It's Not The Heat

It's the cacophony.

It's gotta be age. It's gotta be getting older that's made me less tolerant of certain things, like bullshit, onions, and noise.

I don't remember being so annoyed by noise when I was younger. But I drank a lot in college, so there's much I don't remember.

All week it's been one noisy assault after another and I'm ready to buy a high-powered rifle.

There's a house next door that's been under renovation since before I got here last year. It looks perfectly fine from the outside, but they've been slowly tearing its insides apart and putting it back together, one screw at a time, for an entire year. They must charge by the month.

Most of the work has been fairly quiet - pickup trucks coming & going, large trucks delivering appliances, nothing too disruptive. Then this week began Monster Renovation Week!!!

On Monday they brought out a power washer to strip the old paint off the front steps. A power washer so loud, it sounded like they were in my house power washing the shower.

In the backyard, another guy was running the weed eater. This went on for hours. Around noontime I walked over to ask how much longer I would be without the ability to hear myself think.

Power Washer Guy claimed to not know English. He walked me to the backyard to talk to Weed Eater Guy. WEG translated and mercifully, PWG said he'd only need about 20 more minutes on the front steps. Then WEG said after that, they'd have to do the back deck. Fucking hell.

It's the decibels and the endless onslaught and the constant RAWRR of the generator as he revs it up and down. It echoes off of every other house on the street - it's everywhere and it never ends.

I get it - the guy has a job to do. But would it be the *worst* thing to WORK QUICKLY with the goddamm head-rattling machine? He was moving at a glacial pace, happy to power wash the goddamm stairs all goddamm day.

They finally finished about an hour later and I was able to relax. It was quiet for a while until people started to get home from work.

I guess because it usually rains all the time, whenever it's not raining, people flock outside to do yardwork while they can. Every day it's not raining. Every goddamm dry afternoon you hear the goddamm lawn mowers, weed eaters, hedge clippers and leaf blowers start up all over the goddamm neighborhood. They keep going until it's dark, about five hours later. Every goddamm day.

If you're trying to watch the news or listen to the radio while enjoying a cool evening breeze from an open window, forget it. Might as well throw some marbles into your blender & fire it up.

Day after day, it's been one noisy project after another. Wednesday morning's wake up call was at 7:30 a.m. with what sounded like boulders being pitched into a giant dumpster.

So, so, SO annoyed, I screamed out the window, "IT'S NOT EVEN 8 O'CLOCK YET!" and it went quiet. It stayed quiet until 8 a.m. on the dot, and then the boulder pitching began again.

Later when I went out to run errands I saw they were tearing off the old roof to replace it. Awesome.

We endured More Boulder Pitching Thursday and then this morning began Electric Nail Gun Friday. The best part? They had to use our power for the nail gun.

New Roofer Guy came over early this morning just before 8 a.m. to sheepishly ask if he could "borrow" some power for a few hours because they blew the circuit yesterday.

Feeling generous, I told him he'd have to ask our landlord downstairs. She's usually not up until after 9 or 10 on her day off, so I thought she'd enjoy an early start to her day. She must have said yes, because the nail gun was rat tat tatting moments later.

If it's not one neighbor it's another making all sorts of goddamm noise and I don't understand why they have to do it so goddamm often. Is it because hockey season is over?

They All Grunt a Little

Woke up to very dark, overcast skies this morning so I crawled back into bed after feeding the lions.

I tried to sleep in but was already too awake, so I watched a little "Breakfast Television" - a local TV news show on Vancouver's CityTV.

Never tuned in before this morning. I hope someone else was watching.

The hosts are chatty and bubbly and annoying and at one point they were talking about female tennis players that grunt and make a lot of noise when they play.

They cut to the guy who's supposed to be the serious news anchor, supposedly a tennis fan, to help name some noisy players, and he says in all seriousness, "They all grunt a little after smoking the ball."

They cut back to the bubbly hosts - one was holding her head in her hands and her co-host sat staring into the camera wearing a frozen grin, unable to react to what had just been said on live TV.

They cut to a split screen with the hosts and the serious news anchor who desperately tried to distract us all from what he'd just said by babbling on about tennis as the hosts sat silently waiting for him to stop.

Thankfully, it was time to show us the clogged roads. I'm looking forward to tomorrow's show.

I Remember...

...I'm radioactive. - Steve Martin

We're in the thick of hairball season here in PoCo. Almost every day we find a large, slick, fuzzy casting in the middle of the floor/rug/carpet/hallway. The collection is impressive. They really soak up the varnish nicely.

What I really need is a house with all-tile floors and drains every few feet or so and a fire hose. I suppose that would mean having all plastic furniture. The static electricity in the winters would be brutal. Maybe rubber instead. Or silicone. Stain-free, odor-free, fire hoseable furniture. I like it.

Ooh, but the electronics... OK, all-tile floors with drains and a fire hose, all silicone furniture and electronics housed in waterproof, deep-sea-worthy cabinets. The walls we could paint with marine paint over Tyvek-coated wall board.

Here's a random solicitor for you... the other day I hear a gentle tap at the door, a friendly, sounds-like-your-neighbor-just-popping-by-for-a-quick-chat sort of quiet knock, so I go to the door & open it up only to see a somewhat frazzled-looking guy I've never seen around here before.

He's standing back from the door a few feet, which is good I think, because I don't know who the hell he is or what he wants, and he starts telling me, in a shaky, quiet voice, how he's run out of gas and his bank card isn't working, and might I have any bottles I could donate?

This is when I couldn't be happier about having lived in downtown Oakland and the TenderNob, where I wore a constant, stony expression of barely-restrained homicidal rage and almost-suicidal indifference. This is the face I wear every time I open that door.

Before he'd finished his ridiculous question I blurted out No and shut the door.

Any *bottles* I could donate? How are you going to get all these bottles you're asking for to the recycling center to get those shiny nickels to pay for a litre of gas when you've RUN OUT of gas?

Did he go to every house on the block with this idiotic story? Do most people in these parts say Oh sure and leave the door open while they go about collecting bottles and cans for the drifter at the door? Does he think I don't watch TV and know just about every trick in the book to gain entry into someone's house?

Wellllll mister, I do! I DO watch WAY too much TV and I don't care if you're bleeding out your eyes and have asked me for a tissue. Piss off! Don't make me get my bat! I'll give you something to cry about! Now get off my property! Well, actually, we're renting. Good luck with the recycling!

NOW I Get It

Sometimes I tune into Canadian News, especially when I want to really relax before getting some sleep.

I walked through the room as they were chatting about the deficit Canada is racking up, referring to Canada as a "banana republic."

Hadn't heard that in reference to Canada before, so I Googled "Canada banana republic" and found a number of results (after scrolling through the Gap-related links) to news articles where Canada is frequently referred to as a banana republic for myriad reasons.

Now it's all making sense. Soon after we got here I had to take my car to Canadian Tire to get the Provincial inspection for registration and insurance. I wore my red Banana Republic t-shirt - the one that says "Banana Republic" on it in white letters.

It's a great shirt. I like wearing it and have often worn it when taking care of Canada-related business, like when I've had to go down to Customs, or ICBC, or the Social Insurance office. I figured wearing red might subconsciously help me get better service. Funny, eh? But seriously, I think it works.

But as I was leaving the auto shop that day, the manager sarcastically called over to me, "You know, I HAVE been out of the republic before!" and I smiled and said "Great!" not knowing WTF he was talking about.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Now I'm going to wear that t-shirt everywhere.

The Local Rag

We get a couple of free local papers chucked onto our stoop every week. They're the perfect size for lining Henry's cage and occasionally have an interesting article or two, usually about bear maulings or gang violence. Sometimes gangs of violent bears.

I recently found a crossword puzzle in one of them. Always a sucker for a crossword, I started ripping out those pages before using the rest for cage liner.

Imagine my disappointment when working one of these puzzles yesterday I found clues such as:
4. Not good. Answer: "bad" I shit you not.
35. Not high. Yup. Answer: "low" Still not shitting you.

Even worse:
50. P_____: bird resting place. You're going to be angry - you will. Answer: "erch" What. The. Fuck.
24. Ca_____: Waterfall. Answer: "scade" Scade? Let's go scading!
58. ___bo: Latin dance. Answer: "mam" At this point I'm ready to jab my pen into my neck.

Still worse:
64. Electromagnetic force. Now, this one seems like a challenge - what might this force be? I'm going to have to look this up in my crossword dictionary, or maybe even the interweb... No. No need. Answer: "EMF" What the WHAT?

Yet more worser:
16. Soluble ribonucleic acid. Answer: "SRNA"
20. Liquified natural gas. Answer: "LNG"
14. Superhigh frequency. Answer: "SHF"

Then they throw in this:
18. Lips. Answer: "labia" This seems wrong. I don't want labia in my crossword.

Like a bad movie, I'm going to stick with it to see what amazing clues await me in future puzzles. [sigh.]

Catching Lies

I've been through customs a few times in the last month, twice in the car at the Pac Highway Truck Crossing and once in YVR. Every time I have to pass through I get nervous and wonder what I'll be asked and what I'll answer.

I've never been detained or harassed by CBP, so I don't know why I get anxious, but I do. I speak only when spoken to and I offer no extraneous information. I make some eye contact but I don't stare. I try to appear casual and relaxed even though I'm acutely aware of every move and twitch I'm making.

It probably has a little something to do with having been arrested many years ago for a minor traffic violation. I would have registered my car when it was due had I been able to afford it, but I let it lapse because I could barely pay my rent back then. I got a fix-it ticket for expired tags and when I didn't get that taken care of, the county of Santa Clara issued a bench warrant. For expired tags.

The next time I was pulled over - for expired tags - they looked up the warrant and took me in, in handcuffs, in the back of the cruiser. For expired tags. If I couldn't afford to register my car, I sure as hell couldn't afford to make bail. So I sat in the county lockup for about eight hours until they processed me out. For expired tags.

I guess that "learned me" that at any time, for seemingly ridiculous reasons, Johnny Law can clap your ass in handcuffs and haul you away. I'm sure back then I realized it was possible I could have been taken to jail for failure to pay the fine, but I didn't believe it would actually happen. Turns out it can! Who knew? This is what can happen in a small town without any real crime.

Anyway, when crossing the border into the US, the CBP is all business - very serious - and they ask a fair amount of questions: "Where do you live?" "What brought you to Canada?" "What kind of video games?" "What titles have you shipped?" "What systems?"

Those questions were for David when he was with me recently on a day trip to Seattle. Later I asked David why they asked so many questions about games/his job - he said they're trying to catch you in a lie.

I told David, if my passport & work permit have certain information, my story is going to support all that information, down to the last detail, true or fiction. Do they really expect to catch anyone by asking a bunch of easy questions? As George Costanza said, It's not a lie if you believe it.

Going down last Thursday, I got the standard battery, where do I live, where am I going, and what's in the box. They almost always ask what's in the box, which first makes me think of Gwyneth Paltrow's head, but then I remember they mean the cargo box on top of the car.

Coming back into Canada, first of all, there are no radiological scanners and all they ask is how long you've been away and if you're bringing any booze or cigarettes into the country. Sometimes you'll be asked if you're bringing more than $10,000 across the border, to which I always want to answer I wish! but I don't want to push my luck.

This last time I returned to Canadia, CBSA asked me if I was a PR. A Personal Record? No. Person of Record? Not sure... Took me a second to figure that out, but then I answered no, temporary resident on a work permit.

He asked me how long I'd been away and if I'd brought anything back with me. I said I'd gone down for the day and brought back a mug and a t-shirt. He said Have a nice night and sent me on my way.

I felt like the biggest idiot. I had a bag of Trader Joe's groceries on the floor in the back that COULD have been a bag full of booze. Blerg.

Loving The Little Things

I was feeling pretty bitchy when I returned from California... conflicted about leaving "home" to come "home."

I'm torn between the place that feels like home and the place where I've made a home. I'm sad to say it, but where my stuff lives does not feel like home.

In the midst of my pique I was goofing off on Facebook and found myself laughing out loud at friends' hilarious comments on various status messages, links & such.

It was a great reminder of how fortunate I am to have these people in my life. I might be too far away from them for now, but at least I have their hysterical words to tide me over. It's a small thing, but it means the world to me.

In the meantime, I continue to observe and report on this weird place we live in...

For example - I've noticed every time I go to the Save-On-Foods, when I'm walking up to the store from the parking lot, I can hear the Muzak playing some random song from the 50s or 60s, but as soon as I enter the store, it switches to a fabulous 80s soundtrack.

HOW DO THEY KNOW I prefer the 80s music? Are they watching shoppers enter the store, guessing the median age and then changing the music accordingly? I'm starting to believe they are. Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous. Come run your own tests. You'll see what I'm talking about.

At the local hardware store, ye olde Canadian Tire, I keep getting the same snarky checker who, on some days is Super Bitch and other days Super Nice. The funny thing about her is, bitchy or nice, she doesn't communicate any information about the transaction she's performing.

She says Hello and that's it. You're on your own after that.

When I returned/exchanged something one day, she processed all the paperwork and left the item I intended to buy on the counter exactly where I'd set it down.

She said nothing the entire time, so I had no idea that she'd already processed the credit, rang up the new item and used the credit toward the purchase of the new item.

When she finished silently shuffling papers and receipts, I pointed to the thing I'd intended to buy and told her I needed to pay for it.

She just stared at me. It was like a deer was running the till. She stared at me for a few seconds, then I watched her mouth slowly start to form words.

Like I'd just asked her to explain quantum physics, she struggled to explained that she'd already processed the credit toward the new item and I was all done.

You have to wonder - is she always stunned when people don't understand what's just happened? Does she think we're using telepathy to know what she's doing?

I'm so tempted to suggest to her that she might want to, I don't know, maybe pick up the item and move it across the counter and perhaps into a bag, or ask the person if they want a bag, or maybe say, "Thanks very much," to audibly indicate the transaction has been completed. Anything would help - say SOMEthing so we don't have to stand there like total idiots wondering what the hell is happening.

But I'm cutting her some slack, because I've worked that register where all the freaks come to return things. It means a bunch of lame paperwork, processing the refund, re-labeling, repackaging & restocking the crap - it's a pain in the ass. I copped an attitude more than once, but - BUT - I was still able to use my words to communicate with the customers. I'm just sayin.

Liquefaction

I'm gradually turning into mush. I think it's just my nose running from being out in the cold. It's my brains, slowly leaking out of my head.

This happened the last time I stopped working for a while - in 1988 when I first moved to San Francisco to attend SF State. I thought I'd want to focus 100% on school. I started losing my mind from the boredom.

On one hand, I love being at home and having SO MUCH TIME to procrastinate going to the store and avoid housework. On the other hand, I COULDN'T CARE LESS about going to the store or housework.

I'd rather watch terrible Sylvester Stallone movies (The Specialist, anyone?) than go grocery shopping or shove a vacuum back and forth.

(Side note, I'd never heard of The Specialist before seeing it on the cable guide the other day. It was wonderfully awful in so many ways, accelerating the rate of grey matter liquefaction.)

Today I did manage to go to the store - I ran out of distractions as well as eggs. I don't know why I keep getting to this point where it becomes a ginormous challenge to convince myself to go. It's that shutting down thing - everything becomes a hurdle.

Earlier this year I registered with a couple of talent agencies that specialize in background talent, thinking that would be a good way to get out of the house and meet new people. Break up the monotony.

Unfortunately, nothing's landed yet, and I have to wonder if it has something to do with the TERRIBLE photo they take, usually in a hallway outside the office with the very worst lighting, with the camera way too close so you get a great view of my chin and not much else.

Time for Plan B. Get the frick out of town. I'm planning a trip to visit the parents in the desert, then drive north to the Bay Area, then fly back from there. Not the cheapest boondoggle, but it sounds like a great way to shake off the mildew and clear my head.

I think I have to go. I can't take one more friendly chit-chat with the Save-On checker who, when I told her that all their organic go-gurt (goat yogurt) was expired, told me the woman who runs that department is out because her husband just died.

She's a serious health food expert. She had her husband eating much healthier, even with his bad heart, and last week he was doing the best ever. Then he just up and died. She's real upset.

I'm sorry Margie. That's very sad. I don't know what to do with that information. I thought you might want to know you're trying to sell old food.

With all the folks wearing green Save-On vests, is there NO ONE ELSE available to help with ONE AISLE of products when someone's spouse dies? Really?

The organic foods manager will be so pleased to know that while she's out dealing with the death of her husband, she's got no back up at work. Awesome.

Margie went on to tell me a lengthy story about trying a "health food wiener" one day and it made her sick. Said she was so sick she had to go home. Know what else makes her sick? Slim-Fast. She just doubles over with stomach pains.

Margie, that's a really interesting story. Can I borrow your box knife so I can slit my throat? It's going to make a big mess, so you might want to call someone up to the front. Thanks Margie.

Post HoHo Holiday Roundup

duplex in winter, poco, bc, canada

Here we are on the other side - January 2nd. Christmas/Festivus came and went in a flash and New Year's blew by in a blink - BLAM - done.

It was by far our weirdest holiday yet, a thousand miles away from home in a different country (sort of) without any family nearby. First holiday EVER not spent with family in some way.

David's company took a long holiday break which we've enjoyed by sleeping in (see previous post about hibernation), staying up late, doing our favorite thing of nothing, watching fun TV, learning to snowboard, playing in the snow, shoveling snow and watching the daily cat show (not in the snow).

I thought about posting more often, but my brain also took a long holiday break. There wasn't much to say other than "It's snowing. Again." or "It's raining. Again." I think I was depressed at one point for about 20 minutes, then I had another cup of coffee and felt better.

It's not so much the snow but the absence of the sun that's starting to take a toll. The days blur together and you can't distinguish one from another. There's no energy source to draw from. Everything looks grey.

The TV provides familiar comfort, as it did last night with a Lethal Weapon marathon. Oh the mullet - Mel's awesome mullet and tight, high-wasted jeans. And the open shirts. Or no shirt. Or the sweaty/wet-no-shirt-fist-fight. Fannntastic.

When Lethal Weapon 3 started David got up and went to bed. I tried to remind him that THIS was the one with Rene Russo and she's hot but he couldn't take any more. The mullet was bigger and the writing even more unbelievable than Mel's hair, but it felt like a big warm slice of home.

Remember when those movies came out? They were SO GOOD, weren't they? Weren't they? You know you loved them - loved them ALL.

Before winter's done I'll be looking for all the bad/good TV there is. It's one of my bestest friends. Happy New Year, eh?

That Darn Border

Had a lovely day oot & aboot today, starting with a hearty breakfast at the IHOP down the street.

One thing I really enjoy about living here is the enthusiasm for little things. When we walked into the restaurant to be seated, the manager asked if we needed a table for two. We said Yes please and he quietly said, "Awesome" as he checked the floor layout to assign us a table.

The servers are always extra attentive and helpful, checking on us often to make sure everything is fine. Today when I asked if they still had the coffee cake pancakes, the server said they did. Then she came back and said they didn't. So they comped me a stack of buttermilk to go with my eggz.

When we paid the check we chatted up the Awesome Manager and I told him I was soory to have missed out on the coffee cake pancakes, but the buttermilk were very good.

He explained his frustration with That Darn Border they have to deal with, that they'll have a promotion going on - say, for coffee cake pancakes - but by the time they get the next shipment, the promotion will have ended weeks earlier.

He went on to tell us about a fabulous bone-in ham special they've got going but the ham comes from the States and is sitting in cold storage at the border. There's one line in the product description that wasn't written in French.

We're imagining the customs agents enjoying ham dinners every night until they work through that red tape.

On our way out of town to explore the northern environs, we stopped to get gas at Petro Canada. None of the gas pump handles here have "kick stands" - you have to stand there like a tool, freezing your ass off while the tank slowly fills.

The pumps *usually* shut off when the tank is full. I was standing there squeezing the damn handle thinking, this thing should be kicking off pretty soon when I heard a gusher below.

The fugging pump kept going full tilt, dumping about a gallon of gas all over the side of the car and the pavement, puddling under my boots and splashing my jeans. Awesome.

After our lightheaded drive to the small village of Belcarra, we hit a Hortons on the way back. Just to see if it would be any more palatable, I ordered a small coffee with sugar. Holy SHIT was it awful.

I thought it would come with sugar packets so I could dose it as desired. No, it comes out of a huge box where someone in a Hortons uniform presses the Coffee w/ Sugar button.

Every beverage they serve comes out of an automated box in the back. Every night a giant tanker truck pulls in, hooks up myriad hoses to the appropriate spigots and fills all the tanks.

It tastes like industrial solvent. It's so awful it's awesome.

No Order Return Policy

(the old screen, soon to be replaced - cat sold separately)

As some readers might remember, I've had a little trouble finding a new fireplace screen here in BC. Because I'm such a wuss that I was looking for one in September, I was laughed out of Home Depot et al. "We don't carry those." "No one has those." No one.

But it was as if my screen was meant to find me when one day I noticed a tiny fireplace shop tucked into a strip mall just down the street. They sell all sorts of electric and gas fireplaces, mantles, tools - everything.

I stopped in a couple of weeks ago and saw no screens on display. The nice lady behind the desk said I could order one and it would be in the following Wednesday.

Usually I'd do a ton of research online and weigh the options of shipping charges & waiting vs. the time saved by getting it locally. But I was so happy to find the store and get it taken care of, I went ahead and ordered it.

When she finished charging my credit card and stapling my receipts together I asked about their return policy. You know, just in case it doesn't work out - it's nice to know what I'm getting into (or had just gotten into, having already paid for it).

She sheepishly said, "Well, I mean, I guess if something's wrong with it... but I know no one else is going to need that, so..." So... what? I can either return it or I can't - are there special circumstances I need to know about? She never did finish that sentence.

Being a fireplace store, wouldn't she be able to SELL the screen if I had to return it, it being a basic item one might expect to find in a FIREPLACE STORE? I let it go - it was highly unlikely I'd need to return it - I'd measured carefully and was certain it would work out fine.

When I relayed all this to David I told him I felt like returning it out of spite. Because she weaseled and said "I know no one else is going to need that." He told me that was maybe a little too harsh and he's probably right.

A week came and went, so the Friday after it was supposed to arrive I stopped in to pick it up. A different woman was behind the desk and she diligently tried to find a copy of my order.

When she couldn't find it, she explained that the other lady was out that day and she had organized all the boxes in the back, so she would have to come in and sort through it to find my order.

Really? She's the only one who can find my screen? Well, OK, if she's the only one who can do it, I'll come back tomorrow. Nope. She told me the lady would call me the next day to let me know if it was in.

I forgot all about it until this week when the weather turned dreary again. I phoned them up and got the same story. Only Lady #1 can sort through the boxes in the back and Lady #1 again was not there.

This is where the unfortunate DNA springs to life and I channel a little Charlotte. It's not pleasant and honestly I don't like becoming that person, but no one likes getting a bullshit runaround for something so simple. But, we left it on good terms with a promise from Lady #2 to call Lady #1 and get back to me immediately.

She came through as promised and told me Lady #1 hadn't answered any of the three calls she made and the owner didn't answer his phone either. She said she'd call me again first thing in the morning. Alrighty then.

She came through on that as well, putting Lady #1 on the phone to explain that she'd made a little mistake. She put my paperwork in the "done" pile and never placed the order. Did I still want her to order the screen? I reminded her that she'd already charged me for it. She giggled and said "I know!" Isn't it hilarious!? I told her I was in the middle of something and I'd call her back in a little while.

I went to eBay and found a much nicer screen for less money and bought it. I called Lady #1 back and asked her to refund the charge. She totally saved me the trouble of returning it!

What's funny about this, besides the hilariously poor customer service and the hysterical blooper of stealing my money, is that as soon as I signed the credit slip I felt like maybe I should have done some homework first. That maybe I'd just made a mistake.

That little voice - she's always right - she's just not LOUD enough sometimes. Or I'm just too stupid sometimes.

Dennis, Come to Vancouver

We need you. Dennis, I implore you, come out of retirement and come to the Great White North. We don't know what's happening or why.

Some examples:

Recently in the news was the trial of five individuals charged with the kidnapping of a guy - they held him for about a week before police raided a number of homes in the area and finally found him.

At no time have the reporters (or online content) offered up a possible motive or explained they could not learn of a motive. There was no ransom note and no explanation from the accused, the victim or the victim's family. WTF?

A guy disappeared after a truck rally and they found his truck by the bank of a river, still running. He'd been missing for a year and they just found his body. No one's offered any sort of scenario as to what might have happened. Not even a guess.

Am I just too used to Bay Area news that tells us more than we thought we ever wanted to know about every little thing? Am I just a nosy American?

I don't think that's it. I think if a kid gets kidnapped at gunpoint and held for 8 days before he's found, alive, we should get some information as to why it happened.

The weather forecasting isn't much better than the reporting. The sun was supposed to come out today. Didn't see it once. Grrr.

The Truth About Canada

the country with a logo!

Lovely as Canada is, there's probably some stuff you didn't know about this fair land... stuff you might want to know if you're considering moving to the Vancouver area.

#1 - No Trader Joe's. Anywhere. This blows so hard, I'm not sure there are words to describe how much this blows. Food is expensive. Regular, everyday grocery store fare - about twice as pricey. Every time I go to the store I spend at least $50 for about enough food for one meal with a few other things thrown in. The funny thing - there's a Whole Wallet here - just one, in West Vancouver - so if you enjoy paying four or five times more $$ for food, c'mon up & go crazy.

#2 - No good pizza - at least we haven't found any yet. Pizza is not a priority here, but poutine is. [hurl]

#3 - Nobody Yelps. No one cares which restaurants might give you food poisoning or which chiropractors will help you vs. put you in traction. Thanks. Thanks for all the helpful info.

#4 - You can't access most U.S. web content - no Hulu.com, no Pandora, etc. When looking for a fantastic Colbert Report clip, I'm redirected to ctv.ca, which broadcasts Comedy Network content, but the bitches don't post the content online like they do in the States. It's jankity. Bitches.

#5 - Importing a car - see previous posts - jacked, jacked, jacked, jacked, JACKED. Bitches.

#6 - People come to your door. In the past two months two people have come to the door to either give me mail improperly delivered down the street or to ask questions about something pertaining to the house (I couldn't understand the guy - he was mumbling with a very thick French accent.) In Alameda, maybe four people came to the door in seven years. I liked that.

#7 - If you want to update a billing address for a credit card, you have to close the account. Global economy? Hardly.

#8 - Tidy Cats cat litter - the regular stuff - it isn't here. No one carries it. I don't know why. It's what the cats like, but for some reason, the regular ol' Tidy Cats isn't sold here. Other TC products are, but not this. Bitches.

#9 - Tim Horton's - not very good. The coffee tastes like water they collected from the puddles in the parking lot. Tire water. Only the maple-dipped doughnut is tasty. Not sure why they merged with Wendy's, but you can get a cup of chili AND a doughnut in one stop. Blech.

#10 - Health Care - now, we've not yet ventured into this area [knock on wood], but political ads talk about difficulty with finding a doctor, like maybe there aren't enough doctors to go around. I guess we'll see.

#11- Insurance - we have the basic ICBC auto insurance, but people here have additional, private coverage. Is driving here so perilous that you should have insurance on top of insurance? Now I'm worried that even after all the work it's taken to get the basic insurance, it may not be enough.

#12 - Crime - definitely alive and well. Maybe not as *much* murder as in the States, but since we've been here, there have been a few nasty murders, a couple of rapes and lots of petty crime. You can't leave anything in your car of any value, even in the suburbs. And under any circumstances, ladies, you cannot, not ever, follow the sound of a man's voice claiming to need help into the woods of Stanley Park (or any park). It won't end well. You can be a good samaritan, just not in the parks, by yourself. You're better off running into a bear.

#13 - Friendliness - by and large, people are about as friendly as in the Bay Area. There's the occasional butt munch, but overall, people are mellow and congenial - not very different than folks in the Bay Area.

#14 - Cell phone charges - hold on to your f*cking hat. If you have a carrier with good international coverage, it may not be an issue. We had AT&T and when David was first up here using his iPhone, that month's bill was over $400. The roaming data transfer and long distance charges are redonkulous. Even the land-line bill was craptacularly high. You'll want to get the calling card and use that sucker. Then you'll want to ditch the American phone & carrier and get a local plan. I don't text my friends anymore - too spensy.

#15 - "In hospital" - it's weird and I don't like it. "The victim was taken to morgue to be identified." "The man went to restaurant to eat." "The woman went to gas station to fill up." Ass.

#16 - Traffic - it's a bitch. There are a lot of people in this area - it feels just like driving around the Bay Area, sometimes it's worse. They've built a lot of bridges, but they don't have enough lanes or they need more of them. There's only one highway in and out of North Vancouver. Just wait 'til 2010 and millions of people are trying to get to Whistler. Should be an Olympic-sized clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks.

#17 - Public transporation - seems to work OK. David takes a nice train called the West Coast Express. He says you can always get a seat, but the seats are small and close together. Not being a fan of people in general, I realize this is less than ideal for him, but at least he can sit. Coworkers report that SkyTrain is often smelly and cramped. Sounds a lot like Bart. But it's efficient and they're continuing to expand the line, so that's nice.

#18 - Homelessness - sadly, a fair amount of it. Lots of folks downtown and some out here in our suburb, somehow surviving on the streets in 30-degree weather, and it's only October. Christ. There appears to be larger numbers living in the woods/parks by Pitt River.

#19 - Drugs and drug addiction - a pretty serious problem. The laws and sentences are lax and public assistance is plentiful and there are huge grow ops all over the province. Pot isn't legal, but they don't get aggro should they see someone strolling down Robson smoking a joint. Lots of crack, heroin and meth use.

#20 - No Peet's - enough said. : ((

That said, no one here would ever dream of nominating someone like Palin for elected office.

The Slop Line

Went to a bakery yesterday to get bread to go with our soup and picked up what I *thought* was a package of chocolate croissants for today's breakfast.

Oftentimes when cooking/baking something it's a good idea to put a little something on top of the item to help indicate what's in it. For example, almond croissants usually have slivered almonds on top - easy enough, yes?

These croissants, much like many chocolate croissants I've seen, had nothing on top but you could see the appearance of a dark filling at the corners. Unfortunately, that dark filling was in no way chocolate-related, but instead a spinach or pesto-type substance.

It's upsetting to bite into something like spanikopita when your mouth is ready for a sweet, gooey chocolate-filled pastry. Would a single pinoli on top be too much to ask? Or a spinach leaf? Something?

Disappointed that we had no sweet gooey treats for a Sunday breakfast, we went to Tim Horton's. At 9:30 on a Sunday morning.

The drive-thru line snaked around and out of the parking lot so we went inside. The line inside was only slightly shorter, with people joining from doors on both sides of the building.

We walked in and made our way toward the end of the line that weaved back through the tables. We joined the end of the line as two guys that came in from the other door cut in front of us.

These fine boys were sportin long, stringy hair and clothes that were mostly clean and both had summer teeth. Summer over here, summer over there.

With a scowl on his face, Dirty Stringy Blond Guy said "fuck this - just like the slop line in jail." Dirty Stringy Native Guy mumbled something in return.

I micro-stepped back toward David and stayed glued to him as the line moved along. DSBG kept grumbling about one thing or another while DSNG mumbled inaudible replies. David and I talked about the idea of working the graveyard shift there - they're hiring, if you're interested.

When it was their turn to order, the tough ex-con act disappeared and they were polite and friendly to the cashier. Watching a scene like this unfold, it's difficult not to burst out laughing like it's a live Kids in the Hall sketch.

After just a short time here, I have a whole new appreciation for their show. KITH fans might remember numerous parodies of Ontario Provincial Police, like when they're lounging on the hood of the patrol car talking about doughnuts or hockey while an old woman gets mugged right in front of them.

A few weeks ago there was a terrible car accident at a strip mall - a pickup driver crashed into a sushi restaurant. The police had the parking lot closed down for three days while they worked that case. SFPD would have been done with that in 20 minutes.

Last week two people were found murdered in a home in Surrey. Someone had called 911 reporting that they heard gunshots, but the police decided not to check it out.

This place is weird and funny.

Wifing is OK

That's pronounced "whyfe-ing." I'm doing a fair amount of wifing these days and I have to say, I'm starting to like it.

Wifing is different than being a Lady Who Lunches, which from what I hear is a fine way to pass the time, but I'll have to work up to that.

As we settle into our new Canadian lifestyle, my day is largely filled with wifey duties such as managing the household, thinking up things to make for dinner, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the pets.

Now, you might remember an earlier post where I wigged out about the prospect of loading and unloading the dishwasher every day for the rest of my life. I pushed past that, realizing one doesn't have to load and unload the dishwasher at the same time every day, or even every day for that matter. It can be a flexible schedule. Whew! That was close.

With that situation resolved the stress disappeared and now I'm enjoying puttering around the house taking care of things, running to the store for supplies, organizing the house. I dare say, I like the wife thing.

Yesterday I realized we needed groceries so I happily went to the store and shopped. In the three weeks I've been here, I've already been to the grocery store more times than in all of last year in Alameda.

My new favorite store is spacious, very clean, has a great selection of stuff and it's never crowded (and has fantastic Muzak). Contrast that with Alameda's Trader Joe's which at anytime of any day is always loud, cramped, often out of the good stuff and crowded full of rude people. So I stopped going.

When people ask me how I lost 20lbs this year (now closer to 30), I tell them I just stopped going to the store, and it's partly true. When there's no food in the house, you don't eat very much.

There was no magic diet or silver bullet hoodia pill endorsed by Leslie Stahl of 60 Minutes. David went to work in the UK for four months and I didn't feel much like eating. When I did eat, it was whatever I could make from what was left in the cupboard, like tuna and crackers. Or tuna and spaghetti. Or tuna on a fork.

By the time my appetite returned, my stomach had shrunk and there wasn't much I could fit in there. Before I knew it, none of my pants fit. Susanna made fun of me, seeing me wearing pants two sizes too big held up by a big ol' belt. It's a fine hobo look.

Then we decided to move. Try working full time and packing an entire house for a month and see if you don't lose some weight. Best workout ever and no time to cram anything into your mouth.

But now things are finally settling down and I'm a happy housewife who last night when her husband got home, cheerfully made him a ginormous cocktail then cooked him a steak dinner with baked potato and tasty salad.

As he said last night, having a stay-at-home wife is expensive, but worth it.

I Love Me Some Organics

Today I stopped into an organic market just up the road from us hoping to find more probiotics. It has *everything* I could ever want in an organic/healthy/healthful/whole foody sort of way.

There was an entire wall of organic flours in every variety you could imagine, organic and fair-trade coffee, high-quality supplements, probiotics, greens formulations, natural cosmetics - everything. Everything everything everything I like/want/need from a tree-hugger store.

As Helen Madden, a well-known joyologist says, "I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT!!!"

Doin' The Flagpole

(image from http://dylan.iamstillalive.net/notes/16-the-tallest-flagpole-in-calipatria)

Today was Flagpole Day! No, not run my panties up a flag pole or climb a flag pole. I got to drive to the border, cross into the U.S., get a form, then go back through Canadian Customs to get my Work Permit.

When I was told this procedure is called the "flagpole," I thought that was just a cute term used by the HR folks in David's office.

Turns out, "Flagpole" is an official immigrations term used by both the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol as well as Canadian Customs.

At the U.S. Customs station, I told the uniformed lady I needed to get the right paperwork from Canada, hesitant to tell her I was "doing the flagpole," but then I said, "I guess they call it 'the flagpole,'" and she said "Oh, sure - the flagpole!"

On her little orange official paper she wrote "Flagpole" and showed me where to park and go inside to get the form I'd need for Canadian Customs.

The U.S. Customs office is all business - very brightly lit with clear queues cordoned off and stony-faced officers giving off a very serious vibe, like they might have to draw down on everyone at any moment and defend the entire border on behalf of all Americans everywhere.

I waited patiently in line until a salty officer barked at me to come to the desk. I told him which form I needed and he went about hand-writing my information on it, including the word "Flagpole," underlined, next to the reasons why I was not being admitted back into the U.S.

With my official Flagpole form in-hand, I drove over to the Canadian Customs to complete this fascinating process.

Inside the Canadian office, the vibe is totally different. The lighting is subdued, there's one general area to queue up and all the officers are talking and joking with each other. They also offer public washrooms and have vending machines with snacks & sodas. There's none of that civility provided on the U.S. side.

An agent waved me over to the counter and as soon as he started talking, it was like working with Patton Oswalt. He sounded just like him and was about as funny. He reviewed my U.S. form and laughed at how they wouldn't allow me back into the country.

I had stacks of paper and forms to hand over, so I asked him which forms he might need - he said probably none of it. He just used David's paperwork to get mine in order, gave me a temporary import form for my car (that's a whole other process/story) and sent me on my way.

It was all supposed to be very official business, but it felt like I was amongst friends. I'd totally hang out with them anytime.

Now the next customs party we get to have is officially importing our cars, which means handing over some forms and leaving our cars in the U.S. for three business days prior to *exporting* them so they can be *imported* into Canada.

Trouble is, our cars are already HERE, so that means we have to drive them back THERE and leave them, one at a time, obviously, and then we can officially import them and get that paperwork taken care of.

It would seem the U.S. Customs folks are either totally stupid or totally stoned or both, because NONE of that shit makes any sense whatsoever.

As I overheard one U.S. Customs agent say while waiting in line, "I guess I have to do something today, or make it look like I'm doing something..." No shit.

Labour Day Canadia

We went to dinner a couple of nights ago and I got to order, with a straight face, "The Ribber."

A guy was killed in Vancouver the other night - the 14th homicide in British Columbia this year. There were at least that many in Oakland last month.

Wherever there are teenage girls hanging out together, they are *always* in groups of threes. Always.

The Save-On-Foods, my favorite new grocery store, plays the very best Muzac ever heard. From Duran Duran's Girls on Film to 10cc's Dreadlock Holiday, one of my all-time favorite songs.

The people really are nice. Checking out of the Save-On-Foods, the checker asked if I had my Save-On card with me - I said no & I needed to get one. Without missing a beat, the woman in line behind me offered hers so I could get the discount. Then the woman behind her pointed out the forms to sign up for a card. No one was bunged about the line or a brief delay.

Riding my bike around town yesterday, it really did feel like I'd gone back in time to my childhood. Kids out & about playing in neighborhoods, families working in the yard together and a totally relaxed vibe everywhere.

Canadia

(as in, Hazel Nootsmaak - my alter ego and name of this here bloggie blog)

Random notes since arriving:

An woman came up to me at the Esso station and asked me to pump her gas - said she didn't know how.

She started walking back to her car and I said, "Hold on there, don't go anywhere - what is it you need help with?"

She said she didn't know how the machine worked. You know, the credit/ATM card thingie that's been on gas pumps for hundreds of decades - that thing billions of people use every day - sorry, that thing billions of COMMONERS use every day - my mistake.

I showed her how you put the card into the slot exactly as the picture shows how, then choose the type of gas you want, push the button and GO. She nodded along and then said she's from the U.S. and doesn't know how to do it.

I leaned over and pointed to the license plate on my car and said "So am I - see that? I'm from California." Then she said she wanted to pay cash. I told her to go inside. Moments later she came out with one of the employees - she was trying to get him to pump her gas, but he wouldn't do it.

Moments later she drove off. Her car had British Columbia plates on it.

The traffic radio station plays ads for a 1-800-Got-Junk competitor - Rubbish Removal. According to the voice over, two guys in blue come to your house to get your crap. They're "happy to take your crap all day," and their tag line is "Taking your crap all day!"

Home Depot doesn't carry fireplace screens. Says no one really does up here. Go ahead & build a big ol' fire and set it ablaze - don't worry 'bout those giant sparks flying out onto your clothes - just roll around a bit - you'll be fine.

Wondering if I should worry that every day the lines to get into the U.S. are two-hours long, while the lines coming into Canada average only 15 minutes.

Upon arriving I was given a Visitor's Permit, even though they had David's Work Permit and immigration paperwork stating I should receive a Work Permit.

To fix this error, I cannot just return to the Customs office where I cleared our trailer (with my Visitor's Permit) and have them issue the proper Work Permit. I must cross back into the U.S. then return to Canada and get the right paperwork. Let that wash over you for a few minutes.

The trash pickup schedule is complicated enough to warrant a calendar poster with color- and icon-coded dates showing trash days, green waste or recycling days (which change every month and sometimes by week), and all the different zones and holidays. I had to put it down after a while - none of it was making sense. I'm just going to look out the window every day & see which bins the neighbors put out.


Related to an earlier post about the driving/traffic here - yesterday someone drove into the Frasier River, requiring a "hover craft" and other rescue vehicles to save the driver/sailor.

Today several cars were reported to be flipped over onto their roofs. That's astounding given the terrible traffic and how slowly those drivers must have been going when they lost control, yet they still managed to tumble over like stranded turtles.

There are few (if any) local coffee shops in the suburbs. There are quite a few in downtown Vancouver, but out here, you gotcher Tim Hortons, some Waves, a Blenz or two, and more Starbucks than you can shake an unprotected fire at, and that's it.

Riveting, no?