Well, we're off to Italy in the morning tomorrow. We'll come back on Sunday, and then the days really start to wane down. 6 hour car ride. This met cow-like groans from Zach and I. Julian's been cool, he skied for the first time today, and it was actually some of the worst conditions we've been in. Not saying much considering at least 90% of our skiing experiences here have been cloudy. My dad and I were actually sort of gettin' sick to our stomachs. Not... actually sick, but just... not... well.
Thank goodness they use Euros in Italy... I'm hoping to get a hat or something. I know pretty much zilch Italian, but hey, maybe I can use some Spanish or even French! And if I really want to go down the route of the pathetic, hopeless tourist, I can probably get my way around with English, since pretty much everyone will probably know it, even with their slightly annoying accents. But that's Europe for ya.
Pictures, of course. Might not get such a great blog post for a while though, since we get back the day before school, and I'll be tired and have to do last minute homework and all that. I've been wanting to write about certain things though, which I will probably be able to do one of these days.
Oh! Another thing I forgot to mention this one time. It actually happened a while ago (like a week maybe when we were skiing with Simon's dad Steve and it was terribly cloudy), but I feel like mentioning it. It won't quite have the affect (effect?) I was hoping for, though, because of a rushed, just-get-it-out-there tone. I guess. But anyway. So, we were going up this lift and of course it's all cloudy and you can't see really anything and it's terrible. But then we come up to the end of the lift where you have to get off and stuff, and turns out that lift is pretty hard to get out of. My dad jumps off first, but somehow I'm still attached. My ski poles hanging on to his coat or something. So all of a sudden, I'm just rising up- I'm still on the lift, it's still going. So somehow I hurl myself over the edge of the chair and fall, probably at least 5 feet. I hit the snowy ground with a whoof, and that familiar feeling of having the wind knocked out of you and this distinct pain sort of in your diaphragm, like a stale lump in your stomach. Similar to the kind you'd get while wrestling in the living room, or really anywhere. So anyway it was sort of exciting. I survived, the pain wore off, and I guess now I have a story to tell.
Last-minute trip things... so I have to make this quick. I guess there isn't really anything left to say... I'll leave that bunk of thoughts for that other post... "see" you "guys" on Sunday I guess.
R.I.P. Elliott Smith. 'Nuff said.
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