Sunday, January 18, 2009


This is the last bit we see before turning into that beautiful parking lot where we are greeted with a wave from the security guard who like looking at the ladies' chesticles. This day was especially foggy. I was probably in the last stages of my personal private show I watch in my brain that I like to call 101 Other Things That Would Be Better Than This Right Now. From there I switched to Natural Disaster Day? But then I realized such a thick fog could only symbolize something greater, something more...epic.

"Dude, nothing biblical happens anymore; no seas part or anything."

One of my smartest students was the only to make this incisive observation. But this was the day that would prove him wrong.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Snow Line

I took this picture just yesterday. Now I am back home, in the coldest apartment in the world. I have been colder here in the last twenty hours than I ever was in the winter wonderland of Canadialand.

Goodbye Beautiful British Columbia. Goodbye English muffin sandwiches, and donuts shaped like rocks. Goodbye mutant starfish and America driven entertainment. So long monopoly money and 20 cents more. Goodbye vacation. I cannot bear to name the things I must once again say hello to. Weep for me, America. Weep for me and then send me things. Please send me things.

Friday, January 2, 2009

My camera works again

Okay. I'm back. My camera wasn't working for a couple of months. It would tell me the batteries were dying right after a fresh charge and then shut down on me. Just this week, though, my friend's boyfriend held it in his magic hands, pressed all the buttons and everything has been working fine since. So lay your blood offererings or bowls of fruit or whatever you hookers do to Ben during your usual ritual hour.

This picture was taken a couple of days ago from a Volkswagon Jetta on the way up to Mt. Seymour in Beautiful British Columbia. Just a little ways down the hill, not so much snow. Once you start climbing it's like Santa's Village. I went skiing for the first time ever this day. That shit hurts. I got to learn how to manage all the sticks involved in this popular winter sport in a group with about 10 kids between the ages of 9 and 13. I thought those snow hos might know to separate kid and adult classes, but I think I may have been the only grown up on the mountain that day who didn't come out of the womb with a Burton one-piece and goggles on.

Anysore, my instructor assured me I made excellent progress and gave me props for my improvement over those cold two hours. I can't lie. I had fun. Especially when that pissy little 9-year-old, Curtis, fell on his face when he couldn't hold on to the tow rope anymore. He just lied there in the snow while skiers and snowboarders slid past him. He lied there so long. I was wondering where the polar bears and arctic foxes were. That was some sweet fresh meat right there.

Now I wear the badges of my day's efforts where no one can see. My arms and legs cry every hour on the hour. So send me your epsom salts and wives tales cures (say that 10 times fast).
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