So according to my current singular news source the flack that has been international coverage of the 2010 olympic games is starting to change over. 
Yes.  It's sad that a Georgian luge athlete was killed directly before the opening ceremonies.  I'm sorry it happens, and no 21 year old deserves to have their life ended like that.  But, really?  Luge is one of the world's most dangerous sports.  Stuff happens.
The snow situation sucks.  Look, this is my province, and it's my tax dollars that are paying out to have it shipped onto Cyprus.  Am I blaming officials?  Heck no.  It's unfortunate.  If we knew, when we put in our bid, that it was going to be the warmest season on record maybe we would've thought twice.  We didn't.  We're dealing.  And it's working out.  Period.
Oh, and Canada is losing multi-millions of dollars through these failing games in this failing global economy.  I say, really?  Give me solid numbers.  Yeah, the economy isn't great.  Maybe this is a chance for a boost.  It's impossible to figure out the money that has flowed into the province due to the games.  And, regardless, we'll have these great facilities for years to come.
And, right.  We granted countless hours of course training to our own athletes, and limited others.  That's why we're at the top of the medal count.
Oh, and prices!  did you know that local businesses are raising them because there is a inflated demand and thousands of extra people in town?!?!
Plus, there's more traffic!  Really.  How is this reasonable?
Seriously, I've always been a little upset at the whiners anyway.  And those "protesters".  Way to cost the province more.  What, do you expect them to call of the games after they've opened because a couple hundred intimidating individuals are busting store windows? 
We need something to celebrate once in a while.  What's wrong, really, with being excited that these Olympics 2010 are taking place here?  Why can't we all just cheer on our athletes?  Life is a little better.
So, there's a turn around taking place.  No major event like this ever comes off flawlessly, and I'm not denying that things couldn't have been better.  I just honestly think officials are doing a pretty decent job of dealing with the issues they've been handed.
I'm having a good time.  And I appreciate the Canadians who are cheering right along with me.  I'm not surprised the athletes themselves are complimenting Canada and our venue.  So, go team Canada.  Congratulations Vancouver 2010. 

Let's celebrate this country of ours.

The typical, once life happens blogging stops.
At least, temporary life in this case.
I have been on the road for a week and a half and the number of experiences we've had have been worth dozens of posts on their own.
I bring you highlights.
1.  Arriving at 1:00 in the morning at Kaitlyn's.  To hear the GPS say, "you have reached your destination", a pretty serious highlight after a ridiculously long drive.  And to have Kaitlyn bouncing around and being the epitome of excited, a very cool thing.  The fold-out bed, even better. 
2.  Cowboy bar and Cowboy swing.  I knew nothing about the genre, and by the end of the night I felt I could dance it.  At least with any sort of a strong partner.  I was amazed at what a strong lead could do.  Such a blast!  Also, being flipped...flipped... by a professional bullrider.  I was pretty impressed.
3. Olympic gym.  Like, gymnasium.  You know, where they train for gymnastics.  I loved having run of it.  Spring loaded mats, rings, bars, foam pit, seriously everything.  Also loved playing on it with Sarah's family!
4. NHL game.  Just the Wilds and they Coyotes.  But the experience was well worth it.  And tickets were about 20 bucks!  The game managed to be exciting despite the lack of competitive vibes.  And sitting there eating popcorn with Sarah and Karen just made it that much better.
5.  Tacos in Mexico.  Authentic Spanish.  I kinda missed it all.  So the little taste was good.
6.  Seeing Sarah, talking to her a little bit.  There's no way to make up for seven years, but it was good to give it a chance.
7. LA basically wasn't amazing.  No serious highlights.  Hollywood sign, kinda cool.  Seeing green after leaving the desert, always nice!  Oh, IHOP!  Pretty much the best time in LA.
8. Quaint San Fransisco.  Can't help but enjoy much of it. 
9.  Hostelling again!  The young international crowd.  The, "Where are you from and what are you doing here" conversation that's been had to many times.
And that's it for now folks.  There's a few more experiences to be had.  And they will be.  Until then, I leave you with these.

I have had a poor history with New Years resolutions.  Not so much that I make them and then don't keep them.  If I make them I usually aim low enough that there's a pretty good chance they'll get accomplished.  It's more of a hit and miss thing.  I've made them a handful of times.  But I usually don't make a point of keeping track of them.
Last year I was in Tel Aviv.  I was in the middle of accomplishing one of my life goals anyway.  They don't really celebrate the new year in Israel, so the whole thing was a little anti climatic.  Playing on jungle gyms on the beach we went by Megan's watch before yelling our welcome to the Mediterranean waves. 
Tel Aviv was not the high point of the trip.
I've yelled it from the top of trees and in Qc living rooms surrounded by strangers.  This upcoming year will enter in a much more typical manner.  I will be with friends in my hometown.  I'll attend a family potluck the next day.  I may go snowboarding.  I may or may not end up with resolutions.  This year I'm leaning towards disdaining them.  As always, I'll look back on the year past.  In this case, 2009.  And ahead.  2010.
So, let's get a head start.  This last year held a lot, and nothing.  Years are long like that.  Shortly after that Tel Aviv moment I ended up volunteering in the Israeli desert.  Something about the calm and my bitterness resulted in joy.  The desert promotes crazy reactions like that.  Refreshed, we headed to India and onwards.  The beautiful exoticness.  What heartbreaking poverty.  What fun Asian moments.  My trip became what it was supposed to be.  An adventure packed contact with culture.  Finally I acknowledged I was ready to come home.  The time was right. 
I anticipated a slump.  Non-clinical Depression, of a sort.  A week after the gruelling journey I found myself lying on an ironing board behind a tractor picking asparagus.  So redneck, so stunning, so tedious.  On my family formed crew the half a season I was around for wasn't too long.
Cousins, summer, swimming.  There are posts where this is evidenced.  I was happy.  I was excited for what was next.
Summer can't last forever.  This is where the nothing starts.
The slump came as my plans failed.  As I moved my things into the room with the pool table and the t.v.  As I packed apples, and then wished I was still working at that fruitstand.  Sadly, posts record this too.
Christmas a brief reprieve.  Serving, partially, to remind me I'm still here.  Seven months later.  Is this not reason to feel down?
And ahead...  2010.  I have no idea.  I am pessimistic and negative about it, though.  Perhaps a few resolutions wouldn't hurt.  I am driving south for the upcoming month.  Sped, a friend you haven't heard about for a long time, has agreed that I could come visit.  I love the Pacific coast, and hopefully this will be my route back. 
So, maybe I should resolve to put something in place when I get back.  It's been a decent year, even if I've stalled.  Let's hope to move forward in 2010.

A few quick items of note.
Ess, I know you don't blog anymore.  Let alone look at other people's.  But if you were to come to mine you would note I've changed to one of those boring generic templates.  Sort of.  Not because I outgrew your work, but the computer did.  The graphic was failing to work and my miserable attempts to remedy it only resulted in a complete misalligning of text.  I do, however, miss the uniquness of my own template, my quotes and my comments. 
So, I guess this is just kinda the next step in my blogging.  Upgrade my layout, or whatever the heck it is they got me to do.
Bear with me, all my non-exsistant readers, as I mess around teaching myself to edit this one up.  Like the denim frame?  Me neither.  It's tres nouveau, may well change, and is actually quite an accomplishment.  It was called Jeans and a T-shirt.  How could I resist?
Also, whenever I click on "next blog" it brings up a bookie blog.  Is it because of my post on modernistic female authors?  Anyway, I find it quite amusing. 
Anyway

I think I learned to enjoy walking at night from my aunt. I remember strolling around town with her after dinner at my Grandma's, talking about street lights, family, and things that seem cool when you're talking to an travelled aunt, and you're twelve. She told me she liked looking into peoples' windows. I think she then promptly realized it sounded a bit creepy (although it was over my head) and quickly tried to explain it. I got it right away, though. Simple glimpses into people's lives. A dinner table here, someone watching t.v. there, dinner dishes getting done. Such brief and routine wonder at whole worlds that exist apart from yours.
It's extra nice this time of year. Christmas trees from the tacky to the classy, velvet bows pinned on window curtains. Town on a Friday night. More then five cars on main at once. Occasional teenagers in hoodies smelling of axe and cigerrettes. Dark window shopping and street lights.
Weather so mild it feels like spring and you pull your hood off.
A day inside reading "short prose" is just a little too long. This soggy snow must be of some benefit. The stretch smells of stored apples as I pass the fruit stands. I like walking at night. It's a probably bad habit that followed me around the world. For years I've pounded off frustration, wanderlust, and restlessness by pulling on my touque or sandals and taking off into the fading light, or complete darkness. I usually talk to myself or God. Sometimes I kick telephone posts, sometimes I run, sometimes I jump around like some kind of ballet crossover. I've been known (to myself) to laugh out loud or sit alone in some forgotten corner.
Tonight I got to walk past all the Christmas lights. Actually enjoy them. LED icicles and those white reindeer grazing in front yards. The most over-the-top of all was on my route. I'm pretty sure every town has those few houses that seem to battle it out with an over array of lights. You know, manger scene on the small side of the lawn, santa and his reindeer dominating the other. What I'd never realized before was that some part of the display plays twinkly Christmas carols. I stood a while listening to "silent night."
So, my night on the town. came back after my fill of fresh night air and refocussing.

This time last year I was in Albania. Probably the capital of. It's crazy to think about now. On the brink of finishing our Euro leg of the trip. In fact, Albania doesn't even fit in my idea of that. I believe it was the only European country we visited that isn't actually in the EU. And, not only that, a long ways from it. I felt like I'd discovered the Eastern Europe I'd been expecting. And it was awesome.
The entire time we were in the country we ran into only one other traveler. An incredible distinction that I don't think I can claim from any other country. He was a little British ex-office guy who'd suffered some sort of mental stress breakdown and decided just to travel. His route was interesting, if not altogether efficient. He was just on our bus on the way out and got left at a road that was supposed to lead to Macedonia. I hope he held onto the freedom he must have discovered en route.
Originally on the ferry over we started talked to another Brit who was settled in Corfu (a beyond beautiful island with creepy empty hostels in November). An older lady. She noticed Megan reading her bible, and immediately got excited. "Greetings in the Lord!" And all that. Somehow we invited ourselves to the church service she was on her way over for. Amazing hospitality. We met (and attended the service of) a pair of missionaries who were very interesting to talk to regarding the state of Albania. Most cool, we ended up staying in the house of an Albanian pastor. His daughter spoke passable English. Still, there was much we couldn't say or understand. We struggled with the typical culture where this educated girl sat around home all day in her pajamas doing the dishes and waiting to get married. Despite freezing in the unheated guest suite (we never did figure it out) we enjoyed our stay.
This would prove to be the hardest part of Albania. I guess they think they're far enough south that they don't need heat.
Writing this post is making me remember culture. Or, rather, the lack of understanding that goes with traveling in a new one. Everywhere we went there would be things I didn't get, ways I didn't know to act, stuff I just couldn't follow. And I know that even if I integrated with any other society there are just indelible tattoos of my own culture that I could never back out of in order to comprehend the route of thinking many others take. It, quite simply, doesn't make sense to me and my western mindset.
We walked around everywhere we went and, overall, felt extremely welcomed! Going for dinner was often difficult since every cafe seemed packed with men. But it's a man's world. Especially once you leave our modern western life. But bakeries made for amazing, cheap eats.
Once we entered a restaurant and ended up eating at a wooden table with two random guys. They spoke a spattering of English. I'm convinced one of them was more then a touch tipsy. Entertaining and awkward. My favourite was the chef, a regular village men putting his best effort over the open grill directly behind the counter.
I can't even explain. No one will understand my experiences. And this frustrates me.
Discovering back streets you could imagine you were the first pushing into this little curtained off world. We had learned to say "thank-you" and "how much". Two extremally useful phrases. I bought a hand-knit, hand spun sweater vest for about five bucks. The lady from the little stall was so excited that I actually bought it.
Tirana was like stepping into any capital. It doesn't quite function like the rest of the country. But was still a very very long ways from NYC, TO, or London. It was personal. Meg and I would walked most of the city at night with our little LP map. Not once did we feel threatened, or like we ought to turn around. Not bad for a capital at 10:00.
We didn't have enough time, as always. Still, I have a taste for a country that I don't remember knowing existed before Megan said, casually, on an Italian train, "Let's go to Albania." An absurd idea until we made it happen.
It's true, there are little mushroomed shaped bunkers everywhere. It has a deep feeling of ex-communism and an East Europe village. A simple complex life.

Ok, so what? Am I supposed to learn not to run away.? Face things? Deal with relationships?
Seriously, is that so worth it? Or is it something else?
Why is it so much easier to just leave? Why is that so wrong? What's wrong with saying, you know what? There's about five people in this town in my age group. Nobody gets along with me all that great. I'm in some stupid little box, and maybe I'm judging everyone else. But there's nobody that calls me up and says, "Hey Kris. Let's get coffee and talk for a bit!" Two good friend who seems to enjoy hanging out with me. One's leaving town again.
So there you go. I'm frustrated.
I went to a dance party. And it was fun. But it was a dance party. For, like, a seventeen year old. My littlest brother was there, and he was about as close to the average age as I was!
And it was fun. I had fun. But partway through I was like, Dude! These guys are my younger friends little siblings little siblings. Sometimes four times little siblings!
There are places I want to go. Jobs I want to try. People I would love to see again. Friends I'd love to make.
Ok, so I'm whining. I'm being passive. And I'm leaning on the crutch of saying I tried and it didn't work. So, am I supposed to decide that I'm supposed to be here? And if I am, is it wrong to want to leave?
I have a car. I have a course. I have a family, and I love them lots. I have people who aren't mean to me, despite the impression I may give on here.
But it's just so frustrating. Especially when you didn't plan to be here, and don't want to be.

They tell me smell is the strongest sense linked with memory. This is sometimes hard for me to believe. At least until I happen across a soap that smells like a Mexican laundromat or a scent that reminds me of my childhood friend's house. But the times when I'm eating hummus on pita or listening to a rooster crow, having my hair played with or when I catch a glimpse of a stranger's eyes shockingly close to an old crush's, it seems as though though senses are at least strong competition.
Music is such a amazingly easy link to times in my life. Some will evoke specific feelings. For years a particular RS James c.d. reminded me exactly of laying on my top bunk reading Trixie Beldens. A first song on a Audio Adrenaline cd still can make me feel like I'm sixteen, waking up at 5:00 to hop on my bike and head down to an orchard.
More often the feelings are less specific. Arab music brings about an emotion in me I can only rationalize belongs in the Middle East. Whereas a call to prayer would transport me directly back to a Turkish hostel and all that time bore. Doubtlessly hearing hindi pop will remind me of the colour and life of India that defies description. music Quebecois managed to lodge an appreciation in me through Katimavik. Several songs will draw back direct feelings of walking the house, the fun, the discovery of Quebec... But mostly when I type Les Cowboys Frigants or Mes Aieux into YouTube I quite simply get subtle indicators that I was somewhere that taught me to do so. Country music is the soundtrack to this smalltown, whether I've bought into it or not.
So many feelings. Such a vast vast array having passed through my life. And so many millions I've never even discovered. How to fit as many as possible in? One life? How can it possibly be enough? Can anyone else know the exact feeling of climbing to the top of a maple tree on a clear morning and shivering in cold loneliness? The rush of losing control at the top of a stunt bike jump in the middle of a cow pasture? The warm glow of pulling off cold boots and moving towards the fireplace after a frustrating milking? And what about what I haven't experienced. Sex, piercings, skydiving, academia, intoxication, hunting, China... Even the ones I avoid. The ones I don't want...
I suppose there must be a cap on it somewhere. Maybe they're all just simple variations of ten base emotions. But I'm not even aware of the intensity of what I'm feeling until I'm reminded of it.
What will it be? The feelings of being a lost 23 year old blogger listening to flyleaf?

I need to get out of here. Or do something. I am going moderately crazy. I knew it would happen. A sad combination of not wanting to be here and not having any point or productivity.
Yesterday I grew restless. Left behind on a Saturday night. I got in my car and started to drive with no point whatsoever.
I sobbed my way into town. I'm not lying. Because as anyone would know who knows me, I wouldn't lie. Well, in general, but particularly about that. I don't fully understand why I was sobbing. It helped.
My car took me down the lake. That window's down, picnic and camping gear stowed road. Rain dripping down my windows and the countless corner signs looking more menacing giving the slick wet black of the roads.
The civic handled beautifully.
I ended up at our favourite summer beach. The waves sounding through the window.
Somehow, it was a good decision.

I'm in the middle of Who do You Think You Are? by Alice Munro. I have read quite a few affluent Canadian authoresses over that last year or so. Excluding the apparently immortal Margaret Atwood. A purposeful omission.
But now I have strayed from my point. And maybe my point can spread quite broadly throughout all modern female writing. But it seems to me we've swung towards a trend of dismal "realist" female based novels that do anything but inspire and, indeed, seem to strive towards another outcome. Love affairs that neither excite nor have you cheering for the couple. Career pursuit that seem far from fulfilling. A life span of dreary, striving and anti-climatic failure of endings.
Every novel seems a study in depressed feminism. After slogging through 500 pages of overweight heroines and dull colours I'm anything but enlivened.
I'm actually not quite sure what they're trying to do. Create characters I might associate with? Prove that they're anything but silly romantic women? Cause sufficient scandal to get published and reviewed?
I have also discovered Ayn Rand this last year. What and excellent, intelligent, enlightening middle ground. Depressing in type, but absolutely non-pointless.
Why can't we have more of this? Why the swap from heroines wearing flimsy white muslin and torn between charming lovers to ones in wearing clumpy mascara and stuck in droomy marriages?
I'm tired of it, myself. I'm sure publishing houses get in funny, thought provoking, or uplifting material. And maybe some of it is more then that paperback fluff they publish once in a while. I know we, as women, are capable of writing better. Why do we esteem the heavy extreme? If we want to bring women to the forefront we would be wise to leave our malfunctioning liberated types behind, and embrace a woman with actual struggles, joys, and accomplishments. And, you know, maybe she could be happy once in a while.