#OpHippie: Day Seven

The Grand Haul

The Grand Haul

Well, there it is, as promised: The Grand Haul of my shopping trip.

  • Sorel Caribou boots with leather upper and removable felt liners which make excellent slippers for sitting by the fire: $99 plus tax.
  • latex-coated gloves for working in the cold and wet, plus cowhide gloves for working in the cold and wet with sharp edges and splinters: $20 for both pairs.
  • two pairs of socks which are apparently an historic line of socks from which comes the original sock monkey pattern, which I cannot use because I used the cardboard as a fire starter last night, $20 plus tax. Yeah, expensive, but feet are important. Feet in boots need the right socks. First night I was wearing those fuzzy synthetic socks that are so cute and warm and they formed a velcro lock with the boot liners and I nearly gave myself an injury getting my boots off. With these there are no such problems. A wool/cotton blend, I believe, thick enough to protect against blisters.
  • One bandanna. I would hate to live in the wilderness in the far West without a bandanna. It would just be wrong. I think this was like $7 or so.
  • One pair hunter green velvet jeans $4.98 minus 30% at the till because they were on clearance. At an original $80-some-odd dollars, no shit they were on clearance! But saving an extra buck and change was nice. It was, in fact, hilarious.
  • One pair clay-coloured twill jeans/work pants. For working. Because cold. Wet. Pointy. The woods are all these things. I think they were $9.98.
  • One pair denim jeans with some stretch to them. I dunno why I bought these, actually. I tried them on the second day I was here and they were too small. Couldn’t zip them up. Can now, though! In fact, I can put my full fist into the waistband of the twill jeans, at right angles to my waist. I’m gonna need a belt soon.
  • One Vicky/Christina cocktail at Little Jumbo, about $17 with tax and tip, but no way was I going to be in Victoria without seeing my friend Janice for cocktails at Little Jumbo.
  • Two bags of groceries purchased en route in Nanaimo. It was a Save On, if I’m not mistaken, and it cost $80-something, which, living as I have in Chinatown I am not used to paying, but I didn’t have that, so I put the peanut butter and the Vanity Fair back and then Mme Metro bought me the peanut butter anyway and my bill came to $69 and yes, I had enough for that with like three bucks left over.

So that’s the haul that my esteemed donors bought for me. You know who you are, and I cannot thank you enough.

From the sounds of it, my friend Brenda will be coming up-Island soon bearing fresh bedding for me (Shahee has loaned me an awesome sleeping bag which keeps me so warm some nights I don’t light a fire at all), plates and cups and the like, and some camping equipment to make life easier. Another very kind person whom I met on Twitter has bought me a Swiss Army Knife, destined to be useful every single moment of its existence. And tomorrow the newest arrival to camp is going to see about putting a window into my cabin; he’s handy with construction projects and mechanical items and may even fix the starter on the Beautiful Bus.

As distinct from the Magic Bus, which is an entirely different modified schoolbus a little farther along the trail. No, I’m not kidding.

The workshare here is about two hours a day, six days a week, which is not onerous but has a great deal to do with why I’m losing weight. Okay, so does having to walk two miles to the liquor store and not having any money when you get there. And the amount of meat I’ve consumed this week is: two bison sausages. Period. Otherwise, my protein comes from cheese, lentils, and free range eggs (no chickens here, but wait for it). And I’m not eating much that’s been fried, not even eggs, and the condiments I use are limited because I have to carry them in here from town: sambal, peanut butter, ponzu sauce, soy sauce, Major Grey Chutney which can render even quinoa edible or almost, and that’s pretty much it. Got some pasta, got some peppers and onions, got some rice noodles and quinoa and all the bloody kale you could ever eat.

The work itself is things like: breaking up tiles rejected from the factory, turning them into gravel, and spreading them in the potholes. Cutting up the tree trunks in the woodpile to manageable chunks. Bringing deadfall wood into the woodshed to dry out so it can become kindling. Picking up the garbage left behind by overnighters etc and cleaning up campsites in general in preparation for spring, working on the occupancy agreement (which I have been avoiding as it is already 41 pages long and I’d rather work on a simplified version, but the consensus model means a geometric increase in paper every time you make a change of any kind), breaking down and moving the old, full latrines and setting up new ones using the humanure composting system. It’s pretty basic: you have two pails. One is full of sawdust and a scoop. You put a toilet seat on the empty pail and do your thing in it, then you cover that with sawdust. Eventually it turns into compost.

When I was talking about coming here I thought what I’d be doing was basically setting up systems for workshops and marketing those workshops to whoever…and there are a lot of people interested in this sort of thing. We have people here who can teach, people with skills. We’ve got some musicians, we’ve got a civil engineer who can design shelters for people (who can then build them as part of the workshop), we’ve got Shahee who can teach raw vegan food preparation and do massage and lead yoga and meditation, we’ve got surfers who can teach, we’ve got me, and the new guy in addition to being a competent mechanic is also a tai chi instructor.

Yet.

At the moment, Symbiosis Ecovillage is a concept and an agreement but not yet a corporation, nonprofit, or registered society. So all of that is up in the air until some sort of legal framework is in place. Yes, I can work towards putting that legal framework in place, but there are things I’d rather do.

Like sit by the fire and share some Jameson’s with my friends.

Like go down to the beach (which I’ve done only once, and I am ashamed of myself for that).

Like do a hike on one of the local trails. Like take a kayaking tour of Clayoquot Sound. Like build my own rocket stove and hot water system, and install a thermal converter so that one little wood stove can give me power, heat, and hot water.

Not that there aren’t other distractions nearby in the great metropolis of Not-Ucluelet.

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Fitness Fun: the Pranciest damn exercise videos you’ll ever see

I’m not even kidding. Nobody can top the description MichaelK came up with for the outfit. Joanna Rohrback resembles nothing so much as a freeze-dried Rosanna Arquette, adorned with:

Trace Cyrus galloping through a lavender field while getting attacked by bees. If you really want to look like a professional prancer who is serious about prancing, put a 30 pound wig on top of your head, a gorgeous QVC necklace around your neck, a coral Talbots cardigan on your body and ankle weights (which kind of look like rolled socks, glamour!) around your ankles.

You don’t think that can be possible, do you? You don’t think the reality could possibly live up to that description. Well, you haven’t met Rohrback yet, have you. Behold.

Prancercise

Prancercise

The thing is…the thing nobody is saying is…these are all actually the same goddam move, gramma. Stop this “Prancersise Walk, Prancercise Trot, Prancercise Gallop, Prancercise Box” foollery and take those ridiculous shoulderpads out! There is no such thing as a “Power Cardi.”

Well, we lied. The arm movements that, at the walk, are passably chic and make you think that Gramma must have really gotten her groove on back in the 70′s, devolve as the pace escalates to the “Broken-winged eagle trying to lift off” and then to the truly pitiful “Crushed Butterfly.”

Butterflies aren't free, clearly

Butterflies aren’t free, clearly

Even in life, there is the reminder of death. Yea, even in Prancercise.

OddityCentral calls this the most awkward workout of all time. Clearly, they haven’t watched the Julian Assange version of Prancersise. Yes, it’s true; would I lie to you? From time to time the bobbies let him out of the embassy for some fresh air, as long as he promises to be back in time for tea. And here he is.

And, of course, there’s a strong showing from an 80′s hair model.

Your votes?

Super woman

Let’s review. Yes, I’m embarked on a body makeover quest, or in my case a “get back to what my body was like my whole life before the last five years” quest. I actually have run a marathon, and I’d like to do that again. If I can’t do it while being a freelance writer, I will never manage to find the time. I trained for the marathon while working 60-80 hours a week at Starbucks, for god’s sake, but that was back before Anonymous had become interesting and Wikileaks was only a twinkle in Assange’s eye, and now I have other things that keep me nailed to the desk 18 hours a day.

What I want is:

Mylene Farmer could never be called modest

Mylene Farmer could never be called modest, but if YOU looked like that, would YOU be?

What I can actually achieve is:

Ginger Spice would be nice

Ginger Spice would be nice

and my timeline is two years. There’s an Anon running one of the major European accounts who ever now and again informs me that he cannot wait to see the results (although when I told him I’d just bought two damask corsets, he insisted there was no need to wait on taking pictures, and could I upload some immediately, please). Anonymous r srs bznz.

I just found a pretty cool motivational video, too, so forgive me if I edit it to autoplay when I hit a particularly bad plateau. I’m getting right back on that diet, too, just as soon as I finish this bottle of Johnny Walker. Funny how Johnny Walker is actually incompatible with walking…except to the liquor store.

Once, back when I was training for a marathon, I jogged six miles to the liquor store, bought a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, refused a bag because I’m all green and shit, and then had to run six miles home with a bottle of gin in my hand. I looked like the choosiest thief in town.

TwitPic of the Day: Enter the Dragon

Er, so to speak, you understand. So to speak.

BoJo: Enter the Dragon

BoJo: Enter the Dragon

via Azahar

Now that’s a physical specimen to put the fear of god into Ryan Reynolds, eh? How majestic, how magnificent. How much energy went into getting this body in motion? The mind: it boggleth.

Never change, Boris. Never change.