What is it about pullout beds? Are they purposely crafted for maximum discomfort? Do the companies that make these pullouts refer to those Medieval ink block prints depicting torture techniques? Luckily, I’m just like Martha Stewart…no, I have not been arrested and cannot make bed-liner out of recycled under-rug foam strips. I am like Martha Stewart, in this case, because I can run for forty-eight hours on less than two hours of sleep. Yet another reason as to why I am more than human. Oh, and I’m a genius and everyone likes everything I make/write. So, basically, I am Martha (who is also, obviously not at all human). But whatever—I write hubs, so that makes me even better than her…Does that make me a god?

I never thought the day would come when I would actually have to wash any of my clothes, let alone re-wear any. In fact, I never knew until today that clothing was washable. Why else would there be such a plethora of fine clothing establishments in Los Angeles, than to provide an endless supply of new outfits for me? Anyway, in preparing for this trip, I thought I had packed enough to change into a new, more stylish, more intimidating, clean outfit exactly every fifteen minutes, but I guess I was wrong. Wow, I think that’s a first for me…

When I told my parents of this dilemma of mine, they suggested I place my clothes in something called a “washing machine.” What is this blasphemy of which they speak?! Since I could neither comprehend what on God’s great Earth they were talking about, nor what I would actually have to do once I encountered this “washing machine,” I descended into histrionics (as I usually do in situations like this) and forcefully thrust my fourteen Glad Bags full of clothes towards them. Eventually, they agreed to wash everything for me.

I seem to recall them saying something about how the “machine” has a wide opening through which I could place my clothes. Though my parents tried to reassure me of the level of safety associated with using this “machine,” I am not at all convinced. Because of the extreme dangers associated with performing such careful work, I suggest that you stand at least outside of the doorway and throw all of your vastly inferior duds into the opening. Don’t worry if your terrible aim and atrophied muscles cause you to miss and send your clothes to the floor. Chances are that since you aren’t a wizard of style like me, the majority of your clothing was disgustingly ugly anyway. Just leave them there and study my tips on style to make better purchases in the future.

The soap used to clean the clothing is called “laundry detergent.” According to my parents, it has a rather pleasant smell and comes in either a powder or a liquid. No matter if it is a solid or a liquid, standing fixed in your original position, just toss as many handfuls of the stuff into the opening where you threw the clothes. Again, don’t worry about making a mess. It’s the cleaning staff’s job to clean up whatever you dirty or destroy. In fact, I even purposely break and spill things all over my hotel, even things in other guests’ rooms, just so that the custodians have more to do. We wouldn’t want them to become lazy on my watch, would we?

Like I said, though my parents claimed that the “washing machine” is harmless, NEVER close the machine or unload it your self. You never know what could happen when you approach this loud and alien devise. So you don’t have to risk your own life, it is imperative that you find someone who you can force to sacrifice their own for you. If you don’t have a dutiful, easily extortive little sister, anyone nearby will do. Simply threaten the stranger until he concedes, and in a few minutes, you’ll have all of your several hundred bits of clothes, freshly cleaned, folded and piled high.

After my sister finally finished dragging all of my clothes up to my room for me, I changed into my workout gear and headed over to the hotel’s Fitness Center. After enduring the several minutes that it takes for the hotel’s sad excuse for an elevator to take me up to the top story, I was met with a huge disappointment. Upon entering the fitness room (which was really more of a Fitness Corner than a “Center”), I looked about only to find a couple cable stations, a workout bench, an elliptical and a tread-mil. The only reason why I came up here in the first place was to use the free weights!! Imagine how happy I was to see that my only reason for coming up in the first place was moot. A gym without free weights is like an ugly person: it’s just WRONG.

If you are lucky enough to find yourself at a normal gym actually worthy of your time and energy, here are tips on how to make the most out of your experience:

How else are you going to guarantee you get the best equipment? Isn’t it fascinating how clothing is yet again the key to your success? Simply wear as little as possible, in order to show off your ripped body. Be sure to stand awkwardly close to those people working out already, so as to make them supremely uncomfortable and self-conscious. When you actually start using the weights and machines, be as loud as you can. Heave and grunt until even Chewbacca would feel inferior.

CAUTION: Do not expect this trick to work if you are just beginning your workout plan. Flab only intimidates in sumo wrestling, and emaciation only intimidates if you are taking on the alpha-b*tch in high school. Until then, you’ll have to resort to some alternative methods.

If you are at the gym to actually build up or trim down your body, instead of maintain and show-your already perfectly cut muscles like mine, you can employ this trick to get the equipment you want. Make everyone around you believe you are mentally unstable and they will give you ample space. Your act should be carried out in phases:

Begin by talking to yourself. Slowly increase the volume, until the people nearby think you’re shouting at them for no apparent reason. Next, twitch uncontrollably. Still maintaining your incessant babble, move as if you had a gimp, a humped back and were on fire. Finally, to top off your disturbing antics, run wildly and recklessly through the entire gym.

For being such a famous city, I didn’t like Vancouver as much as the other parts of Canada I have so far seen. It is pretty, but jam-packed with buildings. It almost feels like downtown LA, except that the people here are Canadian, which means they are immediately much nicer than many from my hometown. I didn’t dislike Vancouver by any means, it just didn’t move my socks as much as some of the other places I have visited so far.

From the sound of it, Granville Island it is a hip, little, avant-garde community, gritty and fun. The portion of the island we saw was not exactly that. It was much more centered around tourist shops and clothing stores than actual galleries. Though this was a little disappointing, there were still a lot of cool restaurants and a couple innovative clothing stores to browse.

One especially cool store was a “silk gallery,” a small shop that sold hand-made silk clothing. When we arrived there were a couple looms set up, one actually in use, and a tank filled with silk moths, and a dish filled with crawling silk worms. It was nice to see firsthand how silk is harvested and then cultivated for commercial use. An instructional video played quietly in one of the corners, showing all of the parts of the process that weren’t outlined in person in the shop.

My family and I ate in the farmer’s market plaza. I’m not sure of the exact name of the market, but it appeared to be the prominent place to get food on this side of the island. Cheap and delicious, it was all we could have asked for. I enjoyed a fresh meat pot pie and my parents and sister ate grilled salmon burgers.  Our meals gave a tasty closure to our time on the island.

One of the cool things about Vancouver is the easily accessible water-taxis. If you need to get across the water in a jiffy, you can just hop on one of these adorable little boats. Most run every fifteen minutes, stopping at docks all across the waterfront. The taxis we had the opportunity to ride were clean and the drivers (captains?) very friendly. We asked them about things to see in Vancouver and they proved fairly knowledgeable. The fee proved to be fairly inexpensive. It was about as much as one would pay to ride a taxi car around an equal distance in the city streets. The water taxis weren’t very large, so I would imagine that during the busier times of the day, they reach maximum capacity pretty quickly. Even if you have to wait for another, unoccupied taxi to arrive, don’t worry, like I said, it should come in only fifteen minutes or so.

Stanley Park looked just like a gigantic postcard. It was the quintessential Canadian landscape. Huge green trees lined the road and obscured the skyline. Orchestras of birds accompanied us as we drove by. I would have thought I was driving through a city park. It felt more like a national park, than anywhere else. This park was also the home to supposedly the most photographed spot in Canada, the Totem Park. It is only a few hundred square feet in diameter, but there are beautifully detailed totem poles lined up that fill the majority of the space. Each one looks completely different, and are regarded as some of the best examples of native totem art in Canada.

Another nice feature offered in the park is a small water park, complete with a large public pool. In the unnaturally intense heat that has characterized this particular summer in Canada, the water feature is nothing short of a godsend. Not surprisingly though, it was extremely crowded. In this weather, if I had brought my trunks, I would have gladly fought through the crowds to wade in at least a small share of the water there.

Who knew that you only had to be nineteen years old to drink in Canada! Well, probably all Canadians are very aware of this fact, but for an American like me, this new knowledge proved a happy surprise. I don’t mean to imply that now I am going to go have a field day guzzling beers and establishing record-breaking BAC levels. It is simply nice to know that if I want a nice cocktail or two, I can.

It seems appropriate that those who are old enough to gamble are allowed to drink. The large age gap between those who can gamble (18) and those who can drink (21) in California, has always been a little frustrating. Anyway, this topic deserves a hub to itself, so I will spare you from a long digression into the debate about lowering the drinking age in the US.

Speaking of gambling, it was such a nice surprise to enter the casino near our hotel and not see the haze of cigarette smoke inside. I wish all casinos were like that. I don’t mind people who smoke. In fact, many of my friends smoke while I am around. But when I am trapped in an enclosed space filled with smoke, it is just unpleasant. Slowly, but surely, I am beginning to create a mental list of reasons why living in Canada would be nice. I’ll share it once I’ve completed the list at the end of the trip. 

Stay tuned for Day 9!