1 man. 2 visions.



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So when I wrote about a week ago, I was getting somewhat passionate, and somewhat excited, about the vision I had. To move back to Vancouver. To start again from scratch. And to build a life for the next few months exactly as I saw it, surrounding myself with the necessary components to get myself physically and mentally into that shape that I want to be in.

And I remained pretty set in my ways with that vision; it all sounded good, until various people started planting seeds of doubt last Tuesday.

You remember Lily? I think I mentioned her in a previous blog, and wasn't especially complementary about her. We got off on a bad foot, let's put it that way. Well ever since then, we've got along pretty well. It's just it doesn't really provide any kind of interesting writing, to write about getting along with someone well. Who the Hell wants to read that crap? But now, despite being French, I get along with her pretty well.

Well on Tuesday, I was working the Gondola. No fucking surprise there. And it was after lunch so I was at the bottom. And Lily kind of wonders into the shack, and somehow conversation moves onto what we're doing post-Pano. And her plan, is to move over to Vancouver Island. Get a job over there for a few months. And as she's talking, it just stimulates memories I have of Vancouver Island from when I was there back in 2005.

I remember Victoria. It was a really, fresh city. The kind of place I was in, thinking to myself, man... I'd love to live in a place like this. Maybe somewhat like a mini-Vancouver. But without the druggies and hookers. A place where everyone walks with a smile. I only had 3 days here if I remember correctly. But what a 3 days they were. I really fell in love with Victoria in that time.

At that time in 2005, this stop in Victoria was a part of my expedition that led me up to Alaska. A part that involved getting a boat from Port Hardy. And the only bus that went from Victoria to Port Hardy; it left at stupid-O'clock in the morning from Victoria. Looking back, it was at 05:50am or something like that. That was the only Greyhound of the day that went the entire length of the island. Which was a cunt for that morning. I remember, just as I was leaving my hostel dorm that morning, one of my dorm mates was just getting in from work from the night before. That's how early it was.

Well it was a cunt to have to get up that early. But on the plus side, it has been a very rare occasion in my life when I have seen anything more spectacular that the sunrise over the Vancouver Island mountains as we drove that morning. I had my camera in my hand luggage. But I chose not to butcher this moment by remembering it through the blurred pictures taken through a grimy, moving bus window. This was something that I chose to remember purely through the thoughts in my head. And I just remember it as being out of this world spectacular. The mountain skyline. The endless miles of untouched forestry. The warming colours of the morning sunrise. I just didn't want to taint these memories with pictures that cannot do justice to the views that you're seeing. Which is why I don't have any photosgraphs to backup these words.

But even once the sunrise had faded, this whole journey across Vancouver Island was something spectacular. And I remember thinking to myself. Saying to myself. That one day, I would be back. Victoria was great. But I could see on this journey, that it barely scratched the surface of what Vancouver Island had to offer. And I said to myself back then, that one day I would be back here. To explore this divine land. And when Lily appeared in my gondola shack, she didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. She just reminded me of what I'd forgotten.

A little later on this same day, I'm still working at the bottom of the gondola. And Shakker, the head lift maintainance guy at Panorama, is down at the gondola doing some work. And we get talking. And again, the topic moves onto what's happening, post-Pano. I don't know how that even happened seeing as he lives at Pano year-round. But that's how it happened. And Shakker started talking about how one of his friends used to go up to Dawson City every Summer. He'd live out of a tent. And work came applenty. There was more work than there was workers. It was a Summer of camping, working, and partying.

It was strange that this happened not long after Lily had been down here. Because as with Vancouver Island, Dawson City triggers emotions from 2005. Not because of the time that I spent there. But because of the time I didn't.

After I'd left Vancouver Island 4 years ago, I got the boat up to Prince Rupert. Then got a boat up to Juneau in Alaska. And then I'd flown out to Anchorage. And it was as I was in Anchorage, that I was torn about where to go next. There was a girl called Shelley that I'd worked with in Vancouver. She was born and bred in the Yukon. And she'd raved on and on to me about how I had to get to Dawson City. That it was one of the funnest places that I could ever go to. And as I was in Anchorage in 2005, I had to make a choice about where I was going next. I Anchorage wanted to get to Dawson City, no doubt. But being the sporadic terrain that there is up there, it's not quite as simple as deciding where you want to go and going there. I had a flight back to London from New York City about 3 or 4 weeks from this time in Anchorage. And as this picture I took shows, this was some 3,569 air miles from here. A distance that I had previously pledged would be travelled by land. Arriving late was not an option as I needed to get back to the UK to start my 2nd year at uni.

I was still something of a novice traveller back at this time. Back then to me, hitching was not an option. I was reliant on the bus schedule. And in this scattered land, even Greyhound didn't offer service. You were reliant on infrequent, independent bus companies. And the way it panned out, there was no service from Anchorage to Dawson City that I remember. It would have been a case of going up to Fairbanks, and then going across to Dawson City, before having to come South to Whitehorse to get the bus down to Edmonton. This was one option. And as was the infrequent bus schedule, it would have been a case of spending just one or two nights in each place, with more time sat on buses than would be spent soaking up the local ambience. So I decided to take the second option, of just heading straight to Whitehorse and having a much more significant amount of time here, to give me the time to really appreciate my surroundings. Not just going to places for the sake of going to them.

Such was my deliberation on this issue back in 2005 however, that I didn't decide on my plans until the night before I was getting the bus out of Anchorage. A prudence that meant hostel accomodation was not available in Whitehorse for most of my nights staying there. Another pledge that I'd made regarding this travel, was that I would not be staying in hotels or B&B's. They were too costly. It had to be hostels or cheaper. So leaving my decision to miss out on Dawson City so late, meant that I spent all but one of my nights in Whitehorse, sleeping in a tent that I picked up.

Whitehorse But having spent so much time thinking about Dawson City. And being so close to actually going there. Just like Vancouver Island, it was a place that I pledged that I would one day make it to. I think that was part of the deal that I made with myself when I decided to head straight to Whitehorse. Yes, you can go straight to Whitehorse this time. But on the condition that one day... one day, you return to see Dawson City.

After work on this day on the gondola, I went up to check my mail. And I had a notification of a package delivery for me in town. As I'm frequently at work between the Post Office opening hours, and the bus runs too infrequently to make it back to town on time when working the gondola, I decided to hitch back to town to pick up this package before the Post Office closed. My first time hitching since before injuring my knee. Because for a long time, I simply couldn't bend my leg far enough to fit into most cars. I was healed up enough by this point though, that it was in my interest to make it back into town.

And again, for the third time today, I somehow started talking to the guy who picked me up, about the places I could go once I finished at Pano. And just like Lily, this man was championing Vancouver Island. Telling me about all the things to do there. And the stories about people he knows who've been there for a Summer.

And these 3 people, they got me thinking. They reignited my reasoning for why I am travelling. The red tape issues in Canada (something I'll talk more about later), mean that when my visa expires in November, well that is very likely it for me. That is the last significant time that I will spend over in Canada. Maybe the last time I will ever spend over in Canada. So do I really want to spend that time, living in a place in Vancouver, where I have already lived? Having a lifestyle resembling that, that I had before leaving England? Because if that's the case, then why bother leaving at all?

I even decided to do a little more research on Dawson City. And I found this blog that someone had written about a 2005 spent in Dawson City. The same Summer that I would have been passing through. And this, combined with speaking with these 3 people on Tuesday, has got me torn. I have 2 visions of how I want to live the next few months. Yet I am just one man. And each is so contrasting, that there is little option for marrying the two.

The first is the vision that I illustrated in the last blog. Something that strongly resembles the way I lived before I left for Canada. Living a secure, sensible lifestyle. Everything that I do would be focused around improving my health and physique. Surrounding myself with all the necessary tools and amenities to build myself into the best physical specimen that I could be. My diet would be calculated. My choice of destination would be largely based around the natural and man-made tools that I could use. I would work, but work would just be a means of survival. The primary target of my Summer would be to recapture and excede the health and fitness that I had prior to this Winter. And prior to injuring my knee.

Then the other vision I have, goes something like this. I would leave Pano within the next 3 weeks, and head back to Vancouver. I'd check into a hostel, for perhaps a month or 2. Pick up some menial labour of some kind. Painting houses or something like that. Just a means to fund my survival. Nothing more really. Then, come June time, buy a tent. Hitch-hike up to Dawson City over a period of days or weeks. Live out a tent for a couple of months, picking up work that I can in Dawson, and getting drunk when there is no work. Before finishing the Summer, and coming back South, possibly to Vancouver Island, and picking up what work I can until my visa runs out.

These are the 2 things I'm thinking right now. It's almost an argument, or do I want to evolve, or devolve. Staying in Vancouver, living the healthy lifestyle, I'd be using science to improve myself. Sports supplements, targeted exercise equipment. But more importantly than either of them, a scientific knowledge about my bodies workings. Leading to eating the right foods at the right times. Doing targeted exercises. It would almost be a case of using science to rebuild myself. Something like how that video I put into the last blog depicted things. Could I do this living in a hostel? Or living in a tent? Not a chance. Eating the right foods at the right times! In a hostel everyone else eats the food you buy. Thieving bastards. And you just don't have the tools, for example a blender, to be able to create the foods you need to. And living in a tent, well that's just even worse. You have no means of storing food whatsoever. So eating the right foods at the right time? That would be a million miles away.

The hostel life, the tent life. I'd probably get to a point of washing about once a week. Can you even exercise regularly living in a hostel? Where do you dry your sweaty clothes? Do you think the people in your dorm would want them hanging about the room all day?

I have these 2 visions of the direction I want my life to take from here. Both, focused on things of importance to me. One, focused on travel and experience. The other focused on health. And which path I walk down... I really don't know. Right now, I'm really not sure what direction I want to take. Because either way, I think that I will have regret. I could leave Canada 7 or 8 months from now, having eased all these memories. Having done what I said I'd do, and get back to Vancouver Island. Having done what I said I'd do, and get back to Dawson City. But I'd leave out of shape. Unhealthy. Limited in where I go next by my physical capabilities.

Then on the other hand, I could leave Canada in 7 or 8 months, having experienced nothing new. Having lived in Vancouver... again. But not having been to Dawson. I could build myself into a physical specimen, but at the cost of memories. At the cost of experience. And honestly right now, I really don't know the path that I'm going to take. I think the only thing that is nearly a certainty now, is that from Invermere, I head back to Vancouver. What I do when I get there, is where I'm not sure. Am I going to carry on going? Base myself in Victoria? Am I going to head North? Or am I going to stay put?

That package that I hitched back from work to pick up from the Post Office, well that was the cell phone that I'd bought on eBay. And what I said last time, was that whatever number I chose to make local, well that was going to be a big indicator about where I would go from here. So after deliberation, and thought, my new cell phone number is local to...

...

Invermere.

That's right.

With so much up in the air still about where the hell I'm going to go from here, the way I saw it was I may as well get 3 weeks of guaranteed local calls by making the number local to Invermere. Otherwise I'm just second-guessing myself. Second-guessing where I'm going to end up.

And man... I hated cell phone companies before this week. Now I hate them even more. It was Wednesday that I attempted to activate this Sim Card. Two days later, I still don't have an active phone. Why? I couldn't fucking tell you. But it's a fucking pain. I've found a handful of jobs that I want to apply to. One is a front-desk position in a hostel in Vancouver, which would be absolutely ideal for me. But yet, I can't apply for any of these positions, until I have a number people can call me on. So I'm stuck at the mercy of fucking Rogers, while they fuck about activating a prepaid sim card. Prepaid! It's prepaid! What the fuck do they have to do with it? Why does it even need activating? If this was any other country in the world, it would have been activated before you bought it. But here in retarded Canada, you have to wait to have a prepaid sim card activated for fucks sake. Fuck I hate telecoms companies here. My whole Summer rests in their hands. I can't apply for these jobs until my phone is activated. So I'm missing out on opportunities based on their retardations.

And you don't believe me that telecoms companies are thieving bastards? One thing I found out when trying to activate my sim card; a mandatory 50¢ charge is made every month, so that 911 calls are free. There are over 30 million people in Canada. A reasonable assumption is that 25 million of those have cell phones. So 25 million × 50¢ = $12.5 millon every month. Or $150 million per year. The phone companies are charging $150 million per year, so that 911 calls are free. This is just another bullshit mandatory charge that retard Canadians let their cell phone providers get away with. How much do these 911 calls cost the phone companies each year? I don't know either. But I'm pretty sure that it's close to zero. Because the variable costs on each phone call made, are next to nothing. Yet for the right to call for help in an emergency, the telecoms industry makes $150 million each year. You see what I mean when I say that over here, they prey on the needy. The greatest hospital charges are the ones when you're admitted in an emergency. And now we have to pay $150 million a year to have the right to make 911 calls.

I'm not 100% I've got my facts straight here. That might just be a charge for prepaid customers, I'm not sure. But it's still bullshit. It still a demonstration of the shortcomings of capitalism. Leaching off of people in their times of need.

The guy in this article was probably pissed with his phone company as well. The joys of Greyhound buses eh! That all happened on a route that I went in '05, aged 19, and listening to music.

I've spoken a lot so far in this blog about things post-Pano. But there are still over 2 weeks of the season left, so I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself. It may not have been the climax to the season that I was hoping for. What was planned to be 6 weeks of high-octane skiing, instead became 6 weeks of resting and rehabing. But seemingly I try to find the positives in things nowadays. And I'm beginning to think that maybe this injury was a blessing in disguise. Because before it happened, I was pretty down with work here. I'd just had one of the worst shifts that I'd ever had here. Mainly becuase I was working with Laura, but it was one in a long line of shifts where I was just wanting to kill myself. The traumas of the job were at the forefront of my mind every single day.

Then all of a sudden, work just took a back seat. I hurt my knee, and that became the single priority in my life. Nothing else mattered. I was working the gondola every single day. And often times, I was working with the same person seeing as Adam was also too crippled to work anywhere else. So I knew how every single day was going to go. There was nothing I could do about it and there was no point worrying about it. So although the work was more mundane than it had been previously, I became more relaxed and accepting of it. Where as those people who didn't get injured... well things haven't gone so well for them.

In the last week, 4 more lifty's have quit, because they quite simply are getting too fed up of being here. And I think that could have been me had I not had this injury to take my mind of of things. But instead this brought an era of certainty into my life. And as I've detailed in previous blog, it has been something of a catalyst in me trying to find positives in every situation. Apart from walking like a retard, I feel I'm a much more educated person compared to how I was before the injury. I learnt a lot from it. Everyone who's not injured is seemingly quitting. Or if they aren't quitting, they're thinking about quitting, and being pissed with work everyday. I know what I'm getting everyday at work. So I may as well relax and let it hit me.

In fact, despite everyone else quitting around me, I'm so content with how things are going now that I started looking into the possibilities of being sponsored to come back here next year. Everyone else might be having a shit time, but I'm pretty happy with it all. I could quite happily have another season. Unfortunately though, as I said earlier that I would get onto, there is just way too much red tape in Canada.

If I was an Aussie, I easily get given a 2-year visa in Canada, extendable until I'm 30. If I'm a Kiwi, I easily get given a 1-year visa in Canada, extendable until I'm 30. Where as if I'm from the UK, I get, after a regrettably long application process, a one-off, unextendable visa. Figure that one out eh! Isn't the queen Canada's head of state? Doesn't the English or British flag appear on 4 of Canada's provincial flags (Alberta, Manitoba, Ontario and British Columbia)? Didn't we invent, own, and operate Canada for the longest time? Then why the fuck do the dirty Aussie's get such a good deal? It doesn't make sense to me. I've counted 16 lifty's who've quit or been fired since the beginning of the season. 10 of those were Aussie's, with a further 2 being Kiwi's. They're not exactly good or reliable workers. Yet they get a free-ride. I don't get it. But that's the way it is.

Being so happy with my work right now, yesterday I actually went up to Employee Experience to look into the possibility of them sponsoring me to return for next season. And what did they tell me? That due to the 13% unemployment rate (not sure of the accuracy of that), Intrawest has indefinitely frozen the sponsorship of all foreign employees. Apparently, because it isn't worth their time trying to convince the authorities that, despite no Canadian's wanting the shit jobs here at Pano, a Canadian couldn't do these jobs. That's the logic of the visa process here. You should only get a visa, if it's to do a job that a Canadian couldn't do. And then they go and let Aussie's and Kiwi's in indefinitely. What fucking bull crap. Out of all the rookie lifty's here, I'm the only one I can find whom actually wants to come back next year. Yet, because of my nationality, I am one of the only ones that can't.

And I have to pose the logical question here. By increasing the difficulty by which foreign workers can get employed in Canada, they are restricting the movement of labour in an attempt to fight the recession. Surely though, this is just intensifying it. Why do we even have restrictions of movement of labour at a time like this, between all highly developed countries? People will go where the work is, 1. Which will help to stimulate the economy. And 2, travel isn't free. If we start restricting people's travelling, then that is one less thing that they are going to spend money on. Hence, by restricting a movement of labour into Canada like this, there is even less stimulus for the economy.

Whatever the economic climate, between developed countries such as the UK, Canada, the US, Australia, if there is no restrictions, the labour flow will essentially be mutual. Neither provide any significant benefit. It's just about where people would prefer to live. The only restriction, is that government, big brother, want to control peoples every movement. That is simply why we cannot just decide on a whim to go an work over in Canada or the US for a year. They want to herd the sheep if you will. Control where people go. Because after endlessly hearing governments talking about free-trade, and liberating the markets, they then try to control one of the main economic forces. Labour. They just like to be in control. It's just one of those big brother things that the masses of people suffer for, because of the paranoia of government. It's just a logical step with the increases in communication and trade between developed countries. Labour has to be free to move as well. But as the saying goes, those too clever to get involved in politics, are punished by being goverened by people much dumber than they are. Which is the case here. At a time when it's necessary to free-up the movement of labour, authorities are trying to control the people and keep them penned into where they are.

And this, I think, is the first instance where I have been directly impacted by the recession. Obviously it has affected me in less noticable ways up until now. Like when Zoom went bust before I flew out here, essentially doubling my flight costs. But now, the recession is essentially the reason that I cannot get sponsorship to return here next year. This is the first time that the greed of business, which caused this recession, has impacted me directly. And it is the first time that I have direct cause for retribution.

I'll contact the Canadian High Commission in the coming days to see if there is anything else that I can do to legally remain in Canada at the expiration of my visa. But this is Canada. The place where they try to control and regulate every single step and movement that you take. So I'm sceptical that I will find any work around or loophole that will allow me to stay.

I think I can sum up my feeling about Canada in just one of two sentences. I love the land of Canada. I hate the country.

This country has been blessed with some of the most fascinating landscapes in the world. Compare it to England where a couple of fields with sheep in is about as exciting as it gets, and this place is spectacular. Why am I at Panorama? The landscape. I'm here for the mountains. But what should be one of the greatest places on earth, is ruined by the authorites. The big brother here, trying to track and control every single movement that you make. And the corruption within business. And I find it disturbing that such vast spans of spectacular land is controlled by such fucking retards. But depite my distain for the authorities here, given the opportunity, I would stay here in a second. Just because the opportunities of such scenery is so great. As it is though, it doesn't look like I'll have the opportunity. I don't have an Australian or Kiwi passport. So apparently I'm not qulified to be here for more than a year. It's fucking bullshit.

Moving on swiftly, because talking about Canada just frustrates me. A place of great potential. Ruined by retards.

You know what I'm really noticing recently? My ability to recall peoples faces... It's not just bad anymore. It's non-existent. I've been bad with faces for a while now. Forgetting people I really should remember. And with nothing else to go by, I attribute that to probably too much brain abuse when I was younger. Excessive cannabis and alcohol abuse must have taken some toll. And I think they just destroyed the part of my brain that allowed me to recall faces. And just lately, it's gone beyond bad. Unless you're a person I see for significant periods of time, on a regular basis, then quite simply, I'm not going to recognise you. I'll recognise my colleagues I work with everyday for example. Because I've just had their image drilled into my brain with excessive exposure. But outside of that elite club, if I just talk to you once, even for 15 minutes, I'm not going to recall your face the next day. You'll need to remind me who you are, everytime I see you. Then, maybe if we talk for 15 minutes for 5 straight day, then on the fifth day, I might just recognise you. But any less, and you're dreaming. Unless you're really fucking hot anyway. Then I'll remeber you. But it really has become a problem. I'm noticing offending people, just because I don't recognise them. And then it's like it's my fault that they're so unmemorable.

Like a couple of weeks back, I saw a guy in the supermarket. I didn't recognise him, but having got used to not recognising people I know, I'm always on the lookout for people looking at me like they know me. So we started talking. And another skill I've developed over the years, is being able to talk to people who I have no fucking clue who they are, without them knowing it. I can ask the questions that won't give away I don't know them. Which is a skill that is especially useful for when you don't recognise someone you apparently know quite well. They're coming up to you like "Hey Jethro. How's the knee? Still working the gondola?" So they obviously know me. They know my name. They know I'm hurt. They even know my work patterns. Yet I have never seen these fuckers in my life. At least that is what my brain is telling me. Just like this guy in the supermarket. He ended up giving me a ride back home to save me walking on my fucked knee. And to this point, I have no fucking clue who he is.

And this used to be something I'd blame on big nights out. I've had significant memory loss after the consumption of alcohol for years. I've have whole nights, where I'd start drinking at home at 5pm say. My last memory would be at 7pm, and I would have total blackout from that point fourth. I wouldn't remember being in the pub. In the club. Yet there would be pictures of me on the dance floor at 3am. I've just got used to that over the years. And because of that, suffering total memory loss at times I wasn't even too drunk, meant that a lot more people would know me than I knew them. I'd meet them when I was drunk and not remember it. It was becuase of this that I had to develop the skill of convincing people that I knew them even when I had no fucking clue who they were. And I used to blame all these people that I'd forget, on these nights out.

But now, I don't drink like I used to. I had 125 dry days in the Summer, or however many it was. I don't remember. And then since I've been in Invermere, I don't recall having more than a 2 or 3 nights with total memory blackout. And none for quite a while now. So I have no justification for forgetting anyone that I've met. But the amount of people I'm forgetting, it's maybe got even worse. I can't blame memory blackout when I don't do that to myself anymore. Yet everyday, the amount of people who know me, who I don't know. It's startling. Actually a little worrying. Shit happens though I guess. It is starting to get to the point though where I have to consciously try to remember outstanding features about people, just so I can recall them later. Kind of a little worrying.

Well like normal, I will never pass up of the opportunity to slate religion for causing as many of the worlds problems as capitalism, greed, money, and French people. And there were a couple of stories in the recent news that I thought were great. To quote the opening paragraph from this BBC article: "An Italian court has jailed a Tunisian pilot who paused to pray instead of taking emergency measures before ditching his plane, killing 16 people." Well I bet God feels real proud of himself for that one. Mr. Fucking I see and hear everything, has now killed 16 people, because a pilot stopped to talk to his imaginary friend, God. I hope the church is proud of themself for that debacle. That though is small fry compared to the hilarities the pope has bestowed upon me this week.

There's a butt-load of people in Africa going to die now, because an old man from Germany decided that condoms don't work properly. Yep, it's the day that the pope essentially murdered about a billion people in Africa because he told them that their imaginary friend God would get all pissed with them for using condoms. Genius. Absolute comic genius. And then in this article some medical journal is getting all pissed about it.

Pope Benedict XVI Well I'm sorry to sound insensitive, but 1, if you're so fucking dumb that you're going to risk catching a well known epidemic just to listen to some mental 81 year old German man because he says that he knows your favourite imaginary friend; well then you deserve to fucking die. Because if you're that dumb, you can't serve any postive purpose on earth. Talk all you want about lack of education, but that's just a lack of common sense. That's in the George Bush realms of dumb. And second, the mental German does make a good point. AIDS should be tackled through "abstinence and fidelity." Reading between the lines, what the pope is basically saying, is whack off for a few months until AIDS passes through. If you're so horny that you're willing to risk certain death just to get laid, well again, you don't have the will power to provide any real use on earth. Just do oral or something. The pope's talking a lot of sense.

And the way I'm looking at it, is that the earth is way too overpopulated as it is. Nature's going to have to even out the balance at some point. Because the earth won't be able to sustain support for this surplus of humans. Nature always balances things out. So whilst we've got some people willing to sacrifice themselves to keep their imaginary friend happy, then just let them do it. Because if nature is to balance out the human population, as it has done with every species prior to our existence, well then a load of us are going to have to go. And we could play a death lottery and continue to face the wrath of nature with this ever-increasing battle against natural disasters. Or we could save ourselves the worry, and just let a horny Africa take the fall for us. Because they all seem happy. They all think that AIDS is a gift from God anyway. So they're all getting laid obviously. And now God is talking to them. So they're willing and happy to die for us. So why not just let them take the fall? They're like smack addicts. They know they're going to get AIDS doing what they do. But they do it anyway. And they all die happy.

Because Nature's going to even us out. It always does. Dinosaurs really got it in the neck when they got too powerful. Nature just sent down a meteor to blast the fuck out of them. And global warming is just our meteor. Greed means that humankind will never be able to subside our carbon use. Instead, they use global warming as an opportunity to produce yet more carbon as the politics over Arctic oil demonstrates. And because human nature will never let us do that, we're inevitably going to get fucked up the ass by global warming. So although I might sound insensitive now, when, several years from now, we're all hiding away, praying that this isn't the day that global warming finally gets you, and me, you'll turn to me and you'll say, "We should have let the mental God lovers take it in the neck."

And a while back, before I'd even left university, in one of the really early blogs, I remember talking about this program I'd see that detailed exactly what would happen to the world if humans were to suddenly disappear. And if it happens. More, when it happens if we carry on like this. Then 10,000 years from now, any evidence of human kinds existence on earth will have been eradicated by nature. And 10,000 years isn't a long time in the existence of a solar system. We will have become no more evident to the world, than dinosaurs are to us. Maybe a few fossils will remain. But it will be like we were never here. Incidentally, that blog was It's the night of the ball!. I haven't read it again. So maybe how I remember it, is as a far more profound article than it actually is. But that's the blog it was anyway.

And speaking of God, if you remember in the last blog, I was using the Lord of the Rings as the yardstick to compare how many words I had written in these blogs. Well I was something like 2 thirds of the way to the word count of Lord of the Rings. That was easy. Well I wanted to compare myself to a more accomplished author than Tolkein. So I chose God. I went from The Lord of the Rings, to just the lord. Well God started writing the bible fucking years ago. I don't know if he wrote it as he did stuff like I'm doing. Or he created the whole world, and then wrote it. Well God's little story has a total of 788,280 words. And no offense to him, but he made up a lot of that stuff. Fucking talking snakes etc. Like that really happened. All my blogs are true. Well I'm about half way to having caught up with God's word count. And discounting the test entries, I haven't even been writing for a year yet. So fuck you God. In about a years time you will be sucking my dick as I overtake your shitty little bible. That's the power of Jro's World.

What's not quite the power of Jro's World, is it's not exactly become a self-sufficient venture yet. I initially wasn't going to put ads onto this website. But then I decided to. But I'd be honest with them, and keep them presented as ads. They would be obvious. A totally different colour to the rest of the page so you'd know that you were clicking on adverts. Well what a bull-crap idea that was. Who the hell clicks on ads that they know are ads? Well seemingly, very few people. So rather than keep them as separate entities witin my pages, I want to integrate them into the pages a bit more. Maybe trick a few people to clicking on them by accident. So for now, I'm going to be changing the appearance of the ads on this site to match the colour of the text used. As has already been done on the hostels page which I am using as my guinea pig page. But soon I will be rolling this out over the whole site. And we'll see how this works for a few days. But if this isn't too successful, I was on a website a day or so ago. And the way the ads had been integrated into the look of the site was genius. You had to really look, and then you realised, oh, it is an advert. But had I not been surveying the appearance of this page, I would have never known. So do that, and you'll have people inadvertantly clicking on adverts all day. Which isn't exactly ethical. And not something that I really want to do for this website. But to justify having it here, I need it to become at least self-sufficient.

Now unfortunately, as I built this website as a learn as you go project, it's put together pretty amateurly to put it nicely. So I don't have the layout to integrate ads like this website did. But I do have a couple of ideas to slyly integrate advetising into my website. So although I'm not too happy about it, I need to try and con people to click on some adverts. Do it without them knowing. So I'll warn you now. Be on the lookout for ads appearing where you might not expect. And when you see them, click on them. Because that makes me money.

Now just to give the weekly knee update; I almost don't walk like a retard now. In fact I've got to such a point of almost not walking like a retard, that I'm thinking of getting a cane. I could almost pull off this limp as a deliberate pimp walk. And without wanting to brag, I make a good pimp. Judge for yourself.

Pimp

Get me some ho's, and people might start to not think I'm retarded anymore. Which would be great. Because I've had enough of the Forest Gump jokes. However, I am still loading my body with painkillers. In the rare instances that I go more than 6 hours without one, it makes me realise that I really am relying on these right now. Not only for my knee, but for the finger injury I got playing broomball a couple of months ago now. Both of them require regular drugs for me to be able to use them normally. And that's something that pisses me off.

I've been saying for years that I like my body to work naturally. In the rare instance that I get ill, I want my body to heal itself. And the same applies with an injury. To the greatest extent possible, I want my body to heal itself naturally. Because I might be able to walk like an almost non-retard right now. But I need drugs to do it. So what happens the next time that I have an injury like this again? Well my body will expect drugs again. So either I'll be relying on painkillers next time as well, becoming reliant on drugs. Or there will be a transitional time where my body adjusts to not getting the drugs. A time where I won't be healing as quickly as I would have done had I not used drugs this time. Essentially, if I don't want to become a drug addict, I am taking credit now that I'll have to pay back the next time I get injured. And I don't like that feeling.

However, as I've said previously, healing my knee is my one priority for the remainder of the season. Although I won't be happy about it, I'm willing to make the sacrifice of not skiing again this season, if that is necessary. And taking these fucking pain killers is just one of the sacrifices I'm going to have to make. I guess that every once in a while we all have to dance with the devil. And in this instance I'll be waiting for the music to stop. Because regardless of the road I go down. Whether I become a dirty hippy living out of a hostel. Or an engineered health freak, I'm going to need my knee. I need a fucking cell phone as well. But that seems to be too much to ask for in this retarded country.

Now I bet you're wondering why Audioslave's Be Yourself was embedded as the blog music back at the beginning. And you might well wonder. Well you know how some songs, just mean stuff to you. They ignite certain emotions, certain memories about times from your past. Well in keeping with the theme that this blog seemed to follow, to me, this song, is like the official song of Vancouver, 2005. I remember buying the album Out of Exile from a music shop on Burrard Street near to my appartment in Van in '05 (along with a Foo Fighters album). And this song off Out of Exile, it kind of became the official song of my 2005 travelling. It's the song that best ignites the memories for me, of back in 2005. I remember sitting in my 16th floor appartment in Vancouver, blasting this out of the stereo. And still in the days of portable CD players, I remember listening to it at various points as I was travelling. So this, is kind of the official song of Vancouver '05. And seeing as the theme of this blog seemed to be based around my returning to Van, I thought it was appropriate blog music to have.

And thinking about it, this might have been the last music that I legally purchased. Because I haven't bought too much music legally in recent times. Why would you? Paying for stuff is a mugs game.

Man I really do have a lot of stuff I want to write about right now. You remember at the end of the last blog that I said I'd try and write again in the next day or 2, and then never did. Well I haven't even started on any of that stuff now. So having another day off tomorrow, I might have to write again.

I'm still good to keep going for a bit more today though. Firstly, gays.

I was thinking this week about gays. It's not something that I especially do a lot. But it seemed to be something that I was doing this week. And what I was thinking, was gay pride. What the fuck is that all about? Because over here you get a lot of programs about lesbians. Mainly on MTV, they'll have some reality TV show, in which the end result is you get a lot of chics making out with each other. That's all good. But the lesbians seem very, very stern in their views, that they are naturally gay. That it's not a choice that they made. That they were born that way (that's crap. It's a choice, but we'll save that for another day). And I just got wondering, if it's not a choice, but a natural occurance, then why the fuck are you so proud of it? Why are there gay pride marches? Because surely, to be proud of something, you have to have achieved it. If, as they like to say, it is in fact a naturally occuring phenomenom, not a choice (it's a choice), then why be so proud?

It's like having tall pride marches. And hairy people pride marches. And "I've got 2 hands and 2 legs" pride marches. If it is so naturally occuring, then what the fuck have you got to be proud about? You were supposedly just born that way. So where is the pride? I don't get it. Just something I was thinking about.

On the other hand, if it is a choice (which it is), then you would have a justification for all these marches. Because you are proudly demonstrating a choice that you made that was different to most other people. There's logic there. But being a natural occurance, as all these lesbos on MTV claim that it is, then what the fuck is there to be proud about?

Next, I have ugly people. I was thinking a lot about ugly people this week as well. I guess I was very confused this week. No wonder I've been having fucked up dreams. I've been spending all my days thinking about ugly gay people.

But what I was thinking, is there must be a reason why you're repulsed by them. Your brain finding them ugly, is your bodies defense against sleeping with them. And thinking reproductively, why would you not want to sleep with someone? It's because your brain has determined that they aren't genetically suitable to parent your offspring. The person whom your brain will view as most attractive, will be the one that it views will give your spouse the greatest chance of survival. Therefore, by rejecting an ugly person, it is your brains defense from allowing you to produce inferior offspring. By which rationale, if the general consensus among peers is that a person is ugly, then it is the general consensus that they do not provide an adequate genetic code, to parent children with a sufficient chance of survival. Meaning, that ugly people, or fat people, or French people, are essentially inferior. Any demographic of people that no one would want to mate with, are subconsciously viewed by your brain as being genetically inferior. Therefore meaning, it's ok to throw peanuts at them, because they're not as good as the rest of us. So when your child is next reported at school for bullying the ginger kid, just stop and think before you ground him. This kid is ginger for a reason. It's to protect the rest of us from mating with him. So, by bullying the inferior, your child is almost providing a public service. Like those homeless people who collect all the bottles. In your face uglies.

I was also thinking about old people this week. It really has been a fucked up week. Maybe I should stop mixing painkillers with Morgan's spiced rum. I have really had some weird fucking dreams to go with all this old, ugly, gay person thinking. Not even good dreams either. I haven't got laid or been able to suck my own dick once yet this week.

But it was at Anne's leaving drinks this past Sunday. She was a ski teacher who was leaving for the season (another one going. I would stay, it's just I'm not fucking allowed). And in the pub, I don't know why, but I started to find out how old people were. And all of a sudden, when there was only a few of us left, I had become the oldest one of the group... How the fuck did that happen?

I was born in August, and the UK academic calendar runs from September to August. So my whole life, I've been used to being the youngest one among my various groups of friends. It's just the way it's always been. I'm a young person. Always have been. Was always one of the youngest in my classes growing up. And even as I progressed through uni, despite taking a gap year, I was always still around the middle ground. I suppose in my final year at Hull, I was one of the veterans on the football team. But apart from that, I've just always been young. And now, all of a sudden, I'm sat in the pub. And I'm old. I've suddenly become old.

I remember the exact day, when I was about 21½, that Everton were playing Reading away. And it suddenly dawned on me that day. "I've reached my peak." I've reached, and I have breached, my physical peak. And this day, was the first time that it suddenly dawned on me... I'm not going to be young forever. But how did I go from not being young, to being old? It doesn't make any sense. I can't be the oldest one. That's fucking bullcrap. I'm the young one. That's the way that it's always been. And all of a sudden. I'm fucking old. I'm not going to be able to stay in hostels anymore and be the sweet, innocent rookie traveller anymore. I'm going to be the kind of guy who sits in the armchair, recalling those moments in Alaska, all those years ago. Way back in 2005. Or that time in Jasper, way back in 2006. Or those fond memories of Halifax, back in the day of 2007. Or of Mexico, all those years ago in 2008. That's the guy I'm going to be. Soon I'll be the creepy old guy who stays in youth hostels. "Youth" hostels. That guy that everyone looks at, and is like "Ugh. Look at that old guy trying to be hip. Staying in our youth hostels." How the fuck did this happen? I've just realised. I'm going to become old. That really doesn't work for me. I make fun of old people. That's what I do. How the fuck am I going to be able to do that if I'm old? It's like, the worst thing about getting out of shape right now because of my knee, is I can't laugh at fat people anymore. And that's something I like to do. How the fuck can I do that when I'm busy growing man boobs. Soon I won't be able to laugh at fat people or old people. It will be a fucking travesty. A travesty. How the hell are the ginger and French people going to be able to take that much slack? How? I can't get old. It just doesn't work for me. I haven't figured out what yet. But I'm going to have to do something about this. There is no way that I am getting old. That does not work for me.

Now I could carry on writing here. However, Sobey's closes in a minute. And I'm out of cola to mix with my rum and painkillers. So I need to stop for tonight so I can rectify this. I have a day off tomorrow as well. So although I do have a lot of useful things I need to be doing. I actually have a list of useful things I need to be doing, I may well waste half of my day writing again. Just like I did today. It seems to clear my head. Relaxes me. So I am done for tonight.

But... to be continued!!!
(Probably)


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