Quick Interjection:

We interrupt today's scheduled programming to bring you an update on Wilson's cooking technique.

This Japanese-theme dish is called "Obimaki Enoki", and traditionally uses smoked bacon wrapped around enokitake mushrooms. Unfortunately, I couldn't find enokitake 'shrooms anywhere in the area, so I substituted with young bamboo shoots instead.

Hell, I figured that the point was to contrast the smokey flavor of the bacon with the light texture of the 'shrooms, so bamboo should work. (Here's to hoping. *clink*)

More Pictures!


And here's a close up:


Enjoy!

On to the rest of the trip!

As promised, running commentary on the rest of....

(crowd hushes and the stage lights dim)

....The Trip That Almost Wasn't.

(cue dry ice, fake ghost whispering)

Indeed, semi-captive audience, let us revisit the first day of woe, complete with semi-captivating visuals.....

Witness, the haunting path leading up to the chalet itself, the site of Ian's-Car-Getting-Stuck-Event-#1:

(frantic gesturing from stage left)

Oh, er, yes. I almost forgot - you can click on the pictures to enlarge 'em. You know, for atmosphere:



The path leading into the chalet itself is right next to the light at the end of the road, like so:











In the daytime, it looks far less ominous. Here's a shot of it in the daytime. It's rather pretty, eh?











(more frantic gesturing from stage right) What? It's a daytime shot, I'm not breaking the mood! Oh fine.

Ahem. Back to Day 1, a shot of the chalet from the back. To our horror, the lights were already on, as if someone were expecting our presence.....

(The owner, that is)











But lo! As we entered the building, with bated breath and silent steps, wonders of wonders! A cry of "Oh, you're shitting me!" rose up like a gentle wave from the Jersey shore, comforting in both its warmth and salty filth.

Huzzah! A game room! With a bar!











Clues were left from previous inhabitants. Would they lead us to our death, or to buried treasure?











Yarr, me hearties! Buried treasure it is!!












The downstairs bedroom ,which Tom and I immediately claimed. In the jungle, there's no room for nice guys.










Of course, with the introduction of new species to any foreign habitat, one must ensure that waste disposal processes are in their proper place:










What sort of devices will we find inside? Will our young adventurers face certain death by waste-ridden disease?











Huzzah! A muthafuckin' jacuzzi, bitches! Unfortunately, the bathroom was immediately claimed by Ian, thereby rendering it unsuitable for human use. (On the other hand, any species lacking basic breathing apparati, namely, lungs, were more than welcome.)










The main bedroom upstairs, complete with hanging snow shoes. You know you've made it when you have hanging snowshoes. No wait, I'm wrong:










You know you've made it when you have an animatronic dancing fish on your shelf! Where, you ask? Why, inside the bitchin' living room, of course:











It became obvious to this young anthropologist, that previous generations were both altruistic and forward thinking. Certain artifacts that survived the ravages of time supported my hypothesis:











Rest in peace, my decomposed friends, and know that we shall put your tools to good use. Indeed, onward to the feasting area!











And nothing speaks of quality like a fully-loaded kitchen. Chicks dig guys that can cook:










Bam! So ends Day 1! As sunlight broke over the snowy Canadian wilderness, our travelers awoke to a new day, full of opportunity and hope:

Day 2


Actually, my day started with Kayer (who had driven the entire night to get here) bursting into our room like a fist through paper. My reaction to this intrusion was to let out a string of curses...

(frantic gesturing, this time from the orchestra pit) What? Allright! I'll tone it down for the kids.

....something to the effect of,"Arrrgh! I'm naked and I'm eating dead puppies! Don't come in!"

(a disembodied sigh floats across the stage)

Group decision to spend the day in Montreal instead of snowboarding. Mont Tremblant was still closed, Group 3 was dead tired from driving through the night, and the rest of us were beat up from the day before. We congregated in the living room for further discussion:










That's Dan in the yellow jacket, Lira in the far chair, and Tom posing on the couch. Now here's a picture of Connie and Ian, right before she plants a foot in his ass:










Them females sure 'ave good timin', ayuh.

After figuring out transportation, we made our way outside. The lake next to the chalet was frozen and covered in snow, which made for a nice landscape picture. Unfortunately, we never got a chance to icefish.










Ian trudges down the stairs in full tourist gear:













Ah, before I forget, most of these pictures are from Connie's camera. She only takes pictures of objects that embody physical perfection, like so:













See? Perfection. A shot of Dan:










And here's Kayer kidding around:










The girl on the left is Michelle, Connie's maid of honor:










Girlz be lookin' fly, homes:










Hey Wilson, you're supposed to take pictures of people from the front, you ass man:










So the plan was to drive into Montreal, stopping along the way to pick up information about the other mountains in the area. I have always found the art of cartography to be a most fascinating subject:










But as always, my sentiments were not shared by Tom. If there were ever a look that symbolized the phrase "You're an idiot"......











.....this was it. After meandering around the streets for awhile, we decided upon a most auspicious looking restaurant to break our afternoon fast.


If it's good enough for Mr. Churchill, it's good enough for me. By the way, in case I hadn't mentioned it before, it's, like, cold in Canada. So smiles were abound when we made our way inside:










Group smile! (Me want food!)










This is a picture of my meal. Roast quail with stuffed blueberries or something. The potatoes were cut in the shape of mushrooms, which made for a pleasing yet gastronomically confusing experience.











Obligatory Guys-Stuffing-Face shot:










Here's what made my day. In Canada, there exists a mythical contraption, whispered only in dank halls of academia, that is rumored to possess incredible powers of exhalation. I am here today to announce a monumental discovery!

(scattered applause)

Bear witness, friends and family, for we have found this mythical beast! Behold!

(curtain goes up)












The Xlerator! The most powerful hand drying machine in existence!

Seriously though, this thing was friggin' intense. It would literally blow your hands straight down, and you could hear it from across the entire breadth of restaurant. Just an amazing piece of machinery.

Warm and happy, we pose in front of the pub. Keep on truckin', Mr. Churchill, wherever you are:












Connie made plans with one of her old friends in the Chinatown district, which, incidently, was only few blocks wide. We parked in front of the municipal building:



A very filling dinner at a Chinese restaurant - I'll be damned if I can remember the name.























Okay, let me set something straight here. I don't have much in the way of Canadien jokes, but it's too easy to make a judgement from the preponderance of Canadien-themed parody skits out there. So I try, and I try to keep an open mind, but seriously, Canada, you really make it too easy sometimes:


I just don't know, folks. I just don't know.

It ain't Chinatown without the fake arches:











And so ended Day 2 of the Trip That Almost Wasn't. Whew! Not a great deal of narrative, and somewhat uneventful, especially when compared to Day 1.

DAY 3

Finally, the slopes awaited us! We decided to hit the next largest mountain in the area, Mont...

Mont....

(Pssst, cue card)

....ah yes. Mont Saint Saveur. To our everlasting surprise, the conditions were nearly perfect. Good snow, barely any crowds, and some of the trails were fairly challenging. Also, to my surprise, my snowboarding skills hadn't deteriorated, and in fact, seemed to have improved despite the lack of practice.

I also discovered a new pet peeve. In fact, if you're looking for a surefire way to set my teeth on edge, all you'd have to do would be to study Exhibit A:

I'm perfectly willing to admit my ignorance on proper European mathematic notation, but even so, it's a decimal POINT, God damn it, not a friggin' COMMA. Now get off my lawn, damn kids! I swear, if you come back here again, I'm going to.......

(curtain collapses across the stage as a large sign is extended from the orchestra pit:)

INTERMISSION.

(The second act will follow shortly.)

The Trip That Almost Wasn't.

(Foreword: We are moving in chronological order, starting from Week 3 of December 2005. And by "we", I mean, "me", and by "me", I mean, "incredibly charistmatic Asian male". Just thought I'd make that clear.)

So way back near the beginning of December, my buddy Ian informs me that he will be planning a week-long trip to Canada. Specifically, he mentioned renting out a chalet, snowboarding at Mont Tremblant, and clubbing in Montreal as key points in the itinerary. And being the hardcore (Extreeeeeeeeeeeeeme!) snowboarder that I am, I immediately asked the obvious follow-up question:

"So dude, isn't it, like, cold in Canada?"

To which he replied,"What?"

Okay, so I didn't really ask that question. But it does touch upon the level of ignorance we collectively displayed in preparing for the trip itself. I'll explain in engrossing detail:

A few days before the trip was scheduled to start, Ian and his med school buddy Scott finally put together an outline of our travel itinerary (read: Ian dumped all the work on Scott). I'd like to take a moment to stress the word "outline." Here: Outline. As in, an astute reader is left with certain pertinent questions such as:

1. Hey! What are the directions to Canada?
2.What are we supposed to pack? Any specific items of importance?
3. Do we know our way around Montreal?
4. What about currency exchange?
5. What about driving conditions?

Unfortunately, there was a decided lack of astuteness being passed around, because none of us really thought to ask these questions, and if they did happen to cross our minds, the answers might have sounded like:

1. What's AAA?
2. Passport? Nawwww, it's Canada!
3. We'll wing it!
4. Strip clubs will exchange it gladly!
5. Frequent snow, icy roads, and around 30 hours of total driving time? Nah, my car is fine as is.

A chilling prelude, to be sure (No pun intended). For the record, Ian's wife, Connie, had decided that she would take a step aside and "let the boys handle it". I suppose there is a lesson here to be learned regarding the skill difference between men and women, but I choose to remain completely obtuse to it. So nyah.

I will now present the first day of our trip in Outline itinerary form:

I. 9:00 AM
A. After packing gear in van, drive to Tom's house.
B. After packing Tom's gear in van, van will not start.
C. Initial attempts to jumpstart fail. Frantic calls to Ian ensue.
D. Belatedly realize that van was shifted in reverse during the entire jumpstart process.
E. Candid remarks regarding Wilson's intelligence abound. Drive van to Ian's house.

II. 10:00 AM
A. Pack group gear into van. Group decision to replace van battery, just in case.
B. "Hey, wait a minute", Wilson queries. "Do you need our passports?"
C. Group decision results in Wilson and Tom driving Ian's car to pick up passports, and Ian's
group taking Wilson's van (ak.a. The Black Sexy) to garage for battery replacement.
D. Wilson, after arriving home, realizes that his house keys are on his keychain. Namely, the
keychain currently in Ian's possession. More candid remarks occur.
E. Ian, having not found a single garage open, is already in New York State when frantic
phone call is received.
F. Operative phrase of the day thus far: "Oh, you're shitting me!"

III. 12:00 PM
A. After Ian arrives with house keys, group decision to postpone departure in lieu of lunch at
Macaroni Grill.
B. Macaroni Grill > Olive Garden
C. After switching vehicles to proper owners, departure commences.

IV. 7:00 PM
A. Tom and Wilson arrive at border post. Guard spouts questions in French and wonders
why the Asians are staring at him.
B. Guard: "Do you have any alcohol in your possession?" Wilson, with certainty: "No."
C. Tom and Wilson wait at border post for Ian's group. Wilson can't find his cellphone.
Cursing ensues.
D. Ian's group is pulled over for speeding. Group decision to conclude that state troopers
are, indeed, dipshits.
E. Tom: "Hey Wil, I think Ian put all the vodka in your van." Wilson: "................."
F. Ian's group arrives at border. Huzzah!
G. Third group (Med school buddy Scott + 3 other med school students) calls. We are
informed that all the workers at Mont Tremblant are on strike, and the mountain has been
closed.
H. "Oh, you're shitting me!"

V. 8:30 PM
A. Arrive at Montreal
B. Looking for place to eat - Problem:
1. No idea where restaurants are located.
2. Only have standard Montreal map.
C. Dan asks Canadien police officer for directions and location of nearest gas station.
1. Sample philosophical argument
a. Premise 1: Officer pretends not to know English
b. Premise 2: Officer finally says,"There are no gas stations in the city."
c. Premise 3: There are many gas stations in the city.
d. Conclusion: Trooper is a dipshit.
D. Due to lack of local currency (presence of Ian's wife made Operation Strip Club Exchange
difficult), forced to find restaurant that takes credit cards.
E. Large local Vietnamese population = Inordinate number of Vietnamese restaurants. We
pick one.
1. Waitress is very cute. Unfortunately, she has a voice like Mickey Mouse after a
hard kick to the crotch.
2. Obligatory dirty jokes abound. Wilson: "It would be like sleeping with a dog toy."
Buddha shakes his head and makes a mark on his clipboard.
3. Food is delicious. As a gesture of thanks, we ask that the check be split 5 ways.
(We're good like that.)
VI. 10:00 PM
A. Fill up on gas, leave for chalet.
B. Wilson notes that every other building in the city is a strip club/XXX video. Frenchies.
C. Groups 1 and 2 get lost because apparently, every other exit in a two hour stretch of
highway leads to Route 111. Dubya. Tee. Eff.
D. It is -15 Celsius. It is snowing. It is so cold, the defroster on full is barely keeping tabs.
We are forced to expend gratuitous amounts of windshield wiper fluid to keep road grit
off windshields. Life is good.
E. Pick up chalet key at Shell gas station. Tom loses cell phone. We eventually recover it,
but not after it suffers from water damage. In a galaxy far, far away, someone is
laughing at us.
F. Chalet is located within a mass of narrow backcountry roads. The roads are covered in ice,
snow, and are a fair imitation of a roller coaster track. The leafless trees crowd onto the
path, their branches clacking together in wicked applause. The darkness makes every hill
seem like a black, bottomless plunge. Life is good, quoth the raven, nevermore.
G. Ian's car gets stuck on the hill right before the chalet. "And isn't it ironic...."
H. After freeing Ian's car, he proceeds to park at the bottom of the hilly driveway leading to
chalet. Car gets stuck in snow once again. Bitchin'.

VII. 12:00 AM
A. "Oh, you're shitting me......this house kicks ass!"
B. The house comes equipped with pool table/game room, spacious bedrooms, jacuzzi,
bar, big TV, grill, a fully loaded kitchen, and gets 40 miles per gallon. Does this come in
black?
C. Exhausted, we unpack, and fall asleep.
D. Fin.


Aaaaand that, folks, was just the first day. Friggin' incredible. It was as if God were looking down and upending Pandora's Box on our heads.

Whew, that was long, and I'm tired. I'll finish the rest of the trip in the next post, along with appropriate pictures.

Peace.

It's all part of The Plan, ya'see....

...ah yes. My blogging schedule (timed to perfection - one post per month) is all part of my nefarious plan to deprive you's loyal fans of my endless wit and insufferable charm. See, now that you've had a taste, you want more. And more, and more.

I am the pimp daddy, and you are my drug ho's. Your battered, street-worn soul is mine!!!!

(ahem)

Allright. I admit it. I've been lax as all hell about keeping up with my blog. There's no excuse. I apologize for those who depend on this thing for a daily shot of metaphorical seratonin. There's just so much to catch up on!

Here's the plan. From now on, each subsequent post will deal with major Wilson a.k.a. Your Pimp Daddy ( a.k.a. Y.P. Daddy a.k.a. Y.P My Pants ) life events in chronological order. Happy? I am too.

First up: The Week From Hell That Froze Over, otherwise known as my Canadian snowboarding trip.