I would like everyone to be aware that I’m composing this post while listening to Grandaddy‘s album, Sumday. Yes. I’m giving it yet another spin.
So the story goes much like this: my mother took me to British Columbia to visit my sister Kristin at her school, Trinity Western, where she’s studying music and apparenty not guys. Although I’ve heard that they’ve been studying her… but from afar. But enough of me writing. On to some pictures that you should enjoy, considering that I spent a good two hours of my life cropping and colour-adjusting. For the record, I wish I lived in a world where the colours were like these. But I’m going to post on why I think that supersaturated colours are pleasing in a more philosophical post some other time. Keep an eye out for that.
Here you see the view from my plane window whilst still on the tarmac. (Do they still call tarmac “tarmac” today? Oh well.) Note that this is very early in the morning. Like before sevem. Yeah, I know. Farmer time.
Apparently when boarding an airbus, it’s tradition to stare down photographers and then eat them if possible. However, I defend myself with ease. So I wasn’t eaten.
Looking down on Mississauga is an exciting thing until you realize that you can’t see a park anywhere. Then you feel dumb when someone points out a park in one of the pictures.
I’d often seen clouds from below, an experience that I have grown casually used to, but it’s quite another thing to see them from above. I felt like the polarity of gravity had been reversed, making flying upside down quite normal. Also, I was reading Calvin and Hobbes. Although I really wasn’t, but I had to segway C&H in there somewhere.
We didn’t run out of clouds for a very long time.
My mom will hate me for this picture. However, I choose journalistic integrity over the curses of my family members.
Car rental companies are officially certified pickpockets, along with just about anything associated with car companies. Fie upon the person who invented the wheel after eating a doughnut. What were you thinking, man?
Somewhere in British Columbia, there is a bridge. This is that bridge.
When in BC, watch out for chicken trucks full of deadly chickens whose lives are lived just to kill innocent fellow drivers as part of their ongoing terrorist jihad.
The chicken picture was your brain. This picture is your brain on drugs. Don’t take drugs.
I happen to like this shot because it was beautifully composed by Yours Truly. I watched while he did it, until he kicked me for asking why his parents named him that.
We went to the Vancouver Art Gallery, where ironically enough the building became a work of art, as did this poor photographer’s derriere.
Outside the Art Gallery, there’s a pine tree that reaches straight up and seems to touch the sky. There is also this tree, which reaches straight up, but doesn’t really come anywhere close to touching the sky.
This is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, one of which is a photograph of a room coated in photographs, [snip]
This is a map of all the largest nodes of the internet in the Urbanization display at the Gallery. I wasn’t supposed to take picture of anything, but I avoided security cameras, Gallery personell, angry mobs, and a bunny to take these picture.
There were peepholes in this one wall of the Gallery, allowing the viewer to view the room with pictures in it. I think it was a physical commentary on our surveilance society, or a physical commentary on the fact that the exhibit builder owned a very large drill bit.
This very interesting text covered a wall of the gallery. I’m not sure if it was supposed to be there, or if some malicious technocrat graffiti artist had recently visited the spot.
Someone from the future cut off a robot’s hand and placed in this null-entropy container to warn us of the evils of the coming robotic age. And I am the only one who understands.
Well, this family meets a sombre fate at the hands of superglue: to be forever in suspended animation whilst headbobbing to Nirvana. (That one’s for Kevin…)
There was a very large red room in the Gallery with these large shiny balls hanging inside. I’m not sure what that represents, but I sure felt like a scalpel in there.
This is an image of a painting of a statistic that was incorrect by the time the paint had dried. Nice try, guys.
This is my sister from the back. Note her back.
For the record, I would like to live in this building. I would also like to have built this building. I would also like a pizza.
I took a picture of a large glassy steel sort of thingy.
Behold, my sister from the front. Note my sweater that she’s wearing. This is what women do, folks. They steal clothing because they’re “cold”.
This door caught my attention as I was walking through it, because I can walk through solids, because I’m one of the X-Men. We also ate here.
Again, my sister. But that’s not my shirt, because that would be, like, gay.
I have never drunk so much coffee in one half week in my entire life. I personally bankrolled several Columbian coffee lords and a highly-paid Starbucks executive.
This charming fire hydrant is used to put out fires in the charming town of White Rock.
These charming stairs are used to walk over a charming stone wall in the charming town of White Rock.
After being run over by the train, our hero awakes to find the town deserted, the gold gone. Not to mention that he’s still tied to the tracks. And wearing spandex. Insult. Injury. The evil doctor will pay! Suddenly, the tracks again begin to rumble ominously…
Should you feel like walking a few thousand feet out into the middle of the water to find out that yes, indeed, water still looks the same out there, I humbly submit the boardwalk at the charming town of White Rock.
Seriously, it goes on forever.
This is the seedy side of the charming town of White Rock, where they build condos specifically to block the neighbor’s view of the water. Which, co-incidentally, still looks like water from a condo, much like it did from the boardwalk, train tracks, marina, and the darned plane.
I’m not sure if this sorry specimen is a seagull or some sort of feathered alien, but he looks sad and malaevolent all at the same time, as if he were planning to take over the world, but that plan was weighing on his conscience.
You will see several garbage cans in Vancouver, all of which will be empty, unless a homeless person is using it. Excuse me, a bum is using it. A hobo. A tramp. A worthless ne’er-do-well with a paper bag and bottle of cheap wine. Also, there’s garbage everywhere because no one wants to throw junk on the homeless hobo bum guy. That’s why I love Vancouverites. They’re compassionate people, unless you’re stealing their licence plates for a souveneir. Odd.
My sister appears in mirrors at odd times, such as entering an underground parking lot.
Kristin looks happy because she’s holding shoes. She wouldn’t look happy if she were holding, for instance, a tarantula.
Posing thematically is part of Kristin’s life, as is stealing my sweater. :bitter:
They have trees in Vancouver, but all the trees are funny colours.
This is my mom. She is a beautiful lady, proof that you can bear 11 or so children and still look like a supermodel. By the way, mom, I need money.
I will introduce the Vancouver Library with this shot of Bailey’s. And also this photo of books.
They have many blue books in the Vancouver Library system, and a large collection of blue books at the Central Branch.
Also, green books, and sometimes red.
Did I mention that there are seven stories of this building? And that all these stories hold books? And that some of those books hold stories? I am so totally mixed up here.
Most of the residents can’t read this non-multilingual sign.
You can also take a book to a table and read it, or if you’re a bum, you can tear out the pages and lick off the ink. The other joke that you’re thinking about right now is, yes, a clever play on words. But this is a PG blog where we don’t talk about those things, okay?
In front of the Vancouver Library Central Branch Thing I’m Just Calling It That Because I Don’t Know Better is an entire enclosed street. Complete with about twenty coffee shops.
As I was saying, it goes up a fair bit, and then ends in another impressive show of glass and metal.
And that’s it, folks! Hope you enjoyed those pictures. And as an added bonus for all that clicking and groaning I’m pretty sure that you did, here’s some picture that will mortally embarrass my teenaged sisters Elyssa and Rebekah. The music has changed, as well. I am now listening to Deepspace5‘s first album.
This picture is a showcase of how my sisters can be normal, something that happens once every sixty-seven years. Treasure this picture, peeps.
It doesn’t last long.
I have no words for this except, “I have no words for this.”
And Elyssa shoots herself. With a camera.
Okay, I’m done here. Have a great night, and don’t forget to bicker over something useless tonight.