me if I would simply stop brooding over it. Today, if you were to ask me about the best experience of my life, I doubt I'd say junior high graduation. But I don't know if I could give you a definitive answer.
I could say the birth of my son but, sad to say, that wasn't a great day. The nurse almost forgot about me in the waiting room and I was fetched a mere 30 seconds before my boy made his grand entrance. Instead of basking in jubilation, I was pissed off at the medical staff for robbing me of the experience.
*
I had one experience in San Jose. My friend, Tom, and I had just watched the Calgary Flames lose to the San Jose Sharks. After the game, Tom introduced me to a friend of his who was somehow able to convince me to go to a lingere bar.
Now the lingere bar sounds like a place where aspiring soft porn stars might seek to be discovered but it's not like that all. This lingere bar was about the size of a living room in your typical suburban home. The lights had been dimmed down to 10 per cent and 90 per cent of the people in the lingere bar were middle aged Asian men. The lingere bar did not serve alcohol. There was a beverage menu where you could order soda, tea, mango juice, chocolate milkshakes or fruit smoothees. Every drink was five dollars.
The drinks were served by delicate Asian flowers who worked in their underwear. One girl wore a blue lace bikini set but there was another girl who had little daisy pasties on her breastices. Now and then, the Asian flowers would stand on a chair and dance. They weren't good dancers. They danced the way my best friend's kid sister danced to Bon Jovi in front of her bedroom mirror. The music was strange too. It sounded like Zamfir, master of the pan flute, against an electro-goth synth beat.
The middle aged Asian men were impassive as they watched these women dance. They would take money from their wallets and lay it at these women's feet. Sometimes, the girls would make $30 for a two-minute dance.
Somehow, I wound up in conversation with one of these Asian flowers. She told me she was a university student and that she lived at home with parents. She wore a cross around her neck. I asked about it and she told me she was a devout Catholic. I asked her if her parents were offended that she worked at a lingere bar and she said no. "I'm not getting naked," she said.
That was not the greatest experience of my life. And although I don't think Jesus would give me a big thumbs up for going into that lingere bar, I didn't feel as bad as I would had I spent a couple minutes perusing the magazines in the top rack at the local convenience store.
I think that's the place
*
I've been doing magic shows since I was 15. My first show was for a Presbyterian church's youth group's Christmas party in downtown Calgary. My mom drove me to the gig. I was charging $10 per show. They paid me $25.
The jubilation I felt was a great experience but I can't say it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. Nor will I say it was the best magic show I ever did.
So when was my best show? Well, the last show I did was two days before the new year. It was a last minute show. A local woman called me to see if I'd be willing to entertain her family for an hour. I said yes. It was a great show. I made lots of people smile and their applause made me smile too.
That was my best show ever.
Ask me that question in a month and I may have a different answer.
*
I am taking a page from the Keith Richards playbook. A reporter once asked him what was his best show with the Rolling Stones. Richards reply: "The show we did last night. That was a pretty good show."
Smart man, Keith Richards. He's not going to relegate his happiest memories to the distant past.
In his novel Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut lists his protagonist, Billy Pilgrim's, happiest memory as being a sunsoaked nap he takes in the back of a truck during World War II. The point of the book seems to be that we'd be happier if we focused on the good times and ignored the tragic.
*
One New Year's Eve in Regina, I went dancing with a Hungarian girl who looked like Maria Fredriksson from Roxette. That was a pretty good experience.
Dressed for success
Once, after getting fired from one newspaper, I had job offers from two other papers within a few days. That was a pretty good experience too.
On February 13, 1987, I kissed a girl for the first time. That was a good experience.
One November, I told my mom that I wanted a video camera for Christmas and she told me that was out of the question because money was very tight and she didn't even think she could afford a new winter coat. So my sister and I pooled our money and went out and bought her a new winter coat and we gave it to her on her birthday, which was November 10, and the way she looked at us afterwards was a pretty good experience too.
Another time, I designed this really intricate town-wide treasure hunt for the kids at the local Youth for Christ coffee house. And I got to watch all these ecstatic happy teenagers run around the town, deciphering clues and hunting for the treasure and that was a pretty nice experience too.
I was a diehard Pittsburgh Penguins fan in the early 90s and I got to watch them win two Stanley Cups. I saw my Saskatchewan Roughriders win three Grey Cups. I took my godson to meet the UFC fighter, Matt Hughes. I went to Ireland. At my high school graduation, I got to dance with the girl in the white pants. I used to belong to a writers' group in Calgary and once, when I was the last reader to read, I overheard someone say "looks like they saved the best for last." I saw Prince perform twice, Weird Al twice and Amanda Marshall three times. I made a little girl in Calgary very happy one day by taking her to the waterslide park in Edmonton.
All great experiences.
Today, I took my son to the Museum of Science and Technology in Ottawa. That was a great experience.
Was it the greatest experience of my life?
I don't know. I'm not going to rank it. Why should I?
And hello happiness.
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