I’m 30 and it’s snowing like hell in Vancouver –wtf?

Furthermore, I’m getting tubby, and the cat likes me.

What strings these things together? The fact that they’re all completely unnatural.

Okay, so the aging thing is natural, it’s okay to get older, and 30 is what happens after 29… blah blah… It is conceptually odd to me, okay? Remember that my brain largely cemented at fourteen.

The snow is welcome, and while most Vancouverites are falling to fucking pieces (the water’s not safe, and now this, aieeeee!!!) myself and RC, a native of the snowfall capital of Asia, are luuuvin’ it. Feels like home it does.

The tubbiness is a sore spot, both myself and String are fighting the battle of the bulge, and I hope he’s doing better than I am. We have hot wives to keep happy. Now mind you, I’m not (nor is String) fat, but I currently weigh 170lbs. No, that’s not Kristie Alley Big, but look at this way:

Marko;

Age 16-20 –120lbs.
Age 20-27 –140lbs.
Now –170lbs.

See the jump? See me sweating more? See the William Shatner-like bulge occuring just north of my pants? Goddamnit… It’s a piss-off, that’s what it is.

Living on the west coast makes you soft. Seriously. What’s worse, it seems to be gender-based. Neither RC, nor Tomo, nor either of the Beloved Mari’s (Marielle and Marieve, my apologies for the lack of accents my loves) have gotten any chubbier. It’s just us guys. I know a good handful of Hali-ex-pats here, and they’re all going through the same damned thing. I blame high wages and a general lack of hardship. This is why I just got a fixed-gear bike, to add horror and suffering to my daily life.

Alas, it’s not working. Riding a fixed-gear in the snow should be a nightmare, but unexpectedly, it’s as much fun as you can have without taking your clothes off. Myself and some guy on a Soma who I’ve never met, got into an impromptu skid competititon in the park last night, and holy hell, It Was Good. Getting up over the stem, lockin’ ‘er up at at 10 and 4 o’clock and letting the ass fishtail is even more fun than those crazy powerslides we used to pull as kids. We pulled a twin 30 meter rip, and then just stood there laughing like idiots, sipping single malt from his Surly flask, no one else around. If you ever read this man, whoever you are, cheers. I’ll buy the next round.

Wildsisters noted recently that I seem happy, really content. It took me aback, because it’s such a strange concept. The funny thing, is that I’m utterly incapable of understanding peace in all but the smallest denominations. Skidding the shit out of a bike, or quaffing and laughing with the folks at the local watering hole is amazing, but any sort of greater arc, I don’t know… what is it? Bounces off me. Really, more than anything else, the lack of significant struggle makes me feel worse. I feel underutilized.

A better fighter than a lover, I fear.

AND I’m busy as hell. How did that happen?

Having said all that, I’m grateful. Just get a few more of the Inner Circle over here, and what times we’ll have, when we have the time.

-marko