Sounds Legit...

Okay, I think I may have almost made a telemarketer cry. I honestly, shit-you-not, just had this conversation. We'll call her Lisa.
Me: Hello?
Lisa: Hello, Mrs. Howe?
Me: Formerly, yes.
Lisa: oh, I'm sorry. I'm calling from Pristine Solutions. A few months ago you took a survey with us and we're happy to let you know that you've won a free gift with a value of $150.00
Me: okay.
Lisa: We just need to confirm your address and that you'll be home to receive your gift and answer a few questions. You still live at {redacted}, correct?
Me: For the time being, yes (that's for another post)
Lisa: Okay, someone will be by tonight around 8'clock, does that work for you?
Me: Are they going to try and get me to buy stuff?
Lisa: No, you're not under any obligation.
Me: But are they going to get me to buy stuff?
Lisa: No, we wouldn't want you to buy anything you didn't want or need.
Me: That's not what I asked. I asked if anyone is going to try and get me to buy stuff. Not being obligated to buy stuff isn't the same as not being asked to buy stuff.
Lisa: No, they're just going to ask your opinion.
Me (still skeptical): Okaaaay. So what do I get?
Lisa: It's a gift certificate valued at $150 dollars.
Me: Cool. For what?
Lisa: A business or service in your area.
Me: What kind of business or service?
Lisa: it could be any kind.
Me: You mean I get to pick what I get?
Lisa: No, you get a gift certificate.
Me: A gift certificate for what?
Lisa: $150 from a business or service in your area
Me: Yeah, but which business?
Lisa: You live in (redacted), correct?
Me: Yeah
Lisa: So, it would be a business or service near there.
Me: Yeah, but is it for a restaurant or a hairstylist or welding services? (yeah, Tess, I thought of you)
Lisa: No, it's a gift certificate. I don't understand what you're asking here.
Me: Well, I just want to know what I get for it. If you don't know, you can admit it. It's okay.
Lisa: No, it's a gift certificate. (She's clearly getting flustered, at this point. I'm starting chuckle)
Me: But a certificate for what?
Lisa: $150 for a business or service in your area. I.. I don't know what you want me to tell you.
Me: If you don't know what it's for, it's okay. You can admit it.
Lisa: Well, I don't have it, they have it. It can change from day to day.
Me: so it's a gift certificate but you don't know what for because it's always changing.
Lisa: It's not always changing.
Me: But you don't know what it is. It's okay. You can say it.
Lisa (sighing defeatedly): No.
Me: That wasn't so hard now?
So far, no one has shown. A few years ago, I received a gift of three night's hotel stay in one of about 12 different major tourist cities. Airfare wasn't included so I never ended up using it. But at the time, all I had to do was sit through a vacuum demonstration. Now, I have seen some of the demos that my parents sat through when I was kid, and I tell ya, vacuum sales men can be Wiley and vicious motherfuckers. This guy, however, was the coolest. He comes in, introduces himself, and just before he launches into his spiel he pauses (let's call him Ted)
Ted: Okay, level with me. Do you have ANY interest in buying anything from me?
Me: Honestly?
Ted: Yeah.
Me: Not. A. Chance.
Ted: I'll tell you what. I get paid regardless of whether you buy something or not, so let's not waste each other's time. Here's your gift certificate, have a lovely evening.
After that, I almost wanted to buy a vacuum. Here's to you, Awesome Ted, wherever you may be.

700km, an Off-Roading PT Cruiser and the Faint Sound of Banjos, part 3 (the not-so-dramatic conclusion)

Part One

Part Two

So it looks like this, the third part in my "What I Did A Few Weeks Ago" trilogy will likely be the shortest of the series, as my memory is getting increasingly fuzzy. But, hey, I don't want to leave anyone hanging. In other news, holy crap! TWO posts in one week. How about that??

So Sunday we woke up by the faint light of the sun rising over the blueberry stand across the highway, groggy and stiff from trying to stay comfortable in the back of the Cruiser. Not an easy feat, as he's not one to be scrunched up to sleep and although i generally tend to curl up in the fetal position to sleep, I was trying to remain somewhat conscious of not kicking or hitting the poor man in my sleep. Which I am told, I have a tendency to do.  Sleeping me is quite violent.

This is possibly the shittiest sunrise picture ever taken.  I took this one.

Watching the condensation slowly evaporate, we had a pre-breakfast breakfast of coffee from the Tim Hortons in whose parking lot we spent the night and glorious sweet chelsea buns from the bakery in Bancroft we had visited the previous day. Finishing up, I got tired of watching condensation evaporate (because yes, that IS as boring as it sounds) and rather unsuccessfully tried to dry it up with my t-shirt.

Pre-Breakfast Breakfast.  Tim Hortons, I want some royalties for this.

After getting on the road, our first stop for the Morning was at Cordova Falls, which is just outside of the little mining town of Cordova Mines. Cordova Falls, to date, has probably been the least Impressive of our waterfall hunting excursions, but that may be a result of it being both a dammed (as opposed to damned) waterfall and it being later in the season. I will say I was impressed seeing the pennstock for the dam. Impressed that it had not burst, as this old wooden contraption looked about 60years old and was sprouting leaks all over, some of which had been lovingly and not-at-all-half-assedly patched up with various bits of wood, some of which were jammed right into the leaky spots.

That's Reassuring.

Once we had fully explored the Upper and Middle Falls, we decided to skip the Lower Falls and head to town to see if we could actually locate THE Cordova mine. The town of Cordova Mines, Ontario is a fairly small one, almost a ghost town now. We knew the mine had to be about 4km from the dam we had just visited, as that was what the sign at the dam had told us.

If you can't trust a historical plaque, who can you trust?

One trail that we found almost took us all the way there, we discovered upon checking the maps at home. It started out near a small community hall, the type with a park and picnic benches and tables under shady trees, the type of place one could envision town picnics being held generations before. We braved the path as far as Petey would take us, at one point traversing a ground level river crossing. But beyond this we found a heavy gate with a variety of "No Tresspassing" signs. Later we would find out that what we were looking for was just on the other side.

Those aren't puddles.. that's the river creeping across the path.

...Just in case you didn't believe me.

Giving up on finding the mine, we headed to Peterborough for Actual-Breakfast and to see the Peterborough lift locks.  I can't remember all the ins and outs of how these locks actually work.. it has something to do with water displacement is all I recall.  I'm going to let the wonder that is Wikipedia fill all the dirty details in for you and just say that they were impressive and cool to watch.. we got there just as the first boat of the day was crossing.

See? Impressive.

Breakfast was had at one of GFWIHNCUWAGBA's (okay, acronyms clearly aren't an option here) favoured establishments.  Good potatoes, good eggs.. toast was a little too dark, bacon too crispy.  Good coffee and I got to find out just what in the hell 'Beaver Balls' were.

Turns out, they're basically like Beaver Tails (which I think may be known to people in other countries as Elephant Ears) but in ball form.  The More You Know.  At least they aren't some bizarre Fear-Factor inspired delicacy.  Although I still say that eating bull testicles would have been child's play had Joe Rogan just battered and deep-fried them.

However, I digress.

This was my first ever visit to Peterborough (with the possible exception of visiting my grandfather in hospital shortly before his passing, but that may have been Bancroft hospital) so he took me on a bit of a tour around the downtown and through some of the riverfront parks.  Having been up since about 6am we had made fantastic time to get to Peterborough, look around and still have time to visit my Nanny on the way home.  We got hit with the rain about 40 minutes before Nanny's house, after a weekend of otherwise lovely weather.  So that was lucky.

**************************************

In other news, I'm making a concerted effort to post more.  I've missed it.  I kind of put myself on hiatus writing at Different Paths, Same Destinations when I ran out of fucks to give in regards to my weight-loss efforts. I get the feeling I'm not the only one on a break.  Hopefully the other girls will come back and start posting again.  But we all have lives, and busy ones at that.

My posts here will probably focusing on my day-to-day stuff for the next little bit as I will be saving some of my social-issues ranty type stuff for a two-week guest blogging stint at Feministe (*geekyfangirlsquee*).

Say it with me, Sally Field.  "THEY LIKE ME!"

I'm ridiculously honored to have been asked to submit.  Like, stupidly so.  Like being asked to the cool girls house for a sleepover.  Except I get to write a lot.  So look for my posts over there during the last two weeks of July.

Conversations with my sister's kid: defining masculity

My sister has a giant Newfoundland dog.  Giant puppy, actually.  So all the playful exuberance of a puppy in a package roughly the size of a mastodon.  The kids, I'm sure, love her, but it's pretty safe to say the novelty has worn off.

R: I think when I get my own place I'm going to get a cat, just so I won't be lonely.

R: That's not too gay is it?

*facepalm* (He's a teenager, so I try to have patience, but really?)

Me: No, I'm pretty sure having sex with men makes a guy gay, not owning a cat.  Besides, who cares?  Are you worried your masculinity is going to be called into question if you live with a cat?

R: Yes, kind of.

Me:  Just make sure to give it a really hyper-masculine name.. like Machine Gun Larry.  Even if it's a girl.

R (in suavest manner a 16-yr-old can muster): "Hi.. this is my cat, Machine Gun Larry." 


In other news, I'm totally making plans for the imaginary cat that my nephew doesn't even own yet.

"Lady, Are You On Glue?"

Cross-Posted at MyFitnessPal.com

"Are you on Glue?"

That is what my inner sloth said to me when I decided yesterday that I was going to sign up for this year's Warrior Dash.

I'm laaaazy. And I'm not in awesome shape. Oh, I'm in better shape than I used to be (I can do pushups! and FULL SIT-UPS!) but on the whole I don't tend to think of myself as athletic, or even particularly fit. Hell, at time I've revelled in my own non-athleticism.

In high school, those who took phys ed had to, twice a year, run a 2400m race. At the beginning of grade nine, I was the kid who half-ran, half-walked, red-faced, huffing and puffing and in tears by the end of the run. At the end of grade nine, I was the kid who stolidly refused to run, and walked, head high and throwing glares at the Phys Ed. teacher, the entire distance to finish dead last with a time of roughly 23 minutes and 18 seconds.

I had my compusory gym credit, and I never took it again after that.

So needless to say, signing up for something like this is rather out of character for me. I mean, seriously? climbing? Fire-jumping? CLIMBING? (I have a wee fear of heights.. and climbing)

I don't know. I feel like challenging myself.

I can't actually register until the 13th, when I get my baby bonus so I have time to back out, if I want to. But really, what do I have to lose? I have two friends interested in signing as well, one a mom who has taken up running and wants to get in (better) shape, and another who will be roughly 17 months post-transplant when the race comes around and is also looking for a challenge. Not to mention my kick-boxing instructor and some women from that class may be signing up as well.

This could get interesting.

Avatar Generators, Body and Gender Normativity

So, having too much time on my hands and possibly some bizarre form of narcissism, one of the things I like to do is make cartoon avatars of myself.  If I stumble across a cartoon generator, I have to make a version of myself.  I just have to.

And since I am somewhat of a chameleon, changing looks fairly often, I sometimes have to update them.  But some examples:

Myself, as a Pickle. 

Sadly, there's more where that came from.  I'm not sure why the need to cartoonize myself.  Maybe it's because I see myself as vaguely cartoonish to begin with. Maybe, like I said previously, it's some bizarre manifestation of a narcissistic personality disorder.  More than likely, I'm just bored and spend too much time on the intertubes.

What I've found that irks me somewhat is that, with the exception of the Simpsons generator and the South Park generator, it's very difficult to find my body type represented in these generators, so a certain suspension of disbelief is required.  I'm sure it just comes across that I totally see myself as some skinny broad but no, truth is, the cartoon generators don't give me much choice but to be some skinny broad.  The Simpsons generator, if I recall, did allow for a choice of two female body types.. a slim build, and a slightly thicker build (as shown in my own av above).  The South Park generator is the only one (that does a full-body av) that I found that doesn't default to a slim female body, mainly because it defaults to the short, dumpy form that everyone in South Park Colorado is blessed with.

Being recently shorn, I found it less difficult to find my hairstyle represented as well.. Most generators have a wide assortment of long hairstyles for female-presented characters, but not so much for the short styles.

I'm also perturbed that one generator, called Rebel Girl, didn't have an option for glasses.

Anyway, that's a few observations I found.  In all honesty, I'm sure a book could be written on the ways some of these sites, like girlsgogames.com and dressup247.com enforce a whole whack of gender and heteronormative crap onto the young, web-savvy preteen girls which seems to be their market.  Likewise, generators like the Marvel Make-Your-Own Superhero enforce their own ideals on boys and girls (when you choose your initial character shape, you have three choices.. a huge muscly dude, a grotesquely huge and muscly dude or a slim, large-breasted woman).

It'd be kind of awesome to see avatar generators that are capable of incorporating a wide array of body types, shapes, colours, hair types and less gender-normative options as well.  Does anyone have any examples of good sites like that?

I've got some red on me...

Oh Toronto Zombie Walk, how I adore thee.

Yesterday marked my second time at the Toronto Zombie Walk and I'm still washing blood out of my hair today.  Last year I went with a good friend of mine, and found the whole experience thrilling.  This year I got to take my two girls as they are old enough not to be too freaked out by the.. well.. freakshow. Reegs, the little one got right into it.  My oldest is getting to that 'too cool for school' age and it took some cajoling to get her into the spirit.  I was also accompanied by two of my oldest friends and my 16-year-old cousin who sometimes scares me with how much like me at that age she is capable of being.

Part of what I enjoy aside from the opportunity to engage in some imaginative, poor-taste, grotesque humor is that it's a very uncommercial, organic event.  It has yet to be bought by corporate interests and seems truly to be a home-grown community event.  Participants are generally well behaved, the cops that help to make sure no one is impeding traffic are, beneath the gruff exterior, generally well-meaning.  (as one cop tried to corral us out of a busy intersection by yelling 'clear the way' myself and another guy responded a few times with "We're working on it!" to which she replied with a sympathetic "I know..")  Non-participants seem to enjoy the event as well, gathering in doorways to watch the parade go by.

I also love how people manage to take one unifying theme (ie.. zombie apocalypse) and come up with what seems like hundreds of different ideas, even if some do show up year to year.  I have come to the conclusion that each walk will have, invariably, the following (amounts are approximate, and probably exaggerated):

• 1 Zombie Waldo
• 2-3 Zombie Jesus'
• 21 Zombie Brides
• 3-7 Zombie hunters (that is, Hunters of Zombies, not Zombiefied big game hunters)
• 118 Shaun of the Dead characters.
• 1-2 Thriller-Era Michael Jacksons
• 275 Zombie Nurses
• 314 Zombie Schoolgirls

Each year I go, I tend to get a little gorier.  I haven't done a theme costume.. mostly I just go with generic zombie.. Some nasty fake scar tattoos, light makeup, and a shite-load of fake blood.  Everywhere.  It generally does the trick.

Product Shot! Where's my damn money, Tim Hortons??

The girls had a bit of a theme.. Prom-Queen Zombie (making good use of the dress from last year's Carrie costume) and Hobo-Clown Zombie (I was reminded of Sol the Clown from my TVOntario childhood)

In front of the house.  Yes, That's a dead baby on my porch.  I put the ass in class.

At one point during the walk, I thought they may have been getting tired out, until i realized that Reagan was not getting tired.. she was TOTALLY in character.  Foot-dragging and all.  That's my girl.

So before I post some random pics, I'm going to take a poll.  Which of the following is a bigger dick move.

Entering a small, classy type restaurant (half hour away from the parade) in full Zombie Regalia, minus blood and makeup after crowding into a single stall bathroom to clean it all off, however still wearing aforementioned gaping headwound tattoos due to not having the necessary rubbing alchohol or baby oil necessary to remove them without taking a layer of skin with it.  Sitting down in said restaurant, practically ass-cheek to ass-cheek with other diners, all of whom are staring, some in amusement and some in disgust, and potentially disturbing their dinner...

 - Or -

Entering a small, classy restaurant in full Zombie Regalia, piling 5 people into a single stall washroom to wash off blood and makeup, thus occupying said washroom for a good 15-20 minutes and using all their paper towel and then walking out again, having decided that as a group you'd feel much less guilty about ruining people's dining experiences at a Kelsey's or a Boston Pizza?

Survey Says?

No matter, what is done is done.  At least we cleaned the blood out of the sink first.

Anyway, here's some more pics:

Lots of OWS themed signs. This guy told us he was headed down to Bay Street after the walk.

Group Shot, me the girls and my cousin

Reegs doing her zombie face

This year's family Christmas card portrait

Kiki, who made up for a lack of make-up with a very convincing and chilling zombie-stare

Tierney looking frighteningly gorgeous

Amber*, who took most of these pictures

So much fun and Hallowe'en isn't even over yet!!

*Sarah, this is the friend that I said looked like you in the post with the picture of you and your daughter on the pony.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for...

The memory of Scott Weiland's green pants in this video.

YouTube! Y U No Let Me Embed??

Oh yeah.  And my health and kids and shelter and all that other good junk too.

Happy Thanksgiving, all (north of the 49th, anyway)

Do these coat-tails have airbags?

WANTED:

Guitarist/Vocalist with vague inferiority complex seeks collaborators interested in being launched into rock superstardom, or possibly mediocre local notoriety.

Men, Women or highly advanced primates welcome.

Influences:

Pixies, Violent Femmes, The Tragically Hip, The Headstones, Peggy Lee, Robert Johnson, Metric, Lunachicks, burlesque, cartoons, Canadian cinema, Goldfish crackers, righteous indignation and delayed adolescence.

Must be willing to allow me to ride the coat-tails of those with less-negligible talent, and have own equipment.  That I can borrow.  

Songwriting ability is an asset.  Barring this, a willingness to pass off obscure covers as originals will do.. (pass off?  No, I mean.. must be willing to play covers and TOTALLY GIVE THE ORIGINAL ARTISTS CREDIT  *looks around*)

Renumeration:  I make a mean grilled cheese.






....


so... who's in?

12 bars at closing time.

Source

plink plunk.

I think I'd like to be the world's greatest lady blues guitarist and it occurs to me that maybe I am.  If there are others before me, their names have been lost to history.  Maybe I just need to read more.

There's a pattern here, there's a pattern and a structure only decipherable when the pattern breaks and the sour note stabs, making me curse these befuddled digits.  Thinking of playing until my fingers bleed, but it never happens, not really.

Once I did dip my fingertips into ice water, until the numbness allowed me to go on.

plink plunk.

I need to not be drawn in by the urge to check up on those from my past, through the tempting rabbit hole that is social media, it only creates more questions than it answers.  My ego makes up stories, scenarios that are likely as detached from reality as one can get.

But sometimes it's nice to pretend.  I like to think it's all about me.

Through the looking glass, I wonder if someone pointed out the mistake.  Did they bring it to the surface?  Did it leave a scar, a vicious red x on your psyche?

Did you shake your head, cover your ears?

Ehh.

It's probably not about me, anyway.

I have a song, but I didn't write it.  Someone else's words are all I have to describe my experience.  I've tried to put them as my own but it all comes out a plagiarism, so I am left only to paraphrase.

These words are mine, here.  Put them to what melody you may.

The melody is not mine.

Jacques Cartier, right this way...

So last Friday I booked the day off,  booked and hotel for the girls and I, and embarked on the roughly 1000km road from our little dollhouse to Quebec City.  The girls had gotten the bug after I had told them of the trip I took out there a few years ago.  At the time I had taken five days with plans to hit Ottawa, Montreal and if time allowed, Quebec City.  My itinerary was pretty loose, in fact, I really didn't know where I was staying each night until I got there.  I guess it sounded like a pretty fun adventure, so they got on a thing about going to Quebec City as well, and I had said maybe this summer, if we can find the time and the money.

It so happened I had one last vacation day left for this year, and the ex-hub's current wife was going to be laid up due to surgery, so instead of trying to scramble for daycare for two days I figured I'd get daycare for the one day and book the friday off.  It then dawned on me that this was the Friday before Labour day so there was our 'time'.   Still didn't *really* have the money but I DID have the available credit.

I'm usually loathe to put ANYTHING on my credit cards, but with saving for a house I've been scrimping and saving to death and sometimes it feels like I'm missing out on a lot with the kids because I'm always having to say no.

So I said yes (well, actually I probably said "fuck it!") and we were off.

The basic plan was this:

• Drive to Ottawa Friday.  Stay with friends.  Visit Ottawa either Friday night upon arrival, or Saturday morning before pushing on to Quebec
• Stay two nights in Quebec city, having the full day Sunday to explore the city.
• Get up stupidly early Monday morning and book it all the way home in time for dinner.

You'll note that I didn't leave room to visit Montreal.  That is because I don't care much for Montreal.  As someone rather directionally challenged, the roundabouts and one-way streets disagreed with me.

Anyway, a few days beforehand I contacted a friend of mine in Ottawa who I hadn't seen in some time and asked if they would be around.  In an ironic twist of fate, her response was "No, we're not home that night and I really hope you're not telling me you're going to be in Ottawa because we're going to be in the Harbour.  I was going to come see you."

I am the QUEEN of lousy timing.

So via the Facebook, I put out word that the kiddies and I were seeking accomodations for the night in the Ottawa area.  A friend and former co-worker extended an invitation for us to stay with her and her boyfriend so that was set.  I booked a room at a Super 8 in QC (a pretty cool family suite with bunk beds for the kids, and an XBox 360 in-room that we never ended up using) and we were off.

On the way, we stopped in this awesome hippie store in Sebright, ON.  I just spent about fifteen minutes trying to find out what the place is called, with no luck.

There was a giant Betty Boop statue out front and the front doors and windows were covered with tons of pro-choice, pro-gay, pro-pagan, left-wing slogans and bumper stickers.  An old-fashioned triangle hung near the wooden screen door.

Inside was even cooler though.  They sold imported and old-fashion type pop in glass bottles.  The ceiling was covered in old vintage LP covers, and there was a wall dedicated to practical jokes and novelty items.  The front counter was a display of homemade cheeses and meats.

After spending a good 25 minutes looking around, we moved on, stopping in Bancroft.  My grandparents had retired to Bancroft so I spent many summers there before my grandmother eventually sold their house and moved to Orillia to be closer to family.  We visited Nanny and Grandpa's old house and I was a little sad and nostalgic to see that the current owners have kind of let it go.  The gardens out front have been allowed to grow wild only to eventually starve themselves.  I wanted to take some pictures but I saw a curtain move in an upstairs window and felt that perhaps we were being watched.

There's an amazing lookout in Bancroft called the Eagles Nest where you can look out over the entire town.  When I was a kid I used to write scary stores about ghosts that lived the graveyard beneath the Eagles nest.

Yes, we did interrupt some couple having a moment.

We got to Tasha's about 8pm, so really not much time to explore Ottawa once we got there.  Tash left the company where I work to pursue her dream of running a dog kennel, which means that at any given time, they have a good amount of dogs on the property.  During our stay there were about five in the house.  Given that I am not much of a dog person (I respect their right to exist, and don't wish harm upon them but otherwise, leave me alone) I thought this had the potential to be pretty interesting, but considering the number of them, they were well trained and well behaved, and I almost kind of sort of started to like one of them (god help me if I can remember her name though).

This one.

Saturday morning we took the dogs out for a run on the property and Tasha's boyfriend Dave took both the girls on an ATV ride which they enjoyed immensely.  I was really glad she had extended the invite, because I had a really nice time visiting with them, and they were both good hosts.  Thanks again if you're reading this :-)

After saying our goodbyes, we backtracked to Ottawa proper and visited the Museum of Civilization and the Parliament buildings.  It was ridiculously hot that day so after visiting Parliament and getting some ice cream it was unanimously decided that the best option was to get back on the road and try to get to Quebec City before night fall.  Basically it's about six hours to Ottawa, and another four or five to Quebec.

We reached our hotel about 8:30pm and decided to go for a swim and settle for the night, as we would have the entire day to look around.  The Super 8 hot tub could better be described as a 'kinda-warm tub' but at least I didn't feel bad staying in longer than the required fifteen minutes.

Next morning we woke up and it was raining, which put a bit of a damper on plans to park downtown and explore the walled in area that is Old Quebec.  So we had some breakfast, had another swim and got in the car to brave the rain.

Driving down Wilfrid Laurier Boulevard we kept seeing groups of pirates on the sidewalks, waiting in bus shelters.  As we passed the entrance to Laval University I came to the conclusion that this must be some kind of Frosh week activity.

Upon finding ourselves downtown, I tried to find parking and somehow managed to get ourselves on to the Autoroute 40 by taking a wrong turn.  Know what happened then?

You guessed it, we got horribly, horribly lost.

And those Google maps that you print out when you get directions somewhere, don't do shit when it comes to navigation, since they only name about four roads.  Oh yeah.

EVENTUALLY I made it back downtown and found a place for us to park.  We came upon an outdoor Zumba display and looked in a few stores while we looked for a place to eat lunch that wasn't ridiculously expensive, and wasn't McDonalds.  Because yes, even Old Quebec has a McDonalds.  It's a neat looking McDonalds in an old stone building with wood shutters on the upper levels, and possibly even turrets, but it's still a McDonalds nonetheless.

One place got vetoed because the hostess wouldn't let me in with my coffee even though I made it clear we were definitely buying food.  For all three of us.  So congratulations, pub-whose-name-escapes-me, you lost out on what would have probably been a 40 dollar meal, easy.

Eventually we stopped at a place called Buffet D'Antiquiare, which was a neat kind of place with exposed brick, dark wood, framed black and white prints, and large menus written in vibrantly colored chalk.  The waitress met my helpless shrug and inquiry as to whether she spoke English with a bit of impatience.  I had been holding my own okay up until then, very stiltedly making efforts to communicate in French whenever possible, but at that point, the thought of having to order three breakfasts in french was overwhelming so for that little amount of time, I gave up.

After lunch, we continued on foot.  I was trying to get us to the boardwalk that runs between the Chateau Frontenac and the St. Lawrence River.  I had spotted what I thought was the Frontenac's green-copper roof and told the girls to follow it.  However as we drew closer, it because evident that this building was NOT near a boardwalk OR water.

Not the Chateau Frontenac

This, however is. (from 2005)

I approached a young woman and in my stilted French I gestured towards the building and asked "C'est la Chateau Frontenac?"  to which the woman responded by saying no and pointing to a tall peaked roof well off in the distance to which I responded by swearing in English, saying "merci" and saying to the girls "Okay, so remember how I said my sense of direction is better on foot than by car?  It's better, but not by much."  I pointed out the same roof and said "See that roof? That's where we need to be."

Have I mentioned Quebec is a city of many many steep inclines?  Oh yes.  We wandered through the little shops of lower town and took Le Funicular which is kind of like a Wonka-esque Great Glass Elevator that takes you up the hill to the Upper Town where the Frontenac and the boardwalk is located.
While wandering the boardwalk, we spotted another flight of stairs that appeared to go up another level of town.  After walking up these damn stairs for a good 20 minutes or so, I asked another tourist couple "Umm.. where are we?"

Where, was apparently the top of the Citadelle, which are some of the military fortifications that were built in the mid-1700s for the protection of the city.  It's pretty freaking high up.  Funnily enough, where it took about 20 minutes to walk up the 8 million stairs to get to the top, there's a trail on the other side that brings you back downtown in oh.. say 10 minutes.  Yessir.  well, 25 if you have an eight year old child who leaves her sweater at the top of the Citadelle and doesn't realize until you are halfway back to downtown.  And of COURSE it's the really nice sweater that she really likes and that I really like that her Great Grandmother got her for CHRISTMAS so of course we can't just leave it and call it a loss.  I went up the hill just to the point where I could see the lookout where she left, collapsed on the grass and said "Okay, go get it and come back here."  So with eye peeking over the arm I had flung over my face, I saw the little yellow t-shirt sprint across the wide green field, disappear for a few moments and reappear as a yellow and purple blur bobbing and weaving back across the field.

We made our way back to the car (with the kids naysaying my ability to actually navigate us back to the car.. but I made it there!) and we had dinner at the Chinese buffet next to the hotel.  Next morning we got up at six, we're on the road by 7:20 and did a straight out burn down Autoroute 40 to Highway 401, making small stops for gas and to pee, and managed to make it home around 6pm, in time to get ready for school the next day.

Some random pics of Quebec:

View from the Funiculaire

Dirty old man table art

Lower Town

Probably my favourite shot from the whole trip.

Funny story about that last picture.  I saw the guy in the wheel chair kind of struggling to get up the hill, before I saw him turn around and head back down.  A few minutes later, two kids go zooming past, each hanging onto a handle bar, just motoring this guy up the hill.  I think they were his kids.  They were yelling stuff as they shot past, and the three of them just looked like they were having a lot of fun.

Another Poetic Interlude..

Whilst looking for lined paper for the eldest child, I stumbled across some of my old university assignments, including a chap book of poetry for a creative writing class titled "Does Not Play Well With Others" because I am oh-so-bad-assed, you know.  There were a couple passages I enjoyed.  I'm also considering posting a couple of the essays as blog entries because I really enjoyed writing them, and I still enjoy reading them and I like the idea of getting feedback from those other than the one or two profs that got to mark them.

That all depends if I can find the doc files, because I sure as hell ain't typing out the hard copies.

In the meantime, I'll share a couple of the poems here.  There seemed to be a common thread of disliking structured poetry.

Ours Is Poetic

Ours is not so much a matter of rhyming
More a type of word splatter running
From a mind-spigot, the very timing
Of which is most important, when one most cunning
Forgets about the trying-to-say or
Gives up on wit or random punning

If all academic falsehood is removed
The barest essence of emotion left
There still, is room for a reader to be moved
For emotion lies at the depths,
Lays a foundation for some profound thing
When left unsaid, leaves the soul bereft.

The second one was part of of an assignment to write a poem called a Sestina which has the most effed-up, convoluted structure imaginable.  So like the fourth-grader that does a speech about how much they hate public speaking, I wrote a sestina about how fucking aggravating and pointless sestina-writing is.

Writing the Sestina

I'd say I've written a sestina before
but in all honesty I'd be lying
as I have never attempted a thing
so complicated as this.  I must say
It is really an aerobic feat of mind
to complete.  Really, if i had my way

I would choose to write this another way
and get myself into my warm bed before
I found myself giving a piece of my mind
to whoever came up with this.  Lying
in my bed I could dream of what I'd say
to the creator of this silly thing.

Really now, who comes up with such a thing?
Someone who sits around and thinks of ways
to make complicated methods to say
things that could be put more simply.  Before
I enjoyed poetry, I'm not lying
but writing this makes me lose my mind.

Now I'm not saying I really mind
reading the sestina and other things, 
but I get to feeling like I'm lying. 
Fitting words to metre a certain way
Since it seems the form comes well before
what I am actually trying to say.

Oh but what am I trying to say?
The original idea has slipped my mind.
I had a vague idea.  That was well before
I got wrapped up and tangled in this thing
and my message got lost along the way.
Now exhausted, I find myself lying

on the floor, when I should be lying
in my bed.  For what more could I say
on the subject, considering the way
my eyes are drooping and it seems my mind
is wandering, drifting to other things. 
I should retire, and sleep before

someone finds me lying here.  I don't mind
if perhaps they say I'm mad or something.
I was that way already, long before.

Copyright Andrea Lyn Cole 2006

Canada has fake bands too, you know.

I'm kind of getting a kick out of HelloGiggles.com as a fun site for randomness and pop culture. (my massive girly-crush on Zooey Deschanel notwithstanding) However, I'm finding it unforgiveable that twice now they have posted articles on the best fake bands from movies and made glaring omissions.  Maybe it's a deep-seated prejudice against Canadian Content, or maybe they are just sadly ignorant of our offerings north of the border (god knows...  Canadians hardly recognize that we have a film AND a television industry, so I can't be too hard on the Americans).

The other possibility is that with the exception of my last choice, the bands I mention can only be considered 'good' if 'good' to you doesn't necessarily mean 'talented, with catchy tunes' but rather 'kind of goofy but nonetheless amusing as fuck.'

Here are some examples that have twice now been left off the list, and have thus prevented me from giving HelloGiggles full recognition as a credible pop culture website.

- OR -

Sometimes I just like to piggyback on other people's ideas.

Thunderface - Corner Gas

Source

Consisting of Hank on Vocals, Brent on guitar, Wanda on bass and Karen on drums, Thunderface decided to reunite for a show at the hotel after a 15 year hiatus, much to Paul's delight.  After kicking the Tragically Hip out of Brent's garage to practice, their one show is cut short by the fuzz, otherwise known as Davis (who is jealous that Karen got picked as drummer over him).




Rod Torfulson's Armada Featuring Herman Menderchuck - Kids in the Hall

Originally known as simply Armada, they're goal was to practice, always showing up on time and arrive having eaten.  The nameless singer played by Kevin McDonald basically did all the work, but was consistently over-ridden by bandmates Rod and Herman, whether it be to add backup singers, or even keep Kevin in the band (while keeping his songs).




The Zit Remedy/The Zits - Degrassi Junior High

Source

Joey Jeremiah, Derek "Wheels" Wheeler and Archie "Snake" Simpson only ever managed to write one song over their 3-4 year career and man, was it terrible but catchy in a way that after 12 hours of having it stuck in your head, you would begin to believe that the 'Something' that 'everybody wants' was probably something sharp to jab in your eardrum to distract you from this godawful song.  Still, you had to admire their persistence.  Maybe, I don't know.

(the only reason I can sit through this video is for the occasional glance at Clutch's ass)

You've been warned, though.

Hard Core Logo - Hard Core Logo

Source

All joking aside, this is really where I think the HelloGiggles article dropped the ball.  Hell, Barbie and the Rockers made it onto their list, but they somehow managed to miss possible the most bad-assed of fake bands.  I'm not saying this just because of my deep-seated desire to be the meat in a Hugh-Dillon-Callum-Keith-Rennie-Circa-1996 Sammich.

I can watch this movie over and over.  I will admit, I have judged people on their enjoyment of Hard Core Logo.  Who could watch the dysfunctional vaguely homoerotic relationship between Joe Dick and Billy Talent, the good-natured antics of Pipe Fitter and John Oxenbergers decent into madness and NOT want to join a punk band?

Well, I would.

Don't take this the wrong way, but to quote Mr. Joe Dick himself "You don't know shit from good chocolate, baby."



(I'm kidding, actually.  I just really wanted to used that line.  No hard feelings, k?)

An admittedly hyperbolic but not completely unfounded analogy...

Know what bugs me?  Movie theatres.

They are cramped, overpriced and everyone knows that today's films are full of the sex and the violence and are destroying our children and our minds.

What really gets my panties in a bunch, though, is the knowledge that right now, there are people receiving welfare - that's right.. social assistance, money from the government, our hard-earned tax dollars - and using that money to go to the movies!

I don't ever feel the need to go to the movies. Why should MY hard-earned tax dollars go people who are too lazy to work and instead just want to spend all day inside a movie theatre, watching low-brow brain-cell killing so-called cinema? Sure, some people only go maybe once a month, but what about people who go EVERY DAY? No, if MY MONEY is supporting them, it should be going toward FOOD, and SHELTER and HEAT.

I'd like to see the government set up special ushers at every movie theatre in the country to check to make sure welfare recipients aren't using their money to go to the show. They could put special chips in welfare recipients, and scan every person as they go in. If you're caught going into a movie theatre, then you lose your assistance. Yes, these people may end up homeless on the street, or may end up resorting to petty crime to subsist and end up in jail where my tax dollars would end up supporting them anyway, and at a far higher cost than the average reciever of assistance. 

But think of how much welfare money we'd save!! I'm sure the cost to put a chip in every single recipient AND hire people to man the entrances to the theatres would surely be offset if we could just get those damn movie goers off the system!

*************************************************

REVISED: The preceding was a piece of satire in response to the florida welfare law that requires every new welfare recipient to submit to a drug test.  I don't actually have a problem with people on welfare going to the movies.  Sarcasm fail.


Basically, I hate the idea of people ripping off the system as much as anyone, but the drug testing law seems like a case of using carpet bombing to kill a few spiders.  If the study cited in this article is any indication, then the cost of mandatory testing will cost more than would be recouped by getting the drug users off the system:

As part of a pilot program in Jacksonville and parts of Putnam County from 1998 to 2001, 8,797 people applying or receiving welfare benefits were drug tested.
Of those, 335 tested positive, according to a Senate analysis of the bill.

Basically my point is this.  Tax dollars shouldn't go to recreational drug use.  Fair enough.  But what about other frivolous expenditures?  How far do we go to ensure that tax monies go only to food/shelter/heat and at what cost?  Do we cut off an arm to get rid of a hangnail?

Everything I Ever Needed to Know About Canadian Geography, I learned from Twitter.

Hilarious trending topic on Twitter today - #badprovincialmottos  Let's all come up with the worst provincial mottos we can think of.

My contributions:

Ontario: It's where the capital is! No, not Toronto.. Ottawa.. No.. OTTAWA.. Otta.. Oh fr' chrissakes...

Quebec: Britain's Angry Step-Child*

Prince Edward Island: Our Dirt is RED. And yeah, Potatoes.

Manitoba: J-Lo came here once.

Favorites from other Tweeters

Alberta: We Gave you Nickelback.  You're welcome.

Saskatchewan:  As Flat as Your Nine-Year-Old Daughter

Labrador: Not technically a province, but we try!

Alberta: We're Not As Racist As We Used To Be

Newfoundland: where everybody knows your name but outsiders can't understand you when you tell them

Manitoba: It's not always this cold. Sometimes it's colder.

Nova Scotia: We've Got Crabs! 

By now, some of you U.S. readers (and those further abroad) may be confused and or bored and about to click to go find some porn or pictures of cats.  So you can laugh along with our blatant stereotypes, heres a province by province tutorial.  I hereby present:

Canada according to Twitter.

British Columbia:  Weed.  More Weed.  Will someday sink into the ocean.

Alberta: Oil, a fuckton of Conservatives and Nickelback.

Saskatchewan:  Flat.  Regina rhymes with Vagina.

Manitoba:  Boring.  Often forgotten by school children learning the provinces. Big-assed mosquitoes.

Ontario:  Self-proclaimed centre of the universe.  Is really big.  People don't know what our capital is.

Quebec:  French people. Still pissed about the Conquest.

New Brunswick: It's there, and it's not Newfoundland

Newfoundland:  They talk funny.  Weird time zone.  No jobs.

Labrador: Technically not a province.  Kind of like that family member that no one likes to talk about.

Prince Edward Island:  Really small.  And there's potatoes.

Nova Scotia:  Named after a bank. Had a big explosion once.  Shaped like a lobster/penis.

Yukon:  Cold

Northwest Territories: Not quite a province.  Also Cold.

Nunavut: Still Cold.  No one can pronounce its capital (Iqaluit)

For your convenience, I've compiled a map of our main exports, by province. Click to Enlarge.

Remember kids, knowledge is power!

*No, really.  Think about it.  In the context of Mother Britannia, the United States is the kid that ran away because they didn't like the rules.  English Canada is the kid that stayed at home until they finally got told to "..get the hell out, get a real job because you're not staying around here, playing your video games all day and get a haircut, ya hippie!"  Quebec is the angry stepchild who didn't ask to be there anyway and "...besides you're not my real mom!!"

The Singleton’s guide to VD fun!

Things to do to make this day if not more enjoyable, at lease more interesting:

1) Scope out one of the busier nice restaurants. Look for a happy looking-couple. Say to the guy/girl 'So this is your sick grandmother!' and storm out. Watch through the window to see what happens.

2) Report a cherub to the child labor board.

3) Wear a black armband.

4) Make numerous references to the Valentines day massacre

5) Four words - custom made candy hearts.

6) Rent 'Prom night' and 'my bloody valentine'

7) Canada Only: Run around wishing people a happy early Flag Day. It's even better if you wear red and white.

8) Call your best friend when you are pretty sure he/she is either about to/in the middle of getting some loving and just say 'Soooo, whatcha doooooin?'

9) Drink 26-40 oz of anything alchoholic you can get your hands on and listen to 'How Soon is Now?' seventeen times in a row. Not eighteen, not sixteen. Seventeen.

And yes. I am going to hell. My bags are packed baby.



Enjoy the VD, folks.

Someone might have saved my life....

My car is not in great shape. I drive a four-door white 1991 pontiac sunbird. It currently is without it's left headlight.

The other day as I travelled down to Barrie, I noticed up ahead of me, turning onto a concession road from the opposite direction, another white fourdoor 1991 pontiac sunbird on the road, also missing the right headlight.

The thought occured to me: What if I just witnessed myself from the future, or some other alternate reality driving down that road? What if it was me in the future, attempting to save my life in some way.. maybe they were driving back to my house to change the batteries in my smoke detector, or making some effort to change the past to save me from calamtity. and in my/her travels took back roads in hopes that I wouldn't see, and possibly tear a hole in the time space continuum. Maybe future me was travelling to midland to take out a mugger or rapist would have otherwise attacked me later that night had my futuristic doppelganger not intervened on my behalf.

This fascinating and surreal supposition gave way to a more depressing possibility. In the future, when humankind holds the power of time travel in it's hands... Am I still going to be driving that damn SUNBIRD???? (considering I don't think I'll be harnessing the power of timetravel in the next year or two).

Geeez. In that case, the future SUCKS.

Anti-love songs

It's valentines day, I'm pissy so I turn to my ONE true love, music, to find the songs that sympathize with my feelings about this day and the construct of 'luv'.

In no particular order

Lunachicks - Cumming into my Own

Girl gives up on the bs of relationships, and gives into the joys of masturbation. Thats my take on it though

Line that makes you go 'FUCK YEAH!' - And if I don't pick up the phone/it may not mean that I'm not home/I may be laying there alone/feeling fine, feeling mine

Screeching Weasel - Love

No, no I don't wanna don't make me do it

Line that makes you go fuck yeah - Love is for assholes/Love is for assholes, it's true/ and I don't wanna be in love with you

Tool - Prison Sex

Well you don't get much less romantic than forced sodomy, do you?

Metric - Patriarch on a Vespa

The dark side of the white picket fence dream

Lines that make you go fuck yeah - Are we all designed to be confined/buy ourselves chastity belts and lock them

Offspring - Self-esteem

I include this, because I have lived it.

Seven Mary Three - Home Stretch

Angry growly song with a catchy chorus

Lines that make you go FUCK YEAH - Theres only one sound to love/ Bye Bye Bye Bye Bye/ Ain't it good

Headstones - And

Let's get over it, lets move on, I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it.

Lines that make you go Fuck yeah - Lets not find the weakness/hit the bruise/ what good would it do/let's not drag out the details/salt the wounds/what good would it do

**********************************************************************

Listening to the song Rocket Queen by Guns N roses...

Listening to this song does anyone else get the idea that maybe axl had to do some things he was not too proud of upon arrival in L.A. This song screams male prostitution to me.