Sweeping into a New Era This was a year of new beginnings for the Buddha Brothers Curling Club. For the first time we curled out side of the friendly confines of the Estevan Curling Club. Due to scheduling changes and conflicts we ended up curling in our hometown of Regina, Saskatchewan. The event was the SGI Canada 24 Hour Bonspiel held at the Tartan Curling Club. This was held in April but our year began well before that. Also in Regina this year was the Canadian Curling Olympic Trials, The Roar of the Rings. Twenty of the nation's finest mens and womens teams in one place for the opportunity to represent Canada in Salt Lake City at the Olympics. The Buddhas were there in full force: They volunteered selling 50-50 Tickets. Along the way we met some great people and some new friends. We had a blast and would volunteer again in a heartbeat. All of the great jokes we heard, convincing Guy Hemmings to sign the Buddha, doing the weather on Global, meeting Gainer the Gopher, the Fort Nelson Buddha Babysitting Crew, Jungle Jim getting Wishbone to dance topless on stage, the Wild Thing from Fort McMurray, etc. etc. etc. Even our only brush with Olympic Glory our picture with Kevin Martin's third Don Walchuk. To check out the stories from the Olympic Curling Trials here. We were there most every draw and where literally the last ones to leave. Literally.   Christmas, though a Christian holiday, had a Buddhist hint to it this year. My neice Jennifer got me a clock that said "Buddha Time". Who knew this would become an even bigger theme. Zee and Wishbone had some watches made and we are all on Buddha Standard Time now. We also received a Buddha type gift from an unlikely source. Zee's wife Sandy got us some Buddha Boxer Shorts. They show our Buddha on one leg and the words, "Rub for Luck" on the other. 24 Hour Bonspieling. The event was the SGI Canada 24 hour Bonspiel a the Tartan Curling Club in Regina. At the time it sounded like not too bad an idea. In reality, nobody is made to curl 4 or more games in that time span. Not the way we abuse our bodies anyway. We did have a great time and got to meet some great people. The stories that follow are true. No facts have been changed. I didn't believe in destiny or fate prior to this weekend but I am beginning to believe in it now. To start with we didn't know what we were going to do for our grand entrance into this little spiel. I had asked Wishbone to track down a Buddha Bagpiper about a month before so that we would have one. He didn't. During a pre-bonspiel planning session held in a Buddha hangout called Cheers (Jimmy's) we were contemplating our dilema over a few cold Pilsners. We had no entrance planned at all. Our bartender sat and listened to our little prediciment, steadily supplying us with beer and wings. So we asked Ryan, "Know anyone who plays the bagpipes?" Ryan answered, "Sure. I do." Now this would not seem so odd but Ryan looks Oriental and is the furthest thing from a Scotsman that I have seen. My sister, Jackie said that you should have seen the simultaneous chin drop that followed Ryan's words. Trying to look casual Wishbone adds, "So are you any good?" "Been playing for 8 years." and Ryan then rattled off some other credentials. "So are you working tomorrow?" was our next question. Yes was his reply. "Call Jimmy overhear we need to talk to him." We ended getting Ryan off of work and he became the Buddha's Bagpiper. Only at 2 am the night before our event could find a Chinese looking Bagpiper serving us beer. This is the first example of the karma working this weekend. This event ran from 6 pm Friday night to 7-8 pm Saturday night. Zee played hockey before we curled so Ryan met us at the hockey rink for a pre-game beer. We tried to prepare Ryan for the Buddha experience but he was still unprepared for what he saw when he came into the lounge. The three of us were sitting watching Brother Zee, the Buddha sitting on the table, a pail of Pilsners on board as well. We were not decked out in our game wardrobe yet, other than our new tour shirts "Sweepin' into a New Era" is what they said on the back. Ryan calmly joined us and began questioning us about the seriousness of our team. "So what is your record?" Two wins, twenty-six losses. Confused, Ryan then states, "When you asked me to pipe for you guys, I thought you were going to be pretty good. I had no idea." It is then that Ryan relaxed and joined the party that is Curling Buddha Style. From the hockey game we went to the Tartan Curling Club. Before that though we had to get dressed. We went back to a tried and true outfit. Grass skirts with new muscle shirts. The front reads, "What time is it? ITS BUDDHA TIME!" The back states, "The Last one There Buys the Pilsner!" To go with this stunning ensemble we also wore 10 gallon cowboy hats made out of Pilsner Beer Boxes. Ryan was amazing. We clicked right away. I still don't know how he played them pipes wearing that beautiful hat but he did. He piped us right to the bar. There we got a nice ovation from those gathered partaking in the event. We proceeded to some seats and got prepared for our first match of this new marathon curling. We finished preparing and then had to curl. A couple of complaints about this new rink. The front end couldn't find enough places to sit down. There were no benches half way down the ice to relax between shots on. This would wear out our little team before the spiel was over. We ended up losing this match but it was great to see all of the fans there cheering us down on the ice. Or is that downing cheer while we are on the ice. It doesn't really matter I guess. While we were curling, Ryan was putting on a bagpiping clinic upstairs. He was in the bar taking requests on the bagpipes. He played AC-DC and the theme to Star Wars. You ain't never heard nothing till you hear that on the pipes.     In this 24 hour spiel you will end up curling in the middle of the night. We did at 2 am. Ryan said he would be there to bagpipe us to the ice but he didn't show. He didn't miss much. We went down in defeat again. It was now time to try to go and get some sleep before our next game at 8 am. Four hours sleep was better than nothing.       We proceeded to go out and lose this one too. It seemed like destiny that we were on a collision course to meet up with the Gang in the Green Hats. They included Shawn Peasley, Peter Larson and Grant Soloway. These guys were like us. Just here to have a good time. But this fate was changed after game 3. The Gang in the Green Hats went on to win. We lost our third game so we missed our opportunity to play these fellow beer drinkers. Instead we got to play the team that they beat. This is where lady luck interferred and our fortunes turned. After a scouting report from the GinG we knew what we needed to do to win. I don't know what this means but it looked good as I was typing it in. Honestly, the boys had nearly had enough. We were all sore and tired and didn't even care if we won our final game. The downside of winning was that we would have to play again and man were we aching.     Our wardrobe included tricorn hats. Like Paul Revere said riding through the New England countryside, "The Buddhas are coming, the Buddhas are coming. . ." This is again where destiny touched us. We got ready for our game and you will never believe what happened. Pipes performed the coin toss with the opposing third and the looney landed on its side. It was sideways in the hack. Neither heads nor tails. This could only mean that the world mojo had shifted and their was an opportunity for the Buddhas to win. In the third end of our game we had to stop. The first team eliminated arrived with our tour shirts. They were pretty dejected about losing out of the prizes and where ecstatic about their booby prize. We paused our game and had some shooters and some photos. Congratulations to whoever you were and see you next year.     You will never believe this but the Buddhas went on to win this game. Thanks to excellent team play. On the good side our record improved to 3 wins and 29 losses. On the bad side we had to play another game and it was against the team we lost to in our first game. Revenge would be our motivation. This win did put us in the prizes though, and we were guarenteed something. Fate predetermined the outcome of our prize as well. Our championship of the H Event started off very well. We jumped to an early 3 nothing lead after 2 ends only to give up 5 in the third. We never recovered from this little set back and ended up losing our championship game. It was now time to recieve our prize. The winners got CD players. Man that would have been nice. Like I said, our prize was predestined. For the Team that was "Sweeping into a New Era" we recieved portable vacuum cleaners. It could be a freaky coincidence but I believe it was destiny. Next year our t-shirts are gonna read "We're winning it all !" or maybe we shouldn't tempt Fate. The strange events of this year did not conclude with the curling this year. After returning home it was found that one of our disposable cameras had gotten lost. We searched everywhere for it, to no avail. Then it showed up. The son of a someone who works with a fiance of a neice found it. Only in Buddhaland. Bizarre.

From the Notebook of the Best Administrative Assistant
This is from an old notebook; it's the concluding two sections of the first chapter of a (failed) book I wrote while at work at NYU's film department. The full title is From the Notebook of the Best Administrative Aide in the World, NYU Film Department, Registration Office. Not that catchy, but here goes. Oh, at some point I did a find-and-replace for "film students" with the word "goats," a move that greatly improved the text. I think chicken means "non-film major" or something.

[21]
The goats of which I speak: they must be taught by someone. And they are a semi-professional lot, that of the trained goats, the ones who have gone out to the farms and met other goats and even chickens and told stories. None of them can necessarily write, even correctly, but I respect them and what they do. And the way they speak to the little goats! Such blessings they give them! It is the foreign-speaking trained goats of which I speak most fondly, for as I write this, one is flirting with a goat-chicken (or is it chicken goat? no matter) and she is laughing, fondly, hoping for a development deal that goats sometimes get, especially girl goats wearing hardly a stitch of clothing. Such respect trained goats give, the kind that goats need in order to survive.

[22]
Anyone who has seen a goat being born will understand what I am about to say better than those who haven't. But the general thrust is this: All goats, when they are born, land on only three feet. Not all four. The newborns, wet, soaking in the waters of their mother, struggle, and, gradually, like all good prose, they will land on four feet, struggling with the first shaky steps. To the goats I assist as the Best Administrative Aide in the World, I am that fourth leg. I am propping it up beneath them, giving them orderly advice. They insult me, yes, but this is because they do not understand the wisdom they are receiving from me. And when they go back to Westchester or Connecticut or Southern California, eating their festive winter meals, they think back to my desk, where their fourth legs waits for them, even in their absence.