Swench!

Tonight is my second night as a temporary Canadian resident. I celebrated by enjoying a bit of my neighborhood, which I will not be moving into 'til Wednesday.

After eating a very large casserole which was described as a "perogi", and enjoying a loverly-bodied Smithwick's, (at my next around-the-corner favourite - "The Dickens", which is a very English-style pub) I decided to take a walk towards the lakeshore and down a few blocks.

This is when the air
began to make me aware
that its bite
'd turn me neck to ice.

I was forced to don my tuque. But I could have also used a scarf, a full face garment, and a snowmobile suit, four inches thick, please.

I stuck it out, with the tuque and the collar pulled up on my rugged Carhartt, and I did not give in a la Jack London's "To Build A Fire". I gritted my teeth and made my way back to my vehicle, feeling victorious and restoring my warmth.

Until I noticed that the read-out on my dashboard came to life and notified me that the temperature was a piddly negative three degrees. Twenty-one eff, or so.

I cursed my somewhat-thinned blood, and nonthickness of skins. Oh, and also the fact that I am a giant pussy; I cursed that too.

Anyways.

I should say that I adore my new neighborhood. I have potential for becoming a Burlington scenester, if such things exist. I look forward to becoming the young bourgeoisie innerterpolator that the off-hours has always expected of me, and the barebones menialissimo workaday dude that my pride has been scared to dream of.

Oh, such things for coming the true!