Friday, January 14, 2005
“If I keep my mouth open long enough, maybe my saliva will freeze” – the author of this website
Last week, I don’t remember the date, my father said something to me as I walked down to the kitchen for breakfast in the morning. I’m not very alert in the morning, or ever, for that matter, and did not understand what he was saying. I answered, “Yes” because that is what one does. He repeated what he had said, which was “It snowed.” Like a computer from the nineties, my brain buzzed and shook, processed the information with no hurry whatsoever, and with a final ZZZZD!, finished the task. With that, I leaped over to the nearest window and almost broke the string on the blinds as I yanked them up. I shoved my head in the glass, smudging it with my greasy face, and screamed, “Snow!” And then the entire neighborhood woke up and began to plot my death. But the snow, the gorgeous, gorgeous snow distracted them, and so here I am today, alive and telling you this story.
I cannot tell you how happy and surprised and pleased I am with the weather. If the weather was a dog, I would pat it on the head and say, “Good dog.” The weather has been amazing. When it snowed on the first day, I began to miss it as I soon as I saw it. Vancouver rarely snows, if ever. When it does, it usually does so for five minutes so the weather network can have some dignity and tell its listeners, “We’ve been telling you that it’d snow for two weeks, and look! It snowed! We are the awesome. The awesome are we.”
I looked at the fresh layer outside my home and was sure that it would be gone by noon. On the way to school, it began to rain. I sighed, made a face, and told myself that it had snowed, and that was enough. After my second class, the first thing I saw when I went outside was people shoving snow into each other’s faces. “Sweet!” I thought. And then I saw the big snowflakes falling from the sky and several weaklings whimpering about the quote unquote “assbitching” cold in a corner. “Sweet!” I thought again. And so, to my utter surprise and delight, it snowed and snowed, and although it has stopped snowing, the last time I glanced outside, there was still a lot of snow on the ground. Unbelievable. For the next several days, I couldn’t stop squealing. Like a hamster, but without the hair and the tiny poop. Every time I went outside, and every time I traveled from class to class, I would go on and on about how wonderful the snow was, and how it was just so beautiful. I couldn’t stop pointing at trees and telling people to look at them. And look, that car has snow all over it! Ha Ha! Let’s dump snow into the garbage cans! Ha Ha! That person just tripped and fell! Ha Ha!
What else can I say? Snow is great. I don’t like to talk about the weather much. When other people bring up the weather, I think, “Yeah, so?” and quickly change the topic to something interesting like the fact that I’m going bald. When buying my daily supply of sour candy from 711, the woman behind me talked to me about the traffic and the horrors of driving in the snow. What a downer, I thought. So I flashed her my metallic smile (the braces, remember?) and talked to her about my hair loss. I’m kidding. Sort of.
The crisp and sparkling surroundings have also raised my tolerance a little. I was trying to do some reading for school, but ended up glancing outside for reasons unknown to me. The playground was empty save for a girl and a boy, clinging to each other like wrinkled saran wrap. On normal days I would have made puking sounds and promptly turned away, but I don’t know if it was the snow or the fact that the boy was rather good looking, I continued to stare at them. The girl giggled in a nausea-inducing way, pulled away playfully from the boy then got pulled back, several lip-locking episodes ensued, and so on. I don’t know why I kept on looking. Maybe I'm turning into a pervert.
So, about the weather. It’s great, eh?
You can read what Socar Myles wrote about the snow here, and view some pictures here and here.
Last week, I don’t remember the date, my father said something to me as I walked down to the kitchen for breakfast in the morning. I’m not very alert in the morning, or ever, for that matter, and did not understand what he was saying. I answered, “Yes” because that is what one does. He repeated what he had said, which was “It snowed.” Like a computer from the nineties, my brain buzzed and shook, processed the information with no hurry whatsoever, and with a final ZZZZD!, finished the task. With that, I leaped over to the nearest window and almost broke the string on the blinds as I yanked them up. I shoved my head in the glass, smudging it with my greasy face, and screamed, “Snow!” And then the entire neighborhood woke up and began to plot my death. But the snow, the gorgeous, gorgeous snow distracted them, and so here I am today, alive and telling you this story.
I cannot tell you how happy and surprised and pleased I am with the weather. If the weather was a dog, I would pat it on the head and say, “Good dog.” The weather has been amazing. When it snowed on the first day, I began to miss it as I soon as I saw it. Vancouver rarely snows, if ever. When it does, it usually does so for five minutes so the weather network can have some dignity and tell its listeners, “We’ve been telling you that it’d snow for two weeks, and look! It snowed! We are the awesome. The awesome are we.”
I looked at the fresh layer outside my home and was sure that it would be gone by noon. On the way to school, it began to rain. I sighed, made a face, and told myself that it had snowed, and that was enough. After my second class, the first thing I saw when I went outside was people shoving snow into each other’s faces. “Sweet!” I thought. And then I saw the big snowflakes falling from the sky and several weaklings whimpering about the quote unquote “assbitching” cold in a corner. “Sweet!” I thought again. And so, to my utter surprise and delight, it snowed and snowed, and although it has stopped snowing, the last time I glanced outside, there was still a lot of snow on the ground. Unbelievable. For the next several days, I couldn’t stop squealing. Like a hamster, but without the hair and the tiny poop. Every time I went outside, and every time I traveled from class to class, I would go on and on about how wonderful the snow was, and how it was just so beautiful. I couldn’t stop pointing at trees and telling people to look at them. And look, that car has snow all over it! Ha Ha! Let’s dump snow into the garbage cans! Ha Ha! That person just tripped and fell! Ha Ha!
What else can I say? Snow is great. I don’t like to talk about the weather much. When other people bring up the weather, I think, “Yeah, so?” and quickly change the topic to something interesting like the fact that I’m going bald. When buying my daily supply of sour candy from 711, the woman behind me talked to me about the traffic and the horrors of driving in the snow. What a downer, I thought. So I flashed her my metallic smile (the braces, remember?) and talked to her about my hair loss. I’m kidding. Sort of.
The crisp and sparkling surroundings have also raised my tolerance a little. I was trying to do some reading for school, but ended up glancing outside for reasons unknown to me. The playground was empty save for a girl and a boy, clinging to each other like wrinkled saran wrap. On normal days I would have made puking sounds and promptly turned away, but I don’t know if it was the snow or the fact that the boy was rather good looking, I continued to stare at them. The girl giggled in a nausea-inducing way, pulled away playfully from the boy then got pulled back, several lip-locking episodes ensued, and so on. I don’t know why I kept on looking. Maybe I'm turning into a pervert.
So, about the weather. It’s great, eh?
You can read what Socar Myles wrote about the snow here, and view some pictures here and here.
