Planting
I arrived at terminal 2 at approximately 9:30 this morning. Sarah drove me. We each had a Paradiso Medium at Second Cup. My favourite. I thought we should have split a large or extra large to save money. Ah well. I ate a slice of Pepperoni pizza at one of those generic airport deli’s. It cost me $2.75. I noticed that there was an interfaith prayer room just outside the security check-in. I had time so I spent 15 minutes meditating. It was good.
At security they gave me the full rundown. I figure either they received word that I had been alone in the “interfaith” (read: muslim) prayer room, or else my size and youth meant that even a small weapon would be a problem. Maybe they thought I was a test. Whatever it was they scanned my shoes, made me lift my legs, take off my belt, patted me down.
The name of the girl at the WestJet check-in was Emily. She thanked me for doing what I was going to do with a sincerity that baffled me. A good omen I suppose. “The tides are with me” I told myself in my characteristically melodramatic tone. “This was a good choice.
I know this because I do not worry about Sarah. I know we will share love (and fluids) again. As well, the tropes are good. I looked over some books in the Relay store. Some new-age book by Deepak Chopra called “The Meaning of Coincidence” or something like that caught my eye. It featured a compass on its cover. I am wearing a compass. The man at the security check remarked upon my compass with a peculiar enthusiasm for my wearing it. I couldn’t see why it fascinated him to such an extent. It’s rather cheap and plain. The back cover of the book spoke of synchronicity, or future/past symmetry. This symmetry is very real. I took note of the book but instead chose “Tuesdays with Morrie,” which was next to the Chopra book. It was the only book which appealed. I have Montaigne with me but the old-world French was too dense. That’s why I bought Morrie. The first thirty pages brought me to the brink of tears many times. What bowled me over was the following passage in a book I’d hear about but already knew in a strange way. I …. No words.
Here’s the passage:
“ I am younger than most of the students, having left high school a year early. To compensate for my youth on campus, I wear old gray sweatshirts and box in a local gym and walk with an unlit cigarette in my mouth, even though I do not smoke… I seek my identity in toughness – but it is Morrie’s softness that draws me, and because he does not look at me like a kid trying to be something more than I am, I relax.”
We are about to take off. I think to the Tarantino movie, Haraway, Latour, Forbes, Nick Reilly, my parents, Sarah…. “The less one makes declarative statements, the less one has the opportunity to look stupid in retrospect.”
As I am pushed into my seat for takeoff I think fuck it: something good and right is happening. I am becoming. The compass, dogtags and book tell me so. Liftoff J
The time is 2 pm EST. I have just finished Tuesdays with morrie. Didn’t realize it was true. Wow. I was brought to tears too many times to count. I am flying over the Manitoba/Saskatchewan border. I have nothing to say. I will either watch TV o r sleep now.
13:48
I have arrived in Vancouver. BEAUTIFUL! Checked my coat. It’s almost 6 hours till my flight. I figure there’s no harm in a quick stop in to the city for a beer. It’s hotter’n hell and I feel like some kind of alien in my own country. Two surfers at the baggage check couldn’t stop laughing. Kind of annoying but I’d laugh all the time too if I surfed for a living.
I LOVE this place. I only wish I were staying just a wee bit longer. Ah well. Maybe on the way home?
I shoulda brushed my teeth. Blecch!
The air here tastes good, a taste that only a few extra thousand feet could give me. Everyone is happy. I am too. The only cloud that hangs over me is the fact that my stay will be a short one.
14:20
Note 15 minutes
424 – 98 B-Line Berrard
98 B-L Vancouver
Get on Bus at Seymour
You are heading North on Robson
Rush hour is at 4/4:30
14:57
Holy SHIT
I don’t want to leave this place. Ever.
The sun shines in a way that it never does in Toronto or even Hali. The air is clean. There are flowers and trees everywhere. I’ve found a place to love in this Godforsaken country. Everyone looks good and happy. The city’s made for people, not cars.
I’m completely at a loss for words. While I can’t stay long, I wish I could, it’s worth the trip. My god was it worth it. Street vendors set up and sell things.
It’s all good. This is where I belong.
15:34
Wow. The air here is even better than I ever imagined. I tried chasing a bus for a while because it didn’t seem to stop at every stop. I ran full tilt in my new boots for at least a a couple of hundred meters and I notice two things: 1) My breaths need be only shallow and short to be effective. 2) I had to need to catch breath, no soreness, nothing.
Now, 1) may be my dimished condition but 2) is clearly good air. In fact, I need only very small amounts to satisfy my lungs. It is AMAZING.
I (heart) Vancouver.
It’s too bad I’m leaving so soon but I know I will be back soon.
Boot evaluation:
Points of irritation (which will need moleskin)
Right foot: Big toe, baby toe, heel (minor irritation)
Left foot: Big toe (minor), baby toe
15:45
The west coast is the future. It feels new, young, vibrant. Trendy stores pop up so fast you can’t take them all in. Despite the intense commercialization, the city feels more natural, more human than any city I have ever visited.
No narrow, self-reflective European alleys, no sterile arteries moving sour-faced yes-men through dirty streets.
The beautiful Asian girl to my right will be my metaphor for the city. She wears what look like Chanel shades with a Reebok tank. Her purse says Baby Phat and she smiles serenely as she listens to the tunes from her Panasonic MP3/CD player.
She is gorgeous.
And young.
And Quietly confident. Every Eastern bone in my body wants to see, know and touch girls like her any day for the week far more than those boring east coast blondes. (*sigh*)
16:01
One thing I was too caught up in the goodness to mention were the addicts. The other side of Vancouvers is an emaciated, wrinkled old bum with white streaks, splotches, sores and rot all over his body. His right arm was a mess of holes and long-atrophied muscle. He was jittering away the jones dance. He was a good man from the look of his eyes. I saw a man that had accepted his new life to the extent that despite his physical decay and the hunger betrayed by his agitation, he was able to stop, look a friend in the eye and wish them a good day. How many wealthy Torontonians can make the same claim?
When I looked him in the eye and said that I was sorry but would give him no change, he did not give a look of resentment as I h ave grown accustomed to in Halifax but a nod of resigned acceptance and understanding. It may sound odd, but it seemed that in his own way he retained a sense of dignity. He was still a man.
April 27 – Prince George
11:42
I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of Jed knocking on Room 12, looking for Peter. It was 6:30 but I was jetlagged so I wasn’t sleeping.
We went out to Tim’s (Jed, Kovacs, Brian and I) for food and coffee. It was far.
We walked 5-7 km to get shovels and bags. It cost $106.
After we had our stuff, Jed, Brian and Paul (not Peter) troke rocks and flipped our shovels. My feet are protesting the new boots but I Purell’d them up.
On the way home to the Cinderblock Palace (the Queensway Motel,) we met a friend; a skinny little cat which reminded me of Abby for obvious reasons. She didn’t like to be carried but followed us for a while.
She eventually left us for a Bear-man with an RV shortly after we decidedl to name her Nicky and feed her. Slut.
It is a beautiful day, so far the guys are great. Jed is a disillusioned Christian with a good sense of thrift. I hope to learn a thing or two. Paul is great; a theology student with a calm demeanor which puts me at ease and makes me like him instantly. I don’t’ know what to make of Brian. I guess we’ll see. I gotta go. Out.
15:16
Tired. I’m in the P.G. Library. I’m increasingly impressed with this place. The library is nice and relatively new, in fact it reminds me of the Reference Library. Since my last entry I had a corn dog, pepperoni stick, taquito, Nestle shake and an apple before going swimming at the community center. We h it the water slide which was a blast. There was this creepy T-1000 lifeguard who seemed incapable of smiling (I tried,) he just stood there, sour-faced as if he were “at ease” in some sad swimming pool-army. I like these guys more and more and am reallyi pumped to get started. Brian is convinced he’s gonna be good which I know is a mistake but that is fine; it reminds me not to do the same. I can tell I’m in good company. I know that at the end of these three months, I will be reborn. I eagerly await my death. Yummy.
On a side note, every girl here seems hungry for our flesh. I don’t know why, but they stare, smile and flirt. Huh.
At security they gave me the full rundown. I figure either they received word that I had been alone in the “interfaith” (read: muslim) prayer room, or else my size and youth meant that even a small weapon would be a problem. Maybe they thought I was a test. Whatever it was they scanned my shoes, made me lift my legs, take off my belt, patted me down.
The name of the girl at the WestJet check-in was Emily. She thanked me for doing what I was going to do with a sincerity that baffled me. A good omen I suppose. “The tides are with me” I told myself in my characteristically melodramatic tone. “This was a good choice.
I know this because I do not worry about Sarah. I know we will share love (and fluids) again. As well, the tropes are good. I looked over some books in the Relay store. Some new-age book by Deepak Chopra called “The Meaning of Coincidence” or something like that caught my eye. It featured a compass on its cover. I am wearing a compass. The man at the security check remarked upon my compass with a peculiar enthusiasm for my wearing it. I couldn’t see why it fascinated him to such an extent. It’s rather cheap and plain. The back cover of the book spoke of synchronicity, or future/past symmetry. This symmetry is very real. I took note of the book but instead chose “Tuesdays with Morrie,” which was next to the Chopra book. It was the only book which appealed. I have Montaigne with me but the old-world French was too dense. That’s why I bought Morrie. The first thirty pages brought me to the brink of tears many times. What bowled me over was the following passage in a book I’d hear about but already knew in a strange way. I …. No words.
Here’s the passage:
“ I am younger than most of the students, having left high school a year early. To compensate for my youth on campus, I wear old gray sweatshirts and box in a local gym and walk with an unlit cigarette in my mouth, even though I do not smoke… I seek my identity in toughness – but it is Morrie’s softness that draws me, and because he does not look at me like a kid trying to be something more than I am, I relax.”
We are about to take off. I think to the Tarantino movie, Haraway, Latour, Forbes, Nick Reilly, my parents, Sarah…. “The less one makes declarative statements, the less one has the opportunity to look stupid in retrospect.”
As I am pushed into my seat for takeoff I think fuck it: something good and right is happening. I am becoming. The compass, dogtags and book tell me so. Liftoff J
The time is 2 pm EST. I have just finished Tuesdays with morrie. Didn’t realize it was true. Wow. I was brought to tears too many times to count. I am flying over the Manitoba/Saskatchewan border. I have nothing to say. I will either watch TV o r sleep now.
13:48
I have arrived in Vancouver. BEAUTIFUL! Checked my coat. It’s almost 6 hours till my flight. I figure there’s no harm in a quick stop in to the city for a beer. It’s hotter’n hell and I feel like some kind of alien in my own country. Two surfers at the baggage check couldn’t stop laughing. Kind of annoying but I’d laugh all the time too if I surfed for a living.
I LOVE this place. I only wish I were staying just a wee bit longer. Ah well. Maybe on the way home?
I shoulda brushed my teeth. Blecch!
The air here tastes good, a taste that only a few extra thousand feet could give me. Everyone is happy. I am too. The only cloud that hangs over me is the fact that my stay will be a short one.
14:20
Note 15 minutes
424 – 98 B-Line Berrard
98 B-L Vancouver
Get on Bus at Seymour
You are heading North on Robson
Rush hour is at 4/4:30
14:57
Holy SHIT
I don’t want to leave this place. Ever.
The sun shines in a way that it never does in Toronto or even Hali. The air is clean. There are flowers and trees everywhere. I’ve found a place to love in this Godforsaken country. Everyone looks good and happy. The city’s made for people, not cars.
I’m completely at a loss for words. While I can’t stay long, I wish I could, it’s worth the trip. My god was it worth it. Street vendors set up and sell things.
It’s all good. This is where I belong.
15:34
Wow. The air here is even better than I ever imagined. I tried chasing a bus for a while because it didn’t seem to stop at every stop. I ran full tilt in my new boots for at least a a couple of hundred meters and I notice two things: 1) My breaths need be only shallow and short to be effective. 2) I had to need to catch breath, no soreness, nothing.
Now, 1) may be my dimished condition but 2) is clearly good air. In fact, I need only very small amounts to satisfy my lungs. It is AMAZING.
I (heart) Vancouver.
It’s too bad I’m leaving so soon but I know I will be back soon.
Boot evaluation:
Points of irritation (which will need moleskin)
Right foot: Big toe, baby toe, heel (minor irritation)
Left foot: Big toe (minor), baby toe
15:45
The west coast is the future. It feels new, young, vibrant. Trendy stores pop up so fast you can’t take them all in. Despite the intense commercialization, the city feels more natural, more human than any city I have ever visited.
No narrow, self-reflective European alleys, no sterile arteries moving sour-faced yes-men through dirty streets.
The beautiful Asian girl to my right will be my metaphor for the city. She wears what look like Chanel shades with a Reebok tank. Her purse says Baby Phat and she smiles serenely as she listens to the tunes from her Panasonic MP3/CD player.
She is gorgeous.
And young.
And Quietly confident. Every Eastern bone in my body wants to see, know and touch girls like her any day for the week far more than those boring east coast blondes. (*sigh*)
16:01
One thing I was too caught up in the goodness to mention were the addicts. The other side of Vancouvers is an emaciated, wrinkled old bum with white streaks, splotches, sores and rot all over his body. His right arm was a mess of holes and long-atrophied muscle. He was jittering away the jones dance. He was a good man from the look of his eyes. I saw a man that had accepted his new life to the extent that despite his physical decay and the hunger betrayed by his agitation, he was able to stop, look a friend in the eye and wish them a good day. How many wealthy Torontonians can make the same claim?
When I looked him in the eye and said that I was sorry but would give him no change, he did not give a look of resentment as I h ave grown accustomed to in Halifax but a nod of resigned acceptance and understanding. It may sound odd, but it seemed that in his own way he retained a sense of dignity. He was still a man.
April 27 – Prince George
11:42
I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of Jed knocking on Room 12, looking for Peter. It was 6:30 but I was jetlagged so I wasn’t sleeping.
We went out to Tim’s (Jed, Kovacs, Brian and I) for food and coffee. It was far.
We walked 5-7 km to get shovels and bags. It cost $106.
After we had our stuff, Jed, Brian and Paul (not Peter) troke rocks and flipped our shovels. My feet are protesting the new boots but I Purell’d them up.
On the way home to the Cinderblock Palace (the Queensway Motel,) we met a friend; a skinny little cat which reminded me of Abby for obvious reasons. She didn’t like to be carried but followed us for a while.
She eventually left us for a Bear-man with an RV shortly after we decidedl to name her Nicky and feed her. Slut.
It is a beautiful day, so far the guys are great. Jed is a disillusioned Christian with a good sense of thrift. I hope to learn a thing or two. Paul is great; a theology student with a calm demeanor which puts me at ease and makes me like him instantly. I don’t’ know what to make of Brian. I guess we’ll see. I gotta go. Out.
15:16
Tired. I’m in the P.G. Library. I’m increasingly impressed with this place. The library is nice and relatively new, in fact it reminds me of the Reference Library. Since my last entry I had a corn dog, pepperoni stick, taquito, Nestle shake and an apple before going swimming at the community center. We h it the water slide which was a blast. There was this creepy T-1000 lifeguard who seemed incapable of smiling (I tried,) he just stood there, sour-faced as if he were “at ease” in some sad swimming pool-army. I like these guys more and more and am reallyi pumped to get started. Brian is convinced he’s gonna be good which I know is a mistake but that is fine; it reminds me not to do the same. I can tell I’m in good company. I know that at the end of these three months, I will be reborn. I eagerly await my death. Yummy.
On a side note, every girl here seems hungry for our flesh. I don’t know why, but they stare, smile and flirt. Huh.
posted by Chuck at 12:22 PM
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