A year in the rearview mirror: absurdity on parade!

Can you smell ... what the world's bloggers are cooking?

Why of course – it's the annual onslaught of "A year in review!" Or "Best of ... things I know about!"

And why not?! As my pal and beer bro Don over at Brew-Ha-Ha says: "It's like shooting fish in a barrel!"

And indeed it is! But it's fun for all involved. Bloggers get to shake off the mothballed cobwebs ... or, cheat and do a frantic Google search about things that happened in 2015 (*quickly deletes my surfing history*).

And, folks enjoy a trip down recent-memory-lane. Everyone likes a bit of a wobble down those hallowed halls!

Absurdly, I didn't write much this year. This anomaly has already been covered in my last three-part magnum opus about going back to Canada in June – it boils down to one word. LAZY.

This is also a "Magnum Opus" concept. But only wily folks of a certain
vintage who may have been paying attention to 80s TV shows,
and 80s cartoon strips, might totally get this. Maybe.

But I was paying attention. Hard not too – I had a lot of free time on my hands.

Where to start? Well it was difficult not to notice the USA has been ramping up for another election.

And it was really REALLY difficult to ignore that the "circus clown" aspect of complete mental cases throwing their hats into the ring early in the game was "on fleek", as the kids are saying these days. (There's another odd thing ... slang has become almost too weird for me to understand. And when you stop 'getting' slang, that means you're old. And/or busted. So yeah, I get it ... *does another quick peek at Urban Dictionary*)

So! Here we have Primo Assclown Number One. The photos are all we really need here to illustrate the absurdity – an insane, racist, homophobic, lying doofus who somehow got rich*, then suddenly decided to run for President of the USA. Who knows why? Maybe he got bored.

These two gestures are, respectively, Trump's Foreign Policy, and Big Donnie's Domestic Economics Plan. And,
*(someone did the math!), if The Amazing Blowhard and his Dead Gopher Hairpiece had just taken the money his dad gave him to go play in the traffic (back when Ol' Crazy Pants was merely a young crazy bastard), and immediately just put it into basic, safe investments – or, a savings account – he'd have exactly the amount of money
he's credited to  actually be worth now ... following a lifetime of failed investments, multiple bankruptcy claims,
a series of imported non-American wives, and other lunatic media-centric adventures.
So he's not even a good businessman – never mind a sane prospect to be leading the USA.

And here are the rest of the GOP basket cases – the bunch who've been lying, obfuscating, making shit up, and generally being nutbar poison trolls. Somehow, they got on TV a few times to prove all this in what was passed off as "debates".

Ship of fools, carload of idiots, or wagon full of buffoons?
Doesn't matter. Take your pick.
Also, you don't need to know their names. They're pretty much all the same.

Never mind who's in the three-legged race from the Democratic camp. It's an old guy (FEEL THE BERN!) who actually makes sense and speaks the truth (so he'll never make the nut – Americans need wacky, sparkly, shouty, racist, lying, cheating bastards to pick from!)

And there a slightly younger person ... the wife of a former President.

Hilary's going to have a rough slog of it, because she's not young, hot, and doesn't have an Instagram account full of barely-legal bikini photos ... which of course is how women are judged for their legit-ness by the voting American public.

And, speaking of other vermin and pesky critters who exist just to steal your stuff – two other interesting characters emerged as media sensations in 2015! There was "Pizza Rat", and "Donut Raccoon". Really, it was just a rat that found a slice of pizza (so of course he's gonna take it back to the rat's nest and eat it), and a raccoon who was being ... well, a raccoon ... and snuck into a donut shop and swiped one.

Pizza Rat was photographed bogarting the last slice in NYC.
Good on you, Pizza Rat. It's not even stale and covered in oozing,
festering blisters of blue mold yet! Chow down you magnificent bastard!

This sneaky raccoon was just obeying his inner voice (aka, doing what
raccoons do), and swiping a donut. Good on him, too!

I'm surprised some Hipster didn't try to prop up a half can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for the Pizza Rat – it would have suited as a clarion call to all Hipsters that yes, indeed, it is cool to have a day-old slice of 'za, and an absolutely appalling mass-produced beer for lunch.

But don't forget to ride away on your unicycle, wearing your Jughead Jones hat, your Golden Girls t-shirt, and neatly trimmed Hipster beard, after you're done!

In other shocking news ... many people used Facebook to announce to the world they wanted more attention.

The usual flailing around from bygone years went down, of course – 'Vagueposting', and feigned outbursts of being upset over some damn thing or other (really – outrage over Starbucks' lack of proper Xmas colours on their cups?)

Then there was the completely misguided and totally unrealistic outrage over any number of other things that were either completely not things at all, or so insignificant that only perhaps three people thought they cared about it.

I particularly enjoyed the usual whinging about the weather. It didn't matter if the weather had gone from lots of sunny days to a rainy day, or vice versa. And this year, there was something new in the mix!

In Canada, many folks stampeded to 'OutrageBook' to

It all boiled down to a reason to make
whining noises, when really there was nothing
wrong at all happening. 

claim they were upset and confused that it wasn't cold and snowy before Xmas.

Lack of an original idea in their heads, coupled with years of being brutally beaten and tortured by the usual heinous weather at Xmas, brought folks out of the un-snowed-in woodwork to blast away on the keyboard:

"It's not snowing. What am I supposed to do?! It's warm! How in the hell can we have Xmas without snow or heinously cold weather!?"

Well I'll tell you how. Comfortably, and warm, without wearing 9 layers of clothes. And without being exhausted and bent into knots from shovelling your driveway. A warm Xmas means you do just like I do down here in New Zealand every year! Or as many folks who live in warm places will also say:

Oddly I couldn't find any photos of guys asking this
question. They were probably off getting another
bag of ice for the chilly bin/cooler, to keep those
tasty Xmas beers cold in the hot Xmas sun!
 Or maybe BBQing some fine tasty Xmas burgers.

Facebook was also a collecting point for people who suddenly stumbled on the miraculous and never-before-discovered concept of cooking.

I'm not talking about proper chefs who were displaying their awesome creations to lure people on down to their swell restaurants and cafés.

Nope. I'm on about the people who, for whatever reason, found themselves in the kitchen and magically discovering that bread + peanut butter + jam = a tasty sandwich! Or that chopping up veggies and arranging them haphazardly into a bowl, with some salad dressing, makes for a hella-good taste treat! Never mind the novel idea of turing on the stove and preparing something that isn't microwaved left-over pizza ... holy fuck! Combining 3 or 4 ingredients, and heat, can often result in something GOOD!

It's always fun to read about when folks figure out how to amass
ingredients into something even MORE tasty than any one thing!

Makes me wonder what these adults were doing between the ages of 0 and 18 ...

... other than sitting at the table with mouths open, squawking like starving baby birds, waiting for their parents to feed them.

Sticking with the food idea for a moment, there was yet another wacky diet concept foisted on a gullible and ready-for-anything public: the paleo diet.

Yep. Eat like a cave man, and all your health, diet and weight/fitness problems will magically disappear! Hey, never mind eating right from the vast selection of amazingly nutricious and healthy food we have available now! 

Paleo Dude, returning home with a healthy
platter of Paleo Diet, in hopes he can
evolve and eat some other interesting
things – that aren't trying to kill him.

And also forget about just doing some fun exercise or sport between meals to keep that flab at bay! That's a fools' game!

What YOU need to do is eat like that mega healthy species of human we evolved from – you know, the guy who was lucky if he lived to the age of 30, providing some accident, infection, natural disaster, beast or other human didn't kill him?

Let's see what other snake-oil was being snapped up like $100 bills laying on the sidewalk ... oh yes, a couple of brothers decided to make themselves over into looking like Concerned Hipsters (beards, retro clothing, kooky glasses) and market what they claimed was "artisanal chocolate" ...

... just the thing for the wanna-be Hipster on the go, dying to eat some chocolate, but it had to be GOOD, HEALTHY chocolate. And of course, the lineups formed bigtime ... folks looking to spend some of that Hipster money they had laying around on The Next Big Hipster Thing.

The brothers – Rick and Michael Mast (photo below) - whipped up what they claimed was totally legit, for real, awesomely-expensive-to-make chocolate. The healthy kind, of course. Which of course was going to cost YOU a butt-load of money for every artisanal-looking, Hipsterishly-wrapped bar!

Except, it wasn't that. At all. They faked it.

They took some cheap-as-chips chocolate. And put a fancy wrapper on it. They also made sure their Hipster costumes were "on fleek"! Then they stood back and raked in the mad stacks of Duped Hipster cheddar!

The Mast Bros. A recipe for success! Grow out those Hipster beards,
dress like you really mean to be a Hipster, put on those Hipster glasses (but only
ONE of you – both would be over-kill). Then sell the rubes the
shitty, basic, regular chocolate all wrapped up in your well-designed
Hipsterly-iconic wrapping. Then don't forget to flee the scene
with your big bank before anyone catches on!

So, yeah. Snake oil salesmen were still around in 2015. As PT Barnam said: "There's a sucker born every minute!" I suspect I will be reporting on another similar sort of scheme in January 2017 ... but who knows WHAT it'll be?!

We'll take a bit of a break from food and things here for a moment, and revel in a selection of the MANY mugshots from the 2015 crop of criminals, scofflaws, rapscallions, and ne'er-do-wells!

The well is a deep one for these kinds of photos. Lots of crime to be doing out there, and loads of folks willing to fall on that grenade and take one for the Absurdity Train Team. Here's an annotated lineup of some of the better ones I found. Click here to see a larger version of this pic, below to read and enjoy!

Lots of fun people on parade here! Maybe you met someone like them doing a crime to you this past year!

Criminals abound, of course, as they always do. There was this merry band of masterminds in Germany who decided that making off with a condom machine to take into the woods, and open it via explosives (yep, there's a get-rich-quick scheme if there ever was one!), was an excellent plan ... 

... only problem was, one of them was killed in the explosion ...
Not a very good ad for practising safe sex!

Naturally, just like always, many crimes happen where the criminals in question somehow don't get pinned to the wall and tossed in the slammer, with any sort of punishment.

One of the biggest stories this year was the killing of Cecil the Lion. The fellow who did it was of course a down on his luck, poor fellow who needed to fly to Africa and kill Cecil to feed his starving family, because he couldn't afford groceries ...

Oh hang on. Ha ha. That's silly. A flight to Africa, a really top-notch high-tech gun with laser scope to be able to shoot animals from a mile away, and hiring a crew of safari guides to take him to where Cecil was hanging out costs just a bit more than buying groceries!

And it turns out the fellow in question was a white, rich, entitled, American dentist ... who seemed to be compensating for a lack of sufficient size in other appendages, by spending up huge to go around the world and shoot big, rare animals – the sorts of beasts that aren't ever killed by the locals to eat.

Arguments pro and con about this shit-stain of a dentist (top right) doing this sort of thing (see, I'm kind of against it)
burned hot with the intensity of 1,000 suns on the net, and for some time. This insane act also helped shed light on other 'trophy hunting' assholes who also took the time to post up evidence of their assholery on the web.
Lots of magnificent (and often, endangered) animals getting
killed out there, and not to feed starving families. It's more to feed and placate a gigantic, festering,
oozing puddle of  insecurity and sociopathy in these fuckwits, who think they're proving something
by murdering animals,  from a safe distance away, using top-shelf technology and advanced weaponry to do so. 

Meanwhile, closer to home (and not nearly as seriously heinous), we had folks investing in something else that was new – Drones. Technology has bounded along helter-skelter on many fronts. We still don't have flying cars (oh, wait – we do. They're called "helicopters").

It's a long leap from paper airplanes! And, hiding in trees to spy on
the sexy neighbour next door out by her swimming pool. (Or so I hear).
We now have cheap Drones – which you can affix a camera to.
And then fly them remotely to be a high-tech Peeping Tom! Or even,
into the flight path of actual planes! Hey, cool!

Or hover-boards (um, well, hang on ... we sorta do – except they don't really hover. More on this in a sec). But we do have our own personal drones! And they're cheap!

And you can rig them up with a camera. Or, if you're really the industrious kind of psycho who can't be bothered to run right up to crowds to shoot people, you can strap a gun to a Drone and do your mass murdering that way!

Turns out, there's another fun use for Drones! Remember a few years back, that wacky thing that inbred, backwards-ass hillbilly country-fucks liked to do was to get hold of cheap-as, hand-held laser lights, and shine the beam into cockpits of planes taking off and landing? This of course resulted in no end of mental-patient-level fun. But sadly for the deranged, it was illegal – as the pilots got temporarily blinded, and then easily drive their planes full of passengers into things ... like buildings, mountains, or the ground.

Now anyone with a few extra bucks can pilot their own person drones right into the flight paths of planes as they land or take off! This is even more of a fun idea for the maniac-about-town – instead of pretending you're an alien with a laser gun shooting at a plane, the fruitcakes and nutbars can pretend they're the actual alien ship attacking the planes!

Governments around the world are already on the case, whipping up some laws and regulations to keep morons and cretins from doing this ... but as we well know, often such laws and regulation are un-policeable. Because hey, the skies are vast, and we don't have a lot of Sky Cops hovering around looking for lunatics and psychos who do these sorts of things ... AND, morons and cretins often possess an innate skill (and a real strong hankering!) for skirting such things as laws. So watch for lots of news on this front in the coming year!

No! Not hovering. At all. Michael J Fox would be
very disappointed in you for buying this!

Ah, yes – I mentioned hoverboards back there. Some clever wag managed to foist a thing on the gullible public that wasn't a hoverboard. There was no hovering. It was a sideways skateboard with just TWO big fat wheels. Oh and some cool lights. But people bought them anyway, because hey: the word "hoverboard" was there!

Oopsie! Besides not hovering, the pesky things tended
to catch on fire. That's no way to have fun.

Which was a harmless concept. Spend up, suckers! No one's getting hurt! ... well, except, they were. The damn things started to suddenly ignite and burn.

And, just in time for Xmas! Seems there's been a bit of an investigation under way ...

Back to politics again just for a sec. You'd think a tiny nation like New Zealand wouldn't feature the Prime Minister getting into the news for anything less than a full-blown spectacle of a scandal. But our man Prime Minister John Key has not only been on the acclaimed comedy show Last Week Tonight with masterful comedian host John Oliver once ... he made it on there TWICE in 2015!

Yep, Mr. Key was featured on Oliver's show for his penchant ... nay, his real hankering ... for touching, caressing and fondling women's hair. (And here). Specifically, their pony tails. While this isn't exactly a case of jumping out of dark alleys and waggling his penis at people ... or having sex with a dead pig, as the UK's PM David Cameron has allegedly done ... it's still not the sort of behaviour you'd expect from a sitting Prime Minister. Or even a lurking, prowling, drooling, panting one.

Well besides that issue, Oliver's show again featured Key – this time, Oliver found an interview (which I heard, first-hand) on a hilarious morning radio show on NZ's Radio Hauraki, where the PM was run through a regular feature on the show that every guest has to endure. It's called "Thank You For Your Honesty", and the questions are cheeky and risqué. Oliver couldn't BELIEVE Key went through with it!

John Oliver (top left) was agog and amazed that the morning breakfast crew at NZ's Radio Hauraki (top right) put Prime Minister John Key through the cheeky paces with their regular feature: "Thank You For Your Honesty".

Oliver said: ""I don't know what I love the most there. The fact he felt qualified to weigh in on the Virgin Mary, the fact he confessed to theft and shower urination, or the admission that he does not trim his pubic hair." (The entire clip from Last Week Tonight, here.)

The saying goes: there's no such thing as BAD publicity. And this was ... weird. And it was pretty damn funny, in the "Point your finger and mock and jeer and say: 'Dude! You admitted, in public, on air, to stealing AND shower pissing!" kind of funny way.

Now in other political news! Pretty much every world leader has had a camera stuck in his/her face after they right-royally fucked up. However, there seems to be the concept of "Fuck-up in progress ... please stand by". This was made painfully, absurdly apparent, with the fairly recent scenario, where Turkey shot down a Russian fighter jet for flying too close to its ... well ... general vicinity? ...

... and where we have a clearcut case of: "Hmm, when is the other, (heavily-armed, totally-psychotic, I-have-almost-as-many-guns-planes-and-tanks, and-other-fun-toys as-the-Americans) shoe gonna drop?"

Yeah, Turkey did that ... shot down a Russian jet fighter. There's "David and Goliath" sorts of fights,
where people cheer on the "little guy" for having the guts to hit the "big guy" with a lucky shot
and making him fall down and die. Then there's the "HOLY SHIT ... we're backing off and pretending we don't KNOW you, you crazy suicidal bastard!" that everyone said to Turkey for doing this.
Putin may be a lot of things, but he isn't the kind of guy who has to worry about answering to any sort of UN group, or a Congress, or media in his own country, or even voters.
He's the guy who the phrase: "It's GOOD to be king!" was tailor-made for.  He can do whatever he wants.

And back to news about Things People Willingly Bought Into ... there was another incident that made me simultaneously think: "Really? People are that gullible?" and "Oh boy, ANOTHER absurd thing to write about!" this past year too.

It was ... colouring books. For adults.

Yeah. Some sort of New Therapy (I didn't check if it was the same guy who did the Paleo Diet thing ... ) and I didn't read that much about it. Seemed fairly clear. People – adult people – were willingly buying colouring books.

"So ... *giggle* you buy these colouring books, right? And then *snort* you colour in them, a few times a day
*guffaw* and that will make you all better, from whatever *hee hee* it is that ails you! That'll be .. *ha ha* $500!"

Every so often, there's an absurdity
even I find ... speech-arresting.

I can't even ... there is ... I just ... hmm ... (I made up the dollar amount, because I'm too lazy to see how much it did actually cost).

Right.

We had one more thing happening here in New Zealand (and it's still under way, as we haven't voted for a new one yet) ...

I'm talking about a new flag.

Perhaps in a kind of "method of misdirection", once again PM John Key set aside other pressing issues, and instead decided NZ needed its own flag. I initially thought: "Great idea! Look at Canada's flag for a prime example – it came along (coincidentally, on my birthday!) to replace the old one, which was the UK's one.

And I'm sure, during that process, there was a lot of debate, hand-wringing and bellyaching (from royalists) over that whole idea ... but Canada ended up with an excellent example of what a great flag is – it's simple, yet elegant and strong.

Canada's flag. Instantly recognisable. It can't be confused
for any other country's banner. It's a strong, proper flag design,
reflecting what Canada's about. This is the sort of concept
New Zealand needs in the design of its new flag.

It reflects what the country is all about. It's instantly recognisable. And you cannot confuse it with ANY other country's flag ...

... like you can with New Zealand's current one. I've lived here 15 years and I still have to stare at an image of the thing before I decide if it's Aussie's, or NZ's. And half the time, I guess wrong. This is not a good feature of a country's flag.

Even PM Key said he is sometimes embarrassed at international functions, when he sees his official chair for the meeting, and someone has suspended the Aussie flag over his seat.

So they had a contest. They threw it out there to see who, among the general public, might come up with a great new design that fits all the proper parameters. And while some of the designs have some elements of greatness, and are OK from a beginner's thumbnail idea – with elements that suit what we're after here – so far nothing has emerged that says what the Maple Leaf does for Canada. They all still look ... like preliminary sketches. Or company logos. Or dream-like symbolism.

There are elements of a strong flag in all of these designs. But no single design is hitting the mark, or ticking
all the boxes. I like to design things, but I know I don't have what it takes to come up with a proper country
flag. I can't resist including some nonsensical element to it ... oh, what am I saying. It WOULD be TOTALLY silly.

Incorporating the iconic 'Silver Fern' into the flag seems like it would be an excellent idea right now – the All Blacks are a strong team and they keep on winning and staying on top. But what would happen if, down the track, suddenly the All Blacks *gasp* started to suck ... and stopped winning all the time?

We sure as hell DON'T want THIS to happen!

Stranger things can happen. We don't want a flag that, say, 50 years from now, is the symbol of a bunch of stumble-bums who can't even beat a minor team on a bad day.

For example: the Toronto Maple Leafs logo, which, 50 years past once-greatness, has sunk to the level of a cartoon focal point for ceaseless mockery, jeering and laughter!

That last bit I included just to see if my Canadian pals make it all the way to the end of this blog! (Well, not really. I normally make a special effort to dump mockery on the Leafs. They are, after all, the red-headed stepchild in the attic, who owes me money.).

Righty-ho, let's get busy with the getting-on with this new year! Lots to do ... fun to be had ... and for the sorts of people who can't help themselves but step on rakes and smash themselves in the nose, there's 12 whole months of prime time to get out there and screw up again!

I'll return soon in a sequel that might answer the burning question:

"Can you write ONE thing where you don't put the boots to the Leafs?"

Likely not. Because I'm

Onwards, through the fog: Part 3 of my Canadian visitation

When we last left me, I was gettin' on that plane – leaving Toronto, but more precisely Burlington, and even more accurately, Donny's Bar & Grill (DBG).

Destination: Vancouver. And the last planned stop on my scheme to visit some old Canadian pals, after returning to Canada in June for my dad John's funeral.

The most memorable AND absurd moment of gettin' on that plane at Pearson International in Toronto? Well aside from it being a cheap-as and low-rent POS deal (more on this is a sec) ... there was this guy who did his level-best impersonation of a terrorist I'd ever witnessed, in person.

So my ass was firmly in my horrible, cheap, no-legroom ghetto seat on something called Sun Tour Air. At least I think it was called Sun Tour. Sun Torture, more like it ... sure, it was the cheapest deal

While this wasn't exactly my plane ... from the inside, it sure
felt like it looked like this.  

going for a one-way flight from T.O. to Vancouver. I reckoned I could handle 5 or so hours of cheapness. I'd make up for it on the big flight back to Wellington (or so I told myself).

We were still on the tarmac. The plane was chockers (or 'jointed', as my Irish pal Mike says) – proving that it was the cheapest deal going. I at least had an aisle seat – which isn't much improvement over being wedged in the middle, or against the window. I could stick one leg out in the aisle, if I wanted to enjoy getting my prosthetic foot smashed into every :20 seconds by trolly-dollies beetling up and down the aisle. (My fake feet getting stomped or smashed doesn't hurt me, but it sure does cause trolly-dollies to trip and stumble a lot!) So I tried not to cause too many stewardess pile-ups.

So, the terrorist guy! We're still on the tarmac, haven't even begun to taxi ... but, the plane is buttoned up, we're ready to rock. I'm sitting there, untangling my headphones in preparation for watching whatever they tossed up on the screen, when I hear the unmistakable sound of someone running up the aisle, from the back of the plane – and the gasps of more than a few passengers.

I turn my head in time to see this young-ish looking (mid 20s) dude bee-lining for the stewardess at the front. He's clearly determined to do something, as he's running. And for a brief shining moment I thought: "Hmm, don't deranged terrorists wait until the plane is way up in the sky to blow it to smithereens?"

This was pretty much the face
I saw running from the back
of the plane ...

The stewardess seemed pretty calm, all things considered, as this dude rocked up to her and started babbling really fast. In a minute I determined the guy was having some kind of panic attack about being on a plane full of people ... which is a lot better than, say, the guy shouting: "I have a bomb in my shoe, and I want ALL the things! Allah Akbar!"

Kudos to the stewardess for being super cool, and getting the dude calmed down quickly. The guy thought maybe he should get off the plane, but he also said he really needed to get to Vancouver. So she talked him down, and got him sitting in a seat near her, saying she would look after him. You can imagine the palpable and sheer PANIC that was ensuing amongst the other passengers (and me!) up to that point.

He sat down and his rabid babbling simmered to a slow boil ... and in a few minutes, he seemed relatively normal again. As normal as someone prone to panic attacks, then deciding to get on a big airliner, might be ... I suppose.

The flight went OK – I arrived alive. There was something foisted on me that the trolly-dolly claimed was "food". I managed to hold it down. I had a beer. The hours ticked by ... and finally, as we taxied in after landing, I perked up, knowing fun would soon be afoot; my mate Steve H. was meeting me at the airport, and we'd get me checked in to a nearby "no-tell motel" and then have some beers.

This part of the plan went aces! Steve was there, and here were two good pals who hadn't seen each other in 15 or so years. His first comment, on seeing me on my prosthetic legs, and a tad shorter than he remembered me (as I'm now 'height adjustable'): "Whoa, it's weird seeing you NOT taller than me!"

We mosied over to the motel, with a short tiki-tour thrown in to show me (in the darkness of night) a few changes that had happened to this part of Vancouver. We knocked back some beers, shot the shit for a while, and then realised it was well past midnight ... so we made plans to meet later the next day – Steve had to work, and so would link up with me and our good mate, Richard.

This fine classic beast was our mighty steed during
all our Vancouver travels!

Richard picked me up the next day, and there was more "Wow it's been FIFTEEN YEARS!?", and shaking of hands, and then we tooled around sunny, warm Vancouver in his fine classic convertible Mercedes. Then we stopped for lunch and drinks.

'The Brothers Grimm' head out into the Vancouver sunshine on Day 1!
Richard (right) treated me (grinning loon, left) to a great tour
 of the city I hadn't seen in 15 years.
Then, it was time for drinks ... rinse, repeat!

And it was here Richard's liver let out an audible groan ... it knew the next week was going to be a hard slog.

Now let's see if I can get the chronological order of where and when we toured around to ... you see, it's been 6+ months since I finally pulled finger and sat down to write about this. And there WERE lots of beverages of the fun variety consumed. It was so warm, sunny and clear that we often got completely distracted by visions of beauty and awesomeness as we drove around – oh and there was the geography too – the mountains and ocean and such! [Hint to Don, Glenn and the boys: this means there were a lot of attractive women walking around!]

Indoors at Meraloma - two TVs, no waiting!

We meandered over to the excellent Meraloma Cricket & Rugby club (Richard's a member), and I met some of the stalwart fellows there. We ate BBQ in the sun and drank some top local beer, and watched some of the women's football world cup ... and of course, traded tales and had many laughs.

Outside the mighty Meraloma club. 

As would be our modus operandi every evening, for the duration of my visit (to inflict damage on Richard, Steve and Dale's livers), we would end up for dinner and drinks at Kitsilano's fine establishment, the Sunset Grill. I'd frequented "The Grill" many times when I lived in Vancouver.
It quickly became clear that Richard had ceaselessly continued to valiantly carry the flag onto the patio to seize seating there since I'd been gone.

The Grill patio. A block off Kits Beach
and home to many fine things to
stuff into your face!

The food and drink was excellent! We bobbed and weaved our way through craft beer, local wine, and well-made cocktails. And of course we ate. I ensured I hoovered down on a few meals of local BC salmon. Also, any other sea life that happened to be on the menu. No swimming thing was safe ... nor were shelled things. Or even things with multiple limbs, like squid.

Oh yes. Besides beer, wine, and cocktails,
we also sampled some excellent
single-malt scotch at The Grill.

Joining us on the patio was of course Steve H., who got me from the airport – and another great mate, Dale Z. It occurred to me at one point: I was the only one of our quartet who did NOT possess guitar playing skills.

These three lads really are great players!

The next montage of photos incorporates many successive days of us amassing on the Grill's patio ...

Many shenanigans occurred on the Grill's patio; Richard made sure I met some friends (top left);
and one of our many fine waitresses (bottom left). Richard and Steve H. yuk it up
over something (top right),  & Dale and Steve look longingly into the bar, awaiting their next drinks (bottom right). 

Each morning was an exercise in how quickly we could banish the demons that seemed to somehow sneak in to Richard's place, get cleaned up, and get back on the road.

A particularly fine day was spent driving the 90 minutes up the Sea To Sky Highway, to the fantastic Whistler resort. Once again, my 15 years away demonstrated to me how much this place had grown, expanded, and flourished. The drive up from Vancouver is one of the most sensationally awe-inspiring views in the world ... I'll let the photos do the talking here, too!

Zooming along out of Vancouver, and the 90-minute drive to Whistler resort! Scooting through Stanley Park
(top left); Passing over the Lions Gate Bridge and looking at the North Shore mountains (bottom left);
Snowcapped glacier peaks on the Sea To Sky Highway (top right); and more of the fantastic
highway (bottom right). It's hard to take photos in a vehicle moving at warp speed ... 

Once in Whistler, we of course hit the sun-drenched Longhorn patio, enjoyed some sustenance, and took in the views up one of the main chairlifts. Loads of people were screaming down the hill on mountain bikes, and many more were just walking around enjoying the fine day!

The two right-hand photos (top and bottom, yellow umbrellas) are the view at the Longhorn patio.
The two on the left were taken in the middle of the square at the older part of Whistler Village – I reckoned a tropical
cocktail was just the ticket for this scorching hot summer day!

It was just a day-trip to Whistler, and so we whipped back down to Vancouver at day's end. Enroute, I got a snap of the Squamish Chief, a huge rock-climbing attraction for many (not me, though). Note to Don: The Howe Sound Brewery is just to the right of us here!

Rock-climbing heaven for many here at the Squamish Chief! The Howe Sound Brewery is just off to our right.

We knew we were heading to the Grill once again for some dinner ... but no one can drive past the beach at English Bay on a sunny day and NOT take a photo! I used to live right close to here:

English Bay beach. Turn around 180º from where I took this, and you see part of downtown
Vancouver's West End! Hotels, bars and restaurants galore down here, of course ... with a view like this,
it'd be pretty nuts NOT to have things like that here!

Once again, some moaning and complaining ensued as we chased the hangover demons out of Richard's apartment the next morning ... and of course, another day's road trip was in order. This time we were off to nearby Steveston Village, and a cool little seaside bar/café that was one of Richard's favourites for seafood! And here's why!

"Hooked", indeed! This nifty little café/bar right on the sea in Steveston has some dynamite food
and frosty cold beverages! Steveston was the first fishing village in the Vancouver area.

The reverse view, from where we were sitting at "Hooked".  It was hard to leave here ... 

A more panoramic view from our seats at "Hooked". Richard takes a moment to check important messages –
like, when should we be heading to the Grill later on?

... but leave we did. And this time, for a change
of pace, we had an early dinner at a fantastic
Greek restaurant in my other old neighbourhood,
Kitsalino. We made pigs of ourselves ...
... because, why not?! Of course, we hit the Grill
immediately afterwards, for some aperitifs. 

It was also easy to see why folks who lived near this bar loved it.

We beetled on out of there just before the worker-bees finished their shifts for the day, and before it got crazy-busy there.

And it was off to some fine Greek cuisine at an old favourite place in Kits, near where I also used to live: DD Pizza! [Note to Don: No, not THAT kind of double-D!]

As well as excellent pizza, the DD also serves up some amazingly awesome Greek food.

There was one more place I needed to re-visit in Vancouver, a place where I spent many long hours after a bike ride around the UBC trails – the Jericho Beach Sailing Club.

Luckily, Richard was a fan too.

And so once again after some demon-purging, we struck out for this really cool and low-key place out on Vancouver's West Side.

This place features fairly inexpensive storage for smaller sailboats, lessons, boat rentals, and most importantly – an excellent little bar, facing the sea, on the 2nd level of the building!

It was also the crime scene (um, I mean, site) of some REALLY great beach parties in bygone days! Live bands, total fun, right by the sea!

Needless to say, however .... we weren't going to be doing any sailing that day ..

We were quick to snag a great seat on the Jericho Sailing Club patio! Pretty rough views here, but we
soldiered on ... I used to bike out to UBC (going out to the left of where we're drinking here) and then upon
returning, I'd stop in here for an ale or three. You can see downtown Vancouver way over there to the
right of this panoramic shot. Since the last time I was here 15 years ago, it was great to see the Club had
incorporated a number of crafty local beers on tap! And the nachos and things were excellent too!

Here's a bit more of a clearer view of the sea and beach directly under the 2nd level patio of the
Jericho Sailing Club bar.  I actually stood up to take this shot. And of course ... nearly fell in.

And there's one of those crafty beers I mentioned! (There were others ...)

As the saying goes, all good things have to come to an end ... or at the very least, they get told to settle down and move along, and then you take that good time "on location", set it up again, and continue the fun!

It was also time I let Richard, Steve and Dale's besieged livers up from the mat. They'd been saying "Uncle!" for a while now ... And, it was time to head home to Wellington.

I initially decided, way back when I started this trek to Canada in late May/early June, that it might behoove me to avoid flying into, or out of, L.A. Not that I hold any animosity for the place. But I reckoned having to endure bigger crowds AND the longer checks by the TSA would not be anything close to the kind of fun I was looking for.

However – after enduring the insufferably bad Air Canada flight from Sydney to Vancouver coming TO Canada (the long flight in the mix), I decided it was WORSE to have to put up with Air Canada out of Vancouver again. And that seemed like my only option.

So I bit the bullet, and organised a flight from Vancouver to LAX, where I would get on to an Air New Zealand plane directly to Auckland (and then, a one-hour hop home to Welly). This turned out to be a fantastic choice, for a few reasons ...

LAX wasn't the cesspool of hell I thought it might be. I whipped through the check-in, in fact, mostly due to my gimp-ness. It turns out I qualify to go thru the VERY short (if any) line for gimped-up people (like wheelchair people, or people in iron lungs, or totally hungover messes who spent too much time in Vegas and missed their flights ... right, Don?) I got bumped up to a better seat (something called "Premium Economy"? Not quite Bid-Ness, but way better than Moo Steerage!)

Me in the Air NZ seat on the way home from LAX.
Kinda tired, but in a GOOD way – fun was had!
Oh, that shirt? I bought it at the LAX terminal, as
I'd sweat profusely on my short stroll to connect
to my flight home. And if you look closely ...
you will notice I neglected to take off the
"size" sticker running down between the E and L
of "Angeles". Ha ha. That's a good look for
going thru a bag-check and getting on the plane.

And as I settled in for the really top-notch Air New Zealand service all the way back to New Zealand, the fact that I somehow managed to spill a glass of wine on the poor lady next to me didn't even phase me.

(Hey, those little rubber placemats they give you for your glass? They stick to glasses, and then easily fall off as you lift the glass up to drink, and then you put your glass down on the plastic tray and ... whoopsie!)

The excellent waiter immediately got the poor lady tidied up, while simultaneously obtaining me a new wine AND a new rubber mat. Now that's class!

Sure I was tired – see photo to the left!

But it was the GOOD kind of tired. It had been an excellent trip, overall. It began on a sombre note, as a tribute to my dad John passing away.

And then thanks to some clever planning, it blossomed into some long-overdo meet-ups with old high-school pals near my old home town, college mates in and around Burlington, and top-flight boozehound friends in Vancouver.

Next time we all need to meet somewhere central ... like maybe ... VEGAS, BABY!?


Oh and ...Happy New Year, y'all!

A return to the old Canadian stomping grounds: Part 2

All righty then – six months isn't too long between integral parts of a strange and wonderful three-part travelogue. Is it?

Yeah, it is. So what happened to me?

Eaten by bears?

Suddenly and mysteriously conscripted by the CIA to become a crucial and dynamic part of a big spy operation?

Abducted by pikeys?

No. Nothing so dramatic.

I'm lazy. And I moved again. So I didn't write anything.

Mostly, it was due to complete and utter slackness.

Providing I finish this Part 2 of my big trip back to Canada in less than two days, we'll keep this gap to six months ... and the same year. I think I can do this. I'm in ... The Zone. Or not as Zoned Out as usual? Yeah, that's it.

Who knows ... I may even get Part 3 (Vancouver! And the wanton destruction of my pal Richard's liver!) finished before 2016 too!

So where were we? Here's the Rumpus:

I'd returned to Canada for my dad John's funeral. That was in June. In the last blog (Part 1), I was leaving Napanee and heading back to Beer Bro Don's place in Burlington, for a proper, extended catch-up (translation: more beer drinking days) ... with him, and as many old Humber College pals as could be dragged out of the cedar chest, with mothballs successfully shaken off. The concept here: once in the air and off to another place, it's ideal and the most fun to try and stop and see everyone you know along the way. And so, here I was close to where I went to College, and, some of the people I knew so well during those fun, foggy, fantastic days!

Once again Don met me at Pearson Airport in T.O., after my short flight from Kingston.  I particularly enjoyed a total Bruce-Willis-In-Die-Hard-2 moment when I got off the one-hour flight, when a sharp-eyed lady at the terminal watched me slowly negotiate the (tiny made-for-midgets) steps for getting off the (miniature, shrunken-Mattel-toy-sized) plane – and asked if I'd like a ride to the baggage claim via cart.

Hells to the yes I would!

My cart driver arrived quickly after the kindly lady radioed for same. As he pulled up, I noticed he had a bit of a wild-eyed look about him, and I thought: "Well you know, driving a cart around the airport to ferry gimps like me around must get boring ... I wonder how he has fun ... ?"

This photo may be a slightly embellished representation of my golf-cart
trip through Toronto's airport. Bruce may or may not have been with
me on the cart. But I sure was ... as was the wild-eyed driver. This is,
clearly, how these driver guys have fun – speeding along,  narrowly missing
loads of people in our way (um, I mean, folks walking ...)

I got my answer to that question immediately. Like the airport maintenance man did for Bruce Willis at the end of Die Hard 2, my driver stomped on the accelerator, and we were off – at top speed. UNSAFE speed, actually.

But hell ... it was fun! 

We narrowly missed small herds of meandering people as they shambled about the airport ... also, we mostly avoided signs and other things scattered about the aisles. The actual cart had a flashing light on it, but I soon realised that didn't do much good for the people walking in the same direction we were – they'd only see the flashing light after we'd gone by ... or it would have been the last thing they'd glimpse as they lay quivering and bloodied, consciousness fading, on the aisle tiles.

My excellent driver (hey – excellence for some people is "he got me there safe and sound". For me, 'excellence' means "he got me there FAST, with a HUGE grin on my face, and, my hair was STRAIGHT BACK!") got me next to the luggage carousel WAY ahead of everyone else who was on my flight. After I got my balance back, I quickly snagged my bag.

Don was on the case, as usual, and waiting for me (in the designated spot where people mill around, waiting for people to shuffle off planes). But of course, the laughs were already well under way ... as you know how lots of people will hold up signs for their off-loading compatriots/family members, so they're easier to spot?

A dramatic re-enactment of the crucial
"Don holding the Chinese sign" moment
at the T.O. airport. You can tell that's
not Don, because this guy is wearing
a tie. Also, that's not real
Chinese text ... 

Well, Don had picked up a sign that was, moments before, being held by a Chinese family (with Chinese text on it).  Don was grinning and brandishing it for me to see. I snorted so hard I almost fell over ... again ...

And once again, we were off ... well, truth be told – not quite. We weren't "off" until well after a prolonged search for where Don's car actually was, in the airport parkade ... hey, it's a big place, with lots of levels, and they all look the same. And, there is no hi-tech gizmo on the beast to make it easily found via SmartPhone. Also, it was Don who had just parked it ...

... and meanwhile, I rather enjoyed sitting there watching Don dart about the parkade level, like Pac-Man, after those magic pills. Or like a mouse being chased by a really big cat.

Anyway, sort of soon, I was in the shotgun seat of the car, chilly-bin / cooler of beery fun in the back seat, ice cold IPA in hand! Much in the same fashion as when I first arrived two weeks prior ... big silly grin firmly affixed to my face.

Only this time, instead of just having one night of boozy high-speed catchup – we knew we had plenty of time to plan. Of course, the tempo would continue to be of the "alarming" variety.

And, as there was ample time to really enjoy several consecutive sunrise/sunsets of "day drinking" (a most noble thing to do when all concerned don't need to be anywhere to make sense, or important decisions).

There were some briefly-mulled concepts of other potential activities, like taking a brewery tour of nearby Nicklebrook. But, we soon realised that nothing short of a house fire, marauding dinosaurs, or attacking terrorists were going to prod us off of the patio at Donny's Bar & Grill (DBG).

You know the scene ... it was summer, warm, and there were no mozzies. There were chairs and a table upon which to rest asses and drinks, respectively. A BBQ lurked, with the promise of hot tasty grilled meat, in one corner. The trek from couch to patio was, at the slowest/drunkest/most hungover possible wobble – :02 seconds.

The famous Man-Eating Lazy Boy Chair, mere inches from the equally
famous DBG Patio. Don's interior design is best called "Feng Schwill"–
everything within easy reach. Especially drinks.

And the fridge was right there. And so was one of the two toilets. Besides, we could easily "virtually tour" Nicklebrook by drinking the many, many litres of their fine product already in Don's fridge. And, we could look at photos of the magnificent Nicklebrook operation on the net. And, being really keen Greenies ... we vowed like hell to make sure all the recycled Nicklebrook IPA got in the toilet when we were done processing it. (Well, most of it).

One exceptionally good plan we concocted was almost TOO good, however – as it had little chance of failing, because it didn't involve either of us needing to move off the DBG balcony. As well, it was a simple one: all and sundry friends and former Humber classmates who were available were to show up and have fun at DBG, any time on the Thursday (at least we thought it was Thursday – it was a day with a "y" in it, that much we were sure of!)

And so, Thursday arrived! The weather cooperated! Amigos/amig-ettes amassed as planned! Humber journo-pal Ann Cavanaugh was one of the first to arrive, as was the lovely Jen Jackson, partner of our (recently deceased and much-missed) great mate Pete Bell. As the afternoon progressed, Beer Bro Glenn Hendry and "Mr." Steve Pecar showed up.

The Photographic Evidence – The
Humber journalists unite! Headline:
Beer good; Old friends excellent!

Don and "Upstairs Amy" pretending to like each other.

Glenn (left) and Mr. Pecar opine knowledgeably on the
right-royal mess of drinks and food on the table.

Darkness settles in, and somehow Glenn's hi-viz vest
has been replaced with a red shirt. I blame pikeys.

The photographer (me?) catches Don in mid-list;
Mr. Pecar looks on in bemusement.

The photographer (clearly NOT me) has Glenn and I
boondoggled and vexed as to where the camera
actually is. Maybe ... over there?

Don receives yet another shirt. Apparently
words like "Beer" and the name "Redmond"
appear with alarming regularity on
shirts and things. Often, together.

Ann C. leans in to get a closer look at
the awesomeness that is my most excellent
purple Hawaiian shirt.

Of course, the locals also wandered in –  "Upstairs Amy" and son "Wee James", along with best pal Sandi materialised (hard NOT to do, as Amy, Wee James, hubby Simon, and Sandi often wander in to Don's pad, in true TV SitCom fashion – only here, it's the normal neighbours coming to Kramer, and not Kramer [Don] sliding maniacally in to their apartments).

To say that much of my stay at Don's was a "blur" would be watering down what actually transpired. "Blur" is usually a term deployed when some things are remembered. I'm not entirely sure what we can call this particular event.

Overall, though, it seemed (by photographic evidence) that we had a blast. Can't speak for Don's neighbours though ...

There was that enormous apple pie Mr. Pecar brought. Glenn was always easily spotted due to his hi-viz vest, until he changed rapidly and surreptitiously into a red t-shirt. (Damn pikeys!) Big smiles on everyone's faces also helped to lend evidence to some serious fun ensuing.

Most fun must eventually end ... or at the very least, it's told to calm down and move along. I knew I had to ultimately wend my way westward, to Vancouver, for another "visitation" with old friends there – enroute to a return flight to Wellington. So the fun wouldn't really end ... it would just relocate. "On location", as it were.

Sadly though, the centre of All Things Fun in Ontario (DBG) had to be abandoned, by me ... but not before a trek to Don's favourite crafty bar, Ribeye Jack's, to meet the good people there – who regularly look after (and medicate) Don when he's not either at work, or at DBG's.  "Upstairs Amy" and "Wee James" proved once again why they're the bestest characters in this sitcom (of the ones who keep Don out of jail and rehab, anyway!), as Amy drove us to the bar ... because of course we started the morning with more beer! Once there, Beer Technician Kylie kept us well hydrated with superior IPA-ness ...

... and when it finally came time to catch that plane west, Amy transported everyone (including me and my luggage) to the airport to catch what turned out to be my cheapest AND worst flight yet!

More on that shortly ... as Part 3 (and the last part) of this travelin' saga will soon unfold – I hit Vancouver, and proceed to slowly and methodically help my pals Richard, Steve and Dale destroy their livers!

Until then, I've been