_groaning like a beached walrus while laying incapacitated on my couch_

I think there was a mixup with hospital records, and I was actually born in December of 1919. Because I seem to have the lower back of a 95 year old that spent 30 years breaking rocks in a Soviet era Gulag. There is no other explanation for how I've managed to strain my back repeatedly, doing highly strenuous activities such as:

Lifting an empty laundry hamper

Sitting down into a chair at the airport

Getting up after doing up my snowboard bindings (after the first run of the day)

Sitting on carpet and leaning forward slightly

I kid you not, I have managed to severely strain my back doing each of the above things, resulting in a regimen of muscle relaxants, physiotherapy, and groaning like a beached walrus while laying incapacitated on my couch. Anita will attest to the truth of that last point. I can now add "go for a massage" to that regimen, as I went for one today (for the first time ever).

When I hear the word massage, I imagine a super comfortable and relaxing back rub. But the reality is more like a sadist masseuse unrelentingly inflicting a world of hurt on muscles you didn't know you had. It's the very opposite of relaxing. Are entire back replacements a medical possibility yet? And where do I sign up for one?

Alright, on to the photos. These are Polaroids from a couple weekends ago, in Edmonton, at Kris and Nicole's shindig introducing us to their beautiful baby girl, Evelyn.