(no subject)
And so I am home. I actually got home on New Year's Eve (more on that in a minute), but I have spent the week dealing with 2007's lovely parting gift, a cold. Gee, you shouldn't have.
At any rate, Christmas was good. I saw the family, saw Paloma, saw I am Legend. And then I got to go over to the island, and see Mum and Steppater, and oh god, I have missed the ocean so much. I was like a little kid, because yay! we're at the seaside and we're all going to have a jolly time! All I needed was a little bucket and spade.
Koda is unsure about this 'water' stuff
How reassuring
Being by the ocean also meant that I got rid of the damn cough which has plagued me for weeks, the result of breathing crazily dry air. I have discovered the limits of my own climactic adaptation, namely, that I don't do well once the ambient moisture drops below about 40%. I thought I was going to die in Calgary. Anyway, my cough went away, just in time for me to come back. Bah.
The trip home was a bit of an adventure. I was flying from the island to Vancouver, and the plane was supposed to be 8-10 people, but being New Year's Eve, there was only me and one other guy flying back. So the plane was changed to a little Cessna. And when I say little, I mean little. It's the SmartCar of planes. Dad, who spent many a year flying in tiny planes of all descriptions, was thrilled ("This is flying!"). Steppater, who is a bit of an aviation nut, was also thrilled. Mum looked queasy.
The flight was great fun, and it was neat to fly over the Gulf Islands. We landed at the South Terminal, a heretofore unexplored, and indeed, unknown, portion of YVR. And then I got to hang out at the airport for four hours. How exciting. But, at last, it was time to board the plane back to PG. Which then sat on the tarmac, as our destination was socked in with fog, the result of smoke from the pulp mill rolling across the airport. Prince George, always finding new ways to suck. After half an hour and a snack of Bits 'n' Bites (the flight attendents wisely busted out the food), we were off.
New Year's with Westjet
Heeeeere we go!
So we fly to PG, whereupon we start circling, because the fog has rolled back in. What happens if we can't land? We go back to Vancouver, and at this moment something incredible happened: I did not want to go back to Vancover. I wanted the damn plane to land in Prince George so that I could go sleep in my own bed, the bed that I had only spent three nights in out of the previous twenty. I wanted to go home.
Apparently, my mental bitching was strong enough to thin the fog, because we landed shortly thereafter. Everyone applauded as the plane touched down, even the flight attendants.
Welcome to Prince George
All of this meant that it was a quarter to eleven by the time I got home, where I was greeted by about eight cops restraining a screaming DUI. And a happy new year to you too, sir.
Strigoi rings in the new year
"I hate you so much right now"
At any rate, Christmas was good. I saw the family, saw Paloma, saw I am Legend. And then I got to go over to the island, and see Mum and Steppater, and oh god, I have missed the ocean so much. I was like a little kid, because yay! we're at the seaside and we're all going to have a jolly time! All I needed was a little bucket and spade.
Koda is unsure about this 'water' stuff
How reassuring
Being by the ocean also meant that I got rid of the damn cough which has plagued me for weeks, the result of breathing crazily dry air. I have discovered the limits of my own climactic adaptation, namely, that I don't do well once the ambient moisture drops below about 40%. I thought I was going to die in Calgary. Anyway, my cough went away, just in time for me to come back. Bah.
The trip home was a bit of an adventure. I was flying from the island to Vancouver, and the plane was supposed to be 8-10 people, but being New Year's Eve, there was only me and one other guy flying back. So the plane was changed to a little Cessna. And when I say little, I mean little. It's the SmartCar of planes. Dad, who spent many a year flying in tiny planes of all descriptions, was thrilled ("This is flying!"). Steppater, who is a bit of an aviation nut, was also thrilled. Mum looked queasy.
The flight was great fun, and it was neat to fly over the Gulf Islands. We landed at the South Terminal, a heretofore unexplored, and indeed, unknown, portion of YVR. And then I got to hang out at the airport for four hours. How exciting. But, at last, it was time to board the plane back to PG. Which then sat on the tarmac, as our destination was socked in with fog, the result of smoke from the pulp mill rolling across the airport. Prince George, always finding new ways to suck. After half an hour and a snack of Bits 'n' Bites (the flight attendents wisely busted out the food), we were off.
New Year's with Westjet
Heeeeere we go!
So we fly to PG, whereupon we start circling, because the fog has rolled back in. What happens if we can't land? We go back to Vancouver, and at this moment something incredible happened: I did not want to go back to Vancover. I wanted the damn plane to land in Prince George so that I could go sleep in my own bed, the bed that I had only spent three nights in out of the previous twenty. I wanted to go home.
Apparently, my mental bitching was strong enough to thin the fog, because we landed shortly thereafter. Everyone applauded as the plane touched down, even the flight attendants.
Welcome to Prince George
All of this meant that it was a quarter to eleven by the time I got home, where I was greeted by about eight cops restraining a screaming DUI. And a happy new year to you too, sir.
Strigoi rings in the new year
"I hate you so much right now"