What I did on my summer vacation or why I haven’t updated this blog in over 2 and a half months.

This spring I left my happy little home in Montréal and returned to my old job as a rappel fire fighter in Hinton, Alberta. I went with a brand new video camera with the aim to capture the romance and complete lack of romance that is forest fire fighting.

That’s the short version.

In between 2 week shifts, I spent my days off in the following ways:

1. Hanging out in Hinton town.
2. Heading back to Montréal, proving to me where home is.
3. Another week in Hinton, this time with a brand new bicycle.
4. Going to the very first Pemberton music festival, and witnessing, from the confines of my nylon government issue tent, a coke deal gone horribly wrong. Thankfully the threat of gunplay turned out to be idle.
5. Showing French Panic around Hinton town.

After these little side adventures, I spent 2 and a bit weeks on a crew of two; me and a rookie driving around and burning piles of wood on a strange and ultimately useless mission of reducing the threat of a forest fire eating up a small community surrounded by dangerous trees.

I don’t think it will work.

You would think that lighting things on fire would be fun. It is. For about a day, maybe two. Then, as with most things, as it becomes routine, your senses dull and you start day dreaming of better places and things to do.

So when that was over, I visited my in-laws in Edmonton. This was not one of the better places I had day dreamed about. Still, they seem to really like me and I helped out with computer related tasks. I’m their tech support. In exchange, I got free room and board and a ride to the airport. A pretty good deal.

The airplane took me to Saltspring Island which is where my parents live. I was there for 10 days. I think 2 visits a year is more than enough for an adult child to make to parents that live on the other side of the country.

The problem, as you likely all realize, is that no matter how old you are, when you come to your parent’s home, which they insist is your home too (even though it hasn’t been for well over a decade) you become a 13 year old in their minds first, and then in your behaviour shortly after.

After that long visit, I got back on a plane, with my bike in tow, after receiving a stern lecture from a Westjet check in clerk (Westjet isn’t always the happy, fuzzy airline you thought it was), and headed back to happy Montréal.

Well, I’m happy anyway.

There is an election and the cops are angry about something and therefore wearing blue jeans and ball caps (wow. What a pointless protest. Try no pants). Somebody is kidnapping cats in my neighbourhood. And it’s still hard to get a smile out of a stranger busily staring and evaluating your wardrobe choices.

Still, it is very good to be home.

what's a bum for?

Pooping, silly.



I really wanted an excellent reason to show off this photo. So I have thought a while on bums, but I can’t find anything remarkable to say about them, other than I’m a fan.

Which really doesn’t make much sense, since the two biggest jobs for a bum are sitting and shitting. Neither of those activities are sexy (to me – I must not judge). And yet, bums are sexy.

I’m friends with some girls (well, women really, but they would call me a boy, so fair is fair), none of which appreciates their boobs being ogled. But somehow, if their ass is checked out, they mostly just laugh.

Why? Because bums are funny… and because even the most prudish of folks will sometimes find themselves staring at an ass and wondering what it looks like without pants. We all do it.

That’s the marvelous thing about looking at bums; it is that much harder to get caught staring. And there is an endless variety of bums to look at. Even ugly bums fascinate me. How, for instance, do the nearly no bum people sit down? Do they long for a firm bubble butt like mine? Have they never known sitting comfort? I feel poorly for the no-bum people.

So here’s to bums… Flat bums, Tight bums, flabby bums and old bums… Huzzah for bums. May yours only occasionally smell.

Give yours a squeeze. You’ll probably smile.

discarded fruit.

I work 2 weeks and then one week off. Last days off I went home to Montréal. I took this picture then.

This week I just hung around Hinton, cause planes are expensive.

I really do prefer Montréal, despite and probably because of the chaos of the backalleys.

chocolate milk

I don't drink chocolate milk. I never really have. Someone once told me that it was really just shitty milk and to cover the bad taste scientists cleverly used chocolate flavorin'. I wish that person had not told me that, because even if it is lies, I'll likely still have the possibility that I was drinking sub standard milk in the back of my brain.

Adults that still enjoy chocolate milk always make me smile, especially when they use straws.


And this guy really loves his chocolate milk.

somewhere else

Somedays I'd rather be elsewhere.....

possibly very far from Hinton.

Near and Far part 2

He can learn most skills in a day.

it's a calypso...

I’ve taken it off some pretty sweet jumps, despite the warning.

The other day we got off work early because there was lightning and we happened to be in the exact wrong sort of place for that. Since we were living the high life in Canmore, getting off early didn’t seem so bad. Plus I had the notion that it was time for me to own a new set of wheels. I just read that morning, in the free newspaper, that car sales were down 30% and bicycle sales were up to some other more different number. I feel pretty optimistic about that.

So I took a rookie, she’s my BFF on the crew and a Canmore local, and we headed to the nearest bike shop. They didn’t have anything for me except for clothes that look better on others that can skateboard better than me.

Off to the next store. I ran. Rookie kept meeting old friends and lagged behind. She already had a bike.

As I came in the door, I saw this bike. And it was perfect.


I even ignored the fact that I really wanted an orange bike. Somehow it suddenly seemed far too superficial a concern. Sort of how when you fall for someone, any preconceived ideas about a dream girl (or boy) somehow seem mundane. I bought it in about 5 minutes. Sometimes, but not often, the value of something exceeds the price.


I’ve named the bike Bibi, because when something is this cool and beautiful, you just have to name it.


This is the bike I will ride until I'm 90 years old. That sort of constant is comforting.