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.

Old & Rickety

I'm not talking about the Coaster.

David and I ventured to Vancouver's Playland today. It's a cute little park - it means well - but at $29.95, every ride should come with space-age barf bags and personal attendants to clean you up. As David said, it's one step above a county fair, sans barn critters.

It's about as big as a Costco parking lot, with two tiny coasters, typical midway business and a half dozen puke-makers such as Hell's Gate, Breakdance, and Crazy Beach Party.

I wish I'd gotten photos of the murals in Crazy Beach Party - too much equipment and shadows in the way, but there was Hulk Hogan with a parrot on his shoulder, various muscle men in pose-down positions, babes in bikinis, and Arnold, our governor, in a t-shirt, in a beach shack ready to rent you a surfboard.

Now, why Arnold was working the shack and *not* on Muscle Beach a la Pumping Iron is anyone's guess. I don't remember Arnold being known for renting boards in Venice, but I wasn't there. But still, how is Hulk Hogan a better shirtless character than Arnold? Insanity!

The Coaster is great - a 50-year-old death trap that drops like a rickety little rocket and races down around and up and down its little course throwing you nearly clear out of the car as you crush your seat mate on every turn. That was our first stop and I totally OD'ed on adrenaline.

From there we went directly to the one other coaster, aptly named Corkscrew. Fairly harmless, but the spiraling started the stomach flipping. We tried another ride called Pirate! I'm putting exclamation marks on all the ride titles. Pirate! is that stupid ship that rocks back & forth. Looks harmless. It isn't. I did not feel OK after that.

Maybe I'm a little old for rides like Pirate! or Breakdance! (?), with little cars whipping around on arms that whip around a garishly painted "inner city" backdrop. That was the ride that turned mild nausea to full-blown I'm gonna hurl if this shit doesn't stop immediately. It could have been the murals...


Like an idiot, right after that, we got on another boot-maker, some crap called Enterprise. The cars look benign, like you'll just glide around in a nice, calm circle in your little pod. Nope.

The bitch goes up, sideways, down and the car rocks side-to-side. Jesus, please baby Jesus make it stop. Sitting directly in front of David, I dry-heaved cereal fumes. Had it not been several hours since breakfast, his hair would have been decorated with partially-digested shredded wheat. Delicious.

I thought I was a goner after that. I must have burped/almost-hurled fifty times and felt a flop sweat coming on. We made our way to the snack shack to get a soda. I thought it might help. What I really needed was a valium/dramamine cocktail. Next time.

Once I'd settled down a bit, we rode Corkscrew! and Coaster! a few more times, then tried the climbing wall. I thought it would be a cinch, but I got about halfway up and freaked out.

I kept thinking of the nightmares I've had where I'm climbing a steep rock face and it keeps getting steeper and steeper until I'm about to fall off. It wasn't the looking down that got me, it was the looking up.

After a last ride on the Coaster! I got a big slice of pizza, peeled off all the cheese and chowed that salty, doughy, soothing crust. If only they'd had corn dogs & funnel cake. Never too old for that.

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.

Dronabinolidated Water

We figured it out - why we feel like we could sleep all day and put away enough carbs to fell a moose - Canada puts something in the water. They've gotta be pumping THC into the water supply. It's the only thing that makes sense.

When I first got here I had all sorts of projects I wanted to work on, energy to burn and wasn't eating my body weight in starch every day. Now? Now, I could build a mashed potato igloo, crawl inside and sleep until June, getting up only after I've eaten the entire thing to build another one. Though I doubt I'd actually get up or "build" anything, because that would require effort.

No wonder everyone is so mellow, the driving so terrible and there are fast food joints everywhere. Get it? See what I did there? Joints? I slay myself. Time for a nap.

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.

Fighting Hibernation

Now I get it. There are only few options for dealing with a nuclear-type ("nucular") winter.

One, take up snow sports as if your life depended on it, which it sort-of does, getting you up & out of the house nice & early to slip and skid your car up to a mountain so you can slip and skid down the mountain all day, getting home too tired to care about not seeing the sun for weeks.

Two, pack a big bag and get on a plane and fly anywhere the sun is shining and it doesn't get below 60 degrees. Stay there until the temperature here stabilizes somewhere above 50 degrees and it's not raining every day.

Third, hibernate. Eat your body weight in starch along with four or five large steaks every day for a few months, then go to bed. Stay there.

Ignore all the usual reasons you used to get out of bed (except your bladder). Like, the time. Who cares what time it is? It's WINTER is what time it is, which means it's time to stay in bed until it's spring. Cats hungry? Feed them then go back to bed. They'll join you later and make hibernation that much more cozy. Hungry? Grab a baked potato/muffin/doughnut/pizza/beef stew on your way back from the bathroom and eat that in bed.

We've tried the first option and enjoyed it, but then the rain came back and made the roads nasty with ice. Call me a spoilsport, but I don't enjoy sliding all over the road on the way to the mountain. And when I get there, I want to clearly see the run below me.

I'd love to choose option two, but we're not quite there yet. I have a special type of trust fund - it's the We Trust You To Make Your Own Money fund. So, that makes option two a non-option for now.

We're gradually choosing option three. We're waking up later and later, and even after waking up we linger in bed for quite a while. It's warm. And so dreamy comfortable. We can listen to the radio or watch TV. Hang out with the cats. There's no room service, but so far that hasn't been a deterrent.

The more we sleep, the faster time passes, which means spring will be here in just a few cat naps.

BC Living - My New Show

Just found a show on TV, Vancouver Living - an entertainment news show full of helpful information about enjoying the Vancouver lifestyle.

I didn't watch the show but saw the teaser for an upcoming segment, "Learn How to Get a Good Workout Without Increasing Your Carbon Footprint."

They showed a lady on cross-country rollerskis out in the rain on a wet, soggy path, and that just looked so sad. It made me think of having my own show full of helpful hints about enjoying the British Columbia lifestyle.

• Learn How to Enjoy Being Damp
• Learn How to Embrace Bone-chilling cold
• Learn How to Eat Your Body Weight in Potatoes
• Learn How to Put on Your Winter Weight in Three Days
• Learn How to Wear Four Sets of Clothes at Once
• Learn How to Train Your Cats to Sleep On You
• Learn How to Adopt Enough Cats to Make a Living Cat Blanket
• Learn How to Heat Your Feet Using Microwaveable Socks
• Learn How to Find Ways to Not Leave the House Until Spring
• Learn How to Make Every Meal a Soup Smorgasbord
  
• Learn How to Wear an Electric Blanket - Everywhere
• Learn How to Withstand 300-degree Showers
• Learn How to Turn a Down Blanket Into a Sassy Dress
• Learn How to Properly Chop Furniture for the Fireplace
• Learn How to Hang Mirrors Around the House to Maximize Those 15 Minutes of Sunlight On Days When it Might Be Sunny

I'm sure I'll think of other important segment ideas. If you're a producer at a TV station nearby, give me a call. I know there's an enthusiastic audience for my show.

Going OFF, Eh

I admit it, I can be an asshole when shit goes sideways - when something that should be easy and straightforward becomes a clusterfuck, I come unhinged.

Maybe it's age, maybe it's DNA, maybe it's winter - I'll never know. Maybe I should "work through my issues" or maybe it's OK not to accept bullshit.

As I mentioned to Rooty, maybe we shouldn't quietly turn a blind eye to incompetence or laziness. Maybe that's part of the problem - maybe too many people don't speak up and then there you are, drowning in mediocrity and lameness.

What I *do* know is that if a bank is holding my money, money they SAID would be available in 14 days and when I call today to find out what's going on I'm told it will actually be 21 DAYS, I'm not going to politely say "OK! Thanks so much!"

Kurt, a telephone rep at Coast Capital Savings and Hoard, was nice enough to talk me off the ledge, at one point arguing with me that HE didn't mistakenly tell me the hold on U.S. checks would be 14 days.

Yes Kurt, I know YOU didn't tell me such and in the future, it would be better to SIMPLY APOLOGIZE for the shoddy communication and FIX THE PROBLEM.

I should have looked at their website before opening an account. Any financial institution that puts a guy in a gorilla suit on the home page, or now, has the online "rep" playing with balloons or peeling potatoes should not be trusted with anyone's money.

In my defense, I was told TWICE by the SAME TELLER that there would be a 14-day hold on any U.S. checks I deposit. Still ridiculous in this day & age, but I can live with 14 days. But 21 days? Are you fucking KIDDING me?

What the FUCK takes 21 days? Is it Canada, too lazy to give a shit, or the U.S., unwilling to let the money leave the states? I DON'T CARE what the problem is. It shouldn't take anyone 21 days to clear a measly business check.

Or is it just Coast Capital Savings and Lies? Maybe it's time to find a bank that knows how to clear a check in an acceptable time frame. They can't ALL be this lame.

At any rate, I got what I wanted. Kurt now understands his colleagues are MISINFORMED and when you jack with someone's money, they're not going to chat with you calmly about it. Mr. Kurt sent a message to the branch to release the hold first thing in the morning.

They couldn't do it today, you see, because the branch is closed on Mondays. Yup - that's right. CLOSED on MONDAY. Because god forbid you might have BUSINESS to take care of on a WEEK DAY and need access to your bank.

The only reason I opened this account was because David has an account there. But guess what? There are other banks and I'm betting one of them has a more attractive U.S. check policy.

I honestly do think it's a combination of age and the DNA. I don't have time to waste on bullshit and I've been gifted some crazy genes. When the bullshit comes in contact with the DNA, bad things happen. Kind of like The Hulk, without all the green and expanding and raggedy short pants.

Combine that with a fucked up hold on my money and I can't be expected to mind my manners.

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.

Zero to 60

Been a while... sorry about that. Got busy - quick.

Last week we had a marvelous AmeriCanadian holiday with friends from SF. Had to clean up a bit, make the loft into a suitable guestroom, gather up the requisite groceries and run a kajillion errands.

Shopping on Robson, suspension bridge fun @ Capilano, Wii, tasty dinners out, Thanksgiving dinner at home and of course, Tim Hortons goodness. Good times - very good times.

Unfortunately, it rained like a bastard the whole time with dense clouds that obscured what would have been lovely snow-capped mountain vistas all around us. Instead, it looked like any damp, rainy area anywhere - say, New Jersey maybe, with a little less mob activity and quirky Pacific-Northwest architecture.

I wanted to post sooner - I've missed you - but my head's been full of syrup. I've been homesick, yet still happy to be here. I know we're where we're supposed to be, but my whole life is somewhere else.

Well, not my *whole* life - most of it's right here in this house. But family, dear friends and favorite haunts are all far away. It's difficult to start over when you're in your early fogey years.

I get by with email, a brand new magicJack and... Facebook. For reals. It really helps. I don't feel so disconnected from everything. Fun photos of friends (alliteration rules!) in festive situations, silly status messages... if only Scrabulous was still there... fugging greedy licensing bitches.

Driving back from Seattle last weekend where I dropped off our fabulous house guests, I felt torn. Part of me wanted to turn around and keep driving to California, but the pull was much stronger to keep going north, back to my little family.

I feel unsettled rather than settled. It feels like I'm dating two guys at once. Both have fun qualities and annoying flaws, but one is the guy I know a lot more about - the one who feels comfortable. The other guy *seems* nice & interesting and may be a refreshing change of pace, but his pants don't fit him quite right and he talks funny.

I don't think I can break up with America. Definitely not San Francisco. There's no leaving the Bay Area without regrets. The food, the wine, the Peet's, Target, North Beach Pizza, and the fantastically liberal, accepting, bubble... god I love that bubble. The dark blue, No-on-8, I'm Getting an Abortion at Lunch bubble. That's my home. And I miss it. I cannot wait to get back to it. There, I said it.

Right now, I miss it more than Thin Mints when the freezer stash runs out. I know I was ready for a change and I couldn't wait to get here, but now I think what I couldn't wait to get to was David. I need to be wherever he is, and I hope one day it'll be back in our Bay Area bubble.

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.

Maple-Dipped Ass Reaming

Hello Nootsmaakians!

When we last left you, our fearless author had just endured the early stages of a comprehensive rectal exam in an effort to register and insure an automobile here in the fine province of British Columbia.

Let's find out what happened!
..............

After 12 man-hours and a few more spent driving around to obtain forms, repairs and inspections, I'm happy to report the anal reaming is complete.

And now it's confirmed - British Columbia really [REALLY] doesn't want you bringing your car with you when you move here. Why, hasn't been made clear.

If it were just about the economy & wanting people to buy here, they could impose the appropriate taxes to compensate for that - that I would expect.

What I didn't expect was 2+ hours at the insurance agency to get signed up and insurance fees that are double what we paid in California - and that's AFTER a 40% discount for a claim-free record.

In California we were near an area where cars are stolen or burglarized all the time. David's car has a bullet hole in the hood from a random bullet fired somewhere in Emeryville when he used to work there. The East Bay is not without risk factors that can cause higher rates, yet we still paid reasonable fees for two cars driven all over the Bay Area (and beyond).

But here, I'm paying double what I paid in California, with the discount, and the coverage is about the same, though I think ICBC (Idiotic Corrupted Bullshit Corporation), includes an increased amount of general liability coverage.

Still, for a 10-year old car being used for "pleasure" only (I guess we'll have to keep the back seats folded down ALL the time) it's astronomical. Without the discount, I'd be paying $2,400 a year for BASIC insurance.

If I get a job and need to drive my car to & from work, that will cost me more. Can you believe that shit? If you have to drive your car to work, your insurance rates go up. And they want to know the actual mileage you'll be driving to/from work.

So, if I decide to take a long lunch and drive somewhere outside that route to run an errand and something happens, will they deny the claim?

The whole process is intentionally maddening, complicated and time-consuming. Even the wonderfully helpful and friendly folks at the insurance agency, who do this every day, struggled through the forms and the endless questions in the ICBC system.

Now I understand why some people, if they can, skirt this system. It's a full-on racket, from the numerous, bullshit fees you have to pay to different agencies to import to the inspection and its fees and the ridiculously expensive insurance.

Why the residents don't revolt and demand the laws be changed is a mystery. Perhaps this is one of those times when being too polite means we all get to take it up the ass. I've had about all I can take.

I think we'll seriously consider driving David's car back to California and leaving it there. I'm not sure I want to do this again or pay British Columbia any more money to live here. They're making it difficult to consider staying here permanently, but we'll see how it goes from here.

I have to say, I'm disappointed that something that should be so simple has been made intentionally very difficult and painful - and almost punitive.

We're not trying to screw anyone (or the local economy) by bringing our cars with us, but BC is definitely screwing us and as a result, we may not feel so great about staying here.

Import Export Stupidport

(from despair.com)

You know that guy (or girl) you've dated who, when you first meet him, you feel an instant connection - he's really cool, has a hot body, makes you laugh and dresses in his own style that you actually like?

That guy who seems totally into you at the party, chatting you up, flirting his ass off because you know he'd love to get you home, and you're fine with that because he's the best thing to come along since that guy you dated last year who dropped into a old-married-couple-like rut after the third date.

That guy who once you get to his place and have a look around you're thinking OK, his place is clean and cozy and you actually feel comfortable there and start thinking, This could actually be something...

And then you have a few dates, and just when you think things are clicking along nicely, he stops calling as often, telling you he's "got a lot going on right now" or he's "going through some issues" or "has his head lodged in his rectum and thus can't come to the phone."

Yeah, Canada is that guy. And Canada, I don't want to pull the plug on this so soon, but you need to get your shit together with this car import/registration bullshit, because I don't have the time or patience to deal with your issues.

Everything was great until I tried to take care of the car, and sure as shit, you went all High Maintenance Asshole on me.

Oh, sure, come on up and bring your car - sure - it's no problem. Oh, you want to KEEP your car here, oh, well, you didn't say that, but OK, well, in that case, there's some stuff you're going to have to take care of.

First - FIRST - don't bring your car. That would be the first thing to do. Don't bring it. Leave it in the states and walk across the border and either steal a car registered in British Columbia or purchase an automobile in Canada.

But if you've already brought your car, you'll need to first EXPORT the car from the States. The one you just drove here, the one that's already here in Canada - yes, that one - you're going to have to export that sucker first. So go back to the border to the US Customs office and fill out all that stupid paperwork to get it exported.

Oh, wait, I forgot - to actually export your car, you have to first file some paperwork with US Customs and leave the car in the States for three business days AFTER that paperwork has been filed.

So, go ahead and file that paperwork, verify that US Customs has received it and is is, in fact, ON FILE, then drive your stupid car across the border back into the States, sleep in it for three BUSINESS days, then you can drive back to the US Customs office and obtain the official export paperwork.

Easy, right? Excellent!

Now, with that done, we can start the IMPORT proe-cess. But first, if you wanted to, and this is totally up to you - your call - if you didn't want to bother with the EXPORT thing, you could - COULD - do a temporary import, which you can do if you're only going to be in Canada for a year or two. This is straight from the boys at Uncle Sam's customs office, so, I'm not just saying that to sound accommodating.

That doesn't mean that at some point, if you decided to STAY in Canada, that you may not have to someday bother with the whole export pain in the ass. So, you've been warned.

OK, so back to IMporting. If, like me, you were able to get away with the Temporary Import, Form 1 from the Canadian Customs folks, you can then bypass the RIV - Registrar of Imported Vehicles - proe-cess. The RIV bullshit requires another form or five and a filing fee of $200. For what, is anyone's guess - perhaps to pay for additional web pages full of confusing information.

Canadian Customs will give you the Temporary Import, Form 1 along with a B-15 form that documents the declared value of the car. You'll pay 7% of that value in taxes when you go to register your car.

Oh, you'll also need a Recall Clearance letter from your car's manufacturer (which for some cars, must come from their Canadian office). And you need to have current insurance and a Claims Experience Letter from your insurer that shows a claim-free history for the past eight years. With that, you get a 40% discount off the top. Off the top of a mountain of bullshit paperwork and forms.

Sorry, where was I?

Right, so with your Temporary Import Form 1, a B15, current registration, title, proof of insurance, recall clearance letter, claims experience letter, you'll THEN need to head on over to your local Canadian Tire - For Days Like Today (Really? So where do I shop on a GOOD day?) - where they'll do both a Federal and Provincial Inspection - awesome!

And if you're like me, you actually drive your car to places like Target or the liquor store and sometimes even to Canada, where along the way things can happen, like a chip or crack in the windshield.

And if you have a windshield with a crack or a chip, you can walk right back out of that friendly, neighborhood Canadian Tire because you're going to have to get that fixed before they'll even do the inspection. Which will cost you, for the Provincial Inspection, by the way.

So, where are we? You're going to have to pay taxes on whatever your car is worth, you're going to have to pay standard license and registration fees, you're going to have to pay for any repairs or modifications your car might need to pass the inspection, and then you're going to have to pay for BC insurance - and if you did the full export/import, you'll have to also pay the RIV fees (and another $100 if your car has air conditioning, just FYI).

Do you have a good salve and a rectum-friendly cushion? You may also want to keep your favorite alcohol or pharmaceuticals on hand to supplement the soothing effects of the anal salve.

Oh, and just so you know, your US insurance agency won't want to continue coverage for you once you've moved here, because BC won't recognize foreign insurance policies. Isn't that neat? So if you're not able to negotiate all this bullshit within 30 days, you'll be cut off by your US insurance before you're covered by BC's bullshit insurance, so, you know, good times!

So, no matter how hot Canada might look at that party, just know, if you're thinking about spending any serious time with him, there are going to be issues. He's cool about most things, but this one thing is like some twisted mommy-issue shit that might be too much to stomach.

I'm hoping he gets this shit worked out soon so we can get back to having some fun.

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.

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?