This time when I crossed the boarder into Canada, I got a strange sensation, kind of like that feeling one gets when arriving home after a long time away. I've crossed the boarder many times from the US to Canada and never have I felt more at home on this side than on the other. This sensation was even more surprising given the fact that this past year has been one not necessarily filled with awesome memories-its been hard. And although living in a trailer has been good, I am excited to get out of that stinky hell hole. The warmer it gets the stinkier that trailer is. But alas, school is out campus is empty and I am on my way to camp out in front of MEC (the REI of Canada) tonight to score some super cheap used gear they're selling tomorrow morning. It should be a good time.
For the first month of this summer it looks like I'll be living in downtown Portland with my bro Cami for the month of May until I head off to Japan in June. So for all you's Portland sluggards be on guard, I may show up at your door with a water gun and shoot you in the face until you fall over backwards.
In other news, I am pleased to announce that I have passed all my classes with then exception of none. Why is this a big deal you may ask? Because they were freaken hard man. Freaken hard. And for all you studious young university go-ers who are not yet done with finals, a word of advice-HAHA! SUCKERS!...I'M OUT OF HERE! WOOHOOO!
Summer here I come.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
work:
the act of mindlessly prostituting ones body to carry out menial tasks for the sake of acquiring material possessions or paying off debt.
One takes precious time off his life sacrificing eight hours per day to the wanton demands of a power hungry overlord commonly referred to as a “boss”. At the end of his life I wonder if he would look back and say “if only I could have worked more”—no, no my friends, such words would be foolishness. However, this is the great conflict; to participate in the government’s evil capitalistic scheme by yielding our God-given freedom annexed by this “work”? Or to run free, poor as animals but rich as the fields in spring? ‘Tis a great evil that modern man is faced with this cruel cruel decision. For the first perspective ensures security and financial prosperity—but at the cost of ones freedom. Many times he is forced to work at a desk in a drab city appeasing superiors in constant fear of loosing the job. The ladder choice ensures nothing at all, but it taunts freedom and independence, adventure and unknown—but for who’s benefit? We call this choice the hermit choice. For what good is a person who, with potential for good and ability for changing the world, runs off into the mountains to seek selfish sanctuary? He is a hermit and does nothing with the time he is given. There is a quote that says “I am only one tree in a forest, but still I am one tree”. So the worlds a horrible place—but to run and hide cannot be the answer.
Recently I’ve been talking to one of my friends about exploring South America. Apparently there’s a bunch of unsummited mountains and unexplored mountain ranges down there waiting for some overconfident white boys to discover. Naturally, my buddies and I were the first to nominate ourselves for this mission. But many times I ponder the idea of spending so much of ones life pursuing a personal mission that neither benefits nor inhibits others. Not that inhibiting others is good, it’s all just a bit apathetic sounding. This was the inspiration for the above rant.
One takes precious time off his life sacrificing eight hours per day to the wanton demands of a power hungry overlord commonly referred to as a “boss”. At the end of his life I wonder if he would look back and say “if only I could have worked more”—no, no my friends, such words would be foolishness. However, this is the great conflict; to participate in the government’s evil capitalistic scheme by yielding our God-given freedom annexed by this “work”? Or to run free, poor as animals but rich as the fields in spring? ‘Tis a great evil that modern man is faced with this cruel cruel decision. For the first perspective ensures security and financial prosperity—but at the cost of ones freedom. Many times he is forced to work at a desk in a drab city appeasing superiors in constant fear of loosing the job. The ladder choice ensures nothing at all, but it taunts freedom and independence, adventure and unknown—but for who’s benefit? We call this choice the hermit choice. For what good is a person who, with potential for good and ability for changing the world, runs off into the mountains to seek selfish sanctuary? He is a hermit and does nothing with the time he is given. There is a quote that says “I am only one tree in a forest, but still I am one tree”. So the worlds a horrible place—but to run and hide cannot be the answer.
Recently I’ve been talking to one of my friends about exploring South America. Apparently there’s a bunch of unsummited mountains and unexplored mountain ranges down there waiting for some overconfident white boys to discover. Naturally, my buddies and I were the first to nominate ourselves for this mission. But many times I ponder the idea of spending so much of ones life pursuing a personal mission that neither benefits nor inhibits others. Not that inhibiting others is good, it’s all just a bit apathetic sounding. This was the inspiration for the above rant.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
sock sleeping
In one comment posted by an author that at this time shall remain nameless, the question "are you alive?" was posed. This term "alive" particularly stuck out to me as at this moment such a term seems somewhat subjective in light of the whole semester ending. I suppose I am proud to announce that death has not yet grasped me by the jugular and sucked my proverbial "blood" from my still warm body. No, Brent shall live to die another day. God save the Queen.
The other day I went into Starbucks and asked for a free coffee. And I got one-a grande extra hot chai tea latte to be exact. And then they offered me a job. For a moment I was tempted to take them up on the offer but how would the cafeteria floors manage without me? Could I prostitute my floors to just any random minimum wage student worker? I think not! It goes without saying that I gracefully declined the job offer. Thanks anyways suckers.
Winter camping is a biohazard. Never have I been so repulsed at my own stench and that of my fellow tent mates as when the snow gear comes off. Although it is common practice to sleep with ones socks in his sleeping bag (so as to prevent ice from forming on them and to dry them out) after one night of said “sock sleeping” I opened my sleeping bag to the smell of gangrene, trench foot, and limb-rot. Instinctively I tried running away from the smell but the socks had already taken me as their deadly hostage—there was no escape. The only benefit to winter camping is that one can actually physically see smells coming off people in the form of deadly gaseous steam that would have put chlorine gas in WW1 to shame—now you know when to run away from your friends.
The sun-its like natures congratulations for making it through 6 months of sucky weather without dying from any combination of vitamin D deficiency, boredom, ugliness, suicide, or cold. Thank you mother nature for 6 months of death and 2 months of sun. I am not bitter.
The other day I went into Starbucks and asked for a free coffee. And I got one-a grande extra hot chai tea latte to be exact. And then they offered me a job. For a moment I was tempted to take them up on the offer but how would the cafeteria floors manage without me? Could I prostitute my floors to just any random minimum wage student worker? I think not! It goes without saying that I gracefully declined the job offer. Thanks anyways suckers.
Winter camping is a biohazard. Never have I been so repulsed at my own stench and that of my fellow tent mates as when the snow gear comes off. Although it is common practice to sleep with ones socks in his sleeping bag (so as to prevent ice from forming on them and to dry them out) after one night of said “sock sleeping” I opened my sleeping bag to the smell of gangrene, trench foot, and limb-rot. Instinctively I tried running away from the smell but the socks had already taken me as their deadly hostage—there was no escape. The only benefit to winter camping is that one can actually physically see smells coming off people in the form of deadly gaseous steam that would have put chlorine gas in WW1 to shame—now you know when to run away from your friends.
The sun-its like natures congratulations for making it through 6 months of sucky weather without dying from any combination of vitamin D deficiency, boredom, ugliness, suicide, or cold. Thank you mother nature for 6 months of death and 2 months of sun. I am not bitter.
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