28 Days Vancouver

Today, I went to the GI Joe's "going out of business sale" to rummage around and find something that I did not actually need but would feel compelled to buy because it was marked down by 40%. I think I can say with all certainty that I managed to do just that. $124 later and I'm stumbling out of the store, arms exploding with one red North Face Sleeping bag, a rain slicker, and a folding metal camping pot with retractable handle. I think it is important to note that I currently have no solid plans to go camping this summer. No campsites reserved and only the loosest of drunk conversations with friends that involve someone saying, "Dude, we should totally camp the fuck out of this summer, dude." I'm not really sure what the driving force was behind these purchases, other than the fact that I have never owned anything from North Face (insert desperate need to be accepted into Portland outdoor bourgeoisie mono-culture) and that I have a can of black beans that is just screaming to be cooked in something with a retractable handle. A retractable handle is one of those implements that really ranks up there with the heavy-hitters of modern invention: Penicillin, The Snuggie, Gum, Democracy, etc. The idea itself seems so basic and genius...yet it took us centuries to get there, (I am of course specifically referencing the Snuggie here).

After G.I. Joe's, I proceeded like a just-released Lindsay Lohan on her first post-rehab 8 ball to a local Vancouver nursery with the intention of spending equally obscene amounts of money on organic herb starts and worm shit. Something happened at the nursery that really signaled that I need to get the fuck out of Vancouver, pronto ASAP stat. I walked into the long, cavernous greenhouse space and was immediately overwhelmed with a serious case of the sads. I looked around and got the very distinct feeling that every plant and every flower in the greenhouse was being held hostage. Little green POW's. Every living thing seemed to be only half-alive, tortured or just plain unhappy. It smelled like a mixture of chemicals and the inside pages of your alcoholic grandfathers Bible. I'm not sure if this will translate for many people, but mostly it just means it smelled toxic, angry and old. I asked to be pointed in the direction of the organic starts and was immediately greeted with a stern look on the cashiers face. They did not carry organic. "Try another nursery. Goodbye."

Yikes! It was obvious that the word "organic" had been successfully translated by the conservatives in Vancouver to mean "liberal/hippie/North Korea". You would have thought I asked where they kept the gay, Islamic-radicalist vegetables. Or the pro-choice, progressive peppermint. Or the Kucinich kale. (I could go on...).

Anyway, the experience simply highlights how desperate I am to vacate this fucking town. I know that the true progressive spirit should guide me in the direction of digging my heels in and changing my community instead of abandoning it. But I have to be honest, Christianity and Republicanism have spread over here like a scene straight out of 28 days later. The best thing to do at this point is to establish a perimeter, execute a quarantine and pray for a vaccine.