At the hospital

Well nothing serious, but the doctor said Liam has an attention deficit. i.e. he won't focus on one thing for long enough. He needs to learn to be more patient and to complete tasks given before running off to do whatever he wants. One session is 30min and it's NT$150 for 6 sessions! So Carol is looking at this like it's super cheap kindergarten, haha.

Joan Magrath 20 March 1914 - 9 Aug 2007

Well, being Grandma birthday the other day, I decided to bring this post over from my dead defunct blog on to this one for 'safer' keeping. (Also mother calling me to remind me it was her birthday the other day, ergo very close to mine, to which I replied: Nope, I'm not having anymore birthdays, I officially resign from the institution and concept of aging!)

----Original Post----


Since I live in Taiwan, I'm not able to attend the funeral. Grandma lived a good long life. She lived longer than any other known family member, record breaker :). 93. Since I wasn't at the funeral, I still wanted to say something of course, so...here it is. She passed away in her sleep (while on morphine, so, obviously painless), after many little strokes and well, old age. No more pain, sickness, bad hair days, tax or Monday mornings for Granny. Ahh, if only we could be so lucky.

My Grandma.

Well, my only regret is that I cannot be with you all in person. In fact as this is read I'm probably sleeping. Yet, I can imagine tears. Every funeral seems to have them, and as I write this I begin to tear up a bit myself. I wonder why. Have I lost a loved one? Well, if one believes in the life hereafter as I do, then no. I haven't lost my Grandmother at all.

After my mum called be to tell me of the news, I went to the kitchen and smiled. "Hey Grandma" I said, "This is where we (my wife and I) live". Now she can see it. She can see where we work, where we live. Guess I'd better behave now...Granny is watching. (I can almost see my mother rolling her eyes, Kane...behave?)

Be happy. I recall what Grandma said to me one day. "I miss your Grandfather." Well, Grandma, miss him no more. Perhaps that is why the tears are here. Because now, we get to miss you. But only for a while.

Our own passing is but a matter of time, and what we do with the time allotted to us is what really counts. My Grandmother led a full life. No regrets. She grew up, married, had a lovely daughter. Was able to see her grow up and have her own family. She was also able to see her grandson marry (at long last I hear my mother sigh). This is a life beyond most. I hope we can all be as lucky as my Grandmother.

May the peace of Christ reign in our hearts. With you all in spirit.
Kane.


Grandma's Poem:

2 single beds for a married couple at 121 Martin Street,
Why has still got me beat.

The Green Triumph with pitstops in Taihape.
Sunday dinners with a shandy.

Old cake tins full of freshly baked cookies delivered weekly.
Crochet and Knitting, gifts for all, thanks Granny.

Playing 500, doing Jigsaw puzzles, even if the pieces don't fit.
Buying the latest VCR, with no idea how to use it.

Proudly announcing "I got my hair permed" or "Beans from the garden", and "Ohh, yes yes" with a smile.
Till when we meet again, we'll have to wait awhile.

Also, the last time I saw Grandma from the beginning of this year, this video.

Liam tries wasabi!

Well the other night after a long day at work, wifey dearest had lovingly made yours truly sushi. (nah, she brought it).

I love wasabi, even had competitions back home over who could eat the most, a competition that regularly ended in massive headaches and tears, but funny as hell. We however were never 'stupid' enough to actually snort the stuff, have a look at some youtube videos of people actually doing that. Funny to look at, but when faced with the proposition of actually doing that yourself, I'd take a flying pass.

Anyho, as my son grows he inevitably always wants whatever your having, regardless whether it's orange juice, beer, sake... (kidding I never let him have juice...)

A couple of months ago, he really wanted some of my noodles. They were very spicy, but he was very insistent. That ended in me getting ice cubes from the freezer to help numb the burning sensation in his mouth. Poor guy.

Well, of course, I'm eating my sushi with wasabi and sonny dearest wants in on the action, and for lack of a better word it is hilarious as like a typical guy, he tries and tries again. View at your leisure and no animals were harmed in the making of this video.

Just going to borrow the car...

Like any teenage boy the car keys represented independence, freedom and of course the license to parrrtayyy. But like many a teenage boy, one must lie through ones teeth to actually procure the car keys without the parents calling the police stating that
1. their son is mysteriously missing and
2. their car has been stolen.

So we would mow the lawns, vacuum the floor etc etc, even try our business negotiation skills on our parents to get them into a sucker deal.

My method was very innocently evil genius. "Can I borrow the keys, Matt and I need to go to Bible study" Of course you know, bible study doesn't actually mean bible study. Well we did in fact go to the class, and I remember absolutely nothing from it, but I do remember the fun we had AFTER it with our parents automobiles.

The area in which we lived had a strong thoroughbred racing scene, and as such the green grassy side of the road was quite wide and flat, useful for horse owners to exercise their horses, also incredibly useful for teenage boys to do something they probably shouldn't be doing. Ok, I'll tell you what we did. We'd drive along at around 60k, drive off the road onto the green grassy side of the road and push in the clutch, throw on the handbrake and turn the steering wheel sharply.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, and we'd count how many times we could get the car to spin in a circle. Of course if Mum or Dad found out we were doing this Robinson Crusoe would be able to hear our cries of pain. Doing this of course made the car very very muddy, a clear sign we weren't simply going to Bible study. So when I'd get home at 1am I'd be out in the garage QUIETLY cleaning the car, removing all evidence of our nightly adventures.

Of course doing this came with some inherent risks, like...wrecking the car. Fortunately this never happened, but when a car is sliding...you don't have much control over it, so one day, the car is sliding....and sliding towards the hedge. The hedge is getting closer, the car is still sliding and my mate in the passenger seat (which of course was the side that would hit the hedge first) was really starting to tense up and go, umm,....shiiiiittttttt. My foot is firmly on the brake and turning the wheel the other way...but of course when you're sliding, that doesn't do shit. The car continues to slide and stops just as it touches the hedge. My mate lets out a sigh of relief and I act as if I'd planned the whole thing and was in complete control the whole time. >.>

So one night Bugs and myself are driving home, (I'm driving) and of course we're planing on pulling a few handbrakes on the way home as there is a perfect place to do it. Moreover it had been raining so everything is really nice and slippery, perfect for spinning the car, haha. So feeling like we're going for the record I exit the road at a higher than normal speed.

As I reach the spot where we think it's good I start to drift off the road. For some reason, I decide that a driveway will give us a little bit more road and speed to enter the 'pull the handbrake zone' since you don't want to pull the handbrake where there is a chance of spinning onto the road as that extra traction could be bad...quite bad (flip anyone).

As we are crossing the rather wide driveway and reach the end, Bug and myself suddenly (and wayyy to late by the way) realize something. We both look at each other and with wide eyes start screaming 'Shiiiiittttttt'

Under any driveway there is a drain, quite deep which leaves a ditch on either side of the driveway, so in effect this driveway is more like a low level bridge...and we're driving off it at gulp...too fast anyway.

Shittttttttt.

I had visions of the dukes of hazard and the general lee, dundundun da da dun dun dun dun. (or however that dang horn sound goes like)

Mummy we're flying!

Shiiiiittttttttt.

and then we landed, in the large ditch and it had been raining so there was quite a bit of water in it. SPLASH. Water flew up the side of the car (I remember the water flying up past my window). The car wheels incredibly stayed on and more amazingly the front axle didn't brake. We basically bounce out of the ditch and the first instinctive thing I do is to...?

Slam in the clutch, crank the handbrake and spin the steering wheel!

A jump AND a spin, weeeehaaaaaaa.

After we stopped spinning (we were still in too much shock/surprise to even bother counting how many times we spun) we sat there for 0.5sec before screaming and bellowing 'THAT WAS SOO COOOL'

Yep, I had a lot of cleaning to do that night.

The only other crazy thing in the car was driving off road thinking I'd beat my mates on the dirt road. Thing about off road is that it's not flat, so we were suddenly airborne and slammed the car into a small bank, sending dirt flying everywhere and giving my back seat passengers a mild form of whiplash. After grinding to a halt we all got out to survey the damage and after a professional teenage appraisal we all agreed everything was ok, until Dawson pointed out 'umm, where's the license plate?" Later on the road, there was a grinding sound then a crash and a bump as the stone guard fell off. We figured our parents never look under the car anyway so they wouldn't know it was missing anyway. We were right. :D

I forget how we reattached the license plate...

Mummy never lies

Today's story takes us way back to the kindi days. Insert the wavy dream movie effect with wooo wooo wooo.

Honestly I remember bugger all of kindi. I think the memory part of my brain wasn't fully developed yet OR I've hit my head so much and consumed umm... not good stuff to erase/nullify that memory part...thingy.

Anyone one thing I do remember is that I was a total angel in kindi. (awkward pause?) *crickets*
Ok, so I wasn't perfect, I do remember in our kindi class we all had our name on the wall. Beside our name was a series of boxes, so kinda like a wall sized Excel spreadsheet years before home computing was a possibility. In each box (corresponding to each day of the week) our teacher would place a star in it. YES A STAR! I kid you not! Unbelievable huh? Stars.

But wait, there is more! These stars may be different colours! Yes my friends, it is true. Stars of different colours. The star placed along our named row could be a gold star, indicating you were are good little bunny that day or a black star, dum dum dum, of course indicating your were less than angelic on that particular day.

As you know from previous stories, my alter ego childhood self was a rather cunning individual, and on one auspicious day whist the teacher was being distracted by my elite squad of kindi terrorists (eep, I used the T word, this blog is now being read by the NSA, CIA, FDA and Greenpeace), I (yes go ahead, cue the mission impossible soundtrack again) snuck up to the teachers desk. Picked the lock on the drawer (just kidding, no lock) open the drawer and 'borrowed' the box of black stars. I then proceeded to place all of the black stars up my arms, using them all of course.

Like clockwork, the teacher turns around to see me gleefully putting the LAST one on, too late to run for cover I boldly accept my fate. A martyr to the end. Freedom from the black stars for my people. It must have been a horrible fate since the memory of it has been suppressed by my subconscious.

It will come as no surprise then that I would on occasion desire to not go to kindi (perhaps because I did something the day before that I believed I'd be shitcanned for the next day, not sure, but it stands to reason). So like all I'd fake being sick. It's a shame that Ferris Bueller's day off hadn't been made yet, as his tips would have really helped out.

My mother being the caring and concerned mother that she is, was very worried when her darling son woke up sick. So sick in fact he felt he couldn't go to kindi. My mother readily agreed I shouldn't go if I felt so bad (and this is where I perhaps overdid it...or she was onto me right from the word go). Preparing myself to return to the sanctuary of my bed I heard "best get dressed and take you to see the doctor". Shock. I froze. I didn't know what to do or say. "I don't think I'm that bad Mum" "No no, if you're too sick for kindi you're sick enough to see the doctor" "oh, ok" Already a plan was trying to be devised in my head as to how I could fool a doctor into believing I was sick and prescribing drugs that would have no adverse side effects on a perfectly healthy young boy.

Remember the title of this tale? Mummy never lies. Yeah, well, that's a lie.

"Now remember, if we go to the doctor, and he finds out that there is nothing wrong with you, he'll take you away and you'll never see us ever again" (I was staying at my grandmother's house at the time). What made it worse was that I'd just finished reading the Pied Piper of Hamlin, so I totally believed what my mother was saying. I believed it so much that not only did I make a miraculous recovery that day and go to kindi, it also inoculated me against fake sickness throughout my primary school days too.

I think I have no way to get revenge on my mother for that one, so I'll just have to concede the point and do the same to my son when he tries to play hooky. (Get my revenge vicariously, muhahahaha)

Nope, still sucks I got duped like that.

A taser gift for the wife

I found this funny story on the net and since it's up to my incredibly high standards of humor it gets honored with it's own spot on my blog. wooooooo.

Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.

This was the advertisement in Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop window next to the condo we rented last month in Florida. So I went in to check it out. I saw something that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 30th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Gisele. What I came across was a 100,000 volt, pocket/purse-sized taser.

The effects of the taser were suppose to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety. WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple A batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.

Awesome!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Gisele what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries,. right?!!! There I sat in my recliner, my cat Tabby looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Tabby (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5″ long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries, thinking to myself, "no possible way!" What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best..

I'm sitting there alone, Tabby looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it master," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION@!@$@$%!@ *!!!

I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!"

Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative. SON-OF-A-.. that hurt like he**!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still looking for my testicles? I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.

Still in shock

Learning to Drive

Ahh the car. The object that gives a young man, freedom, independence, the cool factor, the opportunity to say "I've got a car" without lying. A place to make out because if her father finds out, you're a walking corpse.

So with all the posturing a gloating over, 'I can drive' etc etc, all of your social popularity hinges on one thing....

Can I borrow the car mum?
(The bold cool beast of a man is transformed into a sniveling groveling teen) pleeeeease.

Being the master diplomat/negotiator/jedi mind master that I am *cough* my mother without reservation handed me (without a care in the world) the gleaming jewels, the car keys. Cue an angelic "Ahhhhh"

And off I tear! Making the 1.5L non-supercharged, non-turboed, non-bored out, stock standard, couldn't pull lingerie off a porn star engine whinny like a wild unleashed stallion. Well...at least until I was out of line of sight from the kitchen window.

Growing up in the country, country roads were...awesome. Long, windy, and no traffic. This allowed one to test how quickly you could get to the end of it. My record was "Hells Bells" by AC/DC, by the time the song was finished I was at my mates place at the end of the road. Now when I visit home and drive leisurely along the road I'm dumbfounded at how totally insane I was to go that fast. In order to reach such speeds I would cut the corner. This meant dumping the left wheels into the grass. Over a period of time sizable ruts began to form, which could then really rip you around a corner with flying off into the bank on the other side of the road. (Unfortunately this very thing happened to a friend....sucker!)

Another thing about driving on country roads at night is the scary nocturnal wildlife of NZ. Rabbits and possums...and wild cats. Since we have already established that I was not exactly going the speed limit, if a rabbit et.al. was on the road it was officially breakfast for a hawk tomorrow morning.

As I was a pioneer driver my first 5 expeditions resulted in a fatality EVERY SINGLE TIME. While the first time I was, YEAH, second, WHOO-HOO, third, GOTCHA, forth, Again? fifth, oh man *sigh*. I believed I really was cursed. But then no more deaths and life proceeded as usual. Until one fateful day.

While blasting home listening to 'Highway to Hell' (again AC/DC) blaring on the stock standard, no 12" sub, no 3x9 speakers and no tweeters I rounded corner after corner and bend after bend with such smooth grace and style, perfect lines even Colin McRae would have nodded in approval. I rounded the last bend, tyres screeching and there, caught in my headlights, staring back at me with deer eyes was a cute bunny rabbit.

With the instinct of a natural predator I attacked! Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, foot firmly planted to the base of the car, the car roaring into greater speeds became my weapon of choice to dispatch the evil foul beast that is the 'bunny rabbit'.

Of course what kind of suicidal rabbit is actually going to sit in the middle of the road and watch an over-sexed (and frustrated) teenage boy mow it down. Well, not this rabbit and off it bolted to the side of the road.

Of course the predator does not allow it's prey to so easily escape, the bullet car follows after the rabbit for about 0.25 seconds. Which was about 0.25 seconds too long. "Ohhhh shiiiitttttttt" now my foot is firmly on the brake and turning the wheels the other way. Now I slide to the side of the road and keep drifting sideways, off the road, into the grass and finally....into the goddamn fence. *cruunch* and stop.

Meanwhile school children huddled around a campfire are listening to a scary story from their camp leader. At a pause in his story they hear a faint yell pierce the otherwise still and quite night.
"FFFFFUUUUUUuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk"

Yeah, I was all, @#$@# @#$@# @##@$@# @#$#$@$. Oh man, how am I going to hide this! The passenger door was dented and the side mirror was hanging on by...no it was off, retrieved and currently and looking at me from the passengers seat.

Well, I can't hide this, I'm just going to have to tell my mum the truth. And that's just what I did.




Really? You believe that? C'mon! I went home and promptly marched up to my mothers room. "Hey mum"
"Yes dear"
"I had a bit of an accident in the car" cue mothers rolling eyes and the wind coming out of her lungs in a great sigh.
"What happened"

We have cats. Summer in NZ is nice, but when the sun goes down, so does the temperature. And the road absorbs the heat from the day, so it's not unusual to see your cats sleeping on the side of the road after the sun has gone down.

"Well I came around a corner and our cat was sleep right in the middle of it, so I had to swerve to miss her, and I ended up going off the road and hit the fence a little bit"
"Oh" was my mothers, surprised yet relieved reply. "How bad is the damage"
"Just a bit of a dent in the door and the side mirror got knocked off"
"Ok, not so bad then"

And that was it! And now that I've posted this, my mother will/might read it and some young school children around a camp fire will hear the silent peaceful night air pierced with "KAAAAANNNNNNNEEEEEE YOUUUUU LITTTTLEEEEE BAASSSTTTTTTeeeerrrrrdddddd"