Editor’s Note: We’ve long been charmed by the sartorial wit and uniquely esoteric perspective of Madam Tami Knight, whose cartoons have graced our pages since the start. One scotch too many a month or two ago, we thought it would be a good idea to bring Tami to Jackson to report on The Alpinist Film Festival for our readers who are unable to attend. Getting her to actually say something about adventure films in general and the AFF in particular presents its challenges, but stay tuned: Tami will be blogging (or blawging, as she puts it) from now until the dust of the event has settled.
You’ve been warned.
I hate travelling. Last time I was on a commercial jet was when I went to
America five years ago. Okay so last summer I flew on a Beaver to Nanaimo.
Hey, Only Canadians would have the balls to design a seaplane, name it
Beaver, and then further add it’s the icon of the Canadian North. Yeah!
But I digress. I hate travelling. I mean – what moron who lives in Vancouver
travels? My city, with over a million inhabitants has three ski hills each
less then 40 mins from the city ( and that’s from time of leavin’ yer house
to snappin’ yerself into the bindings – not just arriving to the clusterfuck
of dealing with the ski hill ). Half-way decent rock-climbing at Lighthouse
Park is a morning excurison and faboo rock climbing at Squamish is a day
trip from my house. I can drink the tap water. In way too many places
elsewhere if you do that you’ll shit and shit and shit so much and so hard
your tongue will hang out your ass. Yuck.
Why would I wanna travel? There isn’t anywhere better to go to. British
Columbia license plates even say so: “Best Place On Earth”. Besides, when
away, the cats reformat my hard drive, the rest of the family find my most
secret stashes of chocolate then eat ’em for the same reason the cats lick
their butts and reformatted the hard drive: Because they can.
So last November I get an invite to blog at the Alpinist Film Fest. Oh, boy.
This means travelling. Oh, no. It also means travelling to America. Oh,
shit. I’ve never got into America without resorting to lies. Last time I
crossed the US-Canada frontier I posed as a dyke driving a 10-ton filled
with “my stuff c’os I had been living down there”. I have to give up on the
lesbian thing this time; my hair is too long. Maybe I should dress up as a
hamster and leave the Border Patrol rollin’ on the floor laffin so hard I
just step over their twitching bodies right into America.
I’ve got nuttin’ against America other then the country just can’t separate
church and state. A lotta countries on this planet can’t seem to figure that
out either which is even more reason not to travel. Die infidels! But, oh,
first we’re gonna kidnap your ass and post yer blindfolded misery on our
website before we make a snuff-film with you to hammer our point home. (
uh.what is our point ? ) George W will then get steamed and make a statement
all those bad guys are gonna be brought to justice. Okay. Right. Justice.
Sure. Uh, huh. Yes, Mr. Bush, that’s gonna happen. Go gett’em! Rowwwrf !
Next week I board not one but three ozone-destroying, glacier-melting
airplanes in effort to get from YVR to JAC via SEA and DEN. I’m glad that,
between 1984 and ’88 I planted about 100,000 trees. Don’t misunderstand me –
that was no personalized effort to save Earth but a good way to make money,
get big time off and collect dole. I liked travelling then. Now I don’t.
But, if I get past the border trolls at YVR and they accept both my passport
( it is a real one ) and my story – “whatdya mean I always dress innan
oversize hamster suit”- I’ll just suck up the risk of losing my chocolate
and having to fuck with my computer when I get home. I’ve never been to
Wyoming. It’d be interesting to visit a place with a thinner population
density then BC.
Some ten years ago I read a magazine article profiling my second-favorite
curmudgeon-slash-environmentalist, Yvon Chouinard. He bitched about all the
outdoor shit people buy while yeah, yeah Patagonia izza a manufacturer of
all that shit. He said “My theories have a million holes in ’em.” My
theories about travel do to.
See ya at the Film Fest in JH next week. Don’t look for a XXL hamster, tho’,
I won’t get that shit past anyone connected with Alpinist Mag. They know
hamsters are not much bigger then yer fist.