As Vancouverites surround themselves with blankets, family, and food, my poor little flight to San Franscisco surrounds itself with more and more cancellations.  Yet, still amongst all these foresaken flights mine blinks On Time on the computer screen in my bedroom.

Early to bed, I awoke early this morning to a bleak Vancouver landscape. Homes and streets layered like that appetizer your aunt brings to the Christmas feast every year.  Except, unlike your aunt’s dish, this layered treat has been dug into, stepped through, and has actually been enjoyed by the odd deranged individual.

So here I wait, for the cab that I fear may never come.  Here I sit repeatedly refreshing the departures page of the Vancouver International Airport’s website, just hoping that one way or another I will make it all the way to Phoenix before next Tuesday.

Malaysian Escalator Sign

When researching this little article a friend of mine told me that if I need to walk up escalators then I should clearly just get out of bed five minutes earlier every morning.  This is the same friend that I spent 6 months traveling through Asia with and the same friend that made sure to let me know that it drove her crazy when I would walk up escalators.

As far as pet peeves go, standing still on escalators ranks near the top.  It is a behavior rampant in our society and clearly draws a line between two unique groups of people: people who have places to be and things to do and people who are clearly just trying to drive me crazy.  There are locations throughout Vancouver where these two groups can co-exist in peace, namely the SkyTrain stations where it is clearly labeled that standees take the right and walkers take the left.  But this leaves a city of uncontrolled escalators ready and waiting for some lazy guy or gal to come a long and prevent me from reaping the benefits of this mode of travel.

Malaysian Escalator Sign

Granted, there are those that would argue that an escalator presents a moment to chill out and relax, to take a second to repose and rest.  But unlike all you masters of zen, some of us common folk have a schedule to keep and don’t have the privilege of such an aimless squandering of time.  To those of you that are less mobile than I am in my young age, I completely approve of your behavior, but these are not the folk that I see most often blocking my path.  It can be anyone anywhere, perhaps you are carrying a couple of bags and decide that it’s alright to hold them at your side in my path, perhaps you are talking on your cell phone, or perhaps you have a friend with you and the two of you decide that is necessary to stand on the same step and make it completely impossible for anyone to overtake you.

I found an interesting article on Slate.com that looked at this dilemma from an economic perspective .  At discovering this discussion I began to realize that this problem is in fact bigger than me and you and consequently sheds light on a much broader societal issue.  Whether we walk or stand still on escalators, we are claiming our right to behave as we choose in an un-controlled environment.  It is often in these un-controlled environments, when humans are cooped up together in intimate environments, that some of our most interesting behaviors become apparent to each other.  Buses, elevators, and line-ups are all situations where we’ve been faced with dealing with the words, smells, and raucous attitudes of others.  It is what we do with other’s behaviors that defines us as individuals, and we hope for the benefit of humanity itself that it doesn’t turn out violent as this incident on a San Francisco escalator did.

So, if this little commentary accomplishes anything I suppose I would just like a little more consideration from those of you who I’m unlucky enough to have to share an escalator, elevator, or city bus with.  I guess all I’m asking from you, is to open your eyes, take a look around, and be aware of the individuals that are standing directly behind, because unlike yourselves, some of us are too jacked up on anxiety and coffee to take ten seconds to just chill out.

Snow | Vancouver

It’s an always tragic day in Vancouver when it begins to snow.  Growing up in Calgary, my taste for the snow is, let’s say, drastically different from a few of you “born and raised on the coast folk”.  There is something always deeply depressing about watching the bamboo plants outside the window become totally blanketed in snow.  I’ve come to realize in the few cities that I’ve lived and the many that I’ve visisted that no matter where you are, from New York to Dallas to Victoria, any city looks exactly the same under a coating of the white stuff.

Snow | Vancouver

I suppose I can understand the novelty for those of you who only have to look at the stuff for a couple of days a year.  I suppose I can see the slight joy in a snow fall on Christmas morning.  But, I’ll never stop hating it, the way it looks when it covers the trees, the way the streets become all mucky and brown when the cars have driven through it, and the way it makes everything just generally more difficult.  Ugggh…. And to top it all off, it takes away everything I moved out to the coast to enjoy.  It takes away the green, it blocks my view, and it even takes away the sound of the rain coming down in the morning.

So, needless to say, yep, it’s snowing in Vancouver.

To all of you who go to restaurants, spend $20, ask for hot water, and sit there all night with no concern for anyone else who might be waiting for a table: you suck!

Oh yeah, and then once you’ve paid the bill, you go out to your car, grab Christmas presents, open them, and expect me to throw away the wrapping paper, you suck even harder… Oh God, you suck!

As I sit here in repose from yet another bender I find it amusing that I so often find myself wanting to settle down. That I’ve felt a certain way before and so easily forgotten it, says something. It suggests that I am never content unless I believe that what I’m feeling ‘right now’ is completely unique.

I will never be devoid of my desire to be at the center of the universe.

While sifting through the backlog of random musings on my hard drive I stumbled upon this.

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Whenever I have thought about changing the direction of my life, I have envisioned a complete ninety degree turn. On heels, I lift my toes off the ground, swivel, and change face entirely before taking my first step. Over the years, my behavior has teetered between one extreme and the other. I have been a man contentedly balancing between alcohol and overhaul.

When I cleanse, I eliminate it all-every last bit of poison- and flush it all out. And, when I party, I consume it all-every last tempting tidbit-and move about the room stunted and blinded.

The question and purpose over the years has not been how to become completely pure but rather, how do I find balance in this shaking and breaking world of mine?

How do you give up just enough and only indulge just enough to remain happy, healthy, and on track?

As I sit here in this cafe fresh from a late evening, trying feebly to study I realize how pathetic my ability to think is right now. My brain does nothing for me other than provide its constant stream of distractions and daydreams.

Sometimes I wonder about the role that my environment plays in the whole thing. I wonder if it is my environment that is enabling me, causing me to falter. But, how do you eliminate the temptations that come in human and inhuman packages? And, how do you continue to foster love in your life when you have to eliminate people and your social settings from it?

I suppose it can be enough to just take baby steps here and there, keeping your best intentions in mind. I suppose it’s enough to believe that we are exactly where we are supposed to be, doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. I suppose it’s entirely naive to think that you can change over night, but my brain and body are telling me more and more every day to at least give it a shot.

When I was younger I would never tell anyone that I was having my period. I was soo embarrassed. I wouldn’t even buy my own tampons. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn’t ask my dad to buy me some if I didn’t have any, which eventually led to a horrible incident in high school that included a rugby jersey tied around my waste and my seat in science class smeared with blood. I chose to go through a day of absolute agony instead of just saying “Dad, can you buy me some tampons?”

Now it is a completely different story. I will tell anyone who is listening that I am bleeding. “This is why I am acting like a weirdo” is written on my forehead. That or, “My uterine walls are shedding,” or “I have really bad cramps.” I have a sandwich board and a bell adorned with psycho faces and pads. “Hey, everybody!! It’s my lady time!!!! I have a bloody vagina!!!!” I scream in the middle of a busy bus stop.

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I can hear the ladies at table seven talking about cookie pans. Their confident laughter and boisterous conversation is turning my stomach. A part of me wants to walk calmly to their table and graciously ask them if they are happy with their drinks and whether their meals are all they hoped for. This same part of me wants to walk briskly to their table and tip their meals into their laps; turning quickly and gracefully I will then walk out the front door.

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Some thoughts: Vancouver boys are ridiculous. They can get whatever and whoever they want at the moments notice. A girlfriend said it perfectly when stating “ they always think they can do better” and the thing is, usually they can. How else can you explain not-so-good -looking or charming dirt bags getting hot women left right and center?

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