Which way the wind blows....

When you cross over the border from Alberta, the sign greeting you claims BC to be "the best place on earth." I've never cared for that type of hyperbolic, aggrandizing self-assessment from anyone besides Mohammed Ali and certainly not from the province which voted in Gordon Campbell.

Although, in hour 11 of my drive from Edmonton, with the 39-degree heat haranguing the rust colored pine-beetle afflicted trees, I did feel at home in this Lower Mainland. I guess people do respond to confidence. I've never lived here before, but I visited often and I think I might love Vancouver. The bridges are metropolitan and impressive; the refulgent downtown is beckoning and teeming. The mountains. The ocean. I just think it's pretty. I wanted to be here for a while and I feel vibrant knowing I'm citizenry.

I’ve visited (briefly) my campus for the first time. It seems liberal and insular. The large park surrounding Capilano College suffuses it with detachment. You can forget you’re in a city. The Film Centre looks like a barn, but that’s okay. My life has lacked a little ghetto-ness of late.

It hasn’t all been peaches and cum (a Mike line) however. Finding a place has been taxing. It looks like I’ll have no choice, financially, but to live in another area than North Vancouver where the college is. Did major apartment (AKA basement suite) hunting this weekend, made more frustrating by the blanketing temperature – I thought this fucking place was known for its rain? My t-shirt soaked and my sandals melted, I have a few promising leads. I shall let you know.

Not too much to report. Mostly family visiting so far. The usual. Beer. Hugs. Barbeque. Arguments. My mom crying. Indian melodrama exists far outside the sheathed breasts and choreographed dowries of Bollywood, you know.

Tomorrow I visit my workplace for the next month, explore downtown and the campus again and the search continues for dwellings. I’ll also rendezvous with my boy Themba again. It’s been a long time, nigga. Prepare thyself.

This isn’t very well written. I apologize. I’m on my cousin’s computer and had to wrap this maiden post up quickly. Figured I should get this out here before I forgot I started this damn thing.

Geography can breed dissonance. Moving away is a jangle. A kiss on each of your prairie-bred cheeks, your well wishes keep me warm in this despotic heat.

I use too many parentheses when I write.