Pique n' Your Interest 

Unprepared for winter

andrew@piquenewsmagazine.com

So much to say and so little space. I was torn between several subjects this week, from the rise of the winter season tomorrow to the decline of gym etiquette, from the perils of faith-based banking and the effect the NHL strike is having on my downtime. So I decided to combine them all into one big column. It’s a bit of a stretch, so bear with me…

First of all, I don’t think I’ve ever been so completely unprepared heading into snowboard season. On Halloween I spray-painted my old boots red for use in a Strongbad costume (see www.homestarrunner.com for an explanation), and had to replace them over the weekend. Because I won’t have a chance to work them in properly I’m in for a solid month of blisters, numb toes and shooting foot pains, starting right after my first run of the season on Saturday. After five seasons of mangled feet you’d think I’d have learned my lesson.

I also can’t find my gloves, snowpants or goggles. Although I still have a few boxes to prowl through in the crawlspace I have a sinking feeling that I might have mislabeled a garbage bag when I was moving house and accidentally dropped my gear off at the Re-Use-It Centre. You’re welcome, whoever you are – careful because the front pocket zipper tends to get jammed if you open it all the way.

I still have my snowboard, but it badly needs a tune and some P-tex around the edges. I wish it was my rock board, and that I wouldn’t care if I put a few new dings in it over the first few weeks, but in reality it’s my only board. I cringe and cry every time I scrape it over a partially submerged rock.

My bindings are now four years old and if memory serves me correctly, they have developed a habit of popping open under stress. They should probably be replaced as well, before I become the first snowboarder in history to be double ejected out of ratchet bindings.

If all my suspicions are correct, then I have a big day of shopping ahead of me, which I can’t quite afford after a recent trip to Vegas. I thought I had more cash in the bank than I do, not realizing that my landlady had neglected to cash my September rent cheque until mid-October.

Thus ends my long experiment in faith-based banking – I have no idea how much money I have (or don’t have) at any given time. I hereby pledge to read those little receipts from ATMs from now on, no matter how depressing it can be.

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