B.C. is fucking gorgeous, but even the most backwater shithole of a home there in some tiny town with one gas pump lists for 600k or more because you can see mountains from your bathroom.
My wife and I looked up multiple listings we had driven by out there last summer purely out of boredom and curiosity, and from Alberta to Vancouver they were all priced like that. We didn't even bother looking up the really nice ones.
I genuinely don't know how all the regular folks living out there with basic or retail/service jobs manage to survive at all.
I tried for years to enjoy the Beatles, but I never really felt the same magic that others do. I certainly respect what they accomplished, but I find most of their music is just weird and whimsical.
My former boss (Canada) kept a bag of ephedrine bottles in our produce cooler. Dude was twitchy as fuck. Very bird/dinosaur-like.
He would take several per day and chase them with coffee and energy shots. Then he would complain intermittently about vomiting blood due to his ulcers.
It's the warm blend of its cozy art style, ambient audio, and the unparalleled soundtrack. You go through the grandpa intro and observe his strangely thin bed all over again. Then the Jojamart corporate hell scene. You open the letter and reading it even for the fifteenth time gives you an immediate sense of peace and relief, because you know you're going back to the valley. It's all good vibes from here.
The music fades away and you're greeted with a quiet scene in the mountains, watching a grumbly coach bus speed past the sign, and you're left with a moment between you and the countryside. There are a few trilling birds and one lands in the sign. You arrive at your stop and immediately that uplifting little song starts playing and Robin's cute-ass face appears, probably with wood shavings in her bangs, and she still has that voice you crafted for her in your head after all these years. The mayor will too. She's an old friend.
She ushers you away to your first long view of the farm. Now, you've already been here several times in the last decade, but that music. That warm, orangish pallete. That overgrown little cabin on that rugged patch of land. The music grooves on and right away you get butterflies in your stomach over the prospect of getting to be here everyday, cleaning it up and carving your own little life and operation. There is a sense of joy and freedom, and a million possibilities laying under that brush-strewn mess that used to be a field. It never fails to bring you right back and feel that magic again.
It's like the developer perfectly captured our most innocent human desires in a tiny bottle.
Stardew Valley is a beautiful love letter from Eric Barone's soul. I don't want to see it fizzle out either. I'm a straight male but I would marry that man based purely on the gift he gave us.
It was either the shrimp or the bean sprouts in the food court Pad Thai. I was visiting my S.O. in Canada and wound up in a 3-day war with food poisoning. I could not stop puking and shitting. I shit so much acidic death juice that my asshole was in absolute agony and never cooled down. It was like someone had fileted and cauterized my rectum. I couldn't even sit on the couch properly. Fortunately, her sectional was old and had collapsed in on itself in the very corner. I sat in this corner, right on top of the collapsed portion. It was perfect for supporting my body without making contact with the seat of my pants. I sat in this corner for three days watching weird YouTube videos about Centralia and other phenomena, while intermittently hopping up to puke and shit and fart. I was so fucking sick. I felt like I was going to die.
My nostalgia for the little things in nature are honestly one of the most meaningful things in my life, and often something as simple as the sound of leaves quietly rattling across the ground on a damp autumn night evokes a deeply spiritual feeling.
It was likely a permanent Sharpee marker. Hopefully it holds up. Fingers crossed that I'm able to return there as a ghost one day to watch someone unearth what they believed was a map to the family treasure.
There's a phenomenal French horror series on Netflix called Marianne that my wife and I enjoyed immensely. I don't usually shoot for that particular brand of horror (demon/ghost), but Marianne is fucking excellent. Can't recommend it enough.
My brother and I put a corked glass bottle down in an old defunct drainage pipe beneath my parents' house. This pipe/canal is quite large and isn't obstructed by the bottle, and the bottle can clearly be seen by peering into a hole in the cement of the basement storage room. Inside of that bottle is a carefully folder paper bearing on it a crude drawing of a cock and balls.
Stalinwolf @ Stalinwolf @lemmy.ca Posts 6Comments 980Joined 2 yr. ago
B.C. is fucking gorgeous, but even the most backwater shithole of a home there in some tiny town with one gas pump lists for 600k or more because you can see mountains from your bathroom.
My wife and I looked up multiple listings we had driven by out there last summer purely out of boredom and curiosity, and from Alberta to Vancouver they were all priced like that. We didn't even bother looking up the really nice ones.
I genuinely don't know how all the regular folks living out there with basic or retail/service jobs manage to survive at all.