I will begin where I feel like it. It's March 3, 2003. I am on my snowboard edging somewhat out of control down a slope a little too steep with trees a little too tight for my skill level. My friend is 30 feet ahead of me downhill and we are going pretty fast through the trees. He is a faster and a better snowboarder all around, and he happens to live at this mountain.
I suddenly remember that Sonny Bono died on a ski hill by hitting a tree, and so did Trudeau's son. What was his name? It was a girls name I think. I couldn't remember it exactly, in retrospect I think it might be Michelle, but I'm not sure. They probably never thought they'd die there. I guess no one would.
I plan on buying a helmet soon, it seems like a good idea, not that I really need one since I ride like a wimp, but it would be nice. I am never in any actual danger, but I still don't want to bust my skull open.
The trees are just too fast and freaky for me so I get up to my buddy and we leave the trees without incident. The rest of the day we ride trees anyway, but not those ones.
15 hours earlier
I was lying on the worst pull out bed in western canada. It has a bar across the middle of it that deforms your spine or folds your knees forward while you sleep. At this moment in its decepticon couch configuration it is only mildly uncomfortable. I am in the house in Fernie B.C. where I'm staying with my buddy, his girl and her friend from the east, not Asia but Ontario. We had been snowboarding all day and then went swimming and we were all pretty tired.
We were just lying around talking and I got into my latest theory. I heard somewhere that every 7 years all the atoms in your body are totally replaced by process of consumption and waste. So in essence you're a completely different person. Except for the fact that you're not. You're the same person made of different material, so essentially the material is secondary.
What is it that makes you who you are? I started thinking about identical twins. They are genetically the same, but they are different people. So here's what I came up with. Memories make you who you are. The ego, or self is made up of your experiences.
Then I said that I thought if you took all the memories out of my brain and put them in someone else's that they would become me. Therefore the possibility of a mind transfer machine a la Gilligans Island or the Flintstones is a real possibility.
Despite all this engaging philosophical banter I couldn't help but suspect my buddy was concerned that my generally adversarial nature would lead to conflict with his other guest, the one from the east. It was a fair conclusion. The girl had a toque with her name embroidered on it and she had a political reason not to eat bananas. There was no conflict, primarily because I'm trying not to argue with everyone all the time now. But I will defend the eating of bananas to my death. They are high in potassium and delicious.
11 days earlier
I am in a place called Stars on Whyte avenue in Edmonton. My friends Hills Have Eyes are playing. From the first song I am grinning from ear to ear at how much I love their band. One of my friends is standing beside me and he's grinning too. The show is fucking wicked and although they hate me going on about them I won't ever stop. It is possible that I am biased by the fact that I am friends with the everyone in the band, one of them for like a decade and some, but I doubt it.
I guess I'm proud of them, except that pride in someone else doesn't make sense since I had nothing to do with what they have done. I hope they're proud of themselves. I am also just excited that I have such stunning friends who entertain. I guess I'm just lucky.
10 months earlier
I am at my uncles funeral. My uncle was young, not much older than my dad. My dad is standing at the podium of a packed church delivering the eulogy for his only brother. It is the saddest thing I have seen. I am overwhelmed by my dad's strength. He can barely get the words out at points, but he does it. Everything he says about my uncle moves everyone.
My uncle probably would have been surprised by how much of an impression he had left on me and how much I knew about him. I think people underestimate the effect they have on others because they don't see it directly. Everyone leaves some kind of memory footprints. My uncle left good ones.
I feel a little guilty writing about it, I don't want to exploit it in any way. My dad was my hero that day. I guess our parents can surprise us. I usually think of mine as semi obsolete but its not true.
4 years earlier
I'm standing in the wings of the Jubilee auditorium at my convocation for my B.A. from the screwniversity. I am nervous about the whole scene, sweating in my little weird square hat and blue gown and big green sash that somehow said Arts on it I think.
We graduates are divided into our little faculties. I don't recognize anyone else in the wings but I guess its a big university. I am annoyed by the fact that one of the people handing out the degrees is Lois Hole. She is a chancellor for the university due to her outstanding achievement in the field of rolling cashola at the university. Buying a seat as a chancellor kind of degrades the position in my opinion. But who is strong enough to stand up to someone who built an expansive empire of wealth and power on gardening books? Nobody has those kind of cahones.
I contemplated grabbing my degree from President Overlord Darth Fraser and punching him in the face, or giving him five, but I knew I wouldn't. My parents, older brother and my grandma were all there in the crowd. I acted mildly annoyed with what a big deal my mom made of everything, but inside I was super stoked. She wanted to take all these pictures and made a whole thing about it, which was awesome.
I walked across the stage like a person, got handed something blank, and then my mom took a bunch of pictures of her boy genius. We busted out before the other kids were even done. My mom wanted to stay because she thought it was rude, but we outvoted her. We headed to Joey Tomaties where I downed a few pints before heading to work.
Also, they gave me a graduation present that knocked my fuckin socks off.
5 years earlier
My parents are fighting. I am in my first year of university. This particular day is sucking. I don't want to be in the house anymore and its the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, maybe a tuesday, I can't recall.
I get on the bus and ride it down to school, but I get off on Whyte avenue. I proceed to Squires Pub where I drink several pitchers of beer by myself. The afternoon becomes evening faster than I thought. I decided to buy new jeans and I head to a nearby skateshop and buy a pair of super baggy black droors jeans. The reason I bought the jeans escaped me at the time, but I also never thought about it.
I buy a sub from subway, wander around drunk and then find some friends at Squires again, with no reluctance one of them drives me home. I guess I'm just lucky.
I always hated Squires after that day.
8 months earlier
I am in my grade 12 english class. Class was dismissed and my teacher kept me after to talk to me. We had been handed back our last terms biggest assignment. My mark was very high. The assignment was on The Outsider by Albert Camus. Turns out I can write good about french existentialism. It's too bad existentialism is a crock of shit. She told me that I had written the best assignment in the class. She put 100% and then 2 plus signs after it.
I was very pleased with myself. She was trying to tell me something but I wasn't getting it. I thought she was telling me that I did good, I think she was trying to tell me I did something unique. For some reason she liked me despite my half assed efforts and class clown behaviour.
I didn't care that much about english, and my university english class the next year just about killed any interest I had in writing, but it didn't. Like chumbawumba says, I get knocked down, but I get up again.