rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2000-09-15 (11:37:43)
In which our plucky young hero has only been home a day.

Look shocked. I'm updating.

I've spent the past week or so in Vancouver, Canada's gateway to the Pacific. It was one of those trips I took to get my head cleared out and remind myself how little I want to do something I'd regret afterwards, especially in front of a judge.

The flight out was on my usual airline, WestJet. For some reason I respect WestJet where I don't respect that other goddamn airline. It's weird; both WJ and AC give me a tiny seat, no real meal for the flight, and a constantly shrinking carryon allowance. But for some reason I find WJ tolerable while I find AC horrid.

Oh, right. It's because if you walk up to the ticket agent and ask to get on the next flight to Vancouver, WestJet will charge you $600 round trip and Air Canada will charge $2,000. Yeah, that just might be a reason.

Anyway. To hell with ranting about airlines. I'm going to have gone to Vancouver and I'm going to tell you about what I did to tell, no matter how much I need to mangle tenses to do it.

Vancouver is a weird place; this trip was the first time that I was there and actually felt like the people around me. It's a beautiful city (and the parts that aren't beautiful at least, uh, have character) and until now, I spent most of my wandering time thinking the following:

Huh? Why isn't anyone smiling? Why are they all so down? They're in Vancouver! Nothing could faze me if I lived here! "Oh? My arm? So that's why there's blood running down my shirt. Well, shucks. Can you call 911 for me?"

This time, though, I spent my trip thinking the following:

Oh god I hope that hand grenade doesn't land today. I don't want to work. But I gotta, so at least I know I can get it over with quickly when it happens. If it does. At any time. Anytime now. Damn. Will I be able to find a terminal and work if I need to?

This is probably closer to what the locals actually think, so I feel a little closer in spirit to them now. It also clarifies for me that I can be a really annoying little Pollyanna type when I try.

I was in Vancouver to see the Fringe Festival (yes, another of those things), and I ended up being sort of disappointed. I caught a grand total of three shows, and by that I mean "two shows and a street magician". Unlike the Saskatoon Fringe, the Vancouver one was spread out over what seemed like eighty-five different locations, none of them accessible from the other except by car. This made my Fringe-going life miserable and wretched, and I finally decided to just accept it.

(I did see the startlingly beautiful Australian girl again, though, so that was kind of neat.)

Anyway, Stuff Happened in Vancouver, but I don't know what kind of stuff it really is yet. More as it happens, or, if the time lapse between the last entry and this one is any indication, more within a month of it happening.

sirilyan.diaryland.com | sirilyan dotcom
anything said in lowercase sounds profound. say it to me.