• Anyone with a sunburn. Especially those with a burn in the pattern of a bathing suit they have not worn in 12 months or the shoulder straps of a tank top. Not to be confused with the person that has too much sun and looks like a well-tanned piece of cow hide; that's an aging Caucasian local or transplant.
• The guy walking along the beach with his boogie board or surf board leash attached to his wrist or ankle.
• Anyone with pants that zip off at the knee.
• Anyone with a hat that is made of high-tech fabric and is supposed to wick moisture away from your head.
• Most anyone in a Hawaiian shirt when it's not a special occasion.
• The woman walking down the street wearing a flower lei.
• The woman walking down the street wearing a flower lei like a necklace instead of letting it hang down in back as well as in front.
• Anyone with a camera.
• Just about anyone applying sun screen.
• Pretty much anyone in any sandals other than zories. Locals don't wear Tevas, Keens, Chacos or anything with buckles or Velcro straps.
• Anyone wearing socks. Like that guy with the hi-tech Eddy Bauer hat in the zip-off pants wearing white, crew length 'athletic' socks in his Teva sandals... yikes.
• All those people that bring a HUGE bag of accessories to the beach filled with stuff like sun block, a camera, books, the legs of zip-off pants in case it gets cold...
• Anyone that wears a raincoat when it rains. All the locals know it's 1) warm rain and 2) that it will stop very soon and all they have to do is hang out for five or 10 minutes.
• Anyone driving a convertible Ford Mustang. Actually, anyone driving any Ford Mustang at all; they're all rental cars on Kauai.
• People who check the weather forecast. What's to check? In the winter it ranges between 65-78 and in the summer it ranges between 70-82. It's gonna rain somewhere on the island every day and there will probably be wind. Get used to it.
• People who think what the locals speak is called "Pigeon English" instead of pidgin.
• Anyone that gets upset when you schedule a meeting for 4 in the afternoon and the other party is not there at 4:05.
• Seemingly anyone worried about their hair; like keeping it in place or coloring it.
• People who suggest the pool when someone asks, "Where should we go swimming today?"

"I think you're all fucked in the head. We're ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out. Well I'll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest. It's a quest for fun. I'm gonna have fun and you're gonna have fun. We're all gonna have so much fucking fun we'll need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles. You'll be whistling 'Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah' out of you're assholes! "

56.

1. Direct flights. The less take offs and landings, the more skin left on my lips.

2. Online check-in.

3.  A fresh new outfit. Nothing distracts from imminent death quite like a crisp flattering shirt. If I feel good walking through the airport, I'll feel better when everyone stares at me while I'm crying during takeoff. Small comforts, people.

4.  Arriving at least 2 hours before takeoff. Minimum. This allows me to do my weird rituals like, buying a magazine I won't read, scoring gum I'll use to cover up my booze-breath (see #5), go to the bathroom 2 or 3 times to do my breath exercises, hit the ATM for cash for yes, in-flight booze!

5. Taking my time at the bar. Ritual requires two scotch on the rocks. Neat if I'm feeling especially vulnerable. (None of this is logical, I know).

6. Comfortable shoes.

7. Podcasts on my ipod.

8. A soothing scent. Sometimes I like to try out something new for a trip. There's something about catching a whiff of nice that makes everything OK. Not quite as OK as say, being tucked in my bed on land, but hey. The upcoming flight to Hawaii is all about this.

9. Sitting next to people who hate flying even more than me. I feel so much better about myself! What weaklings.

10. Sitting next to people who care so little about flying, they barely notice they're on a plane.

11. Having a lot of kids on the plane. What are the odds of them all being struck down in their youth?

12. Lots of empty seats. In my (totally delusional, again, I know) estimation, it makes the plane lighter and therefore less likely to plummet from 30,000 feet.

13. Having a seat that allows me see the flight attendants. The reasoning being, if they're chuckling about last nights escapades at the Best Western Deluth Airporter Lounge or blissfully catching up on their knitting while waves of turbulence twist the plane, I probably have nothing to worry about.

14. New planes. There isn't anything worse than realizing you're about to board a plane from the late-80's. The exterior paint job may be shiny but the fixtures will give it away. The yellowed plastic cabin siding. The old-school orange/white attendant call buttons. Ashtrays. Nothing says, "Last Voyage" quite like re-re-re-upholstered seats.

15. Easy access to my emergency copy of The Tibetan Book of the Dead. Just in case.

Aloha.

I gotta say, I love zip-lining! What could be more fun than placing 100 percent of your trust in a little piece of metal, some webbing and then tossing yourself into space? That's right, not much.

Shelley and I just got back from Whistler where I had booked us a trip with Ziptrek Ecotours; we did the Eagle Tour. At first I was pretty skeptical of a zip line in the winter but it was totally amazing. The more I think about it, the more I think it was even better than a zip in the summer. At least at this place.

Why did I choose the Eagle Tour? Because it boasted of a 2000' zip of course. Bigger is bigger after all. Without further ado, here are some pictures and video of the trip.

I thought walking along the suspended bridges and zipping from tree to tree was pretty damn incredible. The third zip deposited you in this 'tree house' 140' up in a Sequoia for crying out loud. We had two guides, one would go first so that he could help us land and one would sweep. It was fun to see the first guide zip as his pulley would clear the snow off the cable and send up a rooster tail as he zoomed across the valley. We were told that we would approach 50 mph on the 2000 footer and it felt like it. I tried to keep my head facing forward but the snow was stinging my eyes too much so I had to shield my face with my glove.

I would do it again in a heartbeat; what a f'n blast.

Not a good day for me at Blackcomb. Today my past got cozy with my present and they didn't really get along. I've never thought of myself as old or inept or untalented in any area. I try something, I usually succeed. I might not WIN but I keep up. Today, all I could think about was how I used to ski. Back when I was 15. Is that a fair comparison? No. But it didn't stop me from reminiscing how I once hit the hill with gusto and skillz. How I could ski all day, take any run, race and laugh all the way to the bottom of the hill. Trees? No problem. Moguls? You call these moguls. In reality, I did do okay for someone who's skied 4 times in 17 years. I should be proud of myself. But the hard, judgmental part of me said I should have picked it back up just like riding a bike. That my quads shouldn't be burning after 3 turns. My boots hurt, my skis are old. If I had better boots, better skis. But let's face it, I'm just old. I think that was the part that hurt the most. I've never considered myself old. Not until today. My knee is injured, I couldn't ski one run worth a shit, today sucked.

And that's why I spent two hours in the Glacier Creek Lodge. Listening to Queen, The Who and Canned Heat. Talk about old, Jesus. The 70's are still alive and kicking here in Canada, folks. I hear Mott The Hoople is up for a Juno this year. Hang tight.

Part and parcel with staying at Spirit Creek Cabin is drinking; as one of the newbies this year I'm doing my best to fit right in. Along with about five different kinds of beer, white and red wine, port and gin, there are also two different kinds of Scotch whiskey. The stand out for me is a Laphroaig Single Islay Malt.

There are tons of things that make Scotch whiskey cool.

• You can say stuff like "double cask matured" and "non-chill filtered" and you're not just blowing smoke.
• It's always "By appointment to HRH the Prince of Whales". Knowing that you are drinking liquor made by appointment of a royal anything is pretty cool regardless, but when you think about the historical connection between the royals and God (note capital G) you realize that you are really drinking liquor made by appointment of the almighty. Drinking by appointment of the creator can't be beat. It makes the hangover somehow purposeful.
• you learn a little history and geography. For instance, I did not know that Islay was a Scottish Isle. Nor did I know that double cask matured means that after they take the scotch out of the oak barrels, they put it in quarter casks. What are quarter casks? No idea. But nuggets like this are indispensable at high-brow parties.

Laphroaig has a very woody taste. On the label it's described as 'peatiness' that is a result of this second, specially commissioned quarter cask and that it's only barrier filtered to preserve this unique flavor. When I had my first sip I was convinced that this would be an acquired taste and now that I've had it three times I'm convinced I was right. But it's a good one. So I'm having some more.

John is sorting vinyl albums alphabetically, Tatiana and Susanna are in the kitchen preparing Thai food for our dinner, Winnie is knitting a scarf, Ann is preparing the cilantro for some veggie spring rolls and I have a beer and a glass of scotch near by. It can only mean one thing, we're at the Spirit Creek Cabin in Whistler.

Did I mention that Jethro Tull is pouring out of the 'Hi-Fi"...? Oh yes, we are definitely at Sprit Creek Cabin.

Hey! I'm writing from Whistler with all my body parts in proper working order! Yahoo for me! As you'll see, someone has already not been so lucky. Poor Chance. Oy, break a leg, buddy. With my nagging knee ailment, I was not too sure about hitting the slopes and tentatively took to the easy runs today. When I say 'easy', I mean Real Easy. Bless Martin's heart, he stuck with me on the My Pretty Pony run all day. What a guy. I caught him looking longingly up at the double black diamond bowl whilst being cut off by some troop of 3 year old ski school kids careening across the flats. He swore he wasn't bored; he didn't swear he wasn't feeling like a bitch though.

We arrived yesterday after a slight detour in downtown Vancouver. Totally intentional. Drove to the lodge to pick up our ID passes. Took another swell picture which, happily, runs a very close second to my world famous Black-Eyed Pirate Costco ID photo. I'd characterize this one more as Carl Malden With Bangs. One for the wallet! Headed up to the cabin. Got the car stuck in the driveway. Lost my wedding rings. Yes, that's right. Flew right off my stupid hand after helping Martin dig out the back wheels. Faught the urge to simultaneously throw up and punch myself in the face. Ugh. Where do you go after two silver slivers shoot off your hand into a white snow bank? And it's nighttime? And you have no idea the trajectory at which they left your finger? All you see is snow, snow, snow from the dim view of the reverse lights on the car? Well, I went to Guinness, Scotch, Champagne, Homemade Apple Cider Town. We gave it a solid effort. It was just so monumentally futile and sad and upsetting, I couldn't look anymore.

Skiing was super today despite being tense a few times. Hopefully, tomorrow will be as pain-free as possible. I'm afraid I may need a forklift to get out of bed in the morning. My muscles seizing up in the night. That first day of skiing after two years can be a real killer. At least for me. Not for Martin though. He laughed off my offer of pre-emptive Advil. "Uh, I won't be that sore tomorrow". Que? You mean, I am the only one gonna feel the burn from Upper Whiskey Dick? Oh yes. I forgot. Upper Whiskey Dick is for babies. And you are NOT a baby. I AM the baby. But do babies ski it 5 times with their teeth clenched pleading with Jesus to spare their life? Didn't think so.

Did I mention we have plenty of food here at the cabin? Mother of God. I've never seen so much food for 8 people. There's a Snack Cabinet. Cases of beer out on the porch. Leftovers from previous nights with new food at dinner each subsequent night. I was worried I wasn't bringing enough. Now I should be worried I didn't bring my Fat Ski Pants. Susanne has her goggles on chopping onions for soup tonight at this moment. Why didn't I think of that? I vow to do that from now on. I'll wear my helmet, too. The kitchen is a dangerous place. Some would say more dangerous than Upper Whiskey Dick.

I just found out that going to San Juan Island for Thanksgiving is a family tradition that started in 1970! Oh man, I had no idea... And you know, I can't readily think of a year that we have missed.

Some history - Bill used to have a position in the Department of Oceanography at the University of WA and this department owns the Friday Harbor Laboratories so it was an easy in. My parents liked it so much we kept coming and now it's 2007.

Here are the pictures.

This batch was taken on 22 November and are mostly of the four of us on the beach out by the American camp. The last couple of years Lucca has taken to building these enormous teeter totters. Two years ago we discovered that you can balance a board across one end of the teeter and markedly increase the danger factor. Of course that is now also a tradition.

On 23 November we went to the Westcott Bay Sculpture Park up by Roche Harbor. This place is pretty spectacular! Not only is it huge and does it contain about 100 sculptures but some of them are really interesting. One theme seems to moving parts. When the wind blows these movable pieces do some amazing things. And no material is off limits it seems, we saw pieces made of the traditional bronze, marble and granite and also pieces made of string and flags and even a bridge. I recommend you check it out.