Monthly Archives: January 2015


I love the sound of breaking glass!  As a kid, I threw stones through windows just to hear the glass break.  Rarely did I get caught.  To the best of my knowledge, I never injured anyone.

One week I broke the same window everyday, Monday to Friday, five days in a row.  This window was at the back of a house in a lane way I took to go to school.  I threw a stone and broke the window Monday morning while on my way to school.  I did not plan to do this.  I saw a stone and then the window and I picked up the stone and threw it.  Bullseye!  I saw that the window was fixed on Tuesday when I went to school, and broke the window again.  This second time was not planned, but I planned to break the window Wednesday, Thursday and Friday if it was fixed each day.  It was, and I did.  I never got caught.  I feel bad when I think about it now, but I was only six or seven years old.  What a rush hearing the glass break and then running!

How ironic that in my teens I got a summer job working for Hunt Windows Company.  Part of my job was emptying the scrap-glass bin where the window makers threw out—you guessed it!—scrap glass.  What a rush hearing the scrap glass smash when I dumped the scrap-glass bin!

I have never outgrown this addiction(?), but I have learned to control it.  One day I will have a concrete room where I can go to release tension and get high by smashing glass.  Until that time I will settle for the cracking noise from thin ice while stepping on frozen puddles in the gutter.




Having no credibility with my family makes for interesting and challenging conversations.  I have no credibility with them because they do not approve of my life in the arts.  What I say means nothing to them.

Recently a collection agency called my nephew looking for a Gary Johnston.  My nephew contacted me and I told him that it was a mistake because I have never given his telephone number to anyone or any organization.  I told my nephew to disregard any future calls.  He was satisfied with that, and I thought the matter ended.  But my nephew had also contacted my brother, his father.   My brother called me demanding to know why a company called his son looking for me.

“I don’t know why,”  I said. “I have never given your son’s telephone number to anyone.”

“But they called him looking for Gary Johnston,” said my brother.  “Why would they call him?”

“I told you that I don’t know why.  It’s the wrong Gary Johnston.  It’s a mistake.”

“But they called him looking for you,” said my brother.

“I know they did, but it’s not me.  I called them.  It’s a collection agency looking for a different Gary Johnston with a different middle name.”

“How do you know that?” asked my brother.

“Did you not hear me?  I called the collection agency and it’s a mistake.”

“I know you called them, but I wanna know how you got that information?  How do you know it’s a different Gary Johnston?  And why would they call my son looking for you?”

As I said, having no credibility with my family makes for interesting and challenging conversations.

By the way, I do owe some people money, but it is not at the collection-agency stage yet.


I dislike being in a grocery checkout line behind a little old lady — especially when I am in a hurry.  Why don’t they have their money ready to pay for their groceries?  They know that they have to pay for their groceries, don’t they?

I am in a checkout line.  In front of me is a little old lady.  Several people are in front of her.  The little old lady has lots of time to take her change pouch out of her purse, but she does not do so.  The little old lady, like all little old ladies, waits until the cashier has totaled the groceries.

“How much is it?” asks the little old lady.  The cashier tells her.  “How much?” she asks again.  The cashier tells her again.  Then then the little old lady brings her purse up on the counter, and rummages through it to find her change pouch.  Once she finds it, she takes the time to count out the exact amount of money needed for her bill.   During this process, the little old lady may ask again, “How much is it?” and ask again and again with the cashier telling her each time.  After a decade, or two, the little old lady will find the exact amount and pay her bill.

I have yet to see anyone else pay for his or her groceries this way.  Is this behavior only taught at The School for Little Old Ladies?


Now the Canadian government tells us that ISIS attacked Canadian soldiers two more times, and the Canadian soldiers defended themselves.  The Toronto Star quotes Captain Paul Forget as saying, “In both cases, Canadian special operations forces, again acting in self-defense, effectively returned fire neutralizing the threat.”

“Neutralizing the threat”?  Expressions like this keep us from thinking that soldiers killed human beings (just like us).  They are not human beings, they are “the threat.”  They were not murdered, they were only “neutralized.”

Here’s what I think:  I think that the Canadian government intended to send Canadian soldiers to Iraq for a combat mission, but knew that Canadians would not accept that.  So the government sent some soldiers to “advise” and supposedly not be on the front lines engaging in combat.  Then the government, along with the media, exploited every terrorist attack around the world to drum up more fear.

I think the government secretly wants more terrorist attacks, in Canada, so they will have the fearful support of the Canadian sheeple.  With more terrorist attacks, the government can send more troops to Iraq saying that the mission has changed to one of combat.  After all, they have to stop ISIS from taking over the Universe.

Recently, U.S. federal investigators arrested several Russian spies in New York.  When communism was The Boogeyman, this story would have received the same media attention that terrorism receives now.

Governments love The Boogeyman.  He keeps the sheeple fearful.  With fearful sheeple, governments can get away with violations of civil liberties.  With fearful sheeple, governments can get away with murder.

Who will the next Boogeyman be after the Muslims?    Buddhists?    Klingons?    People who think?





In the Fall of 2014, Canada sent soldiers to Iraq.  The Government called it a “non-combat mission.” The Government said that Canadian soldiers would “not engage in direct combat”; that Canadian soldiers were only there to advise Iraqi and Kurdish forces battling The Islamic State (ISIS).

Last week, a news report said that Canadian soldiers returned fire from ISIS fighters while with Iraqi troops on the front lines.  The Government still insists that it is a “non-combat mission,” but that the situation on the ground has “evolved” since last fall.

Why don’t the Canadian troops get a megaphone and announce to ISIS fighters on the front lines, “Hey  ISIS, don’t shoot at us!  We’re only here to show these guys how to kill you.  You can shoot at them after we’re finished.  No hard feelings, eh?”

During World War I the government lied about what was really happening.

During World War II the government lied about what was really happening.

During the Vietnam War the government lied about what was really happening.

During the Gulf War the government lied about what was really happening.

During the Iraq War the government lied about what was really happening.

Now we are in another war–er–uh–pardon me–a “non-combat mission.”   Is the government lying about it?


“All governments are run by liars and nothing they say should be believed.”

– I. F. Stone




I never knew that I had so many faults until I got married.  I never believed in flying saucers until I got married.  I never thought I would welcome death until I got married.

I intended to stay single for the rest of my life indulging in a relationship now and again.  Obviously The Universe had other plans.  It was during a relationship that we got pregnant.  I got married out of a sense of obligation and not love.  I liked my wife, but I cannot say that I loved her.  (I like her even more now that we are not together.)

My Faults

I never knew that I did not know how to dress matching the right colors.  I never knew that I did not know how to clean the right way.  I never knew that I did not know how to do laundry the right way.  There was always something wrong with whatever I did.  There probably still is something wrong with whatever I do.  How sad that I do not have someone hovering around me to tell me.

Flying Saucers

I know that at times I am a pain in the ass.  My wife responded to my behavior by throwing dishes and hitting me.  It is good that I only defended myself and did not strike back.   The police would have charged me with assault and put me in jail.


We had a lot of arguments.  Actually, that is wrong.  We only had one argument: it started on the day we married and ended on the day I left.

During our argument–er–uh–marriage, I still had faith in doctors.  I was on my way to a doctor to get the results of a checkup.  In thinking about my marriage, I was hoping the doctor would say, “I’m sorry, but you only have six months to live.”   Then I would say, “Couldn’t you move it up to six days?”

“Marriage helped me to learn a lot about myself.”

I do not regret getting married.  Marriage helped me to learn a lot about myself.  It also gave me material for my standup comedy routine.

I was not the only one who benefited from my marriage.  My marriage helped two divorce lawyers raise their standard of living.


The title should read My Adventure With Cross-Dressing since I only wore women’s clothing once.  Actually it was not women’s clothing, it was my older sister’s navy blue jumper dress.

I was four years old and had this obsession with my sister’s jumper dress.   I envied her when she wore it.   My sister’s other clothing did nothing for me, but I had to wear her jumper dress.  I kept asking Mom if I could wear it.

“No, boys don’t wear girls’ clothing,” she said

I did not care that boys did not wear girls’ clothing, I wanted to wear my sister’s jumper.

“Pretty please with lots of ice cream and a cherry on top!”  I said over and over and again.

(Pretty please with lots of ice cream and a cherry on top was the way we pleaded for things.  I have no idea where this expression came from, but we believed it made our requests stronger.)

Finally, after lots of pleading, Mom gave in and let me wear the jumper.  It was a little big for me, but this did not stop me from wearing it.

How thrilling wearing my sister’s jumper!  I ran up and down the stairs in ecstasy!  I am not sure how long I did this, but I had to stop to go to the bathroom.

I pulled down my underwear and sat on the toilet.  Unknown to me, the back of the jumper hung down into the bowl.  Part of the hem folded up.  It did not touch the water.  I discovered the jumper’s position when a turd jumped from my bum into to folded hem, swayed to and fro as if on a swing, before diving into the water.

The thrill and the ecstasy, of wearing my sister’s jumper, died with the diving turd.   I never had this problem wearing my clothes, and I never wanted this problem again.  How did girls go to the bathroom without getting poop on their dresses?

I took off the jumper and gave it back to my mother.  I never told her about the turd swinging in the folded-up hem.  I did not want to get into trouble.  Mom took the jumper and hung it back in my sister’s closet.

So ended my adventure with cross-dressing.



Several friends contacted me concerned about my last blog.  They thought me depressed and suicidal.  Perhaps I did not clearly express what I was trying to say.

I am ready to die in that I have no bucket list.  I am not afraid to die.  I have died many times.  Death is no big deal.  There are still things I would like to do, but it is okay if I do not do them before Death comes.  (Will I have a choice?)   When Death comes, I will welcome it with open arms.  Perhaps I will invite Death to enjoy a banana with me before we go.

Although I feel that I am ready to die, I trust The Universe will send Death at the right time.  Death cannot come at any other time other than the right time.

Having no fear of death is such a relief!  The fear of death is the root of most of our fears.

In September, 2007, my sister scolded me for not having regular checkups.  I had not been to a doctor for some time, and had no plans of going to see a doctor.

“You should go to a doctor,” she said.  “You need to have regular checkups.  You could have something seriously wrong with you and find out too late!”

She said that in September, 2007.  I am still here without having seen any doctors.  I trust my gut feeling will tell me whether I need to see a doctor.

Illness is not bad.  Illness is my body telling me that I need to deal with an emotional issue that I have blocked and ignored.  Illness gets my attention.  What need is there for me to “battle” my illness.  Illness is only a message.  My gut feelings will guide me in how to deal with the emotional issue, and what to do to allow my body to cure itself.  So far, so good.

I am not advocating this approach for anyone else.  This is what works for me.

Each day that I am on this side of the grass I think, “What does life have in store for me today?  What adventures will come my way?”

There are days when I am not enthusiastic about life; days I forget how happy I am; days I allow something to bother me.  Most times a voice in my head can snap me out of my funk by saying, “You’re not afraid to die and you’re letting  (whatever the problem)  bother you?”  I regain perspective; however there are times when I do not regain perspective.  For whatever reason, I need to stay with the feeling.   I do so for however long the feeling lasts.  Blocking feelings leads to illness.

My feelings are part of The Flow.  Up, down, all around goes The Flow!  The Flow goes on forever.  The Flow is Forever, and knows not of death.




My life is complete.  I am ready to die.  There are still things I would like to do, but I would not be upset if Death knocked on my door and said, “It’s time for you to come out to play.”  I feel this now, but I will admit that I may panic if Death did knock on my door.

How terrified of death I was when I was young.  When I was twelve, I spent many nights crying myself to sleep after learning about the infinity of numbers.  Numbers went on forever, and I would never live long enough to know what the last number was.

My fear of death continued throughout my teens, but I started to lose it after reading about near-death experiences.

I do not know what happens after death, but I have beliefs.  I will not die before I am supposed to.  My soul has my expiry date stamped on it.  Believing this keeps from getting caught up in the fear of having regular checkups.  No amount of doctor visits will prevent my death.  Besides, I keep healthy by staying away from doctors.

Although I may feel my life is complete, The Universe knows better and I am still here.  I will die when I finish whatever I came here to do.

I love this quote by Chang Tzu:

“The Master came because it was his time to be born; he went because it was his time to die.  For those who accept the phenomenon of birth and death in this sense, lamentation and sorrow have no place.”




The Christian leaders of western countries have an odd way of loving their enemies.  I don’t understand it, but it has something to do with violence and dropping bombs.  Perhaps these leaders have taken lessons from Jian Ghomeshi.

I am not a Christian.  I do not accept Jesus as my savior, but reading his words sometimes moves me to tears.

Imagine a country is attacked and its Christian leader says, “We must love the people who did this to us.  Let us  pray for them.”  And that is it.   No war.  No retaliation.  Just love . . .  That is as likely to happen as Rush Limbaugh converting to Islam.

I once spoke to a devout Christian who hated Muslims and favored the war on terror.  I asked him about these words from Jesus.

“Shouldn’t we be turning the other cheek and not striking back?” I asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he said. “You want the world to see us as cowards?”

“But what about Jesus saying to love your enemies and turn the other cheek?”

“Well when Jesus said that, he didn’t mean that literally.”

“Then how did he mean it?”

“Uh-er-uh-I-I don’t know, but he didn’t mean for people to walk all over us?  You can’t run a country by praying for your enemies and turning the other cheek.”