A Promise, and a Fib...

You may find this difficult to believe but one of my New Year's resolutions this year was to write these spam emails more regularly.

You may ask yourself why this would be a good thing. The point is, I think, irrelevant. Most New Year's resolutions don't really benefit mankind.

"I will lose weight" -- that's a common resolution. And what does it benefit the world? Nothing! Hurts the economy in fact. Less food is purchased. Farmers, grocers, and restaurateurs suffer. The transportation industry has less mass to move about; the oil and gas industry suffers as a result, and a string of bars in Northern Alberta are forced to close down.

Not only that, but it makes the person who resolved to lose weight a stress-filled pain-in-the-ass. Interstellar wars can be a direct result.

My spam-writing resolution is, in comparison, a boon to all those on this green and lavish Earth. Though, actually, from an interstellar viewpoint, perhaps I should refer to it as this blue and soggy Earth. Anyway, the point is that it is far more laudable to further the cause of communication than to start an interstellar war which is what most people are really resolving when they announce they intend to shed a few pounds in time for Roy and Marilyn's wedding in July.

I think I wrote about Roy in one of these epistles. He came to visit. He slept on our coffee table. He's getting married this summer.

I got married once. It was fun. Her name is Vicki. She once said to me:

I assume it means that I am burly and strong like a lumberjack or a farm-team enforcer. Either that or it refers to my newfound couch-potato-ness. No matter. It's the bit about the heart that counts. We're still married, by the way. We're solid. We're a lovey-dovey, dipsy-doodle, cuddle-kittens, packet of sweetness. Not that it's any of your damn business -- I'm just rambling.

Vicki's presenting a paper at a Dance Conference University of California Riverside in early March. Dang, she's clever!

What have we been up to?

I think I mentioned we were going on a cycling trip in Scotland in the summer but I neglected to report back on how it went. We didn't run into Nessie, but we had many other adventures. The train burst into flames on the way up to Inverness -- great billows of black smoke and six foot flames roaring from the engine. We cycled the Great Glen cycle route from Inverness to Fort William and back again. The hills melted my legs. My butt got very sore. I whined. Vicki put up with me. We stormed a castle. Vicki got hit on by a friendly drunk in the Alcan company bar. We went home. The train didn't burst into flames. It was fun. And parts of it were reminiscent of Canada. We were bitten by insects, and saw pine and fir trees and bullet-pocked road signs.

I had another friend visit: Derrick Moore. We were good friends in high school and he's now a globe-trotting doctor type. Speaking of high school... I feel the need to come clean about something which is related to the concept of New Year's resolutions.

Ever since I was in high school (perhaps even before) I've made this same resolution: to avoid living a boring life. It's a rather vague resolution and I mainly use it as justification for doing some appallingly foolish things. Every now and then I come to a decision point in my life where I think, "Hmm, should I explain to the helicopter pilot that he is completely insane, or should I let him drop me in the middle of absolutely nowhere in my boxer shorts and a tee shirt so I can hike two km through dense brush looking for a duffle bag containing the cooks' foamie?" And the evil me reminds me of my resolution and prods me to get out of the chopper because it might make a good story later on, assuming I happen to live through it. Of course, that's the theory and the good (boring) me seems to win these arguments more and more lately.

Shortly before I left Canada I encountered one of these dilemmas. The occasion was my 16 year high school reunion. Yes, "16 year". No, there wasn't a 10 year reunion or a 15 year reunion. No, I won't explain. So, my 16-year high-school reunion was coming up. Vicki was going to be in the U.K. but there was a slim chance she might be able to make it back for the occasion. I had to order the tickets in advance and the form asked for the name of my potential escort. Evil Me prompted me to order two tickets and write down the name "Sylvia Avery".

I can't sing, you see. But I had done a stirring rendition of the Dr. Hook classic "Sylvia's Mother" at a kareoke event recently. Evil Me thought by choosing this name we would be well-positioned for a comeback no matter whom I brought.

I suppose the plan if Vicki had made it was that we would explain away her name tag as a simple spelling mistake.

Now that the seeds of deception had been planted, things began to grow rapidly out of hand in Evil Me's twisted brain. He convinced me, using his tired old "new year's resolution" argument, to go to the event with a friend and make up some outrageous story about my life.

My friend, Heather Stretch, readily agreed and we spent one or two nights in the pub planning our backstory. I can't remember it all but basically it went something like this...

• Chris Yanda as Chris Yanda
  and
• Heather Stretch as Heather Stretch

Sylvia answers an ad in a Victoria newspaper in 1990 -- "Deck ornaments wanted for Rich-Guy yacht, must want to see the world and look good in a bikini." She soon tired of this life, though, and abandoned her deck ornament job to hook up with a 50 year-old amateur scientist who studied eclipses. This guy (whose name was Howard, I think) travelled the world studying solar and lunar eclipses. She trailed around with Howard for a bit, then left him in Nepal where she met me.

I was doing the Annapurna trek, which, of course, I actually did in 1991 and I even had some photos of myself with a vaguely Heather-ish blonde woman that we could show for corroboration. I can't really remember where my life-story differed from real life. I think we pretty much stuck with the actual story of my life except for the romantic-side which was completely concocted.

Anyway, Sylvia and I got engaged and had a daughter a couple of years later whom we named Sequoia. We chose the name because we wanted her to be peaceful and tall and long-lived and beautiful, and not roam around too much (especially in her teen years).

etc. etc. etc...

Anyway, it was a fun idea and we had some good nights in the pub planning it all out. However, on the actual night, I felt a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing. I kept having this urge to actually talk to people about my real life. But I was TRAPPED IN A LIE. I remember chatting with some people who had moved to Halifax. I so much wanted to tell them the true story of how I once bought a car and drove to Halifax for a blind date, but I couldn't because I had to wade through all this fictional current-partner codswallop.

Sylvia/Heather had no such compunction and seemed to have a grand time all night. The stories seemed to get more outrageous as time went on. Every time, there was a lag in the conversation, Sylvia/Heather would lean over to me and say, "Come on! Let's go lie to somebody else!" And we would.

I guess I was a bit disappointed because I was hoping to run into some of my high-school friends whom I had been particularly close to (like Derrick), but none of them showed up. There were a few people that I counted as friends back in high-school but no one that I ever would have put in "best friend" status. I could have lied to those friends quite cheerfully and they would have known enough about my life to catch me out or at least make things a bit more interesting.

Instead, no one had any reason to suspect I wasn't telling the truth and the LIE created this big wall between myself and those with whom I would have liked to renew my friendship.

On the other hand, I hadn't been really close to most of these people. The majority of the people there were those that had been moderately successful and had settled down and stayed in Edmonton.

I have a theory that the really interesting folk tend to avoid these events either because they figure their life won't measure up to their successful peers or they have such a successful life they don't want to revisit high school and are busy with other concerns.

On top of everything else, there was no kareoke machine. However, there was an enormous dance floor which was mainly empty for most of the evening.

I wore the green silk trousers and vest that I had worn for Wendy's wedding. Heather wore a long blue sheath dress with a quite immodest slit up the side. Heather is, indeed, a very attractive woman. However, she has (or had, don't know if she's shaved lately) the hairiest legs of any woman who is not actually an ape.

Most of the other men their wore a suit and a tie, most of the woman a "little black dress". I believe we cut a very interesting figure on the dance floor.

Everyone thinks that they didn't fit in in high school. I suspect in my case it may actually have been true. On the dance floor, that night, I know we didn't fit in with anyone else.

As the night wore on, we ended up hanging out with another couple that didn't quite fit in with the rest of the crowd either: Lyndon, and his girlfriend (forgive me, but I can only remember her name began with a "K").

Lyndon was also a bit of an odd one in high school. He seemed to get beat up a lot by the men who were now wearing suits and drunkenly telling 16 year old in-jokes on the podium at this reunion. He was now living in Calgary but I had run into him off and on since high school. He used to work as a bartender at "The City Media Club" in Edmonton which was a fun live-music venue on 99th street.

The four of had a good time that night. K**** and Lyndon were a willing audience for our outrageous tales. They, like us, danced a bit like crazed elk, and we got on quite well. We were so into the lies at this point that I had no idea how I could possibly reveal to them the true story.

Fortunately, Fate intervened. We were having such a good time that Lyndon suggested we join himself and K**** at a pub called the Black Dog after the reunion. They were going there to meet K****'s friend who had just returned from teaching English in Korea with her boyfriend.

"What a coincidence," I said. "We're supposed to be meeting a friend at the Black Dog who has just returned from Korea, himself". At this point, Sylvia/Heather let out an enormous laugh/snort.

We both had a date to hook up with the same couple on the same night.

Needless to say, the charade fell to pieces soon after we arrived at the pub and were surrounded by people who knew that Sylvia/Heather and I weren't a couple and that Sylvia (and Sequoia for that matter) didn't exist.

I suppose, all in all, Evil Me was right. Whether it was a good thing or a bad thing to lie to all of those fine people, it did make for a more interesting story to write about today.

With deepest apologies for Sylvia/Heather and our once great love,