Ok, after some real difficulties with my account it seems I am back in the game, ready to titillate your senses with some claptrap that I like to call "writing".
There have been so many things I have wanted to write about, but technology's cockblock (writer's block-block?), coupled with keeping busy with a book and a website (oh, you know, no big deal) has kept my fingers busy. Even if the mountain and the snow hasn't got me moving... But that's another story. I will strive to remember the various topics over the next few days.
One thing I did want to start with was the X-games: specifically, the Mark McMorris/Shaun White "feud". I say this with more than a hint of irony.
New-ish snowsport site 33mag.com highlighted the issue in this article. To sum up, it shows how ESPN is trying to sensationalise a few (true) comments by up-and-comer 'Skatch native Mark McMorris said in an interview about White. Now, most of you that know me well know that i have some reservations about the Flying Twatmato. Hell, you build me my own halfpipe and give me $10mill, I'll be the best at it too. For $10mill, I'll be the best at just about anything, if I'm frank. I'm not dissing his talent: he has upped the game based solely on his discipline, but there are certain things that need to be considered. Shaun has become no different than any Hollywood superstar, surrounded by YesMen and thriving on their own gargantuan ego. McMorris mentions that White doesn't really hang with the other competitors, does his own thing. He's beginning to sound more and more like a recluse - think Carrie Fisher over Michael Jackson (though there is that "face mask" thing...)
But, back to my point. Even though Mark brings up some valid points, it's hardly seeds for "rivalry." If ESPN had any concept of the culture, the one I voluntarily choose to live in, it's the total lack of rivalry. It's the shared passion of getting up and doing your thing, be it rails and jumps, trees, backcountry, or speeding. One plank or two planks, as long as you're having fun, staying safe, and making stories for the bar afterwards. I have one or two people in town that I think are jerks, or just obnoxious, but if I see them on the hill, they're getting a shout out and a high five just like anyone else. Maybe even a hug if we just shredded the same waist deep powder!
That's my point. We're all doing what we love, whether you're getting mad sponsorship or just doing it to blow the hangover away. (Sometimes both...) ESPN has no idea what they're talking about: it's just about making it interesting to some poor kid in Nebraska. Ignore the bullshit, Ned (I'm sorry, Nebraska Ned, it was the first name that came to mind). Just watch these guys do something incredible: triple-god-damn-corks.
That's all I have to say about that.
By The Way: I'm growing a beard. For an article. It's awesome. (Next I might ask them if I can do an article on strippers.) Follow @thebrologboys and get ready to vote on my face!
Showing posts with label Whistler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whistler. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Signs the Future is Bright
Signs the future is Bright
Last week, I worked as a volunteer for a new annual Family Day for Whistler Blackcomb, sponsored by Nintendo. My station was the Canadian Avalanche Rescue Dog Association, and their event was a demonstration on how these highly intelligent dogs are able to find people buried in an avalanche faster than the most modern technology we as humans can use.
One lucky kid was picked from the audience and “buried” in one of 3 snow caves, with the help of a ski patroller (we’ll call him Andy). While Jen, the host, explained what was going on, answered questions, and distracted her dog from seeing where the kid was hidden, Andy buried him and came back to the group. Anyway, the dog found him, we all cheered, and Jen thanked everyone for coming to see the show. Just then, the child tapped Jen and said he had seen Andy drop $10 while he was digging, and could she give it back to him please?
Later that day, at work, 2 sisters came into my restaurant and sat at the bar. They were my only customers, the older about 13, the younger about 10 or 11, and I was able to carry on a distinguished conversation with them while Shrek played on the tv (I had actually put it on before the kids got there). While the younger didn’t talk much – I suspect she was just shy – I really enjoyed meeting these Portland kids, they restored my faith in the future of humanity. I bet they listen to Led Zeppelin.
Then last night, again at my restaurant, was a quiet one for service (as Mondays are wont to be) when a 13-top (that is, 13 people in the party) walked in – 6 adults, 7 kids, 0 reservation. At first I’ll confess I was filled with dread ; groups can be a hassle; that’s where the auto gratuity was borne of. There’s no [point running around for a big tables every whim only to get stiffed on a huge bill (this table’s was almost $450, and they didn’t even have dessert). Furthermore, kids can be bratty, and taking care of 7 of them no matter how temporarily, makes me feel like I need a teacher’s diploma.
Fortunately, they were all fantastic kids. The family was from Mexico and the kids spoke better English than I speak Spanish. Every time I filled their water glasses, brought them their pop or dinner I was greeted with 7 thank-yous. I even helped them with a game of Hangman – in English – when the girl didn’t know how to spell her word. They were even sitting at a separate table, something I think all three parties enjoyed (including myself). The adults were just as good, but you don’t get a gold star for doing what you’re supposed to.
Just makes me think that maybe this world won’t descend into anarchy when people still remember to say please and thank you.
Last week, I worked as a volunteer for a new annual Family Day for Whistler Blackcomb, sponsored by Nintendo. My station was the Canadian Avalanche Rescue Dog Association, and their event was a demonstration on how these highly intelligent dogs are able to find people buried in an avalanche faster than the most modern technology we as humans can use.
One lucky kid was picked from the audience and “buried” in one of 3 snow caves, with the help of a ski patroller (we’ll call him Andy). While Jen, the host, explained what was going on, answered questions, and distracted her dog from seeing where the kid was hidden, Andy buried him and came back to the group. Anyway, the dog found him, we all cheered, and Jen thanked everyone for coming to see the show. Just then, the child tapped Jen and said he had seen Andy drop $10 while he was digging, and could she give it back to him please?
Later that day, at work, 2 sisters came into my restaurant and sat at the bar. They were my only customers, the older about 13, the younger about 10 or 11, and I was able to carry on a distinguished conversation with them while Shrek played on the tv (I had actually put it on before the kids got there). While the younger didn’t talk much – I suspect she was just shy – I really enjoyed meeting these Portland kids, they restored my faith in the future of humanity. I bet they listen to Led Zeppelin.
Then last night, again at my restaurant, was a quiet one for service (as Mondays are wont to be) when a 13-top (that is, 13 people in the party) walked in – 6 adults, 7 kids, 0 reservation. At first I’ll confess I was filled with dread ; groups can be a hassle; that’s where the auto gratuity was borne of. There’s no [point running around for a big tables every whim only to get stiffed on a huge bill (this table’s was almost $450, and they didn’t even have dessert). Furthermore, kids can be bratty, and taking care of 7 of them no matter how temporarily, makes me feel like I need a teacher’s diploma.
Fortunately, they were all fantastic kids. The family was from Mexico and the kids spoke better English than I speak Spanish. Every time I filled their water glasses, brought them their pop or dinner I was greeted with 7 thank-yous. I even helped them with a game of Hangman – in English – when the girl didn’t know how to spell her word. They were even sitting at a separate table, something I think all three parties enjoyed (including myself). The adults were just as good, but you don’t get a gold star for doing what you’re supposed to.
Just makes me think that maybe this world won’t descend into anarchy when people still remember to say please and thank you.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Perfect Day
Waking up at around 8am feeling like you could run a marathon. No fogginess to speak of, not in your head, not outside. It’s a beautiful sunny day, with just enough chill in the air to blow the cobwebs out of your lungs.
On the way to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Damn. You lost a little bit of weight. Those pyjama bottoms are sitting right where you want them to.
The perfect shower, it goes to exactly the right temperature. Warm enough to accentuate the under-the-covers glow you’re still rocking, but not so warm that you never want to leave. You have a new… what are those things called that you put soap on and wash with? Those poofy things. A new one of those, and it’s like being scrubbed by your parents when you were a kid and the tub was a playground, and they just want to make sure you’re clean, because Lord knows Grandma’s gonna check the back of your neck.
Great shave, no nicks. You have the skin of a 12 year old.
Turn on the radio and there it is. Fuckin' Everlong. If you ever meet someone that doesn’t like that track, destroy him. He’s a robot.
Clean t-shirt, comfy pair of jeans. Those sunglasses that make you look and feel like a boss.
Next track: Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love, a song that just makes you sing along.
Catchin up with your buddies for breakfast. On your way, you get checked out. A blatant leer, too. Someone won money on the game last night, so they buy you a Caesar.
After breakfast, you bump into your ex in the street. She isn’t as hot as you remember. You wonder why it took you so long to get over her. That, alone, is worth the mental fist bump with yourself. And you can’t have a good day without the Beatles, specifically Rubber Soul’s I’m Looking Through You. It’s got enough simple swagger to make walking down the street feel fantastic.
A day off from work. All you have to do is nothing. Anything. Let’s go get drunk together. Let’s not get out of sweatpants all day. Let’s just go hang out in the arcade and play House of the Dead. Thanks to the extension of adolescence, it’s totally cool to loiter again.
Finish off this perfect day with a beer, the hockey (your team won, fuck yes.) Lupe Fiasco’s Kick Push soundtracks your walk home. Nothing gets in your way, you feel unstoppable. Back to bed.
You just won Life.
On the way to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Damn. You lost a little bit of weight. Those pyjama bottoms are sitting right where you want them to.
The perfect shower, it goes to exactly the right temperature. Warm enough to accentuate the under-the-covers glow you’re still rocking, but not so warm that you never want to leave. You have a new… what are those things called that you put soap on and wash with? Those poofy things. A new one of those, and it’s like being scrubbed by your parents when you were a kid and the tub was a playground, and they just want to make sure you’re clean, because Lord knows Grandma’s gonna check the back of your neck.
Great shave, no nicks. You have the skin of a 12 year old.
Turn on the radio and there it is. Fuckin' Everlong. If you ever meet someone that doesn’t like that track, destroy him. He’s a robot.
Clean t-shirt, comfy pair of jeans. Those sunglasses that make you look and feel like a boss.
Next track: Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love, a song that just makes you sing along.
Catchin up with your buddies for breakfast. On your way, you get checked out. A blatant leer, too. Someone won money on the game last night, so they buy you a Caesar.
After breakfast, you bump into your ex in the street. She isn’t as hot as you remember. You wonder why it took you so long to get over her. That, alone, is worth the mental fist bump with yourself. And you can’t have a good day without the Beatles, specifically Rubber Soul’s I’m Looking Through You. It’s got enough simple swagger to make walking down the street feel fantastic.
A day off from work. All you have to do is nothing. Anything. Let’s go get drunk together. Let’s not get out of sweatpants all day. Let’s just go hang out in the arcade and play House of the Dead. Thanks to the extension of adolescence, it’s totally cool to loiter again.
Finish off this perfect day with a beer, the hockey (your team won, fuck yes.) Lupe Fiasco’s Kick Push soundtracks your walk home. Nothing gets in your way, you feel unstoppable. Back to bed.
You just won Life.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thoughts on Burke
Lately, there's been a lot of talk on the hockey front in regard to concussions, and while this certainly is an important topic of discussion, there's something more pressing to discuss.
This week marked the passing of a living legend, a pioneer in her field, and an incredible athlete. Sarah Burke was just a year older than I, and her sudden and unfortunate death yesterday has sent shockwaves through Whistler, and the skiing community at large. Last week, she was put into a medically induced coma after a particularly horrific crash in Salt Lake City, UT, and though doctor's were able to contain the ruptured vertebral artery, there was irreversible damage done to her brain. Had she survived, there is no question that she wouldn't be the same.
Granted, the circumstances were exceptional, competing in an event by Monster Energy. Nonetheless, it highlights the importance of safety on the hill. Yet today, after just a couple of runs on Blackcomb, I noticed the continuation of a particularly scary trend.
WHAT THE HELL IS WITH PEOPLE NOT DOING THEIR HELMETS UP?!
Seriously. It's all these d-bags in the park who think they're invincible. I wear a helmet all the time, a Sandbox helmet with a small brim. One time I was riding from my house to the chair and the damn thing flew off. Like, just lifted off my head. I need that damn strap. Never mind that this season I have sustained both major whiplash and a minor concussion (separate events). And I was wearing my helmet.
Everyone, it seems, has a helmet on the hill; not everyone is keen to fasten the strap. It's exactly the same as a seatbelt: it's there for a reason. Why not just get rid of it altogether? Oh right. "Sponsorship" stickers. Look, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you aren't that good. And if you were, you'd be playing safe.
You don't do it up because you don't fall? Alright, fuck you. You aren't trying hard enough. And rails hurt like a sonovabitch when you hit it with your head.
Hopefully, Sarah's passing will raise a lot of concerns for skiers and snowboarders. I would love to see a helmet mandatory WB, and fines for incorrect use. But hey, that's just me.
So long, Sarah. This town has lost one of its heroes... again.
This week marked the passing of a living legend, a pioneer in her field, and an incredible athlete. Sarah Burke was just a year older than I, and her sudden and unfortunate death yesterday has sent shockwaves through Whistler, and the skiing community at large. Last week, she was put into a medically induced coma after a particularly horrific crash in Salt Lake City, UT, and though doctor's were able to contain the ruptured vertebral artery, there was irreversible damage done to her brain. Had she survived, there is no question that she wouldn't be the same.
Granted, the circumstances were exceptional, competing in an event by Monster Energy. Nonetheless, it highlights the importance of safety on the hill. Yet today, after just a couple of runs on Blackcomb, I noticed the continuation of a particularly scary trend.
WHAT THE HELL IS WITH PEOPLE NOT DOING THEIR HELMETS UP?!
Seriously. It's all these d-bags in the park who think they're invincible. I wear a helmet all the time, a Sandbox helmet with a small brim. One time I was riding from my house to the chair and the damn thing flew off. Like, just lifted off my head. I need that damn strap. Never mind that this season I have sustained both major whiplash and a minor concussion (separate events). And I was wearing my helmet.
Everyone, it seems, has a helmet on the hill; not everyone is keen to fasten the strap. It's exactly the same as a seatbelt: it's there for a reason. Why not just get rid of it altogether? Oh right. "Sponsorship" stickers. Look, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you aren't that good. And if you were, you'd be playing safe.
You don't do it up because you don't fall? Alright, fuck you. You aren't trying hard enough. And rails hurt like a sonovabitch when you hit it with your head.
Hopefully, Sarah's passing will raise a lot of concerns for skiers and snowboarders. I would love to see a helmet mandatory WB, and fines for incorrect use. But hey, that's just me.
So long, Sarah. This town has lost one of its heroes... again.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Happy 2012, here's to the end of the world.
Well, what a Christmas holiday, or rather lack of. I have worked in one way or another since Dec. 21st, and now, JAnuary 6th, I have the night off. I really shouldn't do anything, as 1) I have friends from Vancouver heading up tomorrow looking to party, and 2) my pops gets here on Sunday for a week, and I'll need some money for that. But hey, I'm not going to meet exciting people in my living room!
Weather wise, La Nina is taking her sweet time... Just like a woman, to think it's totally fine to show up late to the party. But, slowly and surely, we're getting the snow. About time too; if I don't get into the steep stuff soon, I'm liable to really hurt myself by skiing recklessly. Since Christmas, I've sustained a minor concussion, severe whiplash, and today I shoulder checked a tree. To cut a long story short, I need some fucking powder.
Let's see. WhistlerisAwesome.com was voted Whistler's Best Website of 2011... Oh! And I wrote a Top Ten Albums of 2011 for iPartyinWhistler.com so when that gets posted you should check that out. But I don't have it yet.
That's pretty much it.
Check out Freerice.com, and feed some people. While you learn new words. It's win win.
*Mic Drop*
Weather wise, La Nina is taking her sweet time... Just like a woman, to think it's totally fine to show up late to the party. But, slowly and surely, we're getting the snow. About time too; if I don't get into the steep stuff soon, I'm liable to really hurt myself by skiing recklessly. Since Christmas, I've sustained a minor concussion, severe whiplash, and today I shoulder checked a tree. To cut a long story short, I need some fucking powder.
Let's see. WhistlerisAwesome.com was voted Whistler's Best Website of 2011... Oh! And I wrote a Top Ten Albums of 2011 for iPartyinWhistler.com so when that gets posted you should check that out. But I don't have it yet.
That's pretty much it.
Check out Freerice.com, and feed some people. While you learn new words. It's win win.
*Mic Drop*
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
And so it is...
I didn't think I'd be writing another one of these so soon...
Months ago, I wrote about the tragedy of one of Whistler's most vivacious young people, and her decision to take her life. It pains me to say that, this Christmas season, we lost another one by their own hand. Once again, I didn't know him, but by all accounts, he was a great guy, funny, the person to turn to when you needed a hug, and a hell of a softball pitcher. Over the last couple of days I've spoken to many of his friends, and a gamut of emotion are running through the restaurants and (more regularly) bars: sadness, shock, anger, disgust, guilt. I'm not going to retread any ground here about the senselessness of his fatal actions, but I will say this.
Despite our fun-loving lifestyle, Whistler can be difficult. Some of us aren't sure when the next big payday is going to be, some of us can't stand to see our ex traipsing around town with their new flame, some of us just feel a little lonely, particularly around the holidays. I will never know what Brent was going through that felt he had to do what he did, but I can understand that the weight of the world was bearing down on him.
To my friends, I hope you feel that you can talk to someone, anyone, if things are looking bleak. You'd be surprised where the compassion comes from; real friends won't judge, and no one can help you when you're gone. We're all in this show together, and we need our Safety Nets to keep us out of the mud and elephant shit on the circus floor. With luck and awareness, I won't have to say goodbye to any of you after the fact, just as I know you won't have to say goodbye to me.
Keep shreddin'.
Months ago, I wrote about the tragedy of one of Whistler's most vivacious young people, and her decision to take her life. It pains me to say that, this Christmas season, we lost another one by their own hand. Once again, I didn't know him, but by all accounts, he was a great guy, funny, the person to turn to when you needed a hug, and a hell of a softball pitcher. Over the last couple of days I've spoken to many of his friends, and a gamut of emotion are running through the restaurants and (more regularly) bars: sadness, shock, anger, disgust, guilt. I'm not going to retread any ground here about the senselessness of his fatal actions, but I will say this.
Despite our fun-loving lifestyle, Whistler can be difficult. Some of us aren't sure when the next big payday is going to be, some of us can't stand to see our ex traipsing around town with their new flame, some of us just feel a little lonely, particularly around the holidays. I will never know what Brent was going through that felt he had to do what he did, but I can understand that the weight of the world was bearing down on him.
To my friends, I hope you feel that you can talk to someone, anyone, if things are looking bleak. You'd be surprised where the compassion comes from; real friends won't judge, and no one can help you when you're gone. We're all in this show together, and we need our Safety Nets to keep us out of the mud and elephant shit on the circus floor. With luck and awareness, I won't have to say goodbye to any of you after the fact, just as I know you won't have to say goodbye to me.
Keep shreddin'.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Do I drink when I write, or write when I drink? One suggests that I can't "express myself" in the real (read: sober) world. The other is merely a testament to the stereotype of writing. Hemingway would certainly give me a nod; the man has countless drinks named after him, and he shot himself when he stopped drinking.
Man, that guy could write. He's not for everyone, because his apparent distaste for full stops and his love of the word "and" makes it hard going to read, let alone study. But nevermind. It just feels like, when I'm really 'working', I should have some brown liquor in a glass in front of me, perhaps with some jazz or Sinatra playing.
Such is the life of the wordy. Musing becomes an everyday part of life. Merely considering the infinite "what if?"s can become a full time occupation.
What if I talk to this girl in the grocery store? Where would that conversation lead to?
What if I had sat on the chairlift with some strangers, instead of taking my own chair up? Who knows what would have come about?
What if I choose to stay late at work? What if the love of my life walks in? What if tonight, the night I stay in, turns out to be the best night I ever could have had? What if I bump into Josh Sherry, that guy from elementary school I haven't seen since 1997?
The possibilities are endless. The trick is to follow up on that imagination, and to monitor it. It's why I try not to say no to anything. Within reason; I'm not of the murdering state of mind.
Oh, and apparently it's Christmas soon. I'm going to front the charge for a Local's Christmas, JANUARY 25th. We all have some money, and everything is cheaper because it's post Christmas sales all up in the house, not to mention that Jan. 25th is a wednesday and probably gonna be quiet at your job so you should just drink cheap eggnog and enjoy the non-holiday warmth. Oh, and advent calendars are SUPER cheap.
But I can't do it alone. I need your help. Share the hell out of this post if you read it. Send it to 10 friends: 5 you see on a regular basis, and 5 randoms from your Facebook that you haven't talked to in a while. To the people reading this as a recommendation from a friend: please do the same. Brother needs recognition, and I think this is the way forward.
I'll leave you with this quote from Ernie: If the book is good, is about something that you know, and is truly written, and reading it over you see that this is so, you can let the boys yip and the noise will have that pleasant sound coyotes make on a very cold night when they are out in the snow and you are in your own cabin that you have built or paid for with your work.
Man, that guy could write. He's not for everyone, because his apparent distaste for full stops and his love of the word "and" makes it hard going to read, let alone study. But nevermind. It just feels like, when I'm really 'working', I should have some brown liquor in a glass in front of me, perhaps with some jazz or Sinatra playing.
Such is the life of the wordy. Musing becomes an everyday part of life. Merely considering the infinite "what if?"s can become a full time occupation.
What if I talk to this girl in the grocery store? Where would that conversation lead to?
What if I had sat on the chairlift with some strangers, instead of taking my own chair up? Who knows what would have come about?
What if I choose to stay late at work? What if the love of my life walks in? What if tonight, the night I stay in, turns out to be the best night I ever could have had? What if I bump into Josh Sherry, that guy from elementary school I haven't seen since 1997?
The possibilities are endless. The trick is to follow up on that imagination, and to monitor it. It's why I try not to say no to anything. Within reason; I'm not of the murdering state of mind.
Oh, and apparently it's Christmas soon. I'm going to front the charge for a Local's Christmas, JANUARY 25th. We all have some money, and everything is cheaper because it's post Christmas sales all up in the house, not to mention that Jan. 25th is a wednesday and probably gonna be quiet at your job so you should just drink cheap eggnog and enjoy the non-holiday warmth. Oh, and advent calendars are SUPER cheap.
But I can't do it alone. I need your help. Share the hell out of this post if you read it. Send it to 10 friends: 5 you see on a regular basis, and 5 randoms from your Facebook that you haven't talked to in a while. To the people reading this as a recommendation from a friend: please do the same. Brother needs recognition, and I think this is the way forward.
I'll leave you with this quote from Ernie: If the book is good, is about something that you know, and is truly written, and reading it over you see that this is so, you can let the boys yip and the noise will have that pleasant sound coyotes make on a very cold night when they are out in the snow and you are in your own cabin that you have built or paid for with your work.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Balancing Act
Spoiler Alert: this could get whiny.
Someone asked me the other day if I believe in karma. Now I don't think I do, though I understand the premise. If you're nice to people, then nice things will happen for you. Much like a bank loan, when you give away positive... *sigh* energy... then it eventually returns with interest. This would be hunky dory except for the minor issue that there are some people that don't believe it. Not only that, they don't believe in it, AND they don't see anything wrong with being total dicks to everyone (something that separates me from them.) I'm a good guy because it's morally right, which could be argued is better than karmic belief because I'm not doing it in the hope that good things will happen to me, I just hope that whatever I can do will help someone else have a nicer day. Let's face it, it's always a good feeling when your wallet is returned, cash and cards intact, after you left it on the bus, or when, after a long day at work, someone offers you the comfy seat on the couch.
No, what I believe in is something a little different. And I don't know if it happens to other people, but let me run it past you. Consider a number of glasses, all empty, and one giant jug of water. The glasses represent different areas of your life (friends, work, money, romance, etc) and the water that is about to be poured into these hypothetical receptacles represents how much or how little each is going on in your life. For example, lately, my Money and Job glasses have been drying up, with the Girl glass near on full. The other day though, the Girl in question called it off, and just like magic, my hours (and eventually money) raised to the point of overflowing.
The trick is to find a happy medium between all glasses, to get the best possible combination so you can have a Happiness Drink for the rest of your life (or at least until another tap gets turned on, or the glasses get bigger... but I think my metaphor is starting to fall apart.)
My point being: I don't want to have it all, I just want enough of a little bit. This town is forever changing, and the only stability is the knowledge that nothing is permanent. The one thing that has kept me going during the latest financially meagre weeks is that it seems everyone's Dollar Glass is empty. Now, it seems everyone has won the lottery, and I'm the unlucky sonovabitch that didn't buy a ticket.
Ah well. Stay thirsty, my friends.
Someone asked me the other day if I believe in karma. Now I don't think I do, though I understand the premise. If you're nice to people, then nice things will happen for you. Much like a bank loan, when you give away positive... *sigh* energy... then it eventually returns with interest. This would be hunky dory except for the minor issue that there are some people that don't believe it. Not only that, they don't believe in it, AND they don't see anything wrong with being total dicks to everyone (something that separates me from them.) I'm a good guy because it's morally right, which could be argued is better than karmic belief because I'm not doing it in the hope that good things will happen to me, I just hope that whatever I can do will help someone else have a nicer day. Let's face it, it's always a good feeling when your wallet is returned, cash and cards intact, after you left it on the bus, or when, after a long day at work, someone offers you the comfy seat on the couch.
No, what I believe in is something a little different. And I don't know if it happens to other people, but let me run it past you. Consider a number of glasses, all empty, and one giant jug of water. The glasses represent different areas of your life (friends, work, money, romance, etc) and the water that is about to be poured into these hypothetical receptacles represents how much or how little each is going on in your life. For example, lately, my Money and Job glasses have been drying up, with the Girl glass near on full. The other day though, the Girl in question called it off, and just like magic, my hours (and eventually money) raised to the point of overflowing.
The trick is to find a happy medium between all glasses, to get the best possible combination so you can have a Happiness Drink for the rest of your life (or at least until another tap gets turned on, or the glasses get bigger... but I think my metaphor is starting to fall apart.)
My point being: I don't want to have it all, I just want enough of a little bit. This town is forever changing, and the only stability is the knowledge that nothing is permanent. The one thing that has kept me going during the latest financially meagre weeks is that it seems everyone's Dollar Glass is empty. Now, it seems everyone has won the lottery, and I'm the unlucky sonovabitch that didn't buy a ticket.
Ah well. Stay thirsty, my friends.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Voting of a different variety!
It's that time of year again. The Best of Whistler is now available online (I'd link to it but I've already completed my votes so it just shows a Thank You Message). And what a year to be reviewing; I had some serious problems choosing just one Party of the year, for example. Anyway, as I'm writing for Whistler is Awesome, and iPartyinWhistler, I'd love it if you consider either of those as Best Website. Oh, look at that, there's a "Best Writer" section just beneath... I'll hug you and give you Oreos!
In keeping with tradition, I woke early for the opening day of Blackcomb, and my favourite mountain did not disappoint. We've almost hit 3 metres cumulative already, and it isn't even December! Shaping up to be a great season.
Finally, tomorrow I can shave my face. I actually enjoy having a moustache, but I find that visitors don't take me seriously. So that's that. If you want to donate, go to http://mobro.co/aaronpeart/d and aforementioned hugs and Oreos will also pertain here.
That's it for now I think. Go Leafs; let's get Reimer back in and see if he's still as good as he was.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
An Open Letter to the Mayoral Candidates
Hi there,
After my 6 years of living here, I have begun to take an interest in how this town is being run. What decisions are being made, and why, are clearly going to have an impact on me in the future, and as such, I have been researching your individual platforms. I wouldn't say I am getting involved with politics, just getting involved with Whistler. You all love this place as much as, if not more than I do, but that was before, when naked skiing and hot dog parties were all the rage, and the province hadn't come down on us as a community for not acting like a grown up. But I love this place despite the rising costs of housing, and the unlikelihood of my ever owning a place of my own. A permanent state of ski-bummery may not be ideal in the rest of the world, but it suits me down to the ground.
As I mentioned above, I am not a politician. In fact, it isn't important what I do, or who I am. I'm nobody important.
But that's exactly the point. There are hundreds of nobodies in this beautiful community who keep this town running. The servers and bartenders, the cooks, the shop managers; will we be taken care of in the coming years?
I have made my decision on my vote, though I choose to exercise my right to hide it. To the one of you who has won my vote: please don't let me down.
It has been said before that Whistler is unique because we have all chosen to live here, in defiance of the hardships that we face. Please, on behalf of my demographic, don't pile more upon the Great Unwashed.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
One step closer to Magic...
This weekend has just seen the running of the Gran Fondo, something I cannot comprehend as an idea of "fun". Biking up the Sea to Sky (and I do mean "up") on a 30 degree C day sounds more like a punishment, and I think the only prize is "accolade". Forgive me for not rushing to get my camera, I mean Lance isn't entering is he? But whatever, different horses for different courses.
But in a way I was looking forward to it, much in the same way I look forward to the Bike park closing (Oct. 10th) - we're inching ever closer to the winter season. And you know what that means.
It's ski movie time.
A couple have already premiered, but the one that everyone is frothing over tickets (sold out people, sorry) is Brain Farm's follow up to the 2008 hit That's It That's All, The Art of Flight. Premiering tomorrow night at the Telus Conference Centre, this promises those jaw-dropping scenes and breathtaking lines that we've come to expect from Travis Rice, Scotty Lago, and the rest.
And I've seen it.
It doesn't matter how this worked in my favour, but let's just say I have some good friends that had access to a prescreening.
This movie is perfect. It makes you realise how amazing people can be in the air, how athletic they must be to be able to backflip into a tree bonk, just to get the perfect shot. It's a testament to what snowboarding should be for everyone - fun, exciting, a little scary (there's an epic set in Nelson that's just avalanche after avalanche) and refreshing. It reminds me how much fun it can be, and with the right soundtrack it's a session to remember (I reviewed The Naked and Famous' album a while back, and they scored not one but two tracks on TAOF).
So yeah. Bring the snow. I'm already pumped.
But in a way I was looking forward to it, much in the same way I look forward to the Bike park closing (Oct. 10th) - we're inching ever closer to the winter season. And you know what that means.
It's ski movie time.
A couple have already premiered, but the one that everyone is frothing over tickets (sold out people, sorry) is Brain Farm's follow up to the 2008 hit That's It That's All, The Art of Flight. Premiering tomorrow night at the Telus Conference Centre, this promises those jaw-dropping scenes and breathtaking lines that we've come to expect from Travis Rice, Scotty Lago, and the rest.
And I've seen it.
It doesn't matter how this worked in my favour, but let's just say I have some good friends that had access to a prescreening.
This movie is perfect. It makes you realise how amazing people can be in the air, how athletic they must be to be able to backflip into a tree bonk, just to get the perfect shot. It's a testament to what snowboarding should be for everyone - fun, exciting, a little scary (there's an epic set in Nelson that's just avalanche after avalanche) and refreshing. It reminds me how much fun it can be, and with the right soundtrack it's a session to remember (I reviewed The Naked and Famous' album a while back, and they scored not one but two tracks on TAOF).
So yeah. Bring the snow. I'm already pumped.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Women and Hockey
Ladies and gentlemen, it is no secret to you that I love women. Not sex, specifically, but women. They fascinate me. Much like the pyromaniac I am often so interested and consumed by my interest that often there are unintended consequences. Couple this with the unerrable truth of Whistler… Women don't always stay; the good ones are off saving the world before the snow melts.
To the casual observer, it would seem that this town is perfect for a single man in his mid-late 20s: a revolving door at the gates of town, a fresh batch of girls every time it starts to get colder. But for someone like myself (a guy with his heart on his sleeve, but looking for something serious) it's the same as every other city: the good ones are only visiting, the ones that stay aren't what I'm looking for. In other words, I can find a warm body for a night, maybe two, but I feel like I should stop being this kind of guy. This was all as a result of a profound revelation after yet another girl up from the city, who actually is pretty goddamned cool. (She may know who she is, if she reads this.) None of them are up for more than a weekend, and I can't justify leaving this town after putting in so much of myself to be in the position I am in. I have a great job, a beautiful (rental) house, and some of the closest friends a man could ask for. Would any man alive trade that for a stream of meaningless relationships that may not last more than 24 hours?
Makes you wonder.
In Other News, tonight could see history made as the Vancouver Canucks look to take Stan home. To those of you that don't understand why this is such a big deal… how are we even friends?
But seriously, I love the playoffs regardless of who's playing (the advantages of being a Leafs fan). The goals are so much more important - LaPierre's celebration Friday night exemplified that with his quick-step running skate to the boards after he scored the only goal of the game. Additionally, there's the little statistic that Canadians like to bandy around about the Canadian host city to the winter Olympics goes on to win the Stanley cup immediately after the Games. And in the Canucks 40 year history, no time would be better.
By the Way: A MAN IS GOING TO FIGHT A FUCKING LION. There's really nothing more I can say about that.
To the casual observer, it would seem that this town is perfect for a single man in his mid-late 20s: a revolving door at the gates of town, a fresh batch of girls every time it starts to get colder. But for someone like myself (a guy with his heart on his sleeve, but looking for something serious) it's the same as every other city: the good ones are only visiting, the ones that stay aren't what I'm looking for. In other words, I can find a warm body for a night, maybe two, but I feel like I should stop being this kind of guy. This was all as a result of a profound revelation after yet another girl up from the city, who actually is pretty goddamned cool. (She may know who she is, if she reads this.) None of them are up for more than a weekend, and I can't justify leaving this town after putting in so much of myself to be in the position I am in. I have a great job, a beautiful (rental) house, and some of the closest friends a man could ask for. Would any man alive trade that for a stream of meaningless relationships that may not last more than 24 hours?
Makes you wonder.
In Other News, tonight could see history made as the Vancouver Canucks look to take Stan home. To those of you that don't understand why this is such a big deal… how are we even friends?
But seriously, I love the playoffs regardless of who's playing (the advantages of being a Leafs fan). The goals are so much more important - LaPierre's celebration Friday night exemplified that with his quick-step running skate to the boards after he scored the only goal of the game. Additionally, there's the little statistic that Canadians like to bandy around about the Canadian host city to the winter Olympics goes on to win the Stanley cup immediately after the Games. And in the Canucks 40 year history, no time would be better.
By the Way: A MAN IS GOING TO FIGHT A FUCKING LION. There's really nothing more I can say about that.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Youngsters
Happy Memorial day to the American constituent in town, and belated Happy May 24 Weekend to the Canadians. This back to back busy times usually indicates the beginning of the end of shoulder season, and when the weather co-operates, the town is full of people. Not limited to these two weekends (as a matter of fact, every weekend over the summer) is the throngs of stag and hen parties that descend upon this apparently debauched town, replete with blow up sex dolls and penis straws. Seriously. Every single one of them has at least one of these.
Now, I am not one to criticise weddings, marriage, or least of all partying, and maybe it's my age. But this long weekend, on one day (Saturday) I saw no less than 3 groups of stagettes that had to have only been about 21. Max.
Here's my opinion. Being young is the perfect excuse to have fun, to get in trouble, and to make mistakes. The difference when you get married at that young of an age is that there are repercussions to your decisions, both good and bad. Not that there aren't repercussions prior to married life, but now there are other people that have to clean up your mess.
If you're happy, that's great. Just be aware that you could seriously fuck it up, be right back where you started, and possibly have missed out on your 20s entirely.
Now, I am not one to criticise weddings, marriage, or least of all partying, and maybe it's my age. But this long weekend, on one day (Saturday) I saw no less than 3 groups of stagettes that had to have only been about 21. Max.
Here's my opinion. Being young is the perfect excuse to have fun, to get in trouble, and to make mistakes. The difference when you get married at that young of an age is that there are repercussions to your decisions, both good and bad. Not that there aren't repercussions prior to married life, but now there are other people that have to clean up your mess.
If you're happy, that's great. Just be aware that you could seriously fuck it up, be right back where you started, and possibly have missed out on your 20s entirely.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Work Hard, Play Hard
Sorry it's been a couple of weeks, devoted readers. It's for a good reason though; I'm working tons, which during shoulder season (in between the summer and winter, notoriously quiet in town) is a rarity. I'm helping out at another restaurant on my days off, because approximately half of their current staff have taken the opportunity to fly free to India, Ottawa, South America, and Australia, in the midst of all the "Not Making Money" time. As a result, I am working 8 shifts per week, and my last full 24 hours off was the 11th of October. My next day off will be this Thursday...
when I shall board a plane bound for Las Vegas, Nevada, for the first time in my life. Oh, and I'll be there for the Hallowe'en weekend.
Once again: Hallowe'en. In Vegas.
Here's the story: I got home from watching the Leafs lose to the New York Rangers on Wednesday 20th (my 5 year anniversary in Whistler incidentally), turned on Facebook, and got a message from Seb; who, you may recall, joined me in Montreal this summer.
What are you doing for Hallowe'en this year? Whatever it is, f**k it, let's go to vegas. Seriously, let's do this.
Not 48 hours later, I have the time booked off work, and my ass booked onto a Philippine Airlines non-stop flight to the desert. So guess what? I'm gonna try and write again! This time as often as this city of insanity will allow, though please don't be offended if little or nothing comes about; it just means I'm having a great time. Or I inadvertently got a job, and as such am unable to leave.
Let's have some fun.
By The Way: Google Hallowe'en in Vegas to understand why I may not survive this trip.
when I shall board a plane bound for Las Vegas, Nevada, for the first time in my life. Oh, and I'll be there for the Hallowe'en weekend.
Once again: Hallowe'en. In Vegas.
Here's the story: I got home from watching the Leafs lose to the New York Rangers on Wednesday 20th (my 5 year anniversary in Whistler incidentally), turned on Facebook, and got a message from Seb; who, you may recall, joined me in Montreal this summer.
What are you doing for Hallowe'en this year? Whatever it is, f**k it, let's go to vegas. Seriously, let's do this.
Not 48 hours later, I have the time booked off work, and my ass booked onto a Philippine Airlines non-stop flight to the desert. So guess what? I'm gonna try and write again! This time as often as this city of insanity will allow, though please don't be offended if little or nothing comes about; it just means I'm having a great time. Or I inadvertently got a job, and as such am unable to leave.
Let's have some fun.
By The Way: Google Hallowe'en in Vegas to understand why I may not survive this trip.
Monday, June 7, 2010
An Open Letter to Mother Nature
Dear Miss,
Let me first apologise for the appalling way in which my people have treated you. What humanity as a whole has done (rape you) will likely never be erased, removed, or otherwise negated. (That oil leak alone is worth a few years in the shit for somebody.) If you ask me, if I were in your position, I'd be taking it out on the worst offenders (which is pretty much everyone save a few pockets of eco-aware civilisation.) So again, sorry. I got your back, babe.
I'll admit it took me until fairly late in my "childhood" to fall in love with you. I mean, sure, I always appreciated you and your greenness and fresh air. But not until I uprooted back to the motherland (albeit on the other side) did I fully come to realise your power and seduction. Hurtling down a hill on something slippery in the cold will remain one of my favourite things to do for the rest of my days, or at least the rest of my body's days. I love and respect you, so please take the following with that in mind.
Cut the crap.
Seriously, over 3 weeks of rain, with one or two sunny days to keep us mildly amused while we drink in the sun, is no way to keep me happy. I get it; you're in charge. I never disputed that. I don't even piss outside; it's slovenly and disrespectful. But come on. It's friggin' June.
Now I know that technically you still have about 2 weeks before summer officially begins, but let's be honest here. It's Canada; we're gonna be getting EXACTLY the same weather in October, and that rain does me no good if it's too warm to be snowing at the top. Save some for the fall.
Thank you for your time,
Aaron (and the rest of Whistler).
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Justin Bieber is a twat.
You and I both know that needed to be said.
Moving on.
After another big night (Telus fest is taking its toll) I went with my buddy Marissa for breakfast. We decided to hit up Elements Urban Tapas, one of the sweetest places in town for hangover food, and pretty cheap for the quality. I went for the classic 2 eggs, bacon (actually duck sausage, I recommend!) etc. I got to thinking, as is often the case when my stomach is preparing to destroy me. Because distraction is the key!
What do you do with breakfast? Personally I enjoy the bacon sandwich while the toast is hot. But what about the egg yolks? You can't just leave them on the plate, thats some damn good nutrients. More toast? More cost. Apparently breakfast is all about committing to a cause (bacon sandwich vs. toast fingers) and frankly for a morning meal it's far too much effort to think about. I think pancakes will work better.
In Other news, the aforementioned Telus World Ski and Snowboard Festival reached its peak this weekend with "The End", a massive dance party taking place at the Telus Conference centre, as well as the Chairlift Revue, a series of short skits submitted by the local crowd and put to life by a group of actors. I was foolish enough in that I didn't get any tickets or have any time off (missed Arrested development as well) but next year. Next year. Now is the time for deals! $5 breakfast anyone? How about set menu 3 or 4 course meals for as little as $25? Spring riding pass? There are so many ways to spend money you don't necessarily have!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Skiing, snowboarding, and paying the rent
Imagine, for the sake of argument, you play the drums. You love playing the drums, it's one of the few things that make you happy. Not that there's anything wrong with playing, say, the piano or trumpet, but for you it's drums all the way. Now say you live in, I don't know, a really musical town, Seattle in the 90s for instance. You're hanging with your other musician buddies at a coffee shop (because why the hell not? You're in Seattle after all). One of your drumming friends brings along a guitar enthusiast, and when it transpires her musical preference, another guitar player in your group gives her props for "playing a real instrument", or something along those lines.
Speaking of real estate, here it is Mid April, months after the Olympics, and most landlords have recognised that the show is over. Rent is finally starting to come down, as many predicted and I hoped it would.
Absurd, right?
You'd think so. Apparently, here in Whistler a certain holier-than-thou attitude exists within the community, with respects to skiers vs. snowboarders.
Now, don't get me wrong, of course not ALL skiers hate ALL boarders, and the opposite is also true. And of course, what with the way snowboarding entered the culture through its "movement" - that is, punk music, baggy pants, partying etc. - a certain number of elder people are biased (intimidated?) by this relatively new sport. Before that, skiing was (and still is) a rich person's game: the majority of people, myself included, cannot afford to buy a condo in Aspen, so the hills were saved for the elite. "Those snowboarders" became as commonplace as "those damn kids".
The problem I have is with those people who have picked up or embraced skiing in its renaissance - with fat skis for powder, twin tips for switch, and huge contests with mad rails and novelty cheques - and still hold onto the notion that they are playing the respectable game.
This perspective, much like racism or sexism, is self-perpetuating. It will only go away when the barriers have been broken. We are all here for the same reason - the snow, or maybe more specifically the mountains. Can't forget about the bikers! That's why I love Whistler so much: it attracts those of a similar mindset, which adds to the amazing community feeling here. Stop putting up walls, and the doors will open!
You may have noticed I said 'most landlords...'
Who are these jack offs still asking $900, $1000, $1200 per month for a room? I have seen more than one offer for a room (unshared) for literally half that amount. It seems to be getting better, but there are still those slum suckers frantically casting their reels in the hope to rake that final cash grab before people wake up to the fact that, hey, you're paying way too much to live!
Also, the playoffs are on. Vancouver, Ottawa, and Montreal all made it in (no Leafs, I hear you ask. Ha fuckin ha.) Let's have a Canadian team bring the Cup home, just to cement our status as the best.
See that? Breaking down walls.
By The Way DOUBLE STUFFED: Books books books! I praised Dan Levitin's This Is Your Brain On Music way back when, and I have just finished another of his. The World In Six Songs shows how base categories of music can convey emotion, as well as have shaped humanity as we know it. Highly recommended.
This one is probably a little late, having been on all kinds of bestseller lists, but Max Brooks' World War Z is a fictionalised account of the Zombie apocalypse. The author is said to have been collecting data for an empirical study for historical archives, and has taken survivor's stories and collected them into a surprisingly interesting read. I'm not one for memes (fuck vampires) but it feels so real reading the tales and failed attempts at containment.
Sanyika Shakur, born Kody Scott, alias Monster, the last handle being the title of his autobiography. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, he got his name from his penchant for grisly acts of murder and brutality. This guy was brought into the Crips at the tender age of 11 - the book opens with his initiation, cutting down a group of Bloods (Brims) with a pump action 12 gauge shotgun. This is heavy shit, he isn't afraid to talk about his friends dying, and discovers the New Afrikan Independence movement while in on one of his prison sentences, becoming a warrior of the people and not the streets. MONSTER: The Autobiography of an L.A. Gang Member is literally one of those books you won't put down until you realise you're late for work.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
BC's Blue Coats and Bus Calamity
All right folks, it appears I will be going live for the duration of the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver and Toytown - sorry, Whistler, by proxy. Just bought me a brand spanking new battery for the light up typewriter what uses no paper.
As the month opens, we see a phenomenal amount of Vancouver Olympic Committee (VANOC) uniforms. They are a particularly vibrant shade of blue (this picture doesn't do it justice) and as such it's easy to spot the clueless folk who don't know where Dual Mountain is. However, there are a couple of them who have a sense of entitlement about them. Carrying a Vanoc security card does not automatically bequeath you the perks and bonuses associated with the long term residents of Whistler (I loathe to use the term 'local'). Just last night, a girl gave my doorman friend flak because he asked for her ID. I don't like to get emotional about that, but fuck that girl. Its a bar. I still carry my ID and I know enough people not to. The reason they insist is because of the police; if you cannot produce government ID and you are in a bar, the establishment can and will be punished by means of a fine and/or a mandatory temporary closure. Whatever.
On to our shining example of transportation on our one highway to the big city (which, incidentally, is an amazing security/deadline pitfall). Imagine it's your first day driving a bus in a city you don't know. You would expect to be provided with detailed maps, timetables, and locations of bus stops at least 6 weeks ahead of time. Here's where we run into a problem. Companies working on a month to month basis will send their drivers up at the beginning of the month (yesterday) so accounting can transfer their pay details etc to the appropriate department. Three examples of the ensuing results of this:
Case 1: the breakfast chef in my restaurant had to take a cab to work yesterday morning because the bus didn't show up. For an hour, when the "every 7 minutes" rule was in effect. Apparently they just plumb forgot about Tapley's Farm residents.
Case 2: A friend ended up in Creekside because the driver turned the wrong way coming back on to the highway (AFTER he had previously made a U-turn on said highway).
Case 3: My personal favourite. Another friend had to direct the driver on his route into town, not only where to go, but where the stops were. He nearly drove right by a stop with 15 people waiting at it.
Now, I have to stress, I DO NOT BLAME THE DRIVERS! A transfer to a new area is always nerve-wracking, and throw 30 hecklers behind you into the mix and theres bound to be some hiccups. And don't get me wrong, I love the Olympics, and the excitement here is off the chart. I just worry that the head honchos at VANOC, in spite of making Whistler and Vancouver look good, they're losing sight of how these two fine cities will appear.
Actually, that last photo isn't quite an accurate representation...
There's no snow in Vancouver.
See you soon kids!
As the month opens, we see a phenomenal amount of Vancouver Olympic Committee (VANOC) uniforms. They are a particularly vibrant shade of blue (this picture doesn't do it justice) and as such it's easy to spot the clueless folk who don't know where Dual Mountain is. However, there are a couple of them who have a sense of entitlement about them. Carrying a Vanoc security card does not automatically bequeath you the perks and bonuses associated with the long term residents of Whistler (I loathe to use the term 'local'). Just last night, a girl gave my doorman friend flak because he asked for her ID. I don't like to get emotional about that, but fuck that girl. Its a bar. I still carry my ID and I know enough people not to. The reason they insist is because of the police; if you cannot produce government ID and you are in a bar, the establishment can and will be punished by means of a fine and/or a mandatory temporary closure. Whatever.
On to our shining example of transportation on our one highway to the big city (which, incidentally, is an amazing security/deadline pitfall). Imagine it's your first day driving a bus in a city you don't know. You would expect to be provided with detailed maps, timetables, and locations of bus stops at least 6 weeks ahead of time. Here's where we run into a problem. Companies working on a month to month basis will send their drivers up at the beginning of the month (yesterday) so accounting can transfer their pay details etc to the appropriate department. Three examples of the ensuing results of this:
Case 1: the breakfast chef in my restaurant had to take a cab to work yesterday morning because the bus didn't show up. For an hour, when the "every 7 minutes" rule was in effect. Apparently they just plumb forgot about Tapley's Farm residents.
Case 2: A friend ended up in Creekside because the driver turned the wrong way coming back on to the highway (AFTER he had previously made a U-turn on said highway).
Case 3: My personal favourite. Another friend had to direct the driver on his route into town, not only where to go, but where the stops were. He nearly drove right by a stop with 15 people waiting at it.
Now, I have to stress, I DO NOT BLAME THE DRIVERS! A transfer to a new area is always nerve-wracking, and throw 30 hecklers behind you into the mix and theres bound to be some hiccups. And don't get me wrong, I love the Olympics, and the excitement here is off the chart. I just worry that the head honchos at VANOC, in spite of making Whistler and Vancouver look good, they're losing sight of how these two fine cities will appear.
Actually, that last photo isn't quite an accurate representation...
There's no snow in Vancouver.
See you soon kids!
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