The View From Here

Mellow mixes on the mind

2012-03-10T22:49:00.003-08:00

Music will always have a poignant role. It defines life and helps us through difficult times by relating, sometimes perfectly, to certain senses and emotions. When there isn't anything left to say, music grabs hold and becomes your voice.

Lately, I've been digging songs more on the laid-back side of the tracks, which is quite different than my usual playlist of double-kicks, brash beats, face-melting solos and a little dub wub wub.

Perhaps it's my current contentedness with a slow and steady pace of life and enthusiasm to enjoy the "little" moments or emerging maturity of musical tastes, but nonetheless I like how this mellow mood has honed my playlist.

Here's a few fun, chill songs that hit all of the right notes for me:

   Emancipator - First Snow by user2470547

   Met Before by Chairlift

   Mother Mother - Heart Heavy by lastgangrecords

   R/D - 'Passion Designer' FREE DOWNLOAD from the album LIQUID HEART KEEPER by R/D

   Grimes - Genesis by The Vinyl District

   Bon Iver - Blood bank by JonSandal

Friendship re-examined

2012-02-12T08:58:00.000-08:00

"Friend" is a term thrown around a lot, like salt over thick ice on a walkway. We say "Oh, I have a friend who does this, knows that person, or can help you with this," but when things boil down, are they a friend, in a true sense of the word? The answer, I suppose, depends on your definition of a "friend."

I like to place friendship in two groups: friends and great friends. Friends are people I know somewhat well and have shared a few personal stories, memories and anecdotes with, but we lack a deeper bond, that je ne sais quois or secret ingredient that allows us to "click."

To me, a great friend is someone who mirrors my zest and contentedness with life. I believe a less than optimistic outlook doesn't take anyone far and I prefer to spend my time with those in agreeance.

As long as my friendships are based on this foundation, it's usually unshakable. This realization was re-inforced recently, when I read a passage in Julia Cameron's Letters To A Young Artist. The book is a compilation of responses to letters she received in response to her book The Artist's Way. This particular excerpt struck a chord:

Dear X,

Friendship can endure through thick and thin, but there are also times when we reluctantly must let a friendship go. From the tune of your last letter, you've reached that point with your troublesome friend. (Was he one of you boast-and-toast colleagues from earlier? I would guess yes.) The question to ask is this one: am I being a friend to myself to continue in this friendship? The answer, alas, sounds like no. You write that your friend is overly dramatic, always staging dramas on your deadlines. I call such a friend a "cazymaker," and most of us, when we start out, have lives that are filled with them.

They distract us from making our art-- and from the art we are not making. As threatening as life with a crazymaker may sound, it is often less threatening than a life where we ask ourselves to be consistently creative. Once we do that, crazymakers are out the window. This is the turning point you are now at. Your choice is between function and dysfunction. I am confident you will choose well.

I have few great friends; I can count them on one hand. And that's OK. There's a saying that you can tell your worth based on your amount of friends. True, perhaps, but I'd rather base it on the value of friendship. Quality over quantity, in layman's terms.

With great friends, they're always there for me and vice versa, regardless of our differing postal codes. We genuinely care about each others' well-being, listen and encourage each other along the sometimes bumpy path to success and of course celebrate victories, no matter how small.

Sometimes, like Cameron said, friendships fail, despite efforts to save them. That's OK, too. It's imperative to be friends with yourself, because believe it or not, you're important too! Friends may wind up taking paths that are no longer complimentary. We change, they change, or both. It's inevitable, and forcing a friendship to adapt to change may cause the bonds to weaken.

When we find ourselves at such a crossroads, it's key to stop, observe the surroundings and do a little introspection. Recall parts of the friendship that made you happy, cherish those memories and let them provide you the strength to move forward in your endeavors.

Pushing limits, for fun

2012-01-01T21:06:00.000-08:00

What I already know before arriving at the track is that I'm nervous and there are going to be experts with more experience. What I didn't know yet is how many there actually are.

The middle-aged women seated behind the registration table chat about their summer plans; they stop long enough to cross me off the 19 and under category. There are few names on the list.

I'm handed an oversize t-shirt, a bib sporting the number 56, and two time chips to be fastened on my shoe laces. I take my time fastening the chips and my number because once they're attached, the race is that much closer.

Outside, people clad in spandex cluster in groups, stretching and chatting as if they’re out for coffee. I stand by myself and stretch.. These people are intimidating; marthon runners, ex-Olympians, all serious competitors. Then there’s me. My first 21 km race. What did I get myself into?

I tried to remove negative thoughts from my head while warming up. Deep, controlled breathing, that’s all I need to remember. Oh, and don’t trip, especially on the downhills because pavement bites back. And most importantly, don’t get lost. The course is well-marked, but some people have trouble paying attention to signs when they’re 15 km in and all thought processes have ceased to function. I hope I’m not one of those people.

An announcer calls the competitors to the starting line. I gulp back some water and find a place among the middle of the pack. Around me, runners are still chatting, doing last-minute stretches and bouncing up and down on the spot. I just stand there and shift my weight from one foot to another. How does everyone seem so cool and collected?

A woman beside me smiles and asks “first time?” I nod. She tells me I’ll be fine if I just pace myself.

“On you mark...get set...” My heart feels as though it wants to pop right out of my chest and my stomach wants to join.

“Go!”

All the running feet on the track remind me of thunder or a stampede. I hit “play” on my iPod to try and ease the jitters of being trapped in a herd. After one lap around the track, we head out to open road where the real race begins. Packs begin to thin out as everyone settles in their groove. I hate running beside people, it’s distracting and stressful, so I either pass them or fall back a bit.

It’s so hot I can feel sunburn on my shoulders, even at 8a.m. Conveniently-placed water stations allow me to rehydrate and cool off. Oops, have to be careful not to get the iPod wet when splashing myself with water.

Receiving water at one of the stations, halfway through the race.

The last five km is a challenge due to a long and gradual hill. I pretend I’m running on flat ground and before I know it, I pass the 20 km sign. One more to go. I can see the stadium and it feels like forever until I reach it.

Van Halen’s “Right Now” pulses though my headphones and provides me with extra gusto to pass the person in front of me and sprint toward the finish. My legs don’t feel like part of my body anymore, in fact they don’t even feel like they’re touching the ground when I cross the line, exhausted.

My exact time, I don't remember, but it's under my original goal of two hours. Not bad for a first half-marathon attempt, but I'm beating it next time.

Hello, Whistler

2011-07-18T22:46:00.000-07:00

Well, I've hit the one-month mark and the past four weeks have been intense and fun... intensely fun.

Didn't plan on coming to Whis this quick, but the opportunity came up and I couldn't help but jump on it.

So here I am. I am here, feet firmly planted on ground, or as well as they can be, given my klutziness. Amongst the transients, locals, transient locals and tourists... it's home. I didn't think I belonged anywhere until I set foot in this town. The vibe is unreal. Whistler is unlike any place I've lived or visited. There are myriads of things happening all the time. Apparently after university it's still OK, accepted even, to party on a weekday, consecutively even.

The one thing I've noticed, (in fact it's also been mentioned to me on more than one occasion), is how difficult it is to meet genuine people. I concur, especially in regards to females just because they're aren't as many. But, I'm not put off.

Rather than drone on about happenings thus far, I'll share my favourites:

going out the first night I arrived, after saying I wouldn't spend any money until I found a job
Josh Bibby's mustache
living with a bunch of girls
cougars at Buffalo Bills
Alexis and Antoine, my Quebecois buds, who recently high-tailed it back home (sad, sad!)
using fractured French
Splashdown
wearing a toque in the summer doesn't warrant puzzled stares
hiking the Chief
Alexis wearing a Whistler shirt to the club... and me making him turn it inside-out
biking
Loggers Lake
finding employment!
Crankworx
person consuming a bottle of wine in the village: "Do you know Whistler is the only place in Canada you can legally drink in public?"
meeting crazy people who probably (most likely) think I'm just as crazy

And here's a little related tune that, at the moment, is one of the numerous things that make me smile.

I must belong somewhere - Bright Eyes

Ginger apple chicken stir fry

2011-06-07T17:57:00.000-07:00

I'm not a chef extraordinaire, in fact, I don't like to follow recipes. It's fun to throw a bunch of things together and see what happens... which--come to think of it-- is maybe why many people don't RSVP for dinner...

Anyways, here are the basic ingredients for my newly-discovered ginger apple chicken stir fry:

two chicken breasts, diced
one apple (granny smith is best), diced
honey (no more than a tablespoon)
ginger (powdered or root)
nutmeg
cinnamon

Let the chicken fry for a few minutes, then add apples, honey and spices to taste. Feel free to add other veggies to create different textures and flavours. I used red peppers.

Enjoy!

All-girls road trip, take two: Whistler bound

2011-01-23T22:51:00.000-08:00

Seven girls (six nurses and a journalist), one condo, two days in Whistler.

In Summary:

Friday- Getting there

We loaded up two cars and headed down the Coquihalla to Vancouver, picked up condo keys, then drove the Sea to Sky. We arrived at Tessa's awesome condo, settled in, accidentally burned bananas, walked the Village, ran into some Aussies posing on the Olympic rings and tried to explain where Kamloops or "north of here" is. Headed back to the condo, set up the beds and caught a few z's.

Saturday- Ski Day!

Awake early, tasty brekky, gear on and headed off to the mountains while Mary and Kate explored the Village for the day. They even visited the library, which was awesome, they said. Back on the hill, it took awhile to get our bearings, it's difficult to keep a group of six together, especially when everyone has different riding preferences. Luckily Tessa's friend, Chris was our chaperone and led us to some sweet spots that we all had fun on. I believe the original goal was to take a "minimum of five photos each run," but pas possible; we were having too much fun! Oh, the peak2peak gondola stopped about halfway through our ride and Tessa, who isn't a fan of heights, wasn't stoked on that. We started rolling again after about five minutes, much to everyone's relief. Afterwards, seven of us managed to squeeze into the sauna for a little relaxation before eating yummy chilli prepared from scratch by Mary and Kate. Of course we're in Whistler and have to après, so we caught a bus to the Village, wandered around for a bit before deciding to hang out at The Longhorn. We realized that in Whistler, males outnumber females at a significant rate, but I digress. Keeping details to a minimum, we met interesting folks, encountered strange, hilarious situations and danced the night away.

Sunday- Home time

Woke up at a decently early hour, cleaned up and left town. Tessa, Jill and I stopped in Squamish to see her sister, mom and aunt, then we dropped anchor in Vancouver to visit my brother and eat the most delicious breakfast food before continuing on our way. Of course the trip wouldn't be complete without the driver (me) taking a wrong turn, leading us to the Fraser Canyon instead of the Coquihalla. (It was out of habit, I swear). Some things never change.

Trip highlights

Tessa looking rather ill when the peak2peak stopped moving for five minutes. See Exhibits A and B:

Exhibit A: Tessa doesn't mesh well with heights.

Exhibit B: Morgan and Tessa, pre p2p stoppage.

Jill yelling "Skittles!" at passing riders, regardless of their outfit colour.
Sarah surviving the entire weekend without having to seek medical attention.
Fitting seven people in the sauna, tetris-style. See Exhibit C.

Exhibit C: Cozy sauna, top row

Kate and Mary cooking delicious food for everyone.
Fresh tracks and last half of the day on Blackcomb. See Exhibits D, E and F.

Exhibit D: Wow.

Exhibit E: Morgan and Jessica vs. the wind.

Exhibit F: It brought me to my knees.

Free shots from "the guy over there in blue"
Brunch, lupper, linner, slunch, or whatever, at Paul's house.

Memorable Quotes

Tessa: "I don't even know which hole it goes in!"
Kate: "That's not your job, sweetie."

Aussie boys: "Where are you from?"
Sarah: "North of here."
Boys: "Where's that?"

All the nursing students: "What is your definition of health?" See exhibit G.

Exhibit G: Kate blows up surgical glove.

Sarah: "I feel like I finally belong."

Morgan (after experiencing 7th Heaven) : "Oh. My. God. Can we do that again?"

The gang, almost. Tessa is MIA.

I Love the Snow (My Friend is a Pro Rework)

2011-01-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

Just a little rework of the ski banger hit, from the perspective of me and my roommate, Jill. It's just a silly, nonsensical rendition inspired by, well.... our antics in the snow.
Here's a link to the original song: http://www.myfriendisapro.com/the-song/

Kickin' it at Sun Peaks
Photo by Morgan Boyd

I love the Snow

Chorus 1:

I just want to snowboard

Do it on my own accord

(Whoa)

Get lift passes for free

Thanks to Morgan B.

(Whoa)

Jacket and boots
Inspired by Seb Toots
And a bodysuit fo' show
(Bodysuit fo' show)

I’m a winter enthusiast
Summer lovers may grimace...
But I love the snow

I love the snow (6x)

Verse 1 (Jill):

Back flips at gymnasty
With Rammstein on CD
Stay out of the foam pit
Dust makes me sneezy

F--- waxing my base
'Cause Sarah knows how
F--- sharpening my edges
They'll catch anyhow

In class five days a week
Out for two weekend days
Practicing pow slashing
So I can hit up Broadway

Please don't judge me
It's hard to schley
My moves look good
Only on Gaper Day

I don't think I'm a pro
But I'm pretty good, actually
From the moment I strapped in
My stance came naturally

I hit almost everything
Dishin' up entrées
I'll even follow Sarah
When she doesn't know the way

The designated photog
Shooting from afar
I have yet, I'll admit
To ride the peak t-bar

I'm here on the hill
Riding what I please
Better watch out, though
I'm workin' on 3s

Chorus 2:

I just want to snowboard
Do it on my own accord

(Whoa)

Get lift passes for free
Thanks to Morgan B.

(Whoa)

Jacket and boots
Inspired by Seb Toots
And a bodysuit fo' show
(Bodysuit fo' show)

I’m a winter enthusiast
Summer lovers may grimace
But I love the snow

I love the snow (6x)

Verse 2 (Sarah):

I started on skis
But it just wasn't me
So after 2004
A one planker I'd be

A rather meek rider
Sporting colours no brighter
It took a few seasons
For my skills to get tighter

Riding with dudes
Because girls just complained
Too much, but now

I met Trail's JillyD
Plus J-schooler Ashley
And other sweet Betties
Who knew leaving PG would make it "funner"... or something like that?

A journalist is my life today
If I could rewind, then hit play
I'd move south and go pro
Slay for weeks, always après

I've found a way
To describe my stoke forté
It's what grape drank or weed
Means to CBA

I hit the drop
Rolling down windows
It doesn't help, though
My speed crescendos

Rockin' bright slouchy touques
Shiny goggles quite stylish
I wear not 'cause I wish
But 'cause I love the snow

Bridge:

Triple chairs are my curse
The middle I try to traverse

Or else I'm tossed right off the side

Fasten my pow skirt

Senses on alert

Ready to tear down another epic ride

Side booters

Park riding

Urban seshes

Front flippin'

Early mornings, road trips, iPod beats and fireball

Occupy my mind as soon as snow begins to fall

I'm sorry for...

2011-01-12T11:10:00.000-08:00

I interviewed an English professor this morning about her recently published book. In typical Sarah Makowsky fashion, I forgot the prof's office number and embarked on a frantic search through the building. I popped my head into another office, where a professor was seated in front of a computer screen.

"Excuse me, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but I'm looking for [professor's name], do you know where her office is?"

"No, I don't. And for future reference, we have a secretary for that purpose, so you don't need to interrupt me," said the angry eyes and annoyed face.

"I'm really sorry, thank you for your help. Again, I'm sorry." I did everything, short of grovelling at her knees for forgiveness.

I'm one of "those" people: a constant apologizer, even when apologies aren't necessary. I feel awful for any slight inconvenience I cause anyone.

I didn't know where the secretary was, plus it was early, would she even be in the office? I'm sorry I asked the question, or am I? Another prof overheard our brief convo and was kind enough to look up the office number for me. So am I sorry I asked the initial question? Maybe, but it led me to an answer... and I'm still sorry I interrupted you.

This incident got me thinking, I apologize for many things.

I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone, I was in the bathroom, guess I could have made a mad dash to my bedroom, pants still around ankles, and picked up. I'm sorry I didn't answer your text message asap, I didn't want to reply. I'm sorry I didn't want to reply.

I'm sorry I can't eat that fruit salad because I'm allergic to apples, pears and peaches. I'm sorry for all my food allergies.

I'm sorry I spoke up and you became angry. I'm sorry you don't like my point of view.

I'm sorry my grade is higher than yours, I feel bad for making you feel bad and for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry your grade is higher than mine. I'm sorry you feel bad for telling me because you think I feel bad now.

I'm sorry I have an innocent face, and that you think you can take advantage of me. I'm sorry I didn't let you.

I bet you have great moves, but I'm sorry, I don't want to dance with you. I'm sure you're a fabulous person, but I don't want to date you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I think we should just be friends. I'm sorry I like being single.

I'm sorry I laughed when you fell. I'm sorry it was funny.

I'm sorry I wear bright colours and rarely dress up. I'm sorry casual is my comfortable. I'm sorry a toque is glued to my head.

I'm sorry I ditch you on snow days...and ride too far ahead...and take you down double black diamonds. I'm sorry for my over-stoke. I'm sorry you have to drag me off the hill. I'm sorry I talk about snowboarding too much.

I'm sorry I talk too much.

I'm sorry I quoted Jersey Shore. I'll probably do it again, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I play my music at an uncomfortable decibel. I'm sorry that sometimes, I sing along just as loud. I'm sorry for my taste in music.

I'm sorry I will never be sorry enough.

This post is too long. I'm sorry.

In terms of music and melody

2011-01-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

My love affair with music began young.

Whether it was The New Kids on the Block’s Step By Step or Freeze Frame by J. Geils Band—any music really—dancing in the living room was a favourite family pastime and there are home videos to prove it. Whether the record player crackled with old classics or the cassette player rewound a coveted song, these two machines made many, many days very, very fun.

Not only did I listen to music, I composed it. Pots and pans from the kitchen cupboard, when hammered with a wooden spoon, pleased my auditory senses. I couldn't keep a steady beat and didn't have a shred of rhythm, but I didn't care. I was four years old.

We had this old, out of tune piano from the 1920s that my dad played. He composed a lot, letting his fingers flow about the keys, finding a harmony he liked. He’d call us down to the basement to show us songs from the two bands he was in during his youth: Lord Pharaoh and Centurion. We thought he was the greatest, especially when he taught us a few notes on the keyboard or chords on the guitar.

When I entered my first year of high school band, I came into a world of treble clefs, common time, allegro, mezzo piano, mezzo forte, and the dreaded metronome. It was overwhelming, especially trying to make a sound on my flute other than just air passing through it.

After a week of light-headedness I began to hear the magical sounds I could create. Each note filled me with solace and bliss. I didn’t care if an entire class was spent perfecting scales or playing the pink panther theme, I just wanted to make music.

Around this time, my dad bought an electric piano (we got rid of the old piano years ago), which my mom only agreed to because it had a headphone jack. He pulled out all of his old songbooks and compositions and spent every night on that piano.

One night, while I was practicing my flute and he was tinkering with songs in his Genesis greatest hits book, he called me over. He wanted me to play the melody from Robbery, Assault, and Battery with his accompaniment. I rolled my eyes, knowing how lame the song sounded off the album. But when we played, something different emerged than what I expected; it was this glorious collaboration that was driving and intense yet mellow and soft.

From there, we created our own songs, a difficult task for me at the beginning. Dad said to just play, the right notes will come, don’t think about it so hard. The music is inside, I just have to let it flow and tell its own story. I didn’t want to make a mistake or play the wrong note, but when I did, he didn’t care. He just kept playing, waiting for me to jump back in on the next beat.

I thought back to when my family used to dance around the living room all those years ago. No one cared if they kept time or weren’t dancing properly, we just moved with the music the way we saw fit.

Music is a universal language that each person can make his or her own. It transcends all aspects of life. Finally, I understood. Finally, I let the notes flow.

I think I need to speak music more often.

Pass the ice pack

2010-12-15T20:46:00.000-08:00

"The girls with the most ice packs are the girls who have the most fun."

Each time my body aches, the consequence of clumsyness or physical activity, I remember these words once mentioned to me, and I can't help but agree with them.

I know I'm not old by societal standards, however, at 21 I find myself yearning for the internal body I had at 18. I can't run 10 km, sans previous training or afterward stretching without my muscles aching. My first movements after getting out of bed or rising from a chair mimic those of an elderly, arthritic individual. Clicking joints and "ooohs" and "owwws" further illustrate my incapacitation. It takes a significant amount of effort to go about the day with a normal gait and pretend nothing hurts. A most unfortunate and pathetic situation.

As I write, an ice pack rests on my left knee, which took some especially hard hits when I learned to snowboard across a box.

I didn't use to treat injuries or take the time to rest up, but my body isn't as quick to heal as it was during my teenage years. Due to previous poor post boo-boo care, I'm now realizing the ill effects of 'invincibile-itis" a.k.a., thinking my body will bounce back good as new if I just let it be.

I don't mind the pain associated with pushing my body to its limit, but I don't want to cause it more pain and stress than necessary. Bad pain inhibits endorphins.

Maybe it was the first aid courses, lectures from my parents or googling of symptoms that converted me to the RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) method, or maybe it was my aging wisdom (and body). Regardless, I'm a believer now and won't stray.

Now that I know how to deal with injuries properly and can admit to myself when I need to take a break for a day or two, I'm not as wary about trying new activities and pushing my physical fitness to new limits. It is, after all, about having fun.

And as long as I have fun, one thing is certain: I'm going to need another ice pack... or two.

The first step is admitting it

2010-12-10T10:54:00.000-08:00

I'm suffering shred withdrawls;

chronic antsysness,

vivid dreams of infinite pow,

overuse of the term 'stoked',

shakes,

hourly checks of snow reports and mountain cams,

sporting baselayer under clothes,

occasional drooling when looking at snow,

the urge to yell 'do a barrel roll!' at strangers passing by,

the ability to not pass a pile of snow, rail or other urban setting by without imagining the shred possibilities,

a misplaced sense of purpose,

caressing my board gently while whispering the words 'soon, soon',

and excess energy that has to be spent running, doing dishes and laundry.

My name is Sarah and I'm addicted to snowboarding.

Sun Peaks, Dec. 2010 (taken by Jill Davidson)

No friends, but new friends on a pow day

2010-11-28T22:15:00.000-08:00

"No friends on a powder day" is the ancient, universal adage in ski and snowboard culture; pow trumps all, including helping your best friend move, hanging out with a significant other and studying for finals.

This saying expands to include (or exclude) friends who don't feel the same way. On Friday, I found myself in sans company of familar faces at the hill.

I take the first lift up with a man and woman who work at the resort. They're suprised to find out I'm 21, not 18 as they originally thought. "You look like a baby!" said the woman, drawing out the "a" in baby. This turns the conversation in a different direction until we part ways off the lift. I rode away feeling more youthful and energized-- and slightly worried I looked like a high school student.

I take the next chair by myself. There's no line up, plus I don't feel chatty.

After a few runs I make it down to the bottom again and head to the "singles" line. "You going up alone?" a snowboarder asks. I guesture him to join me and glance at his board-- a Lib Tech Skate Banana, sick. We do the usual introduction and friendly chit chat. I tell him I'm in journalism and he jokingly asks if I have a blog. I laugh and say yes. Ian is from Perth, Australia and works at the resort. I find it comical that he doesn't like other Aussies. "They're everywhere in B.C.," he said, "No one here even cares I'm from there, they're like 'Oh yeah.'"

He invites me to do a couple runs while his mates catch up. Since he has lived at Sun Peaks for two seasons, I agree, he must have an in on some sweet spots.

Well, they were spots. I don't know if his memory was a tad fuzzy, there wasn't enough snow, or both. One out of bounds run introduced us to stumps, logs and a creek. I cringed as my snowboard slid down the face of a boulder near the end.

"Don't write about this in your blog," Ian said.

The other runs fared better and some were rife with the pow I yearned for. Ian decided not board with his friends and spent the rest of the day showing me new spots and hitting up old, favourite runs. As much as I looked forward to boarding alone, the company was appreciated. There's something to be said for sharing a shred day with someone who's just as stoked to be the mountain as you are.

So, after this does the old adage sill stand for me? Sure, although I might revise it to say there are no friends, but new friends on a pow day.

Peanut Butter: A Brief (but important) Ode

2010-11-12T20:02:00.000-08:00

Peanut butter, the multi-faceted spread.

I love peanut butter, but not the processed kind with added oil and sugar, no the REAL stuff! Pure peanuts are where it's at. Why? Because it's just as tasty being eaten out of the jar with my finger as it is on Wasa bread, in cookies or in wraps (that's right, wraps).

Peanut butter is so friendly, he gets along with everyone from jam, honey, chocolate, bananas, even pancakes. He's quite the aimiable fellow, not to mention he comes with added health benefits. When a quick-fix meal is required, peanut butter is always on call.

Sometimes he's a bit messy and has trouble staying between slices of bread or melts in the heat, but I say that's part of his charm.

This delicious spread sticks in all the right places. Peanut butter is the glue that helps hold me together. When I feel broken (literally and figuratively), a dollop of peanut butter reinforces my soul.

So here's to peanut butter, a food not quite like the others, and a staple in my diet.

Car in the driveway

2010-11-03T09:57:00.000-07:00

Sedan. Eggplant purple. Curves and angles form around tires accented with metal hubcaps. No leaks on the pavement. Minimal abrasions on body. A glimmer dances across the paint in the sunlight. Dodge Stratus.

Stickers on the back window, three to be exact. All from different snowboard companies. A myriad of colours, too. They draw attention to the thin layer of dirt dulling the car’s appearance.

The exhaust pipe, black at the tip, is missing a piece. Near it, a tow hook is anchored. Windshield washer fluid, oil, a lifejacket, first aid kit, spare tire and snow brush inhabit the trunk, but it can accommodate more if need be.

Dried grey mud in the wheel wells that hasn’t come off after several washings. A push of weight and the springs and struts hold their ground.

Black paint peels off the windshield frame revealing a silver metal underneath. A small patch of rust bubbles under the front centre of the hood. A tow hook is fastened on the front end. The bottom is worn away and the entire apparatus leans a bit to one side. It scrapes the ground when the car drives through deep dips or high curves.

Four mats inside. Two in front and two in the backseat. Interior free of litter. Sandals and a roll of paper towel sit on the floor behind the driver’s seat. A box of tissues rests behind the seats and under the rear window.

The left headrest is two inches higher than the right one and the driver’s seat is pushed back almost as far as it can go. Even though the tires are straight, the steering wheel has a slight lean to the left.

Nothing in the side door except a tire gauge.

The parking brake is engaged even though the car is parked on only a slight uphill. The heat dial is set in the middle of hot and cold and the fan switch is off, but aimed at the defrost and feet option.

Above the heating dials is the radio and cassette deck. A cassette adapter is in the cassette and the long cord is attached to a black IPod nano that rests in a cup holder. A hair elastic and bobby pin sit in the other one.

The dash is free of dust and debris except for a sticker near the airbag on the passenger side. Snowboard goggles hang from the rear view mirror, also devoid of finger prints and smudges.

Nothing this season will top Forum's F'It

2010-10-28T14:04:00.000-07:00

Forum's 2010-2011 shred vid was the only one I purchased this year. Oh, and Absinthe's NowHere, but I had to, did you see those lines in the teaser?

Back to the point, F'It is hands down the most fun snowboard vid this season. What do you say to a movie with a unicorn, psychedelic editing that makes you think you're on a great trip, chatroulette AND sick shredding? How about yes.

I've watched it more times than I care to mention. At 30 min it's just the right length and always hypes me up for opening day.

Watching F'It feels like a solid day of riding (urban, park or pow) spent goofing off with buddies. Nothing better than that. The soundtrack is pretty dope too, there's a solid mix of everything.

And if that doesn't convince you, these three words will: rocket air backflip.

On a side note, my bro John told me Level 1's Eye Trip is even better than F'It. I'll see it soon so I guess I'll find out, but something tells me a two-planker flick can't top Forum's latest masterpiece.

ps to all the skiers out there, you know I've got nothing but love... I just love snowboarding more.

Lessons from an all-female road trip

2010-09-09T12:28:00.000-07:00

Last week marked my first female exclusive road trip. I travelled to Tofino with two girlfriends for a few days of camping and surfing. The trek was full of memorable experiences and I was surprised to discover my sanity remained intact. Almost.

Travelling with girls is different than with boys. For starters, the number of pit stops increases 10 fold. I learned a lot about myself as well as my fellow road tripees, here's a few notable observations:

- As diverse of a music taste you think you may have, nothing can really prepare you for country twang, the musical stylings of John Mayer and 90s girl empowerment tunes.

- Following strangers into the wilderness at 2 a.m. is OK if they're leading you to a free campsite-- and they have a keg.

- If skinny dipping occurs, always assign someone to hold belongings so they don't get wet and/or sandy. This also provides something to do for the member too chicken to take part.

- Curbs emerge out of nowhere, even to the most "skilled" driver.

- If attempting to hide a passenger from ferry personnel, it's imperative to wake her up before throwing blankets on top of her. She may or may not be a little claustrophobic.

And the most important lesson learned this weekend:

- Head lamps are amazingly convienent. And if one wears such a device, it must always be in party mode.

Authority Zero disappoints with latest album

2010-06-28T19:06:00.000-07:00

I had high expectations for Authority Zero's new album, Stories of Survival, but my hopes were dashed as soon as I listened to the first song. It sounded nothing like their old work and that's not a good thing.

I'm a fan of their reggae/skate punk sound, especially songs like "carpe diem", "no regrets", and "everyday." They have this unique, progressive rhythm with a paradoxical mix of angst and optimism.

Authority Zero took a risk to alter their sound and it's not working for me. It's missing that certain je ne sai quoi.

Compared to past albums, Stories of Survival sounds, well, generic. With a lack of fast paced lyrics or guitar rifts-- an Authority Zero signature, I wasn't even sure I was listening to the right band. It's like they took downers througout the entire recording process. Maybe they should've focused more on being original than trying to write protest songs similar to Rise Against's.

One song that provides a taste of classic Authority Zero is "Liberatededucation," but even this piece has its limits. It reminds me the beginning of a high school garage band-- sure the kids can play, but the sound doesn't blend.

Stories of Survival makes Authority Zero look amature and unpolished, even for a punk band.

How Misty charmed the Makowskys

2010-06-21T21:59:00.001-07:00

We all have that special pet. The one that makes it worth getting out of bed each day, mainly because they'll take a leak on the carpet if you don't let them out.

Misty is that special pet not only for me, but my whole family. Yes, she's technically mine, but from the moment she came into the house, everyone loved her-- well not quite...

I inherited Misty from a friend's family almost four years ago and my parents weren't thrilled about having a dog around the house. It was a strict no dog zone; 17years of begging and pleading couldn't convince them to let me have one.

For the first few weeks it was "keep the dog off the couch" and "she's not allowed to sleep on the beds." That didn't last long. I walked into my parents' room one morning and there was Misty, lying on mom's pillow and mom was well, sans pillow.

Somehow this dog can take up half my bed and still manage to make me fill guilty for not giving her enough room. She groans to show her disdain whenever I decide to switch sleeping positions. Yes, she's a princess. Oh, and she snores.

Misty's finest feature is her nose. It's the source of all her troubles, actually it's why her real name is Mischief. She can find a needle in a hay stack, as long as it's beef-scented. Fortunately, her nose comes in handy on hikes. Once she caught the scent of a bear and refused to let me advance further down the path. Misty's not big enough to take on a bear, even if she thinks otherwise sometimes.

It's been a great 3.5 years with Misty, my only regret is we didn't have her as a puppy. She's now 10 and isn't ready to slow down anytime soon. She rips her stuffed monkeys to shreds everytime she plays with them, and she can run faster than me-- even if it's only for a minute.

Misty has more character packed into her Jack Russell/poodle frame than some people I've met. She's definitely part of the family and arguably my parents' fourth child.

This dog has changed our family, heck, even me. I may have not been able to raise her from a puppy, but I'm grateful she's a part of my life now. I love everything about her, even when I come home from work and find crackers "stashed" between the couch cushions and "hidden" under my pillow. I can't help but love that cute black and white face complete with floppy ears, and tail that doesn't quit wagging.

Misty, Bucky Dog, Bubbins, Moo Moo, and whatever else we call her, found her way into our home and captured our hearts-- and we wouldn't have it any other way.

Ten Reasons I Miss JillyD

2010-05-08T18:08:00.000-07:00

Since it's Jill's big 2-0 today I'd figure I'd give her some sort of present.
Here you go, Jill, this is why I miss you and can't wait for September! Enjoy!

1) Emailing entries from TFLN is not as much fun as reading them out loud to each other over breakfast.

2) Two words: chat roulette.

3) I actually miss listening to George Throrogood, and country in general!

4) Double negatives in socialables aren't funny when no one's here to understand them.

5) No one's here to extract cactus burs from my legs after some bush romping...in fact no more nursing assessments.

6) I miss her appreciation of tumbleweeds.

7) Wiser's and gum...need I say more?

8) Her interesting dinner concoctions.

9) Everytime I take a corner, there's no voice telling me I get too close to the median.

10) Savage Garden shower karaoke.

11) (Bonus) Ending sentences with "Can't you just see Colussi shaking his head and saying, 'that's not good at all?'"

The Internet gets a bit more "Dirty"

2010-04-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

Perez Hilton who? The acclaimed celebrity blogger has been replaced by Nik Richie (pictured left), creator of TheDirty.com, a site dedicated to publishing rumours and gossip about your co-eds, teamates, neighbours, friends, and family. The site is propelled by people who submit photos of others, and explain why a certain individual or individuals deserves to be publicly ousted.

The Dirty has made people question whether average joes should be scrutinized the way bloggers critize A-list celebrities. And should Nik Richie benefit financially from this?

Tons of ethical issues exist on The Dirty. Anyone can submit photos and write anything about someone. Hefty accusations are thrown around, from date raping, cheating on spouses, to negligent childcare. There's no guarantee the rumours are true, in fact, at the bottom of the site's homepage it states in small writing, "The owner of this site does not ensure the accuracy of any content presented on TheDirty.com."

A lot of people post on the site because they are fuelled by revenge or dislike of a particular individual. It's about getting even and one-upping someone else.

The site is broken into categories like colleges, athletes, would you? (where people post photos of pretty girls and ask Richie of he would sleep with them), and cities. Although the site was originally American, Torono and Vancouver are now listed. Richie affectionately refers to the latter as "VanDirty."

I've tried to contact Richie three times through email and tried posting on his site. My post asked him what he thought about the ramifications facing innocent people who are defamed on TheDirty. I didn't receive any replies and he did not publish my post. In other articles, he said his website "holds people accountable for their actions. You do something stupid, it gets on the site and everyone calls you out for it, you don't do it again. You learn from it."

The site doesn't stick to holding people accountable for indescretions (true or false), it also criticies physical appearances.

Someone recently posted a picture of a beautiful woman and said she took Richie's previous comments about her chin so seriously that she got plastic surgery. The person asked Richie what he thought about "Chin Chilla" now and this was his reply:

"Nice, more girls should listen to my advice… the world would be a prettier place."

There are those who say TheDirty.com is harmless fun and those who say it's ruining people's lives. Take a look , and decide for yourself.

Top 10 Megadeth Songs

2010-03-20T13:20:00.000-07:00

It's no secret I'm a big Megadeth fan even though the band's been making music before I was born. Although Dave Mustaine was a wreck in the early days and was even kicked out of Metallica, he still managed to pull together a great group that has been able to stay on top through the decades.

They've composed some poignant songs that aren't just about the sex, drugs, and rock and roll lifestyle...OK, maybe a lot are about the drugs. Although the list was hard to whittle down, here's my top 10 favourite Megadeth songs:

Honorable Mentions:
Trust - Cryptic Writings (1997)
Kill the King - Capitol Punishment: The Megadeth Years (2000)
Angry Again - Rude Awakening (2002)

10. Take No Prisoners - Rust in Peace (1990)
You can hear the thrash metal sound Megadeth is so well-known for. If you replace Mustaine's voice with James Hetfield's this would be a very Metallica-like song-- a throwback to Mustaine's roots.

9. One Thing - non-album single (1997)
This song is just classic Megadeth, it reminds me a lot of their early stuff.

8. Crush 'Em - Risk (1999)
This is an example of Megadeth's sound experimentation in the 1990s with a techno-like beat and ominous bass. There's more of a funky sound to the guitar before it falls into a typical metal chorus, especially with the chants of "crush...crush 'em!"

7. Sweating Bullets - Countdown to Extinction (1992)
Sweating Bullets is one of Mustaine's masterpieces that delve into his experience with drugs. The progressive beat sticks in your mind and you can't help but recite the lyrics.

6. Holy Wars... The Punishment Due - Rust in Peace (1990)
Mr. Mustaine always has something on his mind and this song was written during the conflict in Northern Ireland and right before the Gulf War. His views about religion are also expressed in political song.

5. In My Darkest Hour - So Far, So Good... So What! (1988)
The beginning throws you off a bit with it's slow, dreamy melody, but then snaps you back to reality as a heavier ballad sets in. Mustaine provides us with a glimpse inside his mind.

4. Train of Consequences - Youthanasia (1994)
The staggered guitar rift at the beginning or this live recording sets the tone for Mustaine's strange, yet comprehensible lyrics about the perils of gambling.

3. Symphony of Destruction - Countdown to Etinction (1992)
This hit drives home a political message about who runs our country. Said Mustaine in 1992, "It's about the masses being led to their own destruction by a leader who's more or less a puppet of a phantom government. Just about every leader we've had that hasn't ended up with a bullet in his head is a political puppet."

2. A Tout le Monde - Youthanasia (1994)
This powerful song isn't without controversy. MTV banned the video in 1994 because the network believed it was pro-suicide. Regardless, Mustaine's gruff voice paired with long chords epress his honest feeling about what he'd do right before he dies.

1. Peace Sells - Peace Sells...But Who's Buyin'? (1986)
Aside from military combant and politics, this song confrtons the incorrect stereotype of "metalheads": greasy, long-haired losers who wear black t-shirts, ripped jeans, can't hold down a job.
The ultimate political statement, Peace Sells is one of those songs that will be remembered for years to come.

Girl-lationships are the new Bromances

2010-02-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

Move over bromance, there's new terms emerging. Call 'em what you want, "ho-mances", "girl-lationships," etc., it's the newly defined terms of friendships and love affairs, female style.

During the first 20 years of my life, I had best friends, but they weren't BEST friends. I wasn't extremely close with many females, except my mom. Of course having two brothers and no sisters meant I spent a lot of time rough-housing and playing sports at recess. Interacting with other girls was an intimidating activity.

My third year of university is definitely one for the books: new city, new school, moving out on my own, having roommates. Ah roommates, this is where Jill comes in: a girl whose hair is almost as awesome as her personality. At first, I wasn't sure we had much in common-- being from completely different places and experiences. I didn't think she was too fond of me, either. But after sharing a few stories from our youth and one road trip to Armstrong later, we were inseparable. It doesn't help that we can't discern whose voice belongs to whom when recorded, or that many people tell us we look similar. Maybe it's because we always seem to wear colour co-ordinated clothing. Red sweatpants and black jacket to the pool, blue jeans and a white t-shirt to the bar, complete with matching earrings.

A few inside jokes(banana phone, anyone?), stolen magnets (plus an attempted mannequin), and walks home from the bar at 2 a.m. (complete with deep convos) later, we are besties for life (despite her interesting taste in music and lack of appreciation for DevilDriver...and a playlist that hasn't been updated since 2006). The only thing better than all this is her shower karaoke, trust me.

While it's not always silly fun (then again, maybe it is), even the down times don't seem so bad after I think of Jill opening a beer with her belly button, scaling a railing in one bound while sporting heels, or watching her dedicate several hours to creating video montages. The random nature of our relationship is what I cherish most.

So a nurse and a journalist as friends? Why not? If a quiz in Cosmopolitan magazine has certified our friendship, no other verification is necessary. The fun only continues. She is the compass to a direction-challenged me, (although I still say some people can get turned-around in the Wal-Mart parking lot). As Anne of Green Gables would say, I've found a "kindred spirit": a dynamic, refreshing, and wonderful woman named Jill. (Jilly D if you're on the Jersey Shore, yo).