A million people.

Being one in a million. On the streets of New York. And you are all fighting for the same, noble cause. You can't beat that.

And you can't describe it.

20° below zero. Jeez! Whose idea is this?! I just spent an hour out there, and my bones are freezing. And I did put on warm clothes. I put on all my clothes.

I've never before understood people who drink in the morning. I do now. It's the only thing that will keep you from freezing to death.

Like a dear friend of mine would say: Bloody hell!

There is something completely fascinating about living in a small village. Everybody knows everything about everybody. People do not lock the doors to their cars or even their houses.

You get your mail by visiting the little post office down the road - since they do not deliver mail in the village(!) And there you will meet the ever affable post master, who you are sure knows every little secret there is to be known about the villagers. And on the counter you will find home-made fudge which one of those villagers has left for the others to feast upon when they come to get their mail.

And how can it be that a small village is invariably filled with thoughtful, vibrant and intelligent people? I do not get it. After having lived in both cities and hamlets, I swear that the ratio of the interesting people is simply much higher in those tiny villages. But why? Do they congregate in these small places? Or do people just shut down a moderate amount of their brain when they move to a large city? Become numb?

I bought some nails for my new staple-gun this morning. When I came up to the register to pay, the gentleman serving me looked at me thoughtfully and said "Are you sure these are the right size?" I was baffled. The man smiled. It turns out that he was the one who sold me the stapler/nailgun. Two weeks ago. And he remembered me! I love little towns. It's all just so real.

Snow snow snow!

It's really snowing out there today. I guess my love for snow is yet another proof that I really have not grown up. At all. I am still thrilled like a little kid when I wake up in the morning and everything is covered by this pure, white blanket. It's magical.

But I don't like the cold. My wife says that she loves being around people. It's groups of them that she doesn't like. I guess my love for snow but dislike of cold is similar. Then again, there is no cold weather, only not enough clothing. Right? Yeah, yeah.

We had only been living here for a couple of months when a dear friend and a neighbor said to me one day "Well, it's time to shovel the roof". The ROOF. This guy has a great sense of humour. Dry. So I didn't believe him. Why would any sane person be shoveling snow of his roof? The snow on the ground around my house was enough of a challenge to me. I though he was fibbing. It was not until he pulled out the longest shovel I have seen. In my life. I swear this thing is like 20 feet long. And then he proceeded to diligently shovel the snow of his roof. You know, if that isn't done, you run the risk of 'ice damns' forming on your roof. Of course! Why didn't I think of that?

Live and learn.

I am going to New York on Saturday. It is the right thing to do. Being of the so-called X-generation, it is novel to me to actually have a 'right thing' to do. And it feels strange. Actually quite good. I guess a purpose inevitably invigorates.

My wife fears for me. I promised her to be careful. Not to do anything stupid. I would like to be able to say that I am fighting against this invasion for the sake of my unborn miracle. But I do not feel that. Not yet, at least.

They say there will be a hundred thousand people there. That would be awesome. So many in one place with the same purpose. Actually, so many in one place with an opinion will be a welcome relief. I sometime feel like the world is filled with zombies. Floating around between their 'work' and TV with none of their senses turned to ON. Sad, sad, sad.

This will be different. This will be right.

I made a new friend today. We have been acquaintances for the longest time, meeting casually through a mutual friend. But today I think we just became friends. Which is they way it was meant to be, I believe.

Bowling was great!

What I mainly love about this 'sport' is that:

• you don't have to strain yourself to do good,
  
• nobody is trying to run you down (bad nobody!),
  
• you spend most of the time talking with your friends,
  
• drinking beer is encouraged, and
  
• you can actually win, even if you have only played twice in five years. Like me! :)
  

Now, what I especially like about going to a bowling alley, is that unique type of people. You know who I mean. The dedicated. The serious. They came early. They are not leaving until after you are gone. They are there every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. All year round. They have the special outfit (well, monogrammed t-shirt and The Glove). And, most importantly, they have The Ball. That special, shiny, looks-like-no-other bowling ball. Some are brightly colored. Others are translucent. One lady last night had a ball that looked like it was made from pure gold. I could have sworn her hair had a golden hue as well.

These people fascinate me. Really, they do. I admit, they may look kind of dorky in that uniform, by themselves. But when unleashed on a bowling alley, they spring to life. They will approach the task at hand with the utmost seriousness. Must. Kill. Pins.

• First, there is The Stare. Carefully observing the neat row of pins shivering before their eyes. Coldly calculating which pins will be annihilated and which will just barely make it. This time.
  
• Then, The Attack. Moving gracefully from The Stance to The Attack Mode, the bowler dances his graceful dance toward The Line.
  
• Next, just at the right moment, with the bowler gliding on one foot and one hand in the air, The Ball is unleased. This terrible instrument of destruction thunders down the alley, to the utter terror of the receiving pins.
  
• As The Ball nears its prey, the bowler calmly observes the scene of imminent destruction. He already knows. His trained eye has already marked for death those which will fall, and has begun making plans for the rest of them.
  
• Finally, there comes The Blow. That devastating sound, signifying yet another victory of man over pin.
  

(I just learned how to add bullets to my blog. Can you tell?)

When I came home last night I heard an interview with a curling player. Reluctantly, she admitted that curling players will sometimes get just as bored playing the game as other people get watching it. She should try bowling. Never a dull moment. Thrilling, really.