The Fart

While waiting in line for the "Teacups" ride at Walt Disney World this week, I was suddenly and completely overtaken by the most ghastly odor... Finish the tale at johnvano.com

Nocturnal Diatribe

I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! I just went into our bedroom to find: sleeping wife, her light on, TV on, bathroom light on, my light off. I quietly tip-toed over to my lamp, clicked it on (so it's ready for me when I go to bed), and walked over toward the bathroom.

Twenty seconds later, what should I hear? The following is an actual dialogue between myself and my waking wife:

She: WHAT?!
She: What happened?
She: What did I do?
Me: (Chuckling silently)
She: Did you turn all the lights on?!
Me: (Hiding in the bathroom) No.
She: Did I do something??
She: Did I DO SOMETHING?
She: Answer me--Did I do something!?
Me: Yeah, sometime.
She: What happened?

At this, she climbed out of bed and walked over to me, her eyes just slits, and her hair askew. At which point we had an actual two-way dialogue and sorted out the fact that she had left the lights and TV on and that I was not attempting to shake her awake (a point which we establish almost every night when I quietly move about the bedroom).

She's back to sleep now, and I just paid some bills. Isn't life great? I love her nocturnal diatribes--they crack me up. Most of the time, I don't even need to say anything...

Sex Ed By Way of Animal Planet

I'm so glad that my nearly 7-year-old daughter has found something clean, educational, and non-kid that she really likes to watch on the Telly. She LOVES "Animal Planet," which is so cool. I'm convinced she's going to be a veterinarian based on her passion for animals, and her pretty strong desire not to eat them! Don't know where that comes from--though when I fed her lunch on Saturday she squealed, "Daddy, I love meat!" as she ate her ham. I didn't want to spoil it for her by disclosing that she was eating pig.

My "Animal Planet" house of cards came tumbling down, however, when I overheard the announcer intoning recently about different mating patterns of various mammals. My wife and I screamed in unison, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" We've got to have "the talk", before I let some polar bear give her all the visuals.

I'm so tough

Okay, who am I kidding? I didn't do the juice diet at all today, but just carried around the bottle. I opted to have breakfast, but ate with my health in mind--enjoying a Fruit and Yogurt Parfait from McDonald's--those things are great. Oh, and I broke my Coke fast with a LARGE one for breakfast. It felt so right. I have decided that if I drink just one soda every 4 days--that's very moderate and should serve me well.

For lunch, I ate healthy and stayed away from the fried foods--I actually ate Middle-Eastern! And for dinner, I just grazed on ham, 2 crackers, a small glass of milk, cheese, and a Girl Scout cookie--all this while I served the kids their dinner.

And the best part of all--from Tuesday morning to Thursday morning, I had lost 5 pounds! Of course, I had a hard time with it when my wife announced this morning that she too had lost 5 pounds--what did you DO, I accused? I just felt like that wasn't fair--I starved myself, and she cheated! Oh well, as I've said, I'm very supportive and happy for her... but where is the justice?

Fearless NCAA Predictions

Here's my 2006 Final Four:
1) Duke, 3) Gonazaga, 3) North Carolina, 3) Florida.

North Carolina defeats Duke 77-72 for the world title.


The Elite Eight will be: Duke, Iowa, Kansas, Gonzaga, UConn, NC, Villanova, and Florida.

The Sweet 16: Syracuse, Texas, Memphis, Alabama, Illinois, Tenn, Nevada, Georgetown, plus those shown above. The one-win-and-done teams are: George Washington, LSU, W. Virginia, Cal, Arkansas, Pitt, SD State, UCLA, Kentucky, Utah St., Michigan St., Seton Hall, Wisconsin, BC, Wisc-Milw, and Davidson.

First Round Upsets: 15) Davidson to top 2) Ohio State; 12) Utah State over Washington; 11) Wisc-Milw over 6) Oklahoma; 11) SD State over 6) Indiana; 10) Seton Hall beats 7) Wichita State; and 10) Alabama defeats 7) Marquette. ...And I pick Monmouth over Hampton in the play-in game.

More Tales of My Celebrity Fit Club

Today I continued The Original Celebrity Juice Diet, going hour after consecutive hour--without food. I drove Madison to school this morning, with the other four kids tagging along, where we'd meet up with Paula who was attending a parent-teacher conference. On the way, I got the kids breakfast at Krispy Kreme. I sat in the driver's seat and pulled one donut after another out of the bag, passing them back in easy-to-use napkin holders.

One particular donut was stuck to the bottom of the bag, and I had to use my bare hands to yank it out. It was warm and it oozed with freshness, leaving sticky flakes of glaze all over my fingers. Ordinarily, I would have licked this off--but I showed the restraint of a Benedictine monk, by calmly wiping the frosting off with a napkin. Meanwhile, the twins tossed their chocolate-covered with sprinkles donuts on the floor of the van because "they didn't like them." Ugh.

I made it through lunch this time without too much trouble--no lunch invitations--and I was so hungry for my juice at noon that I had a hard time drinking it slow.

Following an afternoon meeting it was 5:15, and I got in the car thinking about the shakes at Steak and Shake. I called Paula to give her an update on my whereabouts, then asked her how the diet was going. She guffawed. She hadn't been doing the diet all day! She had stopped and hadn't told me! The juice made me retch, she said. Well, thanks for telling ME, I wanted to scream. I was appalled--and couldn't believe that this thing I was doing for her--for us, and for our future, and our children's future--she had just "stopped" hours ago! I felt like such a fool. I wanted to know what she cheated on me with... was it a breakfast sandwich, a bagel, a coke? Or had she held out until lunch at least?

To think, I had been feeling really good about my progress--when I awoke this morning I learned that I had lost a pound, and by this writing, I am completing my third day without a soda. When I learned the news, I had the thought that, "I'll show her... I'll finish this diet, lose my ten pounds--and I'll have done it." But I was too hungry, and now I had Steak and Shake on the mind. If I was going to get off this ride, I was going to do it right, so I drove home looking for Steak and Shake. Amazing how many McDonald's there are... but I drove for an hour before finally giving in to Checkers. I gobbled down a Champ with cheese burger (two patties on that--mustard never tasted so good), had a couple of fries (meet Mr. Restraint), and a small chocolate shake.

For a few minutes there I wasn't hungry--and I wasn't full... Nirvana. But about a half an hour later, I felt a little sick. From Monday night to Tuesday lunch, I went 10 hours sans food. And then from after lunch Tuesday to dinner time Wednesday, I went 29.5 hours without solid food. Wow.

Plans for tomorrow? I'm going to do the juice for at least one meal, possibly two. I had planned on doing this through Thursday, so this will be my Hybrid-Juice Diet, if this system works, I might be able to sell mine to the stars! Plus, I'm determined to get something out of this starvation diet--I will not suffer like this for naught!

My New Fad

I'm trying to be supportive--so I'm doing another fad diet with my wife. Plus, I'm not in the best-shape-of-my-life, so I'm game. This one is called, The Original Celebrity Juice Diet, and while I am not sure which celebrity uses it, I am sure it is most likely guzzled just prior to a swimsuit pictorial.

So my wife Paula buys two bottles of this stuff and convinces me to join her on a 2-day juice fast. Meanwhile, I've been trying to stop drinking Coke, Pepsi, and all other sodas cold-turkey. Instead, I've cut the sauce down from 4 or more servings per day to about 2--not good enough. So Monday I went sans Coke all day, and it wasn't too bad.

Tuesday (today) we started the Juice Diet, which consists of four ounces of the juice, mixed with four or more ounces of water. You drink this mixture slowly over four hours. Then repeat for another period of four hours. And repeat again. Oh, and drink lots of water. That's it--that's all you're allowed for two full days. The benefit? You're supposed to lose up to 10 pounds, plus an inch or two, and be catapulted into a successful diet. I guess the theory goes that after starving yourself, maybe you'll eat less and healthier compared to what you were doing. I plan to do so, I mean, I'm certainly not wasting this exercise in starvation just to go back to the status quo.

But I've met with a wrinkle. I am still soda free--2 days now. But, I had an invite for lunch today--I was starving, and I thought it would be fun. So I called Paula, she gave her blessing, and I ate a full Mexican lunch with a LARGE sweet tea. I had a fiesta and stuffed myself (and yes, I picked just any old number when I ordered). But by 5 pm I was famished, and now at 10:53 pm I AM VERY HUNGRY. Paula, upstairs in bed, just admitted to eating from the canister of chips I found in our bed. She says since she also blew it at lunch, she might as well have a snack. Well, I for one am not giving in to sin... (only kidding, honey).

Ordering Mexican

I never know WHAT I'm ordering when I go for Mexican. Burrito, tortilla, enchilada, tostado/tostada, taco, fajita, pico de galla... isn't it all the same? All I know is I'm getting some kind of flour-thing wrapped around savory meat, and topped with cheese and various veg-eh-tabales.

When I sit down to have a look at the menu, it all looks good, so I pick a number, any number--and get about the same thing regardless. What's the point of a menu when I can just say: "chicken" or "beef?"

Future John

I try to think of Future John, but Today John has all the power. Take right now as an example, I really should take out the garbage... Future John will not want to wake up any earlier than he has to just because Today John was "too tired" to do it.

But do you know what, Future John? I always have to do everything--and all you do is complain that it's not done yet! Well guess what? You can get up in the morning and scoop the cat guano, you can collect the bags full of sopping Pull-Ups, and you can drag the barrel of trash down the hill--because right now--I'm eating my Barbecue Pringles that you're going to regret in the morning!

Wow, Future John is going to be pissed.

Harry Belafonte

In Bob Dylan's memoir, Chronicles, Volume One, he waxes on about the scope and force of Harry Belafonte in his hey-day. My impression of Belanfonte has been that he's kind of a cool cat, musical, black... but that's about all I know. Then I start thinking about his famous daughter, Shari Belafonte--I can even picture her in my mind. But why do I know her? I can't think of a single thing she's contributed to the culture, or even how she makes her living--So how do I know her name? And why can I see her close-cropped, grey-flecked hair?

By the way, is Harry still with us? From Dylan's take on him, I'd sure like to sample some of his music and movies.

Seeing Things...

Lately I've been imagining a lot of one-armed people that aren't there.

It's true! I am continually seeing people short an arm (nothing wrong with that), only to discover that my eyes are deceiving me. On Tuesday for instance, I stopped at a Burger King for lunch and could have sworn the woman taking my order was missing an arm--but a few moments later, there it was, passing back my change! Odd. And then today at the zoo, the security officer walking toward me looked to have just one arm--but low and behold, it was tucked behind him as he walked... What gives? Why am I seeing--or should I say NOT seeing--these things?

Back-to-Back, Baby!

Syracuse becomes just the third team to win back-to-back Big East basketball championships with tonight's magical 65-61 win over Pitt.

Gerry McNamara put an exclamation point on his stellar career at 'Cuse this week by bringing home this championship for the #9-seeded Orange--having scored two game-winning baskets and a game-winning assist in the first three games of this tournament. And then tonight, more stellar play from G-Mac--plus the emergence of Josh Wright, who made four straight free throws to seal the win (they were the only points he scored).

Special props to freshman guard and G-Mac heir apparent, Eric Devendorf. Whoo-hoo, Go Orange!

My oldest daughter--who tells us she will be 7 in 12 days--has somehow developed an aversion to meat. This has been going on for awhile, but seems to be getting worse. She always wants to know where the food set before her has come from.

This week, we were dining as a family at the great American institution known today as KFC. This establishment is a place linked to my past, to warm memories, and wholesome Americana--I can even remember the day the affable founder of KFC, Colonel Harlan Sanders, died. Why? Because they announced it on the PA system at my Minnesota grade school. For the life of me, I can't imagine why--though I found it completely appropriate to be given that news as early as possible so that I could mourn with the rest of the nation.

Anyway, back to our story--so we're at KFC, and Madison wants me to tear the meat off the bone of her chicken leg. I refuse for awhile, before finally giving in, scraping off a neat pile of the greasy, breaded protein. After a minute or two, she asks, "What part of the chicken is this?" I said, "It's the chicken's leg." She looked at it with repulsion and hesitated, I thought I'd lighten the mood, so I announced, "I LOVE ANIMALS--They're Delicious!"* At which point, Madison dropped her spork, and my wife chastised me with a grossed-out grunt and put her own chicken breast back in the bucket. So much for humor.

*I'm afraid I can't take credit for that line, I saw it on a bumper sticker at a recent convention--but it is priceless.

Just for the record: Pluto the planet and Milky Way the galaxy came first... before their respective cartoon and candy bar namesakes. Darn.

It's springtime here in the South--and I'm starting to feel the itch to get outside and make a fake little spot of Heaven in my front yard. This will be our fourth summer in this house, and I am hoping that--this time--I can get the grass to grow.

When we moved in, there was grass. Then as winter came, and spring, the grass didn't look so good. We watered it some, but it didn't seem to take. So I went out to have a look and found sod just sitting on top of something like fishing net. So I began to pull up the pieces of sod that didn't have any roots, and soon I found that our entire yard was one big fraud. None of the grass had taken root, instead we had grass tile! Trouble is, grass is organic by nature, and without roots reaching into the soil, it was all just dead hay. And so I pulled grass up like a brush excavating hair from Joe Comb-over.

I hit it hard the next spring, hiring TruGreen Chemlawn to come out and seed, aerate (I had never heard this term before), and maintain the yard. They gave me strict instructions that nary a leaf should rest on the soil, that said leaf should never be swept or raked, but only blown--and the grass should get water, lots and lots of water. I dutifully obeyed, and we had sprigs of life. But we did not have a lawn.

Then last spring, I fired the lawn guys and aerated myself with a hoe and spilled bags of seed and fertilizer and dirt on the ground. And what do you know? It started to grow. We even had four trees cut down that were shading our yard--and left four others to do the work of the eight. So how did it look? Now we had half a yard of grass.

So this year, we are going to sod, and aerate, and seed, and topsoil this sucker to death--and I am not going to take sprigs for an answer. And if it comes down to it, we have already picked out the fake stone border my wife is going to establish down the middle of the yard, where she will plant a flower bed on top of the grass that refuses to grow.

PS- On the corner is a neighbor whom we call "Mr. Perfect Yard." His lawn is immaculate, and I often drive by to see he and his wife walking gently over their haven picking up isolated leaves that have no doubt blown over from my mess. I am so jealous of him! They even had a moving sale this past weekend, and roped off their yard so that no one would cut across the grass!! Today I saw the moving truck, and now it is my secret hope that whoever moves in, restores this yard to an average family plot. I am so thankful there's not a "Yard of the Month" award on our block. Pray for me, please.

Losing a Friend I Never Knew

11:02 PM ET - It was announced by CNN.com at 8:22 this evening that Hall of Famer, Kirby Puckett, died today.

My eyes are welling with tears because Kirby was easily my favorite baseball player and perhaps the single greatest reason why I am a baseball fan today.

As a 15-year-old who had grown up in the Twin Cities of Minnesota, I bled purple for the Minnesota Vikings and coach Bud Grant, but then talk was swirling about the future of the Minnesota Twins baseball franchise. I had never followed baseball, but I thought I should learn to enjoy my hometown team while I had them--and so I began to follow the Twins in the newspaper, on radio, and television as much as I could, that summer of 1984. After years of sub-mediocrity, the Twins that year battled for the AL West pennant down to the wire, finishing with an even .500 record, just 3 games out of first. It was exciting, and I finally began to understand the fascination people had for baseball, statistics, and sports heroes.


The 1984 Twins were full of good men with raw talent and youth on their side: Kent Hrbek, Tom Brunansky, Gary Gaetti, Mickey Hatcher, Frank Viola, John Butcher, Mike Smithson, and an amazing rookie named Kirby Puckett. Kirby looked like a fire hydrant, but was the fastest player on the team, and the highest leaper, and he was only 5'8". He played the game with exuberance, flair, and a huge smile on his face. He also was fun to watch at the plate, where he would scuffle about in the dirt, before making the sign of the cross. This was my first exposure to this behavior, having grown up safely in my evangelical cocoon.

Puckett quickly became my favorite player--as he was for virtually every Minnesotan who watched him. A few years earlier, Kent Hrbek and John Castino were the hope of the franchise, but Castino was forced into retirement, and Hrbek just couldn't round up the passion we felt for Puckett. Even the public address announcer at the Metrodome was smitten, when center fielder Kirby Puckett would come to the plate, he would announce: "KIRBYYYYYYYYYY PUCK-ETTTTTT!" -- to cheers.

For the first few years, Kirby was a singles hitter, but suddenly in 1986, he was leading the league in homers around mid-season, prompting Bob Costas to rib him about whether or not he could keep it up. Costas' wife was pregnant at the time, and I remember him promising Puckett to name his son after Kirby if the player was still leading the league by the son's birthdate (Wikipedia tells this story with the bet being over Kirby's high batting average, not his home runs). Kirby met the terms, and I remember Costas giving his son the middle name, "Kirby."

I also remember Kirby leading the team to their first world championship in 1987--when I was in college, watching on a little black and white television in my dorm room. Then, in 1991, his heroics (combined with Jack Morris') won the world championship again--and this time--I shared the moment with my dad, as we watched from our home in Auburn, NY.

But what I remember most, beyond his enthusiasm and charm, above his high average, speed, and his doubles and 200-hit seasons, and even beyond his universal adoration by the fans, was my encounter with him after his rookie season of 1984. I had read that he was making an appearance at a baseball card shop in St. Paul, so my dad took me, and we stood in line to have him sign my baseball card. When we got there, he had just about half an hour or so left in his booking, and yet he agreed to stay until everyone had gone through the line--I needed that extra time, or I would never have seen him. He was pleasant and kind when I met him, though not chit-chatty or overly friendly, but it was just enough to make my day. And I remember walking out to our car a few moments later, only to spot his right around the corner. It was a new car, but relatively modest, with "Puck 34" for a license plate, boxes of his cards on the backseat, and all the car doors unlocked--amazing.

Years later, I had the chance to interview him on my radio program, "VocalPoint," which I hosted for 3 years in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. This was September of 1998, and Kirby was in town at a screening for glaucoma, having been forced to retire in 1996 after losing his sight in one eye due to the condition. Kirby talked with me for a few minutes by phone about the importance of being tested--I found him kind of stiff and guarded, but when I went to close the interview by sharing my personal affection for him, my boyhood in Minnesota, and my experience with him at that signing, he opened up and was warm and reflective. I still have the tape from that day, and will try to post some of the audio on myyarn soon.

Kirby was forced to retire far too early, and would surely have played into his forties, knowing his joy and passion for the game--it was very hard to deal with his retirement, as he was one of the few things linking me to Minnesota--11 years after I had moved away. I was delighted when he was elected to the Hall of Fame on his first ballot in 2001, and horrified when Sports Illustrated revealed a few years later that his public persona was an act (allegedly he didn't care too much for the fans who loved him)--I didn't read the story, I couldn't bear to.

And now Kirby Puckett is dead of a stroke, at 45. And part of my childhood has gone with him.

Which came first--Milky Way: the galaxy or the candy bar? And what about Pluto--did Pluto the planet come first, or Pluto the cartoon dog? I'm betting on the galaxy, because why would you name such a thing after a candy bar? Yet clearly, a thing as grand as a galaxy could inspire a confectioneer looking for a name for his sweet chocolate. Pluto is much tougher. I could easily see this little planet--upon discovery--inspiring the Disney Company in their naming of a new character. But, I could also imagine a quirky team of scientists giving a tip of the hat to this loyal and charming little dog... So which came first--the planet or the puppy?

Gills or Lungs?

So, do you think mermaids have gills? Or do you suppose they have lungs? My daughter was asking me tonight how long a fish could last out-of-water, and when I guessed "a couple of minutes," she turned to the question of how long a mermaid might survive... It got me thinking about whether or not a mermaid would have to break the surface to fill her lungs with air (as would a porpoise) or if she has gills. It is a very complexing question, as physically, mermaids look very much like women and have no discernable gill slits; however, when do you ever see merpeople come up for air? Surely there would be more sightings if the hundreds of thousands of these humanoids had to breathe through their lungs. Clearly, they live far beneath the sea, and do not come up for air. But again, where are the gills? I suspect there must be an airpocket down there somewhere by which these creatures breathe--and that is what I will tell my daughter, the next time she asks.

The Santa Story

There are grown men, all over America right now, thinking about Christmas. Why? Because they are literally grooming themselves for November, in hopes of being St. Nikolas. Think about it. How many different "Santas" are there in America? There are thousands of shopping malls, and each is staffed with at least one Santa-man. How many more are waiting in the wings--aspiring to be Santa next Christmas? They may be paying their dues ringing the bell for the Salvation Army--hoping for their big break, or they might be dressing up for their grandkids, daring only to dream of a much larger audience one day. And what of the black Santa? The African-American man who has this same dream, but many more obstacles to overcome. One thing all these "Santas" have in common is the commitment to their facial hair. Certainly, prospective employers won't even look at you sideways if you don't have your mutton chops. Think of the years of growing, grooming, and lengthening--of the summers spent in full beard, dreaming of that big break. Take me for example, today I have a beard. I am not committed to it at all--I think of myself as a clean shaven guy, but every 18 to 24 months, I get lazy and grow a beard. Any day I feel like it, I shave it off and go back to my normal life. But these guys have to BECOME bearded guys--and when you grow a beard your first couple of times, ladies, it itches! I say this to help each of you understand the commitment these men are making. A sacrifice they are making for you and for me, for our children, and for our children's children. So the next time you happen upon a man who is a little more grizzly than suits your tastes, ask yourself, is this a future Santa in my midst? Why not take a moment to pat that man on the back, or shake his hand, tickle his whiskers, and thank him for his service to your country!