The Adoration of the Plumbing

I am well aware that the saying "you don't know what you've got until it's gone" is mostly applied to lovers or at the very least, drastic, life changing experiences. However, I should like to point out that if most of us suddenly found ourselves without working plumbing, it might be a pretty disturbing experience. That being said - and I do not in any way mean to presume that every is so hooked on plumbing that they would not know how to function without it - I had a great time camping. To be slightly vulgar, I have never had a washroom with a full outdoor view before.

Yes, my friends, mes chèrs chèrs amis, I was roughing it and I was loving it. Granted, there are times when you have to forgo bathing because doing so would leave you with an ever so small attack of hypothermia but apart from that and the ever-insects, it was fantastic. I cannot post all the photos here because, that would just be a little much. But I shall get them up on a small side album as soon as possible (because I know you're dying to see my oh-so-artistic photography). I'm not very good at describing whole expanses of nature in text however, there are a few things:
1) The way white sand can both burn the soles of your feet to a crisp and reduce your toes to quivering icicles in the same day. It is quite astounding but hard to appreciate when you're trying to create a rock path from the tent to the shade.


2)The way weather can spontaneously change (insert appropriate allusion to the whims of women everywhere if you must).
3) There are many deer tracks, but no deer. Honestly, you'd think that since we made all that effort to come visit them they could at least make an appearance. Silly deer.

4) There is a species of bird, it's very rare, that only exists at approximately 5 o'clock in the morning. The purpose of this species of aviary delight is to make as much noise as possible for the better part of the morning and then vanish before one can obtain a shotgun.

5) Apart from the birds, I can sleep in a tent. It feels great. As long as no one is there in the morning to see what humidity and an air mattress does to my hair. It's very special.

For now I shall leave you with those thoughts. For the first time since I turned 13 and didn't want to spend a minute more in the presence of my family than I had to by law I thoroughly enjoyed camping. I missed it, and I'm glad I went. The only problem is, how can you go back to the sounds of sirens, traffic, neighbors and aeroplanes when all you've had for the past weekend is nights on the lake and a full sky of stars?

That being said, I really did miss plumbing of any kind, and the ability to make tasty tasty food without having to go and chop down a small rain forest.

Looky, looky a rainbow!

Gone Campin'

The bags are packed. As I write this the car is being loading with what seems like the entire contents of our house and for good measure, the neighbors' kitchen sink.

I'm going camping for the week, with no access to communication or technology apart from one sad payphone located somewhere on the other side of the lake.

I'll miss home, but I'll be all the more fond of it when I get back. And plumbling, I think I'll miss you most of all.

Ah the stories I shall have.

Enjoy your week.

Cheers

Summer is Like Lightning

I must confess to being shocked that July is almost over. Like any self-respecting student, I blame school. 'How can you do that in the summer?', you most certainly shall ask. Two words: summer classes.
I'm not sure how this happened but summer - the holiest of holy times for the young pupils of the world - lost quality which made school children everywhere long for it's balmy presence: emptiness.

Of course I'm not talking about the lonely, cold sort of emptiness that sinks to the bottom of your stomach and lingers there like a bad meal. The emptiness of summer was so appealing simply because it begged to be filled with the machinations of the youthful imagination. On Tuesday morning you could be an explorer, scheduled to make an Earth-shattering discovery before you were called in to lunch. Wednesday afternoons could be filled with bike rides and extra-long freeze-pops that left your hands chilled and sticky. I could fill pages and pages with the memories of childhood summers. My nostalgia stems from the realization that there are very few people I know who actually have free time in the summer. I suppose this is just another transition on the Road to Adulthood.

Summer is now just another term in the school year: a time to catch up on missing credits, or to get ahead in ones' studies. It's a time to collect extra income so one can survive another year as a broke student. Many (if not all) of those close to me have realized that a three-month-long empty summer was a gift only children can hope to receive.

Summer is indeed like lightning, you can feel it in the air. The sensation clings to your skin and hair, electricity in the air demands all your attention as your nerves twinge and spasm. Just when you think it's never going to come, the world stands completely still. For all of a moment that seems like eternity you hang in the Void. And then summer is here.

Summer is violent, liberating, exciting and terrifying at the same time. Some spend it hidden under their beds while other run into it, throwing their heads back and spreading their arms wide to welcome the tempest.

When summer ends, all that's left are memories and damp clothing.

I'll be disappearing for a week to go camping in the Canadian Wilderness. There shall be tales and pictures upon my return. I might leave a thought or two to appear whilst I am away.

Twitchy Fingers

Twitchy fingers are an expensive affliction. Let me explain.

The affliction goes by many names, more commonly: fidgets. But because I am more affectionate towards my appendages I refer to their constant need for motion as the Twitches. I cannot say that I was raised on manual labour but there was a certain appreciation for working my hands that has slowly been nurtured over many years. However, it has left me with a rather frustrating habit: I need to be constantly working on a project.

You, dear reader, might be thinking that it is better to be ever working than to be bored and idle. I suppose I can be convinced into seeing things your way but I plead the case of the proverbial grass being greener. Those who are bored wish for something to kill their perpetual ennui but most of the time cannot be bothered to commit to an activity. The opposite is true of myself; I sometimes find myself longing for idleness and a lack of ideas but I know that it will never be so.

And here's where the expensive part comes in although you have probably figured it out already. Hobbies are costly, especially when starting one up. I'm not going to spend this post griping about the price of craft supplies, it's just one of those things.
I go through hobbies like a child will go through a bag of Halloween candy: sorting, arranging, planning and then finally diving right into everything and coming out only with memories and a tummy ache.

What is this all leading up to you might ask? Because I know you don't want to hear about every single project lying around my room I'll just describe my most recent re-undertaking: knitting.

Oh, that's not so special, I know. My mother has been making desperate attempts at teaching me since I was a young'un with fingers the shape of polish sausages and sometimes just as greasy. It didn't work out then, I didn't have the patience or the nimbleness of finger that comes with age and the loss of baby fat.

I'm ready to try again as my complaints about Twitchy Fingers have been answered by a resounding cry for the arts of knitting and crocheting.
I'm trying to be thrifty about it. I plan on bothering my mother to break out her needles so I don't have to buy my own for now and since it's summer I shall be perusing garage sales. I have also obtained my instruction from the trusty interweb and books from the library.

Let's see how long this ones lasts; my fingers are - for lack of a better word - flighty. Hopefully the yarn and needles won't end up in a tangle around my partially finished model of the U.S.S. Constitution.

Who Plays at 8 A.M.?

So it's been that kind of long week. The week where one did not go to be early than midnight for every single day of it. It was worth it, though, and I'll tell you why.

Summer is the time of festivals, major projects and the avoidance of responsibility. In fact, I'm getting quite good at that last one. Kicking off this weekend is the Just For Laughs comedy festival. One of my personal favorites in the city. I hope to go there during the week to get some pictures of the free street shows, and perhaps indulge myself with one more comedy show. My one show so far was John Pinette, I'll give you a litte taste in the video below.




The show was fantastic, and much to my embarassement for using this term, I actually LOL'd the entire night. If the seating hadn't been so tight I might have LMFAO'd.
During any given week in the summer you can find a festival or an activity that suits your fancy. Or you can see them all, because we're cool like that and we have that much spare time.

Ah, spare time... where did that go?

In other news, I've started (or more accurately, restarted) a DeviantArt account. It's not much but it's a nicer place to view some of the pictures and works I will refer to here. If you don't know how to find links by this point, seriously, get some post-its and cover your screen with arrows. Arrows are the key to success.

Hopefully in a weeks time I shall be going on vacation, I definitely think I need it, even if it is a week spent stuck in the middle of Yet-to-be-Decided with my family. More on that to come if you have the patience to stick around.

For now I think I'll leave you with a a photograph and the promise that it'll get better as I go along.

At the End of the Day

I was at the mall at the end of the day. Now I would never want any chronicle of mine to begin in this way, but follow me for a moment, this might get interesting.

It was about the Last Minute, meaning there were important things to be done: sales to be capitalized upon, lotteries to play and milk to buy. Having spent a portion of my precious youthful summertime as a cashier, I am well aware that the Last Minute is of the utmost importance. Food always tastes better when purchased at the Last Minute and an essay flows with undercurrents of brilliance when composed at the Last Minute.

At this infamous moment, the mall of all places is full of quiet ideals. There are no lines, the cashier looks up just as I walk up to the check-out. She looked relieved and I don't blame her. Closing early is not an option, so anything is a welcome break in the monotony.
A few stragglers wander silently down the amber-tinted corridor, since only one store is open at the Last Minute I cannot help wondering what they are looking for. Two men sit at the empty food court, not even their conversation breaks the perfection of closing time. There are no bawling children despite the presence of mother and stroller.

Normally I hate being present at the Last Minute because I was always through being there was an inconvenience to the world. But a mall is the Temple of Last Call.

When was the last time you ever stayed anywhere until closing? It's a weird feeling to have the set come down around you before you've finishing playing. When you walk away from the place you closed out, do you feel that if you turned back to have a look, there would just be a curtain and an emptry theater?