Monday, April 18, 2005
Fin.
Well, it's over. The modem has been picked up by the cable company, all my stuff is packed (and I have fretted about how much I have but more on that later), I have had several meals of leftovers and tidied the house up after the huge party we had (or not - but one of these times I'll convince Kara that I did and her head will explode).
Anyway, in about 24 hours I will be arriving at Calgary International Bus Station, and Fernie will be done. I will be carrying a large backpack *and* a hockey bag that is bigger than my room was this season. Well, almost.
I own too much stuff - the funny thing is that I haven't used half of it. It's not just summer stuff either, there are trousers and shoes I haven't worn (but then, I do dislike trousers and shoes as a matter of policy, so we shouldn't be too surprised).
For a self-proclaimed nomad, I travel pretty heavy, I guess I'm one of those nomads who has a camel train, or at least a camel metro, with him. In theory, I could live out of my backpack, and I probably should. But, just like my mother, I have a natural instinct towards hoarding stuff because it might be useful. Even if I have no possible use for an object (for example a Dodge branded tie-clippy thing), and even if the Salvation Army (a convenient receptacle for the junk that I can bring myself to shed) would turn up their nose at it, throwing something out just seems wrong somehow.
To show how much of a hoader I am, it was a struggle to throw out the remnants of my gloves (well, Tim's old gloves that I appropriated at the start of the season). They were barely even glove shaped any more and had more holes in them than Uday and Qusay (love that belated topical humour - come back in 2007 for references to the Papal elections). Sure, the duct tape was sticking to my skin in places, and my right hand kept coming out of the outer layer, but they were still worth keeping. Seriously, these gloves were a disaster area, any normal person would have tossed em without a second thought. It took me about two and a half thoughts (I was distracted by a chimpanzee riding a bicycle on TV during one of the thoughts).
Wow, there really is nothing happening, is there? And I've still got an hour and a half of internet time. The timecode for a local internet cafe was kindly donated by my ex-flatmate Edouard, currently somewhere in America in a beat up old Chevy van trying not to arouse the suspicions of the Department of Homeland Security (no really officer, all this propane is for personal consumption).
So, I'm off to Calgary tomorrow, and it's about time. My feet itch, and it's not just because I'm wearing shoes after foolishly packing my jandals (although that is one of the reasons).
I've got to keep moving in case the CIA find me - they've got a new brain reading thingee that can see through tinfoil.
Yes I've had lots of spare time over the last couple days, especially since the Fernie library is now closed on Sundays - on the upside, my Italian is a lot better (what you do is flick between CNN and TLN (Tele Latino Network, aka the Italian Chanel, and "how many pandas did that lady kill to harvest their mascara" and by about the third time around through the story cycle, you can start to nod sagely when you hear "il convocationa di papa es multo importanto"). My French is marginally less rusty from watching the various french channels - aka "why are they all clapping and singing?" - for the record, Daveed BeckHAM faitunbutcontreBarcelonadansla coupe U Ey Fa.
But enough about me, how are you?
Really?
Mmm huh.
I've managed to forget my brother's birthday, but it's OK, because I'm fairly sure that even if he has shot up recently, I'm still bigger than him. The younger siblings in my family tend towards beanpoleism, except Thomas, who as everybody knows was actually swapped shortly after birth with another, shorter, baby. Which is amazing because the Kimpese hospital only had one European baby in stock at the time.
OK, it's chucking out time. I will go home and watch several hours of Seinfeld, Friends and the Simpsons (cable TV is great). You can also watch four different home makeover programs at once.
Anyway, in about 24 hours I will be arriving at Calgary International Bus Station, and Fernie will be done. I will be carrying a large backpack *and* a hockey bag that is bigger than my room was this season. Well, almost.
I own too much stuff - the funny thing is that I haven't used half of it. It's not just summer stuff either, there are trousers and shoes I haven't worn (but then, I do dislike trousers and shoes as a matter of policy, so we shouldn't be too surprised).
For a self-proclaimed nomad, I travel pretty heavy, I guess I'm one of those nomads who has a camel train, or at least a camel metro, with him. In theory, I could live out of my backpack, and I probably should. But, just like my mother, I have a natural instinct towards hoarding stuff because it might be useful. Even if I have no possible use for an object (for example a Dodge branded tie-clippy thing), and even if the Salvation Army (a convenient receptacle for the junk that I can bring myself to shed) would turn up their nose at it, throwing something out just seems wrong somehow.
To show how much of a hoader I am, it was a struggle to throw out the remnants of my gloves (well, Tim's old gloves that I appropriated at the start of the season). They were barely even glove shaped any more and had more holes in them than Uday and Qusay (love that belated topical humour - come back in 2007 for references to the Papal elections). Sure, the duct tape was sticking to my skin in places, and my right hand kept coming out of the outer layer, but they were still worth keeping. Seriously, these gloves were a disaster area, any normal person would have tossed em without a second thought. It took me about two and a half thoughts (I was distracted by a chimpanzee riding a bicycle on TV during one of the thoughts).
Wow, there really is nothing happening, is there? And I've still got an hour and a half of internet time. The timecode for a local internet cafe was kindly donated by my ex-flatmate Edouard, currently somewhere in America in a beat up old Chevy van trying not to arouse the suspicions of the Department of Homeland Security (no really officer, all this propane is for personal consumption).
So, I'm off to Calgary tomorrow, and it's about time. My feet itch, and it's not just because I'm wearing shoes after foolishly packing my jandals (although that is one of the reasons).
I've got to keep moving in case the CIA find me - they've got a new brain reading thingee that can see through tinfoil.
Yes I've had lots of spare time over the last couple days, especially since the Fernie library is now closed on Sundays - on the upside, my Italian is a lot better (what you do is flick between CNN and TLN (Tele Latino Network, aka the Italian Chanel, and "how many pandas did that lady kill to harvest their mascara" and by about the third time around through the story cycle, you can start to nod sagely when you hear "il convocationa di papa es multo importanto"). My French is marginally less rusty from watching the various french channels - aka "why are they all clapping and singing?" - for the record, Daveed BeckHAM faitunbutcontreBarcelonadansla coupe U Ey Fa.
But enough about me, how are you?
Really?
Mmm huh.
I've managed to forget my brother's birthday, but it's OK, because I'm fairly sure that even if he has shot up recently, I'm still bigger than him. The younger siblings in my family tend towards beanpoleism, except Thomas, who as everybody knows was actually swapped shortly after birth with another, shorter, baby. Which is amazing because the Kimpese hospital only had one European baby in stock at the time.
OK, it's chucking out time. I will go home and watch several hours of Seinfeld, Friends and the Simpsons (cable TV is great). You can also watch four different home makeover programs at once.
