Via Rail Nordique

#FakeMapFun

I saw this map posted earlier this week on Twitter by @apapenheim.

I immediately understood that this map was a joke (some on Twitter apparently missed this point), although I probably do not get all the jokes. I've lived in Canada for 5-1/2 years now, so I should get some, if not most of Ministry of Canadian Humo(ur) references. Or maybe I just have a jones for geography? Yes, that, too.

Here's what I've gleaned so far:

• High-speed rail all over the thinly settled North with Moose Factory, Ontario, being the Grand Central Station/transit center for all of Eastern Canada. It is funny, but it is also sarcastic, as the Canadian North and the Indigenous people who live there are probably the least well served by the Canadian government (boil water orders, no roads, poor housing, suicides) and the least acknowledged by the rest of Canada. But, you know, Canadians are so nice, all is forgiven!
  

• One lowly little high-speed rail line between Toronto and Sarnia--not Windsor, which one would expect over Sarnia, as Windsor is the "more important" city, the end/start of the McDonald-Cartier Freeway corridor, where most of Canada's population lives. Also, Toronto, Canada's most populated city, is completely disconnected from the rest of the high-speed network. And let me tell you, Toronto will not stand for this!

• No stops in Montréal (suburban Laval, instead) or Québec City (suburban Lévis, instead) and barely a stop in Ottawa, the federal capital. Again, the Québec City-Montréal-Ottawa-Toronto-Windsor corridor is the country's most populated. And, as Torontonians would say, it's most important.
  

• No connector between Calgary and Edmonton. The sibling rivalry is intense between these two, and never the twain shall meet.

• Barely a way out of Winnipeg. Likely more true than Winnipeg would care to admit.

• A stop located in "Marché aux Puces," Ontario. Which means "flea market" in French. I admit I had to consult my dictionary to get that joke.
  

• A stop located in the Narcisse Snake Pits, Manitoba. Is this even a thing? Yes, apparently, it is!
  

• A connector to Bismarck, North Dakota (why?), and another to Point Roberts, Washington, a city only accessible by land through British Columbia.

• The "under construction" line between Kegashka and Blanc-Sablon, Québec. In real life, there is no road between these towns along the Québec coast. I'm assuming they are all fishing ports that have limited ferry connections between one another. Part of the joke is likely that a road has long been proposed for this region or is something that seems desirable, yet impossible, and thus will never happen.
  

• "Thanks" to various entities and people, including the "SAQ"--la Société des alcools du Québec, AKA the liquor control board for the province of Québec. SAQ does not stand for la Société alcoolique du Québec--the Alcoholic Society of Québec--as I have been known to call it. By accident, I swear.

• The suggestion in the Twitter comments that this transportation map looks like it was crafted by the Toronto City Council, where eternal political gridlock for decades on end prevents even the simplest of transportation plans from moving forward.

I didn't get the reference to Hyder, a town in Alaska. Like Point Roberts, Hyder is separated from the rest of the U.S. and only accessible via Canada.

 

So I understand most of the jokes, but you know what? The jokes just aren't that funny. Or they're funny in a small-country, in-joke, Canada-is-so-special kind of way, which, like a robot, computer, or android, I understand but do not feel.

 

Perhaps, then, I've lived here long enough. Which gets me to part of why I've been so silent over the last few months: Yes, I've been busy with work and living my best pandemic lockdown self, but I've also been applying for jobs--and I finally got one in November. I say "finally," but it really only took two to three months once I made up my mind to move on.

And move on I will, next spring, back to the States, where I think I belong, at least for now. At least until Argentina is open for business again.

Oh Canada, I had such high hopes for us 5-1/2 years ago. My main reason for leaving, on paper, is to seek new professional challenges, but let's not be two-faced about it: Canada, you and I are not a good fit. I hate to admit it to you, but I've been faking my Canadian orgasm since at least 2017--the sight of the red and white maple leaf no longer stirs my heart, if it ever did, and I just don't give a rat's about David's story arc on Schitt's Creek. I care even less, if that's possible, about Dan "I don't like labels" Levy's opinion on anything or Drake's latest musical offering. 

 

Really, let's call the whole thing off. Faking it is just no way to live, no way to face and embrace your soon-to-be-sixth decade on the planet.

So, au revoir, Canada. Don't worry, though, there's plenty of time to talk it through. This will be a painfully long goodbye as I don't exit Stage American until May 2021.

 

Oh, and by the way, I still have permanent resident status and a citizenship application in the works. Because, Canada, the thing I may have learned most and best from you is insincerity.

The party's over (or at least in the minority)

Justin Trudeau in 2019. Public Domain.
Via Wikimedia Commons.

I have a lot to learn about the Canadian political mindset. Despite having to form a minority government, the Liberals and Justin Trudeau really didn't take that much of a hit, losing fewer than 20 seats since the 2015 election. Every Toronto riding was won by the Liberals.

And yet, especially over the last two years, the bloom has definitely been off the Justin Trudeau rose, at least if you were to believe comments made in public news forums and by opinion makers, ethics review boards, and non-Liberal politicians. 

I'm not sure what my lessons learned are. The Doug Ford Conservative government in Ontario hurt Conservatives overall? The opposition choices were unappealing (Conservative Andrew Scheer), untested (NDP Jagmeet Singh - or "too ethnic"? Something few Canadians would confess to, at least in public), or region-specific (Bloc Québécois Yves-François Blanchet) to make much of a difference? Canadians aren't as progressive as they virtue signal? (Poor showing by the Greens, lacklustre showing by the NDP.) Or people voted strategically for the Liberals to block the Conservatives?

I know Justin Trudeau plays very well outside Canada, but I've had an increasingly hard time taking him seriously over the last year, after some broken promises, fake virtue signaling, and fratboy douche privilege displaying. (Blackface, brownface, and a certain smugness papered over by nice hair and a good complexion.) When your alternatives are Doug Ford, Boris Johnson, Donald Trump, and Mauricio Macri (Argentina's current failed-state leader), I guess you can't help but look good to the world. Nevertheless, the world deserves better.

Surprisingly, I've sort of overlooked his ethics violations in the SNC-Lavalin affair: I thought that was more a tempest in a teapot, perhaps a disappointment to some but seeming more like an example of honest/dishonest politicking than anything else. At least it was real if not necessarily ethical.

One thing I hear a lot about here is about the "failure" of the U.S. political system to have more than two parties. Well, in this election, we had six vying for a majority in Canada, and I can't say that the results were all that different than with just two. It's a parliamentary system, so it's different from the outset--technically, you're voting for the party representative for your riding, not for the prime minister. And yet there are still some of the same challenges - uninspiring leaders, tepid voter turnout (about 66%, still much better than in the U.S.), middling results, and the reality that the Conservatives won the national popular vote, yet still are in the minority parliament-wise.

So maybe the lesson learned is that politics and governance suck everywhere, even in the most "enlightened" of spaces?

Oh, sooorry you had to read all the way through for me to reach that conclusion ....

* * *

The outcome of the Canadian election tells me that I am actually not a Supposed Former Drama Junkie after all. (Alanis Morissette reference, y'all. #CanCon)

Seriously, I find myself somewhat disappointed, even aggravated by the rather drab outcome--even though I should be pleased with the outcome, at least in theory.

"Rob Ford at the 2013 Beaches Easter parade" by
Bruce Reeve. CC BY-SA 2.0. Via Wikimedia Commons.

Mulling it over today, I kept thinking where is the drama? Where is the marching in the streets, setting couches on fire, and breaking storefront plate glass windows? Where is the plan to start campaigning beginning one minute after midnight on the day after election results are announced? Where is the name-calling, whining, and stamping of feet? Where is the endless dissection of results, the ad nauseum ruminations the election's Deeper Meanings, and overwrought analyses of the thoughts and feelings of white working-class voters?

My goodness, last week there was a 24-hour period in which President Shitstorm (aka Mussoleaky aka Il Douchey aka Donald Trump) and his mobster cabinet messed up more than all six Canadian political parties have done in the last four years. Hell, probably in the last four decades, given how the national ethose appears to be "safety first."

Maybe I need to detox for a while from the clusterfudge that is U.S., U.K., and Argentine politics. Or maybe Canadian politics need to be crazier. we hardly knew ye!
Rob Ford,

Maybe I need to sit down, shut up, and be careful of what I wish for?

Yeah, that, too.

Canadian content

"A Map of the Don Valley Parkway in Toronto, Canada ..."
by Floydian - Own work based on the map on page 3 of
the Don Valley Corridor Transportation Master
Plan Summary Report, CC BY-SA 3.0

New year, new blog: I'm pleased to introduce my newest blog, And Quiet Flows the Don Valley Parkway. 

This will be a companion blog to Montag's on Fire, i.e., it won't replace this blog but, instead, will allow me to pay attention to and explore different topics. This blog, Montag's on Fire, will continue to be about a bit of everything--culture, music, soap operas, thoughts, feelings, Donald Trump, whatever moves me. And Quiet Flows the Don Valley Parkway will allow me to be (in theory) a bit more introspective and critical about my experiences in Canada, where I've now lived for two-and-a-half years.

At least that's the plan as concocted on this snowy Saturday in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, North America, the World. Ask me on a sunny Sunday in spring and I might feel completely different about everything, from sauerkraut to freedom of speech. I always reserve the right to be un-pin-downable on various and sundry.

Some of that new Canadian content may appear here. Or maybe not. I haven't decided yet. But posts about Canada I've written heretofore will appear on the new blog. I'm even considering posting older tweets and Facebook commentary about Canada to the new blog, as a way to better chronicle my experiences over time. I have had many quick takes about my life in Canada that were sometimes better handled through a punchy post or trenchant tweet--and because I didn't take the time to write them in a longer format.

Regardless of whether you check out the new blog or stick with what you know, I hope you'll continue to enjoy reading and gaining a better sense of me--at least the parts I choose to share.

(Yeah, I'm like that.)

Nick Kroll explains it all for you

via GIPHY

I can see Canada from my house

"Palin while visiting Ketchikan during her gubernatorial
campaign in 2006" by Bob Weinstein. CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported.

I'm seeing buzz on Twitter this morning that Sarah Palin may be nominated as United States ambassador to Canada.

As the kids might say, 😲

Or maybe, 😳

Or maybe, 🙄

Or maybe we're all just laughing our tuques off.

A few quick observations--

• What did Canada ever do to hurt the U.S. so badly? Yes, some Canadians could earn an Olympic medal in patting themselves on the back, being self-satisfied about their nation and their lives compared to their American cousins. But is that any reason to inflict Sarah Palin on them--or anyone? I mean, if the Trump administration is so interested in torture, might I suggest letting Sarah set up her own Abu Graib-like black ops re-education center somewhere outside of Kotzebue?

• So much for the northern escape route. You thought you could treat Canada once again as your safety school (thank you, Stephen Colbert, for that observation) and flee Trump's America by trying to emigrate to Canada--without having a real sense of how to do it or how difficult it is to do. 

But the best way to do that is to vote--and not vote conservative, right wing, alt-right, Republican, or Jill Stein.

• Tut, tut, really, there's nothing to worry about: Sarah's sled dogs will turn on her and eat her alive before she gets as far as Dawson City.

Or she'll quit midway through her term.

Either way, problem solved.

* * *

A silver lining?

Canada, like most Western nations, has concerns about low birthrate, an aging population, and how to maintain societal viability under such circumstances--and immigration, especially immigration that favors young families, is one way to address that.  

(Editor's note: As I have discovered in my efforts to apply for permanent residency in Canada, one gets zero points for being over 50, single, and childless. This means that even with a work permit, a master's degree, a lengthy professional record, fluency in English and some competency in French, not to mention a well-paying job, I still just barely score high enough to be considered by using the Citizenship and Immigration Canada online analysis tool. But such is life.)

But if Bristol Palin joins Sarah in Ottawa and continues to promote abstinence-only sex education in Canada--all the while caring for her two children born without benefit of marriage--the Canadian birthrate will sky rocket!

Cross-border diplomacy achieved--and problem solved again.

Clair de loonie

You know you live in Canada when you receive these instructions from your physical therapist:

Lie on your back with your knees bent. Inhale to prepare, exhale to activate core and activate gluts as if balancing a looney between buttock cheeks.

For those not in the know (and why would you be?), the loonie is the $1 Canadian coin, so named because the reverse side features a common loon floating on the surface of a lake.

Like so:

You sometimes even hear the $2 coin (there are no $1 or $2 paper bills in Canada anymore) referred to as a "twoonie."

Or perhaps someone was just playing me for a loon.

In the morning

Canada's own The Good Lovelies with "In the Morning."

Happy Monday, universe.

Literally golden hominy

Don't let my mild-to-moderate sarcasm deceive you: I enjoy living in Canada. However, it's perhaps taken me until recently to begin to acclimate to this midlife adventure I'm now 4+ months into.

That's not to say anything against Canada or Canadians. I expected more animosity toward my Americanness and wondered if I'd be perceived as taking a good job away from a hard-working Canadian. Something that you might hear someone (usually an idiot politician and his or her know-nothing followers) say back home. But so far, so very good. People are generally friendly here, even in a big city like Toronto, although I wouldn't say uniformly polite, as the stereotype goes. All bets are off on the daily commute, which can be fierce. I don't know that I've made any friends outside of home, but I feel like I could if I wanted to. I just have to find the time and get myself more organized to do so.

And there has been a lot to organize and take care of since I arrived here on Canada Day, July 1, 2015. The commute. The job. Home life with my boyfriend/partner/significant other/whatever the term may be when you read this in five years' time. Paperwork and lots of it: The work permit (golden ticket número un), my SIN (social insurance number), pension forms, a Presto card, chequing (yes, chequing) and savings accounts, credit cards, a cellphone plan, a Magic Jack plan just in case anyone from the States ever wants to call me; an Ontario driver's license, car insurance, car inspections and registration (something I'm still not done with), passport renewal, and golden ticket número deux, the coveted Ontario Health Insurance Plan (OHIP) identification card, aka free health care.

All while spending 11 to 12 hours a day going to, at, or coming from work, in a country that despite the big spaces and great distances, still operates small: Most business happens 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. Things like insurance agencies are closed in the evenings and on weekends, although banks to their credit do a great job of being open almost all day on Saturdays. And, goodness, they take holidays seriously and give most everyone, even salespeople the day off. Many stores and some malls were closed on Labour (yes, Labour) Day, for instance.

I've managed most of it, except for car inspection and registration, which I hope to accomplish this month. Then I get to do a sort of system reboot in the new year, when I apply for permanent residency, which will ultimately mean different paperwork to complete. But first things first: I have to pass an English-language competency test in order to apply for permanent residency. And it will only cost me the bargain price of $265 CAD to do so.

Obviously the credentials from two American universities, the same that I had to present in order to get my work permit, mean next to nothing in terms of my functionaly literacy in my mother tongue.

The Catch 22 of Canadian bureaucracy aside, there are minor struggles. Spelling and language usage continue to confuse me, so maybe an English test is in order after all. Canadian English is like listening to an old familiar tune that suddenly strikes a . . . let's say "different" rather than "wrong" or "sour" note. It's bi-ling-ew-ul" and "proh-cess" and "proh-ject" and "ah-gainst" and "ree-zource," sometimes all in the same sentence. I'm gradually losing the sense of not so much what constitutes an American spelling but what is a Canadian versus a British versus an American spelling. At the moment I consider myself very much an American living in Canada, not a wannabe Canadian, as I might have desired 10 years ago. But I try to get along, so I'm gradually inserting some extra u's and -re's into every other word, whether they require it or not.

I'm having trouble with my tongue in more ways than one: Continuing to represent challenges are shopping and eating, two of my favorite pastimes.

In a previous post, I discussed the disconnect of shopping in Canada: How Wal-Mart is more like Target and thus not such a shameful experience as it is in the U.S. A couple of months later, and I find myself still confused. Holt Renfrew and Ogilvy are still too high-end for me, and in Toronto, Nordstrom and Saks are about to enter the market, making me outclassed in two countries and cultures. Simon is still planning to move into the TO market from Montreal, which would have been welcome six years ago when I could fit into their men's wear.

Speaking of shamefulness, I kinda miss Marshall's/Ross/T.J. Maxx, and I definitely miss DSW Shoe Warehouse, which I could use right about now, as fall sets in, and I long for a pair of half-boots to protect my tootsies from the rain. I've yet to bring myself to enter a Winners. That's just so wrong.

It's not just the stores and the schedules, though; the products are different, too. Let's start with the most important meal of the day, coffee: Peet's Coffee, my go-to brand in the States is so far, nonexistent. Ditto for Chobani Yogurt. The cereal aisle at the local supermarket is decidedly smaller, although I've managed to find overpriced Bran Buds and reasonably priced Quaker Oat Squares, along with a lot of the Kashi cereals. But then there are cereals like Vector by Kellogg's that sounds like something that would cause bodily harm if poured into the bowl the wrong way.

Despite the prevalence of a highly diverse population, even (or especially) in the suburbs, I have tried three supermarkets and come up anchovy-less--although if you need multi-flavored sardines, conger eel, or octopus in a can, I'm your man. Perhaps I'm misremembering this, but anchovies seemed pretty much a supermarket staple in the States. I'm not saying everybody or anybody much eats them, but you can find them at least. The Caesar salad situation in this nation is at crisis level, as you might imagine.

Southern food, Texas foods, and Mexican foods are also in very short supply, and even when you find them, you often end up with a brand you've never heard of or not exactly the product you're used to.

Grits, white corn? Check, finally found some at the local Loblaws, one variety by a firm named Ferma, a purveyor of Portuguese fine foods based in Montreal, tucked away in an odd amalgam of Asian, Indian, and Latin American foods. Hominy, golden? No, sorry, how about white corn hominy instead? Yes, that will do for pozole, which I'm making for dinner tonight (although experimenting by using chicken instead of pork, given the boyfriend's background). I could only find Goya brand, which I'm familiar with from my days in Texas, but none by any of the more Southern food purveyors that form my cultural strong suit.

Chipotle peppers in adobo sauce? Yes, but barely, intermingled with the red and green chile sauces, courtesy of La Costeña brand, another one I'm less certain of. Hatch green chiles from New Mexico? Well, yes, but only because I stocked up on them via Amazon before I left home. They've come in handy more than once, including for some impromptu Canada Votes election night nachos this past October 19.

None of this is bad, mind you, nor a deal-breaker nor any real hardship, of course. I'm starting to appreciate the prevalence of Lavazza coffee, both ground and whole bean, in the supermarket, and I'm starting to think the whole Chobani thing is one big, $1.50 per container scam. We have a brand of Greek yogurt in Canada, Skotidakis, that actually tastes and mouth-feels (if I must) like Greek yogurt--tart, thick, substantive--to which you can add honey or jam à la Fage. And if you don't like Greek active, then how about French passive in the form of Quebec's own Liberté brand? It's quite and quietly excellent.

Truth be told, I was troubled by the lack of access to grits, however, as well as hominy. Not that I ate either every day back home, but I knew I could get them when I wanted them, even in Pittsburgh. And then suddenly I could not.

And no matter how grim and horrid the Mexican food offerings were in Pittsburgh (and they were scandalously caca-esque), I knew I could find the good stuff somewhere, by visiting a Mexican store, asking for CARE packages from friends in Texas, or shopping on Amazon. While we have our very own Amazon.ca, import levies can jack up the prices for even the most mundane of purchases. Some cases in point: a 7-ounce can of chipotle peppers in Adobo from Goya is currently selling for $40 CAD (although I'm really hoping I've read that wrong, and there's a 12-pack or a case in the offing); Allen's golden hominy does come in pack of 12 but will cost you about $5 CAD per can; a 24-ounce container of Quaker 5-minute grits is currently listed on Amazon à la canadienne for $24.15 CAD, taxes and shipping not included; a 5-pound bag of Quaker Quick Grits sells for a staggering $146.52!

Forget gold, oil, and diamonds--clearly grit manufacturing should be the driver of Canada's economic engine. Golden hominy and hominy-related products are indeed just that--pure gold.

Bye American

Future Shop in Edmonton, Alberta; created by
Caldorwards4; CC BY-SA 3.0

Living in Canada means I no longer know how to shop "American."

Target doesn't exist in Canada. It failed grandly in an ill-conceived entry into the Canadian market over the last couple of years, fraught with corporate stupidity it would seem. Too many stores, too quickly, without the merchandise and prices that Canadians expected, which they travel to the U.S. to buy at Target. (Editor's note: I've seen estimates that 75 to 90% of Canadians live within 100 miles/160 kilometers of the U.S.-Canada border.)

Weirdly, WalMart SuperCentre (and I do mean centre) is a lot like Target. The stores are tidy, clean, well-organized, and well-stocked. The staff is generally helpful, too. Now, suddenly, because it's the Canadian Target, I think it's OK to shop there.

WalMart has its own clothing line called George, which I don't remember from the U.S. WalMart. However, I used to avoid WalMart at all costs. "People of WalMart" and all that.

Even big upscale malls like Square One in Mississauga have WalMarts. They might have Targets, too, if Target hadn't flamed out.

Macy's doesn't exist, but Sears (yes, Sears) seems like a Macy's at a second-tier mall. Sears has a Clinique counter, which I don't think is the case in the U.S. At home, Sears and J.C. Penney's seem to vie for a no-shopper's land between Macy's on the one side and Target and WalMart on the other. Albeit unsuccessfully: I just feel like Sears and Penney's don't know who they are anymore. There's a niche market between the two, but they can't define it. Personally, I'd figure out a way to outdo Macy's in some markets--Pennsylvania for one, which doesn't have Dillard's, only Boscov's in some areas. (I adore Boscov's, by the way, and missed it terribly when I moved away from Central PA.) An upscale version of Target is probably the best option at this point. Otherwise, you're facing a Montgomery Ward's future.

Hudson Bay Company (aka The Bay/La Baie) seems like a higher-end Macy's (aka Macy's when it was special/before it took over the world). Holt Renfrew and Ogilvy are more like Saks and Nordstrom as far as I can tell. In other words, although the clothes are beautiful, I'm not worthy. Saks is planning to open stores soon in Toronto; I would imagine Nordstrom will follow, but, personally, I'd be happier with a Dillard's or a Boscov's.

I'm waiting for Simons to open at Square One. It's one of my favorite Montreal-based stores, one with beautiful housewares and often lovely, affordable clothes, none of which I can fit into anymore. But still, it's nice to dream.

Future Shop was Best Buy, but we do have Best Buy in Canada. So Future Shop is now Circuit City. Only the signs and square footage remain.

In Canada, you can buy decent clothes at Canadian Tire and at Loblaws (grocery store chain) superstore. I have a hard time wrapping my head around this, the same way I do at the thought of buying clothes at Costco, Kohl's, or Target. This makes me realize how class-influenced shopping is in the U.S. Or at least how class-influenced I am.

There are a zillion supermarkets, at least in and around Toronto: No Frills, Sobey's, WalMart, Food Basics, Whole Foods, Metro, Loblaws, FreshCo, and more, not to mention hundreds of smaller markets, many of them catering to Toronto's various ethnic groups. (But not Americans and Southerners as far as I can discern.) So far, I like No Frills, Sobey's, and WalMart. The No Frills in my area is referred to as the "ghetto one" by *some* people I know (not me but Cairo), but it's actually my favorite. There's a crazy variety of fruits and vegetables, many of them more common to Caribbean and Indian cuisine, reflecting the cultural reality of my part of the GTA. And, thus, for a brief moment, I can transport myself back to shopping at HEB in San Antonio, where Mexican fruits and vegetables were quite common, more so than the standard "Anglo" ones. While the Giant Eagle in Pittsburgh rarely sold cilantro, the HEB in San Antonio often sold out. Which speaks volumes about the "quality" of Pittsburgh cuisine. That is to say, if you love that Eastern European root vegetable diet that your babushka used to make, you're in so much effin' luck in da Burgh.

May I never, ever return, except for the occasional visit to see friends and old colleagues.
 
As far as I know, there's no CVS, no Eckerd, no Rexall, no Walgreens in Canada. Shopper's Drug Mart is the big pharmacy chain, at least in English-speaking Canada. (I think Quebec has a very just-like-in-France-branded Pharmaprix or Uniprix chain. Paris on the St. Lawrence. I'd be there if I could.) The Shopper's Drug Marts have a branch of Canada Post in many locations so that you can buy stamps and mail stuff even on Sunday's. However, daily mail delivery open happens Monday through Friday; there is no Saturday delivery in Canada.

* * *

I share all this because I spent part of a recent Saturday trying to buy a phone case and laptop bag and had absolutely no idea where to go to do so.

I couldn't find the Best Buy, discovered that Future Shop was indeed closed despite the huge sign out front, perused some overpriced shirts at the Bay ($118 CAD for a Ralph Lauren--which means I'm going to wait for a "Bay Days" sale before investing heavily in new clothes), mailed a package at Shopper's Drug Mart, bought a Canada "XpressPost" regional mailing envelope for my passport renewal application (one of my many must-dos as part of the resettlement process)--and finally ended up at WalMart and bought most of the stuff on my list.

Which is fitting because I would have normally gone to Target for this stuff anyway.

Bienvenue au Canada

I still feel like I should live in Montréal--somehow it speaks a lot to my spirit, my inner life, even if my French is paltry and pitiful at the moment--but I'm enjoying being happy up here in Toronto.

I highly recommend it. Immigration FTW!

A new day . . . of Twitter reckoning

Clearly Canadian . . . and guaranteed to rot your gut faster than poutine encased in a pastry made from Tim Horton's doughnuts, deep-fat fried, coated in Oka cheese, then soaked in maple syrup and the residue of a thousand melted Coffee Crisps.

Do I have to?

Peace Bridge, Fort Erie, Ontario, about 7:30 pm, 7 July 2013.

Il n'y a pas de mystère

It's a sunny day here in da Burgh, sunny but cold, below freezing in fact. But, honestly, I'm not complaining. Sunny, cold days in Pittsburgh are all-too-rare, as too often here it is cold in the winter but not sunny at all. Instead, it's gray, unremittingly gray, in sky and in spirit. And it can be wet in the fall and the spring and, in fact, throughout the year. But during the winter, when that frozen water falls from the sky, it does so in a dry, powdery form, a snow that is great for skiing and snow-shoeing. In theory.

In reality, there rarely seems to be enough of it. Oh, it snows. And snows. And snows! But it often doesn't accumulate until January and February, and even then, it snows and snows and snows (did I mention that?), but the amount received is out of proportion to what falls from the sky.

Difficult to explain--and I've had four winters of trying. Essentially, it drizzles non-stop during the winter. It's just that the drizzle is in the form of snow. Follow me?

I often describe a Pittsburgh winter--which usually starts in November and lasts until early April--as being akin to living in the bottom of an old, deep, abandoned well. And instead of rescuers dropping a rope down the well to secure your release, some jokester insists on sprinkling a large box of instant potato flakes overhead, just to give you that snowglobe effect. Jokey as that may be, no one's laughing. Especially not me.

Why I live here is indeed a mystery, but until a new career path reveals itself or the man of my dreams whisks me away to parts unknown, this is where I am. Have kitty litter, shovel, and ice-scraper, will travel.

* * *

A sunny, cold day in Pittsburgh does allow me to do what I do best: Dream of other places. And when I dream of anywhere but here, I find myself feeling wistful for Montréal, a city I adore (which sounds kind of pretentious, "j'adore" and all that, but there you have it) and one where I've passed a lot of wonderful times over the last couple of years.

Admittedly, I have spent more spring, summer, and fall times in Montréal, not winter ones. Despite my physical and psychic groaning over the thought of another winter approaching, I would love to visit la Belle Province during Montréal's "Nuits Blanches" or Québec City's winter carnival, just to experience it and see, maybe just maybe, whether I could cope with a real Canadian winter and make the leap from here to there.

And never look back.

So what brought on that reverie, other than a lovely almost-winter's day? It was a revelation of another sort, the resolving of a musical mystery that has been forty some years in the making.

And the answer is "Les Montréalais" ("The Montrealers") by French-Canadian singer, musician, and actor, Louise Forestier.

Now what was the question?

By way of background, it's a question that was formed in the early- to mid-'70s, when I used to listen to Radio Canada International on my shortwave radio. Remember my posting and podcast about signature tunes and interval signals from a couple of months ago? Well, I promised a follow-up, and the discovery of this tune may be the inspiration I need to keep my word.

"Les Montréalais" was a piece that was used for a period of time as incidental music on the English-language broadcasts of RCI during the mid-'70s. The piece--an odd, wonderful mélange of acoustic and electro--was played at the end of the broadcast, between sign-on and signature tune (the first four notes of "O, Canada"). It's a piece that I have loved ever since I heard it, but until this last week, I never knew what is was called, who it was by, or whether it was even memorable to anyone else.

I've searched for it intermittently over the years. But how do you search for a sound, a song with no lyrics and limited vocals, something that you heard forty years ago? Even Canadian friends couldn't help with this one, especially since I couldn't describe it, sing it, or even hum it properly.

Recently, while browsing around the web and the various CBC/Radio-Canada sites and archives, I stumbled across the homepage for "Maple Leaf Mailbag," the question-and-answer program on Radio Canada International. There was a web form that invited questions, and on a whim, I thought, well, why not? What could it hurt? It's cheaper than the airfare from Pittsburgh to Montréal, that's for sure.

Within a week, I received a pleasant message from a friendly gentleman in Audience Relations saying that he would investigate. And just a couple of days ago, I received a follow-up message, with the mystery of forty-plus years finally resolved, the answer at last revealed, and the link to the YouTube video attached.

So please enjoy this little 2 minute-and-46-second blast from my past.

In the meanwhile, I'm going to be greedy and redouble my efforts to find another mystery song, one I used to hear on shortwave radio stations from Central Europe during the mid-'70s. It was a slice of Teutonic disco à la Silver Convention, featuring a breathy female vocal singing over and over again, "Fly high butterfly" (or "fly, fly, butterfly"?) with a male voice intoning dramatically in harmony, "Butterfly!"

And, no, it's not "Fly High Little Butterfly" by Arabesque.



What can I say that I haven't already said about my dodgy musical tastes? I can say this: My criteria for musical satisfaction often consists of the mood conveyed, nostalgia, and whether it has a good beat and is easy to dance to.

While it doesn't extend necessarily to Arabesque, hum a few more bars and don some costuming that makes you look like an exploding Christmas cracker, and you just never know . . .

Un blast from le past

Last night's funny moment from French class did not involve my bellowing a very American "crap!" when I discovered I suck at math in French as well as I do in English. Nor did it involve my tortured pronunciation of "fruits frais"--I sound at best like a three-year-old asking for "fwee fway"--for which I am somewhat famous in certain circles in Montréal.

Non, last night's humo(u)r was supplied by a fellow student who shared a "French moment" with the class when she began describing the plot of the movie Bon Cop, Bad Cop, a 2006 Québec-The Rest of Canada co-production and box office tour-de-(uh) farce in that big country located somewhere north of us.

At least I thought it was funny. I had to laugh because I think I am one of a handful of Americans, let alone French students in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that could contribute to the plot points and recall some of the jokes from the movie, which is something like the third highest grossing film of all time in O, Canada.

C'est un petit monde, or something like that, to say the least.

I first became acquainted with the movie during a job interview in Kitchener-Waterloo around the weekend of release in summer 2006. The movie was pretty much everywhere that weekend. Even one of the weekly alterna-papers at the time of release had redubbed its editors and writers as either bon cop or bad cop in the masthead. Lorne McGuinty, Bon Cop. Genevieve Simcoe, Bad Cop. You get the idea.

Despite because a huge hit in Canada, the movie never crossed south, suffering perhaps from a cultural triple whammy of Canada-made, half or more of the dialog in French, and a plot involving a serial murder among the "hockey community." I think we can all agree that pretty much spells box office death in these parts.

Eventually I found it on Netflix, and I liked it better than I thought I would. A crowd-pleaser to be sure with a fair amount of blood, gore, and some very broad humor. A couple of examples--the very graphic "body of work" you'll see in the trailer (was that really necessary?) plus this ongoing joke--hated (at least in Canada) National Hockey League (NHL) commissioner, Gary Bettman, is parodied and pilloried as a very short-statured, malevolent whiner who goes by the name of Harry Buttman.

Huh huh. Harry Buttman. Get it?

So the movie's no Incendies, nor a Jésus de Montréal, nor even a C.R.A.Z.Y. Still, it's a funny, silly, popular, if somewhat standard-issue cop/buddy flick that's actually more entertaining and less cringe-inducing than the trailer would lead you to believe.

As added incentive to watch, Patrick Huard, the Québécois lead, spends a lot of screen-time shirtless and possibly even trouserless, at least if memory serves.

Pray tell me how can this be wrong?

Except that Msr. Huard also was responsible for the scenario upon which the movie was based. So being that he probably crafted the scenes in which he appears less than clothed, he is automatically disqualified as boyfriend material on account of a raging case of ego.

Nevertheless, one can observe and learn from the poor moral choices of others.