Man, I've had it with being poor. I’ve had it with the straightjacket triangle of college-cafeteria-dorm life. It’s like instead of having a shoulder angel, I have a shoulder Hitler always denying me everything ever. And then there's those girls who insist on going out to eat and when I courteously decline they ask why. ALWAYS ASK WHY. When I inform them that it is due to my lack of funds they insist on paying. In my naivety I used to resign myself to allowing others to pay for me but no more. NO MORE! What? Do they think I have no soul? That I would kindly agree to prostitute my soul to their capitalistic Satan spree? I THINK NOT So I look around and see "nice cars", people living in houses with "two bathrooms", or just a “house with a roof”, wearing "name brand cloths", with "real jobs", and "hook up's" well there’s one word I want to share with you people: SCREW YOU!!! So what if, instead of using note books I use toilet paper from the janitor room that I sneak out every day after my crappy on-campus-job-because-the-blasted-Canadian-government-won’t-let-me-work-off-campus-
even-though-they-have-a-worker-shortage-and-declining-population-rate. SO WHAT? So sue me; I use toilet paper for socks, notes, decorations, band-aids, head turbines, heck, I hardly have enough to toilet paper to use for its original application! Now whenever is I use toilet paper I think of my shoulder Hitler oppressing me, laughing at me because I don’t have the funds to contribute to his socialistic, anti-Semitic, epicenter of global hatred and domination via capitalism!! (Or S.A.E.G.H.D.C. for short) I hate mooching off friends for rides, food, and above all I detest that look of sympathy from that one girl. That look of pity that says "you poor soul, you cant afford to eat in Wendy’s so I want to give you money but I know you'll hate it, but I think I'm going to try and get away with it by ordering 2 meals without him knowing, and then I'll give one to him and he'll have to eat it!! muha...muhaha...MUHAHAHAHAHA!!! MY PLAN FOR WORLD DOMINATION HAS COME TO FRUITION!!" It’s a nice thought, and maybe it’s just my pride, or my strong conviction not to attune myself to a subconscious mental philosophy of people=food=free=manipulate=no real friendship at all (a tendency I have noticed among the poor ones at college), but if someone does this, it’s just awkward. How can a man face himself the mirror the next morning after having a cute girl buys him a meal at Wendy’s?! Its like the 17 year old store-worker girl this summer who insisted on giving me, a 20 year old a ride home every day instead of letting me walk the flippen 20 minutes home. And what is it about America that makes walking out to be such a travesty? Is it not ironic that the same people who insist on organic foods, yoga, and rigorous daily exercise compete to get the closest parking spot possible to Costco's main entrance? And then as soon as they see people loading groceries into a car that is potentially pulling out the spot they've always dreamed of, they wait in the middle of the road with they're blinker on, meanwhile blocking all traffic behind them. Its just walking, its not going to kill you America. Good lord.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
rant raving human
Humans are so complex and unknowable in every aspect all I can do is watch and be amazed. Just one glance can break a friendship, one misspoken word is mulled over and influences the rest of a ones life. With old friends I encounter a deep reservoir of emotion that is never talked about, never mentioned. It could be that with past friends, because we are no longer a part of each others lives, there is no need to mention past mistakes or misspoken words-after all, if you're only there to see each other for a few hours, whats the use of rectifying a past discrepancy? So the past simmers and burns inside each of us as it permeates deeper into our being until one day, when we're 80 we don’t even remember what caused us to become bitter vengeful senior citizens in the first place. This is how old friends draw apart, how families separate with age-blunt words are easily avoided when there is distance between two potentially conflicting parties. So each party talks about the other behind backs and amongst current members of our present lives, never with good intentions.
Human beings are extremely complicated; pressures, desires, conflicts, and peers pull us in every way possible until the individual hardly knows who he is any more. But the funniest part of human nature shows exactly as the peacock does; show your finest feathers and impress each other-make the other think that you are better than he is. In EVERY circle of humanity, this show-off aspect of human nature never ceases to surface. But why? To be normal is to be a failure-and every one, I would argue even self-actualized super stars know they are a failure on a deep level. So why live life in a constant effort to make others think you’re perfect? I know several middle aged people who are so insecure about the cleanliness of their house that they can barely breathe in it without ruining something. To these people I suggest a vacation at a concentration camp-surely they would have far less cares in a jail cell then they have now in modern suburban America.
So which is better, to escape or to embrace society? Or perhaps a combination of the two? This is the great conflict in me, on one hand worldly wisdom demands I find financial security, plan for my future, and get a house (who says we even need a house? Why not live in a not-house. It’s like there’s some kind of social convention that demands people to get a house—and perhaps that is what the media is, a social committee that passes laws on how one should act, look, and feel). On the other hand my Christian background demands I live according to “Gods will”-an abstract concept that can be manipulated any which way according to the desires of the Christian. OR “God’s will” may also serve as a Christianized euphemism for “fly by the seat of your pants”-this ensures an adventurous journey, though unfortunately, according to worldly wisdom, not one that necessarily leads anywhere (no doubt a highly debatable sentiment). Finally, the idea that “you don’t need to know what you’re doing with your life yet”. A fine proposal except major life decisions as the apocalypse have come, and at least some philosophy by which to live by must be lived by.
I’ve had it.
Human beings are extremely complicated; pressures, desires, conflicts, and peers pull us in every way possible until the individual hardly knows who he is any more. But the funniest part of human nature shows exactly as the peacock does; show your finest feathers and impress each other-make the other think that you are better than he is. In EVERY circle of humanity, this show-off aspect of human nature never ceases to surface. But why? To be normal is to be a failure-and every one, I would argue even self-actualized super stars know they are a failure on a deep level. So why live life in a constant effort to make others think you’re perfect? I know several middle aged people who are so insecure about the cleanliness of their house that they can barely breathe in it without ruining something. To these people I suggest a vacation at a concentration camp-surely they would have far less cares in a jail cell then they have now in modern suburban America.
So which is better, to escape or to embrace society? Or perhaps a combination of the two? This is the great conflict in me, on one hand worldly wisdom demands I find financial security, plan for my future, and get a house (who says we even need a house? Why not live in a not-house. It’s like there’s some kind of social convention that demands people to get a house—and perhaps that is what the media is, a social committee that passes laws on how one should act, look, and feel). On the other hand my Christian background demands I live according to “Gods will”-an abstract concept that can be manipulated any which way according to the desires of the Christian. OR “God’s will” may also serve as a Christianized euphemism for “fly by the seat of your pants”-this ensures an adventurous journey, though unfortunately, according to worldly wisdom, not one that necessarily leads anywhere (no doubt a highly debatable sentiment). Finally, the idea that “you don’t need to know what you’re doing with your life yet”. A fine proposal except major life decisions as the apocalypse have come, and at least some philosophy by which to live by must be lived by.
I’ve had it.
Friday, December 23, 2005
queen regina elizabeth
In my post modern suspicion of truth, I have been proud to withhold judgment on every rumor I have heard pertaining to Canadians on the grounds that I have no experience by which to measure the integrity of such rumors. Well, now I do. And the rumors are all true. I know this does not speak for all Canadians, and before you go throwing hockey pucks and busts of her majesty Queen Regina Elizabeth II, I want you to know that I highly appreciate Canadians in more respects than I appreciate many Americans, but that could be due to the fact that America is and has always been the land of the boring as seen in exhibit "A"-My Life. But all past resentment aside, my story begins last week in Whistler B.C.
In spite of the ice, wind, and blizzard conditions, the first day of skiing with my benevolent Canadian friends was normal. That night however, I witnessed something foreigners rarely see. Two old friends from the North met after a year of separation: one who, up to this point I considered a platinum member of the status quo, and the other, an old friend who came down to visit. We, or rather, they sat at the table for hours reminiscing about their home town-population 1,000. It was interesting to see these two Canadians vocabulary go beyond my level of understanding into a new language which consisted of extraordinary words like "skidoo's" and "silviculture" upon inquiring as to the meaning of this mysterious word, in what became the first and last time I would disrupt their conversation, I discovered that "silviculture" meant "the study of trees" in Latin. I say this became the last time I would interrupt their conversation because, as my new northern friends career is forestry, the next 1.5 hours were spent imparting every detail involved in the science of silviculture--which can basically be summed up in "I measure how many trees grow in a 100m radius for a living". After my new northern friend felt he had explained his job sufficiently, he turned back to reminiscing. Apparently he had killed 4 moose the other day and was transporting the raw meat on the roof rack of his "vehicle" for 9 hours in order to keep the meat frozen. Another thing I have noticed about Canadians is the use of the word "vehicle". Why not just call it a truck or car? Where I'm from "vehicle" is an essay word fit only for English class and equal in frequency of use to "compact disc" or "cellular phoning device".
After hours of reminiscence, my northern friends ask where I'm from. When I tell them that where I come from it reaches +40c with 100% humidity in the summer-I am met with the same blank look they must have seen when they talked about ice fishing in -40c weather. All I can do is chuckle at my futile attempt to explain my city of 38 million people to two northerners from a town of 1,000 who have never gone overseas, never experienced weather exceeding 15c, who are deathly phobic of nakedness (a cultural difference I didn't realize until it was too late. Lets just say Japan is a very open country) and whose yearly highlight is hunting season. But much to most Canadians disbelief, as I have never experienced weather below -7c, never hunted, never lived in a small town, or heard of silviculture, I determined that there was only one thing we had in common--which could only be done in a pub, over a pint of cypress honey lager, while watching skidoo's on a big screen TV.
In spite of the ice, wind, and blizzard conditions, the first day of skiing with my benevolent Canadian friends was normal. That night however, I witnessed something foreigners rarely see. Two old friends from the North met after a year of separation: one who, up to this point I considered a platinum member of the status quo, and the other, an old friend who came down to visit. We, or rather, they sat at the table for hours reminiscing about their home town-population 1,000. It was interesting to see these two Canadians vocabulary go beyond my level of understanding into a new language which consisted of extraordinary words like "skidoo's" and "silviculture" upon inquiring as to the meaning of this mysterious word, in what became the first and last time I would disrupt their conversation, I discovered that "silviculture" meant "the study of trees" in Latin. I say this became the last time I would interrupt their conversation because, as my new northern friends career is forestry, the next 1.5 hours were spent imparting every detail involved in the science of silviculture--which can basically be summed up in "I measure how many trees grow in a 100m radius for a living". After my new northern friend felt he had explained his job sufficiently, he turned back to reminiscing. Apparently he had killed 4 moose the other day and was transporting the raw meat on the roof rack of his "vehicle" for 9 hours in order to keep the meat frozen. Another thing I have noticed about Canadians is the use of the word "vehicle". Why not just call it a truck or car? Where I'm from "vehicle" is an essay word fit only for English class and equal in frequency of use to "compact disc" or "cellular phoning device".
After hours of reminiscence, my northern friends ask where I'm from. When I tell them that where I come from it reaches +40c with 100% humidity in the summer-I am met with the same blank look they must have seen when they talked about ice fishing in -40c weather. All I can do is chuckle at my futile attempt to explain my city of 38 million people to two northerners from a town of 1,000 who have never gone overseas, never experienced weather exceeding 15c, who are deathly phobic of nakedness (a cultural difference I didn't realize until it was too late. Lets just say Japan is a very open country) and whose yearly highlight is hunting season. But much to most Canadians disbelief, as I have never experienced weather below -7c, never hunted, never lived in a small town, or heard of silviculture, I determined that there was only one thing we had in common--which could only be done in a pub, over a pint of cypress honey lager, while watching skidoo's on a big screen TV.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
the homeless way
In my recently inspired intellectual collegial blossom, I have devised a controlled test to discern where one lies on the Homeless-O-Meter. On the scale of 1 to 10, 1 being a princess and 10 being a beggar on the street, this test will place you according to your natural "knack" for homelessness. Also, while taking this test, keep in mind that what I have called the "Homeless Way" is not determined by your present circumstances, rather it is your natural inclination to, or your lack of natural detest, for the homeless ability. Answer the following questions honestly.
Your answers may be recorded for future costumer quality assurance.
1. The thought of sleeping in a dumpster is exciting
2. When standing in the cafeteria line, you determine who you will befriend based on if they look like the kind of person who has his own car. (Among those who walk in accordance with the Homeless Way, this tactic is referred to as the "Eagle Tumnus" maneuver. Because it requires the eyes of an eagle combined with the innocent friendliness of Mr. Tumnus, but seasoned with unsuspecting ulterior motives)
3. You classify your weekly swim as a shower because the pool water is chlorinated
4. Attaining the status of "beach bum" is part of your 5-year post graduate plan
5. You spray paint your tent camo so it can be less easily recognized in neighborhood parks
6. You have long conversations and much in common with people who sell mysteriously acquired products in city parks
7. Homeless people invite you into their homes
8. Small foreign children throw rocks at your tent for no apparent reason
9. After school banquets, you go around with a plastic plate asking for left overs
10. By experience, you know what days and times give you the maximum potential for hitch hiking
If one or more of the above describes you, you have type H (Homeless) tendencies. If all of the above describes you, it is likely you are living out of a cardboard box. If none of the above describes you, go back to your castle you little princess and sleep on your mattress of oppression, flip on your light switch of evil, open the door to injustice, put on your crown of snakes, and your shoes that trample on the heads of the righteous. Eat your food that soon turns to ash as you wither in the wheat fields Gomorrah, may your children turn into pillars of salt that season my potatoes for breakfast. That you might have have eternal jam between your toes while dogs lick your bare-feet, may hair be always in your eyes as you live off weight-loss granola bars and Diet Doctor Pepper as you and your forefathers have, and you forefathers forefathers have.
Your answers may be recorded for future costumer quality assurance.
1. The thought of sleeping in a dumpster is exciting
2. When standing in the cafeteria line, you determine who you will befriend based on if they look like the kind of person who has his own car. (Among those who walk in accordance with the Homeless Way, this tactic is referred to as the "Eagle Tumnus" maneuver. Because it requires the eyes of an eagle combined with the innocent friendliness of Mr. Tumnus, but seasoned with unsuspecting ulterior motives)
3. You classify your weekly swim as a shower because the pool water is chlorinated
4. Attaining the status of "beach bum" is part of your 5-year post graduate plan
5. You spray paint your tent camo so it can be less easily recognized in neighborhood parks
6. You have long conversations and much in common with people who sell mysteriously acquired products in city parks
7. Homeless people invite you into their homes
8. Small foreign children throw rocks at your tent for no apparent reason
9. After school banquets, you go around with a plastic plate asking for left overs
10. By experience, you know what days and times give you the maximum potential for hitch hiking
If one or more of the above describes you, you have type H (Homeless) tendencies. If all of the above describes you, it is likely you are living out of a cardboard box. If none of the above describes you, go back to your castle you little princess and sleep on your mattress of oppression, flip on your light switch of evil, open the door to injustice, put on your crown of snakes, and your shoes that trample on the heads of the righteous. Eat your food that soon turns to ash as you wither in the wheat fields Gomorrah, may your children turn into pillars of salt that season my potatoes for breakfast. That you might have have eternal jam between your toes while dogs lick your bare-feet, may hair be always in your eyes as you live off weight-loss granola bars and Diet Doctor Pepper as you and your forefathers have, and you forefathers forefathers have.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
b.y.o. suicide pill
You came to do what is a culturaly accepted thing that upper class college people do. Half the people at your table are too busy digging their noses into each other to notice your existence, the other half are awkwardly wishing they could do just that. And whats so fun about these Christan parties? You just sit. and sit. and wait for your turn to go get food. Then you come back, try to fit all the food on the plate into your mouth in small bite sized pieces (preferably without leaving anything hanging out of your mouth) and all this while making a tremendous mental effort not to put your elbows on the table. When trying to engage in polite conversation across the table, you find that they have only a vested interest in each others faces. In vain, you scrutinize their faces to see what could be so interesting-nothing comes up. Their conversation? Non-verbal...apparently all they need to communicate can be done through the spiritual gift of touch.
And you sit in black pants and a blue tie secretly spying on other tables to see if they are as boring/awkward as yours. Having graduated from Junior high, you suspect that your table is the exception but apparently not. All around little awkward Junior highers dressed up as college people engage in monotonous, teeth-wrenching conversation.
And sit. no dancing. no good music. Just the remnants of a good meal on your plate. And wait for something to happen. When nothing does, you can only aspire to theorize the reason for "Christmas banquets". The theory is as follows: Girls like to dress up. Girls like guys dressed up. Guys like girls. Desperate bible school guys will go to any lengths to have girls link arms with them. Suck-up guys dress up for pretty girls = Christmas banquet.
Some one please tell me what part of sitting all night and blankly staring at other people is fun? Why not go stare at a brick wall instead? Its cheaper. Heck, why not just get a grand piano and repeatedly beat yourself over the head with it instead!@#$ You'll get the agony done all at once instead of dragging on! HEAVENS TO BETSY MAN! Are "banquets" the funnest activities that can be done on a bible school campus?!@#
And you sit in black pants and a blue tie secretly spying on other tables to see if they are as boring/awkward as yours. Having graduated from Junior high, you suspect that your table is the exception but apparently not. All around little awkward Junior highers dressed up as college people engage in monotonous, teeth-wrenching conversation.
And sit. no dancing. no good music. Just the remnants of a good meal on your plate. And wait for something to happen. When nothing does, you can only aspire to theorize the reason for "Christmas banquets". The theory is as follows: Girls like to dress up. Girls like guys dressed up. Guys like girls. Desperate bible school guys will go to any lengths to have girls link arms with them. Suck-up guys dress up for pretty girls = Christmas banquet.
Some one please tell me what part of sitting all night and blankly staring at other people is fun? Why not go stare at a brick wall instead? Its cheaper. Heck, why not just get a grand piano and repeatedly beat yourself over the head with it instead!@#$ You'll get the agony done all at once instead of dragging on! HEAVENS TO BETSY MAN! Are "banquets" the funnest activities that can be done on a bible school campus?!@#
Thursday, December 08, 2005
hell night
I think I can honestly say that I have never held such a deep, loathing, consuming, hate for any one I have ever met than for my leaders in outdoor leadership. But this hate is a very subtle hate that has been sired into my brain at such a deep level that I barely even realize I hate them-its more of a sensation; I look into their eyes and know that I should hate them even though I don’t hate them any more. As a soldier who is reluctant to relate his stories from the battle field because he knows that even after telling the story, no one will really understand what happened, so I feel in regards to hell night. But in the interest of not having to tell the same story over and over to everyone who asks about it (thank you family) I will write the story once and for all.
In review, many of you know that I am majoring in outdoor leadership at Columbia Bible College. My professor for this course has been through the military, police, and the UN (and owns a furniture business) and thus is slightly...militaristic in personality.
Preface: On Wednesday, my group of 15 first years is briefed that our mission for Friday will be a fairly typical search and rescue day hike activity--so bring lunch.
Disclaimer: Everything in this story is set up, the events, the people, everything was a big act.
The story begins.
Friday, 4:00am: every one ready to go at meeting location
Our group is split up into four groups, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, and Hotel. We are forced to line up in our groups while a man dressed in military garb gives us our briefing. We are to stand feet shoulder breadth apart with our hands held behind our back, and refer to him as "YES PETTY OFFICER!!" (He was actually a petty officer in the British army). When in doubt, say his name and you'll get off the hook. And for goodness sake, NEVER make eye contact with the petty officer, or smile, such things resulted in many pushups. Each group is marched under "yes petty officer!"s supervision individually to receive one sleeping bag and one sleeping pad per group. We are then marched into the "transports" and drove 30 minutes to be dropped off at an unknown location on the side of the road. 10 minutes pass before team leader radio's us our orders. Hike to the top of the mountain. A fairly simple and even fun objective accomplished in 4 hours.
9:00am: upon reaching the summit, we receive information that there are people that require first aid 10 minutes down the path. After they are tended to, there are injured people 10 minutes down the path again. After they were tended to, etc etc. 6 hours later, after being yelled at by every leader (there were 3), massacred by our first aid subjects (there were 7), and being made a failure in front of our peers, we were ordered to our next assignment.
3:00pm: one member from each team was taken and told to get lost. Our objective was to find the missing member and monitor/record his/her vitals for an indefinite period of time. After the person was gone for a while, the remainder of the team set up a search and rescue plan to find the missing subject.
4:00pm: We found our missing team member. We monitored vitals in 15F or -7c weather in a foot of snow with only our day-hike gear.
8:00pm: over the radio we are told the day is over and now we need to reassemble and start down the trail.
9:00pm on our decent, our teams "happen" to run into a hysteric, panicking woman screaming "where are my friends, I lost my friends". While one team representative attempts to calm her down, the rest of the teams organize an impromptu search and rescue mission. We split up into our 4 groups and disperse down the highest probability trails. After 45 minutes Golf, my group, finds the two "missing subjects". The subject is hypothermic, has a spinal injury, and also happens to be on a very steep grade.
10:00pm. Echo is set up as operation control. Because the satellite phone is "mysteriously not working", Foxtrot is assigned to hike down to the car to make communications with Abbotsford rope rescue team. Teams Golf and Hotel are assigned to tend to the patients.
3:00am Saturday: rope rescue team, which is actually the juniors and seniors from outdoor leadership program, arrive and set a pulley system to get the subject off the steep grade.
4:00am: patient is off the grade and ready to be stretchered out by our teams. After going down the path 500m (a long distance to carry a stretcher) we discover a cliff on one side of the trail, we turn around and stretcher her out 8k to the nearest evacuation area.
5:00am: It was about now that people started swearing at eachother.
10:00am. after a night of walking with 3 people on each side of the stretcher, in 1 foot of fresh snow, in -10c/12f weather, on bouldery terrain, with no food (I had a bag of peanuts for the day), rest, water breaks, and 6 hours of stretcher carrying, we reach evacuation area. We are told that we are 3.5 hours behind schedule for the days activities, but will carry on to our next assignment which will consist of 6 stations. The first station is to take a one hour exam. Separated by 10m, we sat down on our packs and took the exam. To this day I have no recollection of what I wrote. Words would make sense individually, but when put together as a sentence, it would not compute.
11:00am: test completed, we found out that there are no more stations and that the stations were a lie to stress us out. We begin our hike down the mountain.
12:30am: reach cars in parking lot.
1:00pm: after 33 hours of go time, we arrive home.
In conclusion, I’m glad petty officer wasn't hiding behind trees yelling at us even though the leaders were. Lots of what happened that night was hilarious, lots of what happened sucked. Some of it sucked so much that people have been having nightmares about it. And I now distrust my leaders and yes, on a deep level hate my leaders more than I’ve hated anybody before-well, except for my ex. She was a cow.
In review, many of you know that I am majoring in outdoor leadership at Columbia Bible College. My professor for this course has been through the military, police, and the UN (and owns a furniture business) and thus is slightly...militaristic in personality.
Preface: On Wednesday, my group of 15 first years is briefed that our mission for Friday will be a fairly typical search and rescue day hike activity--so bring lunch.
Disclaimer: Everything in this story is set up, the events, the people, everything was a big act.
The story begins.
Friday, 4:00am: every one ready to go at meeting location
Our group is split up into four groups, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, and Hotel. We are forced to line up in our groups while a man dressed in military garb gives us our briefing. We are to stand feet shoulder breadth apart with our hands held behind our back, and refer to him as "YES PETTY OFFICER!!" (He was actually a petty officer in the British army). When in doubt, say his name and you'll get off the hook. And for goodness sake, NEVER make eye contact with the petty officer, or smile, such things resulted in many pushups. Each group is marched under "yes petty officer!"s supervision individually to receive one sleeping bag and one sleeping pad per group. We are then marched into the "transports" and drove 30 minutes to be dropped off at an unknown location on the side of the road. 10 minutes pass before team leader radio's us our orders. Hike to the top of the mountain. A fairly simple and even fun objective accomplished in 4 hours.
9:00am: upon reaching the summit, we receive information that there are people that require first aid 10 minutes down the path. After they are tended to, there are injured people 10 minutes down the path again. After they were tended to, etc etc. 6 hours later, after being yelled at by every leader (there were 3), massacred by our first aid subjects (there were 7), and being made a failure in front of our peers, we were ordered to our next assignment.
3:00pm: one member from each team was taken and told to get lost. Our objective was to find the missing member and monitor/record his/her vitals for an indefinite period of time. After the person was gone for a while, the remainder of the team set up a search and rescue plan to find the missing subject.
4:00pm: We found our missing team member. We monitored vitals in 15F or -7c weather in a foot of snow with only our day-hike gear.
8:00pm: over the radio we are told the day is over and now we need to reassemble and start down the trail.
9:00pm on our decent, our teams "happen" to run into a hysteric, panicking woman screaming "where are my friends, I lost my friends". While one team representative attempts to calm her down, the rest of the teams organize an impromptu search and rescue mission. We split up into our 4 groups and disperse down the highest probability trails. After 45 minutes Golf, my group, finds the two "missing subjects". The subject is hypothermic, has a spinal injury, and also happens to be on a very steep grade.
10:00pm. Echo is set up as operation control. Because the satellite phone is "mysteriously not working", Foxtrot is assigned to hike down to the car to make communications with Abbotsford rope rescue team. Teams Golf and Hotel are assigned to tend to the patients.
3:00am Saturday: rope rescue team, which is actually the juniors and seniors from outdoor leadership program, arrive and set a pulley system to get the subject off the steep grade.
4:00am: patient is off the grade and ready to be stretchered out by our teams. After going down the path 500m (a long distance to carry a stretcher) we discover a cliff on one side of the trail, we turn around and stretcher her out 8k to the nearest evacuation area.
5:00am: It was about now that people started swearing at eachother.
10:00am. after a night of walking with 3 people on each side of the stretcher, in 1 foot of fresh snow, in -10c/12f weather, on bouldery terrain, with no food (I had a bag of peanuts for the day), rest, water breaks, and 6 hours of stretcher carrying, we reach evacuation area. We are told that we are 3.5 hours behind schedule for the days activities, but will carry on to our next assignment which will consist of 6 stations. The first station is to take a one hour exam. Separated by 10m, we sat down on our packs and took the exam. To this day I have no recollection of what I wrote. Words would make sense individually, but when put together as a sentence, it would not compute.
11:00am: test completed, we found out that there are no more stations and that the stations were a lie to stress us out. We begin our hike down the mountain.
12:30am: reach cars in parking lot.
1:00pm: after 33 hours of go time, we arrive home.
In conclusion, I’m glad petty officer wasn't hiding behind trees yelling at us even though the leaders were. Lots of what happened that night was hilarious, lots of what happened sucked. Some of it sucked so much that people have been having nightmares about it. And I now distrust my leaders and yes, on a deep level hate my leaders more than I’ve hated anybody before-well, except for my ex. She was a cow.
Monday, November 28, 2005
BrenTopia Travels Inc. -Fashion Division
I am pleased to announce the first addition to my wardrobe since the year of our lord 2003. As many of you know, due to the new European travel restrictions, BrenTopia Travels Inc. based out of Carnforth England, was forced to layoff hundreds of cloths, leaving them ownerless, jobless, and dejected. This economic “downsizing” caused what many economists have deemed “a downward spiral” in the BrenTopia Fashion Division of BrenTopia Travels Inc. While initially, BrenTopia Travels promised that it would only layoff apparel, soon after it proceeded to layoff shoes, accessories, books, and yes, even toothpaste. The riots caused by unemployed apparel eventually drove BrenTopia Travels Inc. out of Britain and on to mainland Europe where it set up head quarters in Shladming, Austria. In the true spirit of riches to rags, the BrenTopia Fashion Division found itself downsized to the following list of latest fashion gear:
Sweatshirts: 1
Jacket: 1
Socks: not enough
T-Shirts: 3
Shorts: 1
Pairs pants: 3
Boxers: 3
Pair shoes: 1
Hats: none
Formal anything: none
Hygiene equipment: toothbrush
Other Hygienic tools: none
Books: 3 (down from 7)
Yes, there was only one word to describe this struggling business: compact. Using their weakness as its strength, BrenTopia Fashion Division was the first to claim that its entire wardrobe (consisting of net gross approx 15$US) could easily fit into one 50-liter REI frame pack. However, after almost 8 months of facing constant rebuke from fellow competitors in the fashion business, the unthinkable happened. In a storm of Shekinah glory and pearly doves, 7 (a holy number) shirts and 4 sweatshirts floated down from the heavens and were graciously donated to the “Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too” fund—a fund founded by BrenTopia Travels Inc. itself. Who could be the messenger of such charitable donations? It came in that vast reservoir of apparel, that masterful fashion Houdini, Justin McNanfelt. O Sacrum convivium, ave Maria, sancti amos deum, Alleluia. Amen.
Thanks be to God.
If you too would like to donate to the Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too fund, send cash, check, money order, or Cows* to: brentsastarvingchild@feedthechildren.com
*Cows may be used as currency only for those who do not reside in 1st world nations. Holiday blackouts, restrictions, and meaningless government inspections/visas apply. Cows must be worth at least 2 live virgins.
Sweatshirts: 1
Jacket: 1
Socks: not enough
T-Shirts: 3
Shorts: 1
Pairs pants: 3
Boxers: 3
Pair shoes: 1
Hats: none
Formal anything: none
Hygiene equipment: toothbrush
Other Hygienic tools: none
Books: 3 (down from 7)
Yes, there was only one word to describe this struggling business: compact. Using their weakness as its strength, BrenTopia Fashion Division was the first to claim that its entire wardrobe (consisting of net gross approx 15$US) could easily fit into one 50-liter REI frame pack. However, after almost 8 months of facing constant rebuke from fellow competitors in the fashion business, the unthinkable happened. In a storm of Shekinah glory and pearly doves, 7 (a holy number) shirts and 4 sweatshirts floated down from the heavens and were graciously donated to the “Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too” fund—a fund founded by BrenTopia Travels Inc. itself. Who could be the messenger of such charitable donations? It came in that vast reservoir of apparel, that masterful fashion Houdini, Justin McNanfelt. O Sacrum convivium, ave Maria, sancti amos deum, Alleluia. Amen.
Thanks be to God.
If you too would like to donate to the Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too fund, send cash, check, money order, or Cows* to: brentsastarvingchild@feedthechildren.com
*Cows may be used as currency only for those who do not reside in 1st world nations. Holiday blackouts, restrictions, and meaningless government inspections/visas apply. Cows must be worth at least 2 live virgins.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
please remain seated
Musings on an airplane to Chicago
When I was young, I used to look forward to airplane rides as much as I used to look forward to going to amusement parks. They were exciting, dangerous, and cool looking. But in my more recent history I have come out of my idealistic love for airplanes and the truth of the matter is disillusioning. My many pilgrimages on to the “aero-plane” have convinced me that they are actually a form of torture designed to punish our technologically advanced society. Indeed, it is a true irony that the very technology we esteem so highly inflicts itself upon us spreading like the bubonic plague. Most people don’t realize this until they find themselves walking through metal detectors without socks, holding up their pants because uniformed people made them take thier belt off. This we hail as modern innovation? Back in the 1600’s walking places with pants at one’s shoeless feet was not considered proper, but now in the 21st century, this is not only common practice, but something we have been brainwashed to think is a “good thing to keep bad people out”.
The real form of torture comes not when you're waiting for the plane for 2 hours, or eating airplane food (which can be used as a flotation device incase of an emergency) no. The real torture my friends is babies. I am convinced the reason weapons aren't allowed on planes is for the protection of crying babies and their blessed parents who caused the little cuties to come about in the first place. Heck, I know if I had an AK-47, crying babies would no longer be an issue on planes.
When I was young, I used to look forward to airplane rides as much as I used to look forward to going to amusement parks. They were exciting, dangerous, and cool looking. But in my more recent history I have come out of my idealistic love for airplanes and the truth of the matter is disillusioning. My many pilgrimages on to the “aero-plane” have convinced me that they are actually a form of torture designed to punish our technologically advanced society. Indeed, it is a true irony that the very technology we esteem so highly inflicts itself upon us spreading like the bubonic plague. Most people don’t realize this until they find themselves walking through metal detectors without socks, holding up their pants because uniformed people made them take thier belt off. This we hail as modern innovation? Back in the 1600’s walking places with pants at one’s shoeless feet was not considered proper, but now in the 21st century, this is not only common practice, but something we have been brainwashed to think is a “good thing to keep bad people out”.
The real form of torture comes not when you're waiting for the plane for 2 hours, or eating airplane food (which can be used as a flotation device incase of an emergency) no. The real torture my friends is babies. I am convinced the reason weapons aren't allowed on planes is for the protection of crying babies and their blessed parents who caused the little cuties to come about in the first place. Heck, I know if I had an AK-47, crying babies would no longer be an issue on planes.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
the smell of pot
In all my travelings, hitchhikings in Europe, nights on the floors of air ports, and train travels there is one kind of person I can always trust to help me out. The pot-head. Today I thought I'd be adventurous and do something people don't even speak of around here, bike a long ways for non-recreational reasons. Destination: Trinity Western University. Distance: 17.33mi. Estimated duration: 33min by car (or "45min by bike". Who makes up those estimations anyways? Have they ever biked?). In all my bikings to airports, camps, and cities in Japan I have never undergone such a grueling bike ride. Fist, what's with the people that drive by and honk their horn? Is it an encouraging "keep on going"? or is it a, "get off the freaken road!"? As the honking went on, and after one mysterious motion in sign language depicting an upraised middle finger, I chose to believe that the honking of the horn was indicating something along the lines of an encouraging thumbs up.
After 1.5 hours of cars and trucks whizzing by so fast that their wind almost knocked me into the ditch on several occasions, and after 1.5 hours of biking on a road THAT WOULD NOT STAY LEVEL! (I used to think that the term "valley" meant a flat area of land, but now I see that it actually means "an area of land that is not a sharp pointy mountain"-an unusual occurrence in Canada. So unusual in fact, that they get over excited and think they have a valley. Well I think they need to visit Tokyo) I finally arrived at TWU sweaty, tired, and traumatized. The visit, scary. TWU looks like a daunting prison; it even has a little security post in the middle of the lanes on its driveway-just like military bases in Japan. By the time I was about to start biking back, it was dark and I didn't want to. And why has no one in this bloody country heard of trans-city buses? WHY?! Abbotsford is just one city away, you'd think they could afford a flippin bus!!! Despite the lack of trans-city buses, I decided to take a city bus as far as possible and then bike the rest of the way. Unmentionable thing #2 take a bus. And I tried to, but when I went up to put my bike on the bus bike rack, the bus driver honked at me (rude honk #5 of the day, not to mention at point blank range) and told me they can't put the bike rack down at night. So the bus drove off and it began to rain.
Upon girdling up my loins, sticking my chest out, and flipping the bus off after it left (sorry mom), I began the ride back. And after being honked at again I pulled off into a gas station to ask directions. The lady behind the desk couldn't believe that I was going to bike back in the rain at night, and after telling her about the honks, and the finger, I passionately proceeded to tell how I should be honking at them! THEY ARE THE ONES polluting the atmosphere THEY ARE THE ONES contributing to global warming THEY help Middle Eastern "terrorist" countries get rich! Heck, Saddam Hussein’s probably making prophet/liter gas sold! I SHOULD BE HONKING AT THEM for contributing to the axis of evil!! And I told that store lady how next time I go biking I'm going to bring an air horn just to spite cars! And I told her how if I had a car I would be driving it so they should shove their horns up their ear canals and shut up! Then after receiving a "maybe I should call security" look from the lady behind the counter, I walked out. And on the other side of the door, a beat up-looking SUV with a trailer and a guy hanging out the passenger door speaking the beautiful words "dude wanna ride? I heard you in the store". I proceeded to get in the truck and, after noticing it smelt kind of funny, listened to my savior talk about his relationship with pot. Apparently they are doing quite well together. The whole truck smelt of it.
It’s always those people on the fringes of society that are the most helpful. Maybe because they have nothing to lose, as opposed to rich Christians who's car seats might get dirty by picking some on up off the street. After the experience, I am a firm believer in people, not rich people, but normal people.
After 1.5 hours of cars and trucks whizzing by so fast that their wind almost knocked me into the ditch on several occasions, and after 1.5 hours of biking on a road THAT WOULD NOT STAY LEVEL! (I used to think that the term "valley" meant a flat area of land, but now I see that it actually means "an area of land that is not a sharp pointy mountain"-an unusual occurrence in Canada. So unusual in fact, that they get over excited and think they have a valley. Well I think they need to visit Tokyo) I finally arrived at TWU sweaty, tired, and traumatized. The visit, scary. TWU looks like a daunting prison; it even has a little security post in the middle of the lanes on its driveway-just like military bases in Japan. By the time I was about to start biking back, it was dark and I didn't want to. And why has no one in this bloody country heard of trans-city buses? WHY?! Abbotsford is just one city away, you'd think they could afford a flippin bus!!! Despite the lack of trans-city buses, I decided to take a city bus as far as possible and then bike the rest of the way. Unmentionable thing #2 take a bus. And I tried to, but when I went up to put my bike on the bus bike rack, the bus driver honked at me (rude honk #5 of the day, not to mention at point blank range) and told me they can't put the bike rack down at night. So the bus drove off and it began to rain.
Upon girdling up my loins, sticking my chest out, and flipping the bus off after it left (sorry mom), I began the ride back. And after being honked at again I pulled off into a gas station to ask directions. The lady behind the desk couldn't believe that I was going to bike back in the rain at night, and after telling her about the honks, and the finger, I passionately proceeded to tell how I should be honking at them! THEY ARE THE ONES polluting the atmosphere THEY ARE THE ONES contributing to global warming THEY help Middle Eastern "terrorist" countries get rich! Heck, Saddam Hussein’s probably making prophet/liter gas sold! I SHOULD BE HONKING AT THEM for contributing to the axis of evil!! And I told that store lady how next time I go biking I'm going to bring an air horn just to spite cars! And I told her how if I had a car I would be driving it so they should shove their horns up their ear canals and shut up! Then after receiving a "maybe I should call security" look from the lady behind the counter, I walked out. And on the other side of the door, a beat up-looking SUV with a trailer and a guy hanging out the passenger door speaking the beautiful words "dude wanna ride? I heard you in the store". I proceeded to get in the truck and, after noticing it smelt kind of funny, listened to my savior talk about his relationship with pot. Apparently they are doing quite well together. The whole truck smelt of it.
It’s always those people on the fringes of society that are the most helpful. Maybe because they have nothing to lose, as opposed to rich Christians who's car seats might get dirty by picking some on up off the street. After the experience, I am a firm believer in people, not rich people, but normal people.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
north face corset
What is called the "outdoors industry" seems to be just a bunch of insecure people who, because they have no particular skill in normal society, escape to the outdoors in order to stop that tingling feeling in their stomachs of inadequacy. They immerse themselves in the finest gear and brands-and by these standards hinge the value and popularity of each outdoorsman. When not outdoors, the outdoors man must flaunt various brands and attitudes in order to convince himself that he has worth; this can be done by demonstrating the following: north face soft shells, nalgine bottles complete with token beaner (attached to your belt loop), hair length, and the ability to belittle other less qualified outdoors people. As much as possible talk about how skilled you are and stay as far away as possible from being tested if what you say is actually true-this may reveal imperfection = inadequacy = no identity. Some sacrifices must be undertaken to prove that you actually do have a skill—you must wear as much outdoor gear as possible (preferably North Face and vibrum soled boots) even when ridiculously unnecessary and impractical. Fortunately for us, corsets are no longer in style in the outdoors industry, or else we'd have to be wearing those too.
Sometimes I think I expect too much from people.
Sometimes I think I expect too much from people.
Friday, November 11, 2005
brentagorium theorem
It seems I have stumbled upon a great travesty in this world. And the travesty is this: if one wants money, it seems you have to do the things you don’t want to do (i.e. work a sucky job). If you do the things you want to do (i.e. work a sweet job), you won’t get money. but if money = fun then perhaps its worth doing things you don’t want to do in order to facilitate doing the things you want to do in the future.
Another mathematical money theorem I have developed (which in Latin is called the “Brentagorium theorem ", similar, but unlike the Pathagorium theorem which was developed by the famous mathematician, Pathog, which is Latin for "The feeling, as of sympathy or pity, so aroused". May his soul rest in peace) goes like this: the more money you have, the more money you have. The less money you have, the less money you have.
And to all you college kids out there who have your parents paying your way through college-a special note: blessings, trinities, and halo's be upon your heads my children, for your end is surely just around the corner in the form of my fist. Some may wonder what may have aroused these feelings in me. Well let me tell you, the other day I was griping as usual at the cafeteria food (not because its bad, just because its the cool thing to do) saying that I cant believe I'm paying money to be ripped by the monopoly that is the caf (a semi-intellectual and original complaint I thought). So the kid I was talking to replied by casually, leisurely, nonchalantly stating that, "But I don’t mind cuz my parents are paying for it anyway”. In fact, he doesn't mind, because it is not him who pays for the food, but his parents-and the same for all his classes! And that my friends, is called natural selection. Some people have rich parents and some people have rad parents. Naturally, I have selected the latter.
Another mathematical money theorem I have developed (which in Latin is called the “Brentagorium theorem ", similar, but unlike the Pathagorium theorem which was developed by the famous mathematician, Pathog, which is Latin for "The feeling, as of sympathy or pity, so aroused". May his soul rest in peace) goes like this: the more money you have, the more money you have. The less money you have, the less money you have.
And to all you college kids out there who have your parents paying your way through college-a special note: blessings, trinities, and halo's be upon your heads my children, for your end is surely just around the corner in the form of my fist. Some may wonder what may have aroused these feelings in me. Well let me tell you, the other day I was griping as usual at the cafeteria food (not because its bad, just because its the cool thing to do) saying that I cant believe I'm paying money to be ripped by the monopoly that is the caf (a semi-intellectual and original complaint I thought). So the kid I was talking to replied by casually, leisurely, nonchalantly stating that, "But I don’t mind cuz my parents are paying for it anyway”. In fact, he doesn't mind, because it is not him who pays for the food, but his parents-and the same for all his classes! And that my friends, is called natural selection. Some people have rich parents and some people have rad parents. Naturally, I have selected the latter.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
kingdom of blog
A time is coming and has now come when the condescending voices of my siblings shall no longer ring in my ears, when past acquaintances will not ridicule me in their blogs, no longer will they have an excuse not to know what is happening in my life! No longer shall you roll in cesspools if ignorance and fecal matter! NO! the time is coming and has now come when dandelions like little giddy children on the swings do play, when grand piano’s fall on the heads of the teletubbies, when the beer flows like wine and babies no longer cry on airplanes! YES! I…AM…BLOG! Fear not oh little ones, fear not, uncle brent shall be to you no harm. Of fear be thou not, for mine is the kingdom of blog for ever and ever.
And in other news, as many of you know I am in a program at college called OL (which is short for Outdoor Leadership). Its basically a major at college where we’re taught to be out door guides, we do all kinds of 5 day and 1 day trips with activities ranging from canoeing to ski touring. So last week my team and I (alpha team) which consists of 8 people went out on a canoe trip-and nothing really worth mentioning happened until the last night. Its always the a night.
The preface: my tent was a tarp in the shape of a pyramid, it had one pole up the middle and the rest of the tarp was pegged down with chopsticks (the night before I made sushi for dinner, and as we forgot the tent pegs, chopsticks seemed like the most logical course of action). The problem: the last night we had the most freakish windstorm I’ve ever encountered. The wind would first come from behind-like clockwork we could hear it blasting through the trees in the distance speeding its way over to us. And when the wind finally hit, it would effectively turn our pyramid, chopstick held, one-pole tent into a parachute-that is, it would have-save for the desperate efforts of the tents inhabitants yelling and holding down various corners of the tent as tree branches rained down on us. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Then we would put the tent back on its chopsticks, pray the storm was over, and fall asleep. Now so far there has been nothing freakish-no. but the freakeshness was that 5 minutes later the wind would come again except this time from the opposite direction. And we did the usual routine of holding down the tent, yelling etc. and then falling asleep for 5 minutes until the process repeats itself over and over. After about 10 of these cycles I was done with it. I decided to steal real pegs from the leaders tent to replace our chopsticks with. At about 1:30am I drag myself out of the pyramid tarp, and commence the night walk over to the leaders tent. Preface: 1. We had a camp fire the night before, which was still going because a team member was tending to it. 2 This member is EXTREMELY jumpy 3. This person spent a considerable amount of time in the US army. 4. Freakishly windy nights make people jumpy. Problem: 1 I approach this person from behind 2 I don’t know that he’s extremely jumpy 3. Without the intention to startle, I whisper his name 1ft behind him. Freakish occurrence number tow: He turns around and starts socking me in the face. Oh no, not just once, multiple times, and he did not desist after the fist 10 seconds, nor did he desist while I was yelling at him reminding him of who I was and that we’ve known each other for 2 months. After about 15 seconds of this he finally snaps out of the trance apologizes, pats my back and walks off. I’m left standing mouth agape, wondering if what just happened happened. Later he “jokingly” states that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife on him. A good one! MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE A FREAKEN COMMEDIAN FOOL!
And in other news, as many of you know I am in a program at college called OL (which is short for Outdoor Leadership). Its basically a major at college where we’re taught to be out door guides, we do all kinds of 5 day and 1 day trips with activities ranging from canoeing to ski touring. So last week my team and I (alpha team) which consists of 8 people went out on a canoe trip-and nothing really worth mentioning happened until the last night. Its always the a night.
The preface: my tent was a tarp in the shape of a pyramid, it had one pole up the middle and the rest of the tarp was pegged down with chopsticks (the night before I made sushi for dinner, and as we forgot the tent pegs, chopsticks seemed like the most logical course of action). The problem: the last night we had the most freakish windstorm I’ve ever encountered. The wind would first come from behind-like clockwork we could hear it blasting through the trees in the distance speeding its way over to us. And when the wind finally hit, it would effectively turn our pyramid, chopstick held, one-pole tent into a parachute-that is, it would have-save for the desperate efforts of the tents inhabitants yelling and holding down various corners of the tent as tree branches rained down on us. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Then we would put the tent back on its chopsticks, pray the storm was over, and fall asleep. Now so far there has been nothing freakish-no. but the freakeshness was that 5 minutes later the wind would come again except this time from the opposite direction. And we did the usual routine of holding down the tent, yelling etc. and then falling asleep for 5 minutes until the process repeats itself over and over. After about 10 of these cycles I was done with it. I decided to steal real pegs from the leaders tent to replace our chopsticks with. At about 1:30am I drag myself out of the pyramid tarp, and commence the night walk over to the leaders tent. Preface: 1. We had a camp fire the night before, which was still going because a team member was tending to it. 2 This member is EXTREMELY jumpy 3. This person spent a considerable amount of time in the US army. 4. Freakishly windy nights make people jumpy. Problem: 1 I approach this person from behind 2 I don’t know that he’s extremely jumpy 3. Without the intention to startle, I whisper his name 1ft behind him. Freakish occurrence number tow: He turns around and starts socking me in the face. Oh no, not just once, multiple times, and he did not desist after the fist 10 seconds, nor did he desist while I was yelling at him reminding him of who I was and that we’ve known each other for 2 months. After about 15 seconds of this he finally snaps out of the trance apologizes, pats my back and walks off. I’m left standing mouth agape, wondering if what just happened happened. Later he “jokingly” states that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife on him. A good one! MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE A FREAKEN COMMEDIAN FOOL!
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