First time you feel it, it might make you sad
Next time you feel it it might make you mad
But you’ll be glad baby when you’ve found
That’s the power makes the world go ’round

In the winter of 1985, JVC handed out free tickets to see a movie about a young kid traveling back in time. I had read in the Rolling Stone that Huey Lewis and the News had a couple of songs in the movie, but didn’t know much else. I didn’t even know that JVC handed out free tickets, but when my father asked me if I wanted to go, I said yes.

It was a special afternoon matinee, starting at 4.30, which was perfect, because it meant that I would still be able to make it to the hockey game the same night. The game started at 6.30 so if I ran or walked briskly, there was still a chance to make it to the rink before the opening faceoff.

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I know exactly when I knew that I probably wasn’t cut out to be a major league hockey player. Not that I really had thought about it much. When I was a kid, I just loved to play so I just moved from one age group to another, as simple as that.

Of course I had dreams, and of course I would have wanted to be just like Valeri Kharlamov, or Wayne Gretzky, or Hannu Kapanen, or Matti Hagman, or Frank Neal, all my big idols at one point.

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A friend of mine is a synesthete, a person with a “neurologically based condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway”. What it means in her case is that when she sees or hears a number, she sees a specific color.

To her, four is always blue.

And here I was thinking that I was special for always connecting the number 2 and the letter A.

For some reason, though, my view of the calendar is a bit skewed. I know it’s easy to connect the 12 months of the year to the 12 hours of a clock, but in my brain, the connection isn’t a straightforward “1 for January, 2 for February” one, even though my year does start at noon.

Noon is the New Year’s Eve.

Then we have the spring, and at 3, the summer strikes. It’s all nice and easy, hanging out in the sun, until seven. That’s when the summer’s over, the autumn falls, and the school starts. From 7, I work my way up towards Son’s birthday, around nine, to my birthday, around ten, and to Xmas at about 11.30.

Right now, my mental clock calendar is 7. That also means that the hockey season is about to start.

“I’ve never seen you cry”
– Son, a few months ago

Well, he’s just not been there because I do cry. Ask Wife. I cry when the world treats me unfairly or when my kids do yet another wonderful thing and the emotions are just too much for me to keep under control.

I cry out of pride and I cry out of pain.

Different kinds of tears, I know. They even taste different.

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Part I: Urinals

1. As soon as you have located the urinals – a task that may be difficult when entering a rest room for the first time – you should position yourself at the first available one. Note: available. If the closest one already has an individual occupying it, the first available one is not the one next to him, but the one next to that one. Only when there are only two urinals in the restroom, should you place yourself right next to another person urinating.

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By Son.

In another time, some time ago, even before I used sugar water to comb my fair like Fonzie, and before I had a crush on Julie on Love Boat, back when I used to play cowboy, this town was my summer town where things were done a little differently than at home.

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“You used to be great at giving those speeches”
– Wife, the other day

Now, first off, it should be noted that I am not much of a speaker.

My first public speaking experience took place in a church. I was nine years old and I had been chosen to read the gospel at school. Never in the history of mankind have Joseph and Mary got so fast from Nazareth to Bethlehem as they did in my recital.

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The elevator at my hotel in Bratislava was the kind that have doors on both sides so that you never really know which way to face. And as I got in, the people in there had already figured out that the front of the elevator was on the other side, which meant that when I entered the car from the back, I found myself staring at Vyacheslav Bykov’s neck.

I was a little disappointed because I had expected to be able to jump in and practice my Blue Steel look without an audience.

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I always feel lost when I’m traveling. Not because I don’t find my way around the city, because most of the times I do. But because I lose my pocket system.

Like many men, I don’t carry a bag with me. No messenger bag, not a back pack, and no man purse. Whatever I think I’m going to need, I carry with me in my pockets.

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