Gotta Share This!

So on Friday, my favourite radio program addressed an important national (Canadian, that is) issue.

Not the prorogation of Parliament or the upcoming Olympics in Vancouver and surrounds, nor even the concern that there may not be enough snow at one of the Olympic venues. Nope. Not the unfortunate recent diagnosis of a leader of NDP, one of the opposition parties in Parliament with prostate cancer.

None of these were the super-important issue that Jian Ghomeshi addressed Friday on his program Q. Nope. It is the intense and significant issue of milk in bags as a point of nationalist pride.



I love this.

Jess Ran to Canada

Wow. On Sunday, I managed my first half-marathon. I'm sure running purists would point out that at my pace, the term "run" might be an overstatement for what could best be described as a drunken-appearing lurch towards the finish line, but I traveled 13.1 miles on my own 2 feet, with nothing more than a handful of Cliff Shot blox and the knowledge that Sally had already travelled by the places I passed to keep me moving forward.

I ran the Detroit Free Press/ Flagstar bank half marathon, as did my bestest girlfriend, Sally. We both had great races, although hers was substantially faster than mine.

I did learn that those of us at the back of the pack are happy to laugh at ourselves. Somewhere between the 4th and 5th miles of the race, I stopped to use the washroom (it was on on the Canadian side of the river, totally correct term), and was waiting in the line for the ladies, making snarky little comments about how the men's line was shorter than the women's, when the husband of the woman in line behind me said that it was a single stall, no urinal, and we should go get in the men's line, so we did. In that line, some of the guys gave us a hard time, but it was faster. (And surprisingly tidy, all things considered.)

I did the work of training, and it paid off. I finished, although I was a bit crazy at the finish line: I might have accidentally proposed marriage to the volunteer who handed me a banana. But then Sally and I were reunited, had our picture taken, showered, and enjoyed some yummy pumpkin spice smoothies.

Happy Patriotic Week/ Joyeux Semaine Patriotique

(Despite the bilingual nature of the title, don't for a moment expect me to actually post in French. My grasp of the French language is weak at best.)

Wednesday is Canada Day. On my recent trip to London, I happened to see to following product display in the grocery store:

All things outrageously Canadian... mostly featuring the omnipresent maple leaf.

Seriously... everything you could possibly need to throw a Canada BBQ, right there. Also some things you wouldn't think of, but holy cow, they've got them.

I mean, throw pillows. Really? Pot holders and flags and windsocks I get, but throw pillows? Really?



Also, the aprons were fantastic:
I mean the one with the maple leaf is fairly predictable, but the one on the left is fantastic. I recently read the suggestion that irony is a defining Canadian value, and there it is. Right there. I mean, if you meet a Canadian and they know you aren't Canadian, if you mention the word "eh" to them, they will carry on about how people from the States think they say it all the time, and that they really don't, that it is a sort of hick thing to say, and so on. And I'm not saying that the SuperStore isn't trying to sell to anyone who will pay for it, but come on. Celebrating your patriotism with a joke? I love these people. They love Canada, but they are also willing to laugh at themselves and the people (you know, Americans) who laugh at them. (Incidentally, they say it somewhat frequently. I actually rather appreciate it as a useful lingusitic device, however-- I know a lot of up-talkers and their use of "eh" helps me understand the difference between a declarative statement and a question. Not always, but sometimes.)

Of course, since I am spending this week in Nashville, I get the 4th of July, too. In the interests of cross-cultural fairness, I thought I would share the holiday display at a local grocery store:



















And I went to a nice store, in a good part of town... and other than the red, white and blue plates and napkins, the sum total of US flag-themed merchandise was a few citronella
candles (sort of down there in the picture on the top, and the flag on the chair at the top there). The dominant feature of the display, though was the giant wall of beer. This sort of cracks me up.

One question though:

Since both are bank holidays, one in the country where I am, and one in the country where I work, should I just take two full days of doing almost nothing and blowing stuff up? If not, which should I celebrate?

I think to play it safe, I'm going to take it easy until Sunday.

Gone Native

So the weather here has been quite frightful. Cold, snowy, dreary. January into February in this part of the world.

But this morning, while getting ready to go out and take care of the dog, I heard on the radio that it was -6 degrees. I thought "huh, that's not so bad."

I'm starting to go native. If I start eating poutine, then I'll worry.

In Which I am Not Entirely Alone

After overcoming my loneliness through sheer force of will on Monday, I should never have fretted. Sally came to visit and saved me from boredom. We've been wildly roaming the streets of London. Canadians fear where ever we go.

Okay, so we're not that scary. But one girl did give Sally money as compensation for screaming in her ear. It was ostensibly to buy a shot, but we left the bar and got hot chocolate instead. As we got it a block away from the apartment, we did take them home and... er... amend them with ingredients from my larder, well stocked at the L.C.B.O. store.

Today we toured the Labatt's brewery, which was super fun, and we just did our crazy thing. Like we do everywhere. Sally always has the best ideas. Mostly. Well, maybe some of the time. Sally always has ideas. That sentence is 100% true. The idea to go to the brewery was outstanding. The tour ended with beer, and we had the tour guide who has gotten in trouble for giving out too much. Wow.

It has been outstanding having a real friend here. Someone who values me for more than my extensive knowledge of Charles Ives. She's not quite my dear husband, but she does snore a lot less. Or at least more quietly. Also, it is quite the change to be the interpreter of Canadian culture. Its not like I'm an expert, but I understand (at least a little) the goofy things these weirdos do.

Although, its homecoming at Western, and I have no idea why the drunk guys on the bus tonight were singing like German soccer hooligans. Seriously. Weird drunk freakin' Canucks.

Watch for the upcoming knitting report. Its getting to be perfect weather for handknits.