Monthly Archives: January 2016





I try to stay open to signs and synchronicity in my life.  Does everything that happens have meaning?

I am walking down the street.  I trip, but do not fall and get to where I am going with no injuries.  Is this a sign that I will get to where I am going, with my life, but I will stumble along the way?

Several weeks ago I thought about my friend Freddie Feldman.  We grew up together, and I haven’t seen him since Ugg invented the wheel.  Freddie just popped in my head for no reason.  Nothing involving Freddie has happened since I thought about him.  I do not have the urge to find him.  So, why did I think about Freddie Feldman?

This was not the case with one of the three wankers who frequent the library, and get their aerobic exercise while sitting at a computer.  I thought how I had not seen one of them for a long time.  Did he die of a heart attack?   Was he in jail?  Was he in the hospital with severe case of repetitive strain injury?  Within the same day of me thinking this, I saw him in front of a computer getting his exercise.  (How the librarians don’t notice the wankers is a mystery.  Perhaps they do notice, and pretend not to.)

What was the message behind this synchronicity?  What was The Universe trying to tell me by having me see a wanker just after I thought about him?

“You think too much, and don’t trust enough.”

Probably.  You would know being a voice in my head.

“Trust, and go along keeping yourself open.  Insignificant things may happen.  Trust that if there is a message you need to know, we will make sure you know it.”

Okay.  Thanks.




A woman I know is religious.  She keeps trying to save me.  She told me that I will go to Hell unless I accept Jesus as my Saviour.

“I have an asbestos suit ready for the occasion,” I said.

“You shouldn’t joke about this.  Jesus is coming back soon,” she said.

“Really?  Coming back from where?”

“Uh-er Heaven.”

“Is that so?  And where is Heaven?”

“Above, in the sky.”

“So it’s separate from where we are now?”


“And, God is in Heaven?”


“Okay.  Will you agree with me that God is everywhere?”


“If God is everywhere, then how can Heaven not be everywhere?”

“Uh-I don’t know.”

“If God is everywhere, then how can he or she–”

“It’s he,” she said interrupting.  “God is a man.”

“Okay.  If God is everywhere, then how can he go away?  Where is he going to go to that isn’t everywhere?  And how can he come back when he is always everywhere?”

“Uh-er-I don’t know,” she said. “Satan is using you to try to confuse me and make me lose my faith.  You’re going to burn in Hell for that!”

She stormed off—much to Satan’s relief.  He’s a busy being.  He has better things to do than to spend time getting me to ask Christians questions.


The other day, a dear friend called to tell me that she has cancer.  She did not know how far it has spread and will have further tests.  She said that she is taking it “one day at a time.”

I thought about her a lot after we hung up.  I thought about her dying, and what my life would be like without her.  I realized how much I had taken her granted, and how special she was.  I thought how I had never told her.

The next day, I told her my feelings.  With tears in my eyes, I told her how I had never realized how special she was until I started thinking about her not being around.  I thanked her for her support and our friendship.

“Thank you, but I’m not dead yet,” she said.

“It’s just that I can’t believe that I never told you how special you are to me and how much I would miss you,” I said.

When I see her, I will tell her again and give her a big hug.

Who else in my life am I taking for granted?

IF I WAS GOD . . .


If I wasn’t an imaginary number, then I would like to be God.  As God, I would save the Earth by getting rid of human beings.  I would not cause a flood or create any other disasters.  I am not sure how, but I would make thinking mandatory.  If people had to think, then the stress would kill them.

After all human beings thought themselves to death, I would create another edition of human beings.  Currently, human beings are God’s first edition from a first draft.  Using my rough notes, I would create a second or perhaps third drafts of human beings and newer editions.  I would keep at it until human beings were perfect.  Instead of being a liability to Earth, they would be an asset.

God laughed at my plan and said, “All things are possible except making human beings perfect.  Good Luck!”



The problem when nothing happens is that I have to use my imagination to find something to write about.  I would rather have ideas fall into my lap than have to search for them.

Where are the voices in my head?  They usually have stuff to say.

“We’re here telling you to write this.”

Oh?  Okay.  I’m listening . . .

“That’s it.  It’s a short-blog day.”

Okay.  Thanks.



I have written before how security guards are people who, for some reason, cannot be police officers.  Security guards, or as I like to call them individually Sherlock, have to satisfy their great wish to fight evil and save the world.  They do this by being zealous in their space-guarding-mall duties, and by making everything a big deal.  Often there is not a lot of evil going in the space in malls, but that does not stop our crime-fighting Sherlocks from finding crimes—great crimes.  And sometimes, just like police officers, they focus on something minor missing the major stuff that needs their attention.

Today in the North York Centre washroom, a man smoked and drank beer.  Where was Sherlock?

On other days, I have seen drunks smoking and drinking in the passage from the North York Subway to the North York Centre.  Where was Sherlock?

And on other other days, I have seen drunks passed out on the floors in various places in the North York Centre.  Where was Sherlock?

I do not know where Sherlock was at the times I saw the above occurrences.  I have seen Sherlock lecture students on plugging their cell phones and computers in the electrical outlets of the North York Centre.  “Using these electrical outlets is against Mall Regulations,” says Sherlock.  (Funny how the North York Central Library is part of the North York Centre, and you can freely use the outlets in the library.  I have even seen Frankenstein charge himself at the library.)   I have seen Sherlock  lecture people for putting their bags in certain places such as window ledges.  And last Saturday, Sherlock accused me of “loitering” because I was talking too long on my cell phone.

It’s nice to know Sherlock is out there, somewhere, fighting the forces of evil.



A Racist?

About this time last year, I started having problems with Chinese women moving away from me when I sat near them.  It continued for six months before I wrote about it.

Chinese women moving away from me has never stopped.  They’re still doing it, but recently other people are doing the same thing.  Two weeks ago a small brown man (Sri Lankan?) moved away from me on the subway when I sat near him.  He looked at me with disgust and hatred.  Two white women did the same within the past week: one was on the subway and the other was at the library.  Both moved away, looking at me with disgust and hatred, when I sat near them.

On Saturday morning, I sat at a table near a white male in his late teens.  He gave me that disgust-hatred look, and picked up his belongings and moved away.  Is he a guy who leaves racist messages on top of urinals in public washrooms?  Who knows?  I can only assume that color is the reason these people move away from me.  (The Chinese women have fear and hatred in their eyes, and the others have hatred and disgust with no fear.)

Too bad people let my color get in the way.  I’m really a nice guy.  My only fault is that sometimes it stinks when I fart.


Nutbar #1

Later Saturday afternoon, an old man stood in front of a computer I had reserved.  He was bald on top with long white hair at the sides.  He had a long pointed nose.  Put a biblical gown on him and he would look like an old prophet.  He would not move to allow me access to the computer because he did not believe I had reserved it.   After he had a wee rant, a librarian finally convinced him to move to another computer.  “I didn’t want to use that computer anyways,” he said.  “It stinks!”


Sherlock Holmes

After the library closed at 5:00 p.m., a friend called on my cell phone.  I talked to her while I was standing in the entrance way to the subway from the North York Centre.   I was against the wall, of this large entrance way, and not obstructing any people.  A security guard, on a mission to make the world a better place, interrupted my wonderful conversation.

“My supervisor told me to tell you to move.  You’ve been here too long,” he said.

“I’m on the phone.  I can’t get a signal on the subway so I am talking here,” I said.

“You’re loitering on private property,” he said.

I tried to reason with him saying that I could be on a payphone inside the North York Centre, for the same length of time, and he would not bother me.

“That’s right,” he said, “because the payphone is attached to the wall.”

“What difference does it make?  I am here for a reason.  I’m on a phone that isn’t attached to the wall.   I can’t get a signal on the subway.”

“You’re loitering here, and my supervisor told me to tell you to move.”

I wanted to stay because I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but I moved to another place and continued my conversation.  I did not want Sherlock or his supervisor accusing me of killing Kennedy, causing 911, or breathing in when I am supposed to breathe out.

“Loitering is the act of remaining in a particular public place for a protracted time without any apparent lawful purpose.”                – Wikipedia


Nutbar #2

After finishing my conversation with my friend, late Saturday afternoon,  I went to the Finch Subway station and took the 36 Finch West bus.  I sat at the back of the bus, and minded my business.  A young short black man boarded the bus and charged at me shouting how he’s going to kill me because I threatened him.  He waved an unopened beer bottle at me as he shouted his threats.  I thought he was going to hit me with the bottle.  I could not understand everything he was saying because of his West-Indian accent.  I did not know this man and have never seen him before.  I told him so, but he insisted that he was going to kill me because I threatened him.

“Hey bus driver, this guy is threatening me!”  I shouted to the bus driver.  She did nothing.  Once again, I thought about how the TTC is concerned about my safety.  This time, for some reason, I was not as afraid as I was back in October when a drunk kicked a bottle at me and the TTC operator did nothing.   I remained calm.

Faster than you can say, “Mood swing,”  Nutbar stopped threatening me and asked me for a hug.  When I said that I did not want to hug him, and for him to leave me alone, he returned to shouting how he’s going to kill me.  Then he suddenly stopped and sat down a few seats ahead of me.   I walked down to the bus driver and said to her that I did not know the guy and had never seen him before and how he had threatened me.   I no sooner finished saying this when Nutbar charged towards me screaming that I am complaining about him, and that he was going to kill me.  I stood there and said nothing.

The bus driver said, “Look fellas, I don’t want any trouble on my bus.  I want to have a nice peaceful ride and go home when I’m finished my route.  Okay?”

I walked back to my seat wondering what has to happen to me, on TTC property, before the TTC will do anything.  Nutbar stayed and talked to the driver.  Then he came back and sat a few seats ahead of me.

“Gee, I hope he doesn’t have a gun,” I said under my breath not intending for anyone to hear me.  But people sitting near me did hear, and they got up and moved to seats near the front of the bus.  For the first time I knew why people moved away from me.

No problems for the rest of the ride.  Nutbar moved to various seats at the front and back of the bus a few times.  Then he stayed in one at the front and fell asleep.  When I got off the bus, he was still asleep cuddling his beer bottle like a teddy bear.



Before I went to sleep, late Saturday night, I thought, “What an uneventful day.  I have nothing to write about.”








I have auditioned for parts, and been rejected.  I have submitted manuscripts for publication, and been rejected.  I have asked women out for bananas (as opposed to dates), and been rejected.  I never dreamed that The Canada Revenue Agency (CRA) would reject my tax returns.

Sunspots delayed me in filing my tax returns for the past twelve years.  (I am blaming sunspots because I don’t want to take responsibility.)  The sunspots went away, and I finally filed returns from 2003 to 2014 in the Spring of 2015.

The CRA had already assessed my taxes for 2003 and 2004.  I paid the taxes plus interest and penalties plus more interest and penalties and still more interest and penalties.  The CRA told me that I still had to file returns for 2003 and 2004, and would receive a refund if they had assessed too much.  But they sent both tax returns back with a letter stating that they would not process my returns because I had filed them past the ten-year period allowable for re-assessment.  In other words, their assessment was final.

Why would they tell me to file returns, for 2003 and 2004, only to reject them?  Is it possible that their assessments for 2003 and 2004 were higher than what I actually owed?  Did they invoke the ten-year rule so they would not have to pay me more of a refund on top of the refund they already owe me?  Who knows?   I am grateful that they did not lock me up for tax evasion, or take my firstborn.

I don’t know about other countries, but in Canada you are not entitled to receive a tax refund if you file after three years.  If you file after three years, and are entitled to a refund, the CRA can refuse to send it.  You can appeal to the Grand Poobah, and he or she may grant you a refund as far back as ten years from the date you filed.  After ten years, you are no longer entitled to receive any refund.  The ten-year rule does not apply if you owe taxes.  How interesting that there is a time limit if they owe you money, but no time limit if you owe them money.

Here is how the CRA rejection letter, they sent with my 2003 and 2004 tax returns, translated in my mind:

Dear Mr. Johnston:

Thank you for thinking about the Canada Revenue Agency and submitting your 2003 and 2004 tax returns.   As you know, we receive a high volume of tax returns from Canadians across the country.  We read your tax returns with great interest, and were impressed with their quality,  but we are returning them to you.  Your tax returns are not what we are looking for at this time.

Thank you, again, for thinking about us.  We wish you great success with submitting tax returns to us in the future.

Yours sincerely,

P. Choo Pompdeedoo

Asssistant to the Assistant to the Assistant of  The Grand Poobah,

Silly Services Section,  Canada Revenue Agency



“I don’t need to look at facts to know that flying saucers are bullshit.”

The speaker, a friend, prides himself on being a rational thinker.

“But countless witnesses, including pilots, police officers and military personnel, have seen Unidentified Flying Objects,” I said.

“No,” he says, “what they have seen is identifiable and can be rationally explained.  A rational explanation exists, but we don’t know it yet.”

“Is it not possible, as a rational explanation, that intelligent beings from other planets pilot these UFO’s?”

“No,” he says.  “There’s a rational explanation, and it isn’t that they’re from other planets.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there isn’t any life on other planets.”

“What?  Earth is the only planet in the entire Universe that has intelligent life?”

“That’s right.”

“How do you know?”

“I know because I know.”

Yup, he sounds like a rational thinker to me, and an excellent example of Earth’s intelligent life.



I laughed out loud when I went to urinate in the men’s washroom at the North York Centre.  Why would someone choose the top of a urinal to express an opinion?  Whoever did it gave me double relief.  First there was the relief of emptying a full bladder, and then there was the relief from the laughter.

I assume the author of this opinion was a male.  I cannot see a female entering the men’s washroom to write her opinion on the top of a urinal—-unless, of course, she stands up to pee.  It’s possible, but unlikely.  I would bet all the pee in China that the author was a male.

Let us call our author Mr. Kenneth K. Klan.

Why would Mr. Klan think about the population of Black people, in Toronto, while urinating?  Did he suddenly feel inadequate while holding his penis and wish he was black?  And then did he wish he had no competition by being the only Black person in Toronto?

I told a friend what Mr. Klan had written and she, too, laughed out loud.  My friend asked, “How many is too many?” and “Did he wash his hands after using the marker?”  And then we both laughed out loud.  Mr. Klan had no idea how much joy and laughter he was spreading by writing those words on top of a urinal.

Some people may choose to be offended by Mr. Klan’s words.  That is their choice.  Words have no power over us unless we give them power over us.  Would the people who choose to give power to words be offended if Mr. Klan had written, “Too many N Words in Toronto”?

Deep down below all his ignorance, Mr. Klan knows that race does not exist biologically.  He knows that there is only one race: human beings.  But he allowed his ignorance to confuse him.  What Mr. Klan meant to write was, “To many people in Toronto.”    Those of us who use public transit would agree.

” For your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably one really effective weapon—laughter. Power, money, persuasion, supplication, persecution—these can lift at a colossal humbug—push it a little—weaken it a little, century by century; but only laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand.”                                                                                              – Mark Twain


Race Is Real, But Not In The Way People Think . . .