I went to the Clocktower with Aaron and Wheaties yesterday, to celebrate the birthdays of Sheri, Thom, Matt, and Marc. It was much fun, although I remained sober for the night. I tried my hand at pool, a skill which I think many develop when attending university, since there were so many amazing players who were my friends as well. I felt a bit bad about not buying some shots for the birthday people, and for ditching Wheaties in spliting a second pitcher of anything.
I ache all over. Snowboarding has the ability to make muscles I’ve never even known about stiff with sore pleasure. I’ve always liked the feeling of not being able to move without hurting in some way, as if I fought an exhausting battle with some monster the night before. Even my trapezii are sore from getting my face out of the snow every 15 metres. At one point, I actually unerringly veered off the 50 foot wide trail, into a beautiful powder treeline ditch, landing me waist deep in snow, upside down. I found that it was actually pretty easy to ride both normal and fakie with no experience whatsoever, just carving with the heelside. The only problem became turning on the doglegs. At one point a school of little eight-year-old children weaving across the hill on skis were beating Nick and I on our boards, trying to race straight down.
All in all, it felt good to learn something new again, to try to carve up a slope on my heelside, to hear nothing but silence from the muffling snow of the mountain. I realized that day-to-day, there is always noise. There’s the constant sound of traffic outside my window, or even the wind; silence has become another urban encroachment victim. At one point, Aaron and I just stood on the slope and looked at the snow covered lake, mountains, and perennials. The mountain is so big, we had to take a gondola to a gondola at the base. I was surprized that it was so chillingly cold; my eyes were watering just from the gondola ride up, and my face hurt the moment I stepped out of the van.
We all organized some kind of food co-operation, so that we never needed to eat out. Unfortunately, my roast ended up a bit too dry, and the scalloped potatos too moist, but they were still good as leftovers. The lodge was great, coming complete with two bathrooms (showers included), four twin beds (one of which I had to myself), and cute receptionists. They even had a wine bottle opener in their collection of utensils and an electric oven, although a broken metal grill accessory that came with the microwave prevented us from using it due to a flurry of sparks every time we tried.
I only did a half day of boarding, and spent the rest of the time at the lodge that we rented. It was pretty damn good to just get away, to play some cards and drink without a computer around or school to worry about. I even got some reading done. We watched some TV, played some Mao and 9–5‑2. The lodge had a pool and jacuzzi, which I was lucky enough to spend some time in. Some cigars were bought, but they ended up being pretty disappointing. There was much double fisting of the drinks, although the more mirthful dual hand action was when Aaron attempted to inhale from two cigars through his nose.
I missed Dolly a lot.
Going there made me realize that I still have a lot to experience that I haven’t done already. I’ve taken a lot of my childhood for granted, visiting other continents without venturing enough outside of my established norms and preferences. I wish I could have absorbed more of the scenery when I visited the World Trade Center, or paid attention to the tour guide at the Sydney Opera House. Even some reflection on the way there would have helped me appreciate what I was about to experience, whether it was the rich musical cognition of Hungary’s general population, or even the fresh seafood of Hong Kong.
I can only hope that I am able to appreciate where I am now, what I’m able to do, and the freedom I can enjoy, as much as I would appreciate the experience of another culture or lifestyle. I think that everyday life should be as significant as the exceptional experiences, that there can be much meaning found in both, and I try to live my life as such.
Perhaps I can already die.
I find myself in a foggy situation. I am unsure of almost all aspects of it, excluding the parts which allow me an omniscient understanding of my personal view. However, it appears to be that all parties involved have differing information in several events. Everyone has conflicting opinions on actions, on decisions, on faults.
I’m always unsure of what I think, since I can never be sure what others think. It’s hard for me to tell; sometimes my mind starts to imagine things. It’s when I start to believe them that I realize the need to keep my thoughts in check.
I find that I need to feel vindicated. I often worry about being blamed for something that’s not my fault, or for something that I’m misunderstood about, especially if the misunderstanding is due to the broken telephone passing of information.
Everyone thinks they’re right.
There’s something about the chemistry between Jon Favreau and Vince Vaughn that simply fascinates me, and although I’m sure the momentum of it spawned the painful movie Made, I still feel inclined to watch it over and over again.
My course load got easier this term, when I dropped a six hour per week course for a three hour one. Light schedules always seem to make my mind sloven, as if the load isn’t enough to put my mind in gear, so I grow restless in neutral. I wonder what I’m going to do when I’m out of school and looking for a job, something which will be happening within the half-year.
For some reason, Dolly takes an invariable fascination with the brushing of my teeth. Wherever she is, she’ll stalk up to my location and gaze intently at the act, hunched forward with the weight on her front paws. I can’t figure out what aspect of the brushing she may find interesting, and I wonder whether she’ll ever tire of watching.
Homemade wine tastes like homemade wine.