So I've been back in Vancouver for a few days now, and damn, man. Why did I leave again? Seriously, this place is way better than whatever slum-hole you live in. I'm going to eat some smoked salmon, olives, sourdough, and raw milk cheese now. Okay I'm back. That was awesome. I've recently been turned on to raw milk cheese, and holy shamoly is that good stuff.
So what did I do for my holiday? I went skiing in Colorado, after getting a few precious hours slamming back some booze with friends in Winnipeg. I really wish my friends from back there would move away, so at least I could visit someplace interesting instead of horrible old smelly Winnipeg. Colorado was great, though. There was fresh light snow on the fourth day, and I skied in the trees after the runs got all chewed up. Fresh tracks all day (insert needle joke here), I haven't had that for some time.
In the interest of alleviating boredom of all kinds, I've added yet another feature to this Sisyphean weblog here. This post is viewable in Winnivision*, a method of altering your screen so that if you live in Winnipeg, the most important part of the post will appear in large, bold type. Be sure to read this bold information at least ten times in order that it sink in.
*Winnivision may still be effective if you have moved away from Winnipeg, or even if you have simply known someone who lived there. I am still ironing out some bugs. Thank you for your patience.
You are either stupid or don't like drinking
And because it amused me no end, here is the only response I have had to my drinking contest:
mensagem to me
leia depois questione isto pode mudar sua vida... pois a minha ja esta mudando....
>> LEIA AQUI! <<
I ran that through a couple of different translation services and came up with very little, which leaves me to conclude that it is most likely poorly spelled Spanish. I have no idea what the significance of the name mensagem is. I'm pretty sure it's a spam email. Thus the title of this post is aimed squarely at you, dear reader. Was it too difficult? Or am I writing for an audience (and I find this unlikely in the extreme) of teetotalers? If it's the first problem, I'll make it easy on you. Guess one of the drink names that I made up, and I'll owe you a beverage of your choice. If it's the second there is nothing I can do for you.
mensagem to me
leia depois questione isto pode mudar sua vida... pois a minha ja esta mudando....
>> LEIA AQUI! <<
I ran that through a couple of different translation services and came up with very little, which leaves me to conclude that it is most likely poorly spelled Spanish. I have no idea what the significance of the name mensagem is. I'm pretty sure it's a spam email. Thus the title of this post is aimed squarely at you, dear reader. Was it too difficult? Or am I writing for an audience (and I find this unlikely in the extreme) of teetotalers? If it's the first problem, I'll make it easy on you. Guess one of the drink names that I made up, and I'll owe you a beverage of your choice. If it's the second there is nothing I can do for you.
It's all about trying to be grounded in reality, none of that altered state bullshit
Two nights ago, I put on some shorts and a t-shirt, laced up my boots, and ran. I ran clumsily, my long legs stretching out like I'm trying to reach the shot glass on the top shelf. Feet hit the ground loud, and heaving for air after I counted to four three times, one, two, three, four. I had shin splints after ten fours.
I ran at the beach, it's not far from my house. I thought, This is a reasonable goal. I can run to the beach and back. My leg's not that bad. I could feel my right foot swelling inside my boot, and I started to favour my right leg about halfway down the hill. Now my left foot was louder on the ground, and in my head ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. I told myself that pain grounds me in reality, holds me to my physical being. I ran, less in control as the hill got steep in the last bit before the beach. I turned around at the lights so I wouldn't have to stop, turned my back on the ocean. And ran back up the hill to my house.
I ran at the beach, it's not far from my house. I thought, This is a reasonable goal. I can run to the beach and back. My leg's not that bad. I could feel my right foot swelling inside my boot, and I started to favour my right leg about halfway down the hill. Now my left foot was louder on the ground, and in my head ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. I told myself that pain grounds me in reality, holds me to my physical being. I ran, less in control as the hill got steep in the last bit before the beach. I turned around at the lights so I wouldn't have to stop, turned my back on the ocean. And ran back up the hill to my house.
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