Pie Palace

For the past 27ish years we’ve known about climate change (née global warming). During that time I’ve matured from a colicky trouser soiler, to a sullen teenager, into a sullen and colicky adult. For the first 15 years of my existence, I had little or no control over the greenhouse gases I emitted. Since then, I’ve made a point to live a lifestyle that doesn’t generate much of that nasty CO₂, methane, etc. etc. I seldom drive. I don’t fly very often, or very far. When possible, I’ve composted. I’ve spent countless hours volunteering for the Green Party. According to each environmental footprint calculator I’ve tried out, I generate between one quarter to one third of the greenhouse gases produced by the average Canadian.

So where’s my goddamn snow? I’d like to cash my good behaviour in for a few evenings at my local ski hill. But sadly, it doesn’t work that way. Nature is like those high school teachers who punishes your entire class for the actions of one troublemaker. While she’s up at the board writing, someone (we’ll call him Little Johnny Corporatism) lets off a can of fart spray. BOOM! Mother Nature’s angry! She’s not going to let anyone go snowboarding until someone cleans up the stink. In fact, she’s keeping the whole damn class in until Little Johnny mends his ways.

Oh well. Since my fellow man seems intent on ruining it for all of us, I’ll start saving up for a chalet in eastern Europe. Once the Gulf Stream shuts down, and glaciers cover the Old World, land should be cheap, and the snowboarding should be plentiful.