More Is Better

strength

Do you get pounding headaches?  Sure you do! Who doesn’t? That’s why you’ve got a bottle of pain-reliever in your medicine cabinet, right?

I get really, really bad headaches – migraines, in fact.  They’re nasty buggers, I tell you! No messing around with ‘Oh, I have a headache, but I’ll keep on hammering this nail in’ kind of pain.  Oh no, baby!

Migraines are all-consuming, whatever plans you had, well, they ain’t gonna happen kind of headaches.   I wouldn’t even call them ‘headaches’ – they’re more like a ‘I’m gonna put your brain in a blender and your world is gonna stop working for a while’, kind of thing.

Because I get migraines, when I feel a headache coming on I know that it’ll escalate into that crippling, soul-sucking, stop-the-train pain, so I take something right away…and it better be the ‘Extra Strength’ stuff.

HEADACHE

So I have to wonder why, if anyone feels the need to take a drug to help ease their pain, they’d ever take regular strength when ‘extra’ strength is right there on the shelf beside it?  Are they some sort of pain martyr?  Do they feel that they want to only relieve some of the pain, but not all of it?  Are they trying to prove something?

It’s like coffee – I never understood why anyone would drink decaf in the morning.  Isn’t the whole point of drinking coffee in the morning about waking you up?

“I’d love a coffee – make mine a decaf”  Huh?  I want the coffee but I don’t want it to do what coffee was carefully harvested, hauled down the mountain, roasted, shipped to my local coffee shop and sifted through boiling water to wake me up, was meant to do.

Batteries are the same – if you have a choice, wouldn’t you get the ‘Heavy Duty, long-lasting’ ones, and not the ones that’ll lose their juice after 10 minutes?  I hate buying batteries and I hate replacing them.  I’ll get the long-life ones, please!

I just renewed my passport – same thing;  I have a choice to stand in line, get a new horrible photo taken, stand in line again, then wait for 3 weeks for it every 5 years, or get a 10 year one that costs less than double the 5 year, and I only have to take a terrible photo every 10 years.  passport

Who would do 5?  Do people actually enjoy sitting in a Government queue all day?  Not this cowboy!  See you when I’m in my 60’s and I don’t care what I look like any more.

Marketers know this.  That’s why you see so many products with ‘Extra’ or ‘Plus’ all over them.  People want more, not less.

“Get 20% More for Free”

“Now With More Cleaning Power!”

Who doesn’t want more?  More is good.  Extra is good. Longer Lasting is good.  Regular strength is not.

…don’t get me started on de-alcoholized beer!

Advertisements

Must be spring – a bug flew in my ear.

bug

I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating – I don’t like Spring.  It’s easily the worst season (winter being a close second after the one we just had) of the 4.

For many, it’s the promise of better weather and warmer, longer days.  That’s ‘a good thing‘, as Martha would say.

It’s true – Spring means that Summer is on its way, so we shrug off the Winter blah’s, stow away those heavy ugly winter clothes and bring out the lawn furniture.

But not so fast, my friends!  Spring is a false season. It’s a liar.  Spring is not about nice weather and sunny days.  That’s Summer – let’s not confuse the two.  Spring steals all of Summer’s thunder, literally, and offers nothing of value for itself.  It’s like a cheap sidekick as an opening act for the real performer.

It doesn’t help that I really suffer from springtime allergies.  In Canada, we celebrate the May ‘2-4’ weekend, which falls, not coincidentally, on the weekend closest to May 24th.  I think it was a British Queen’s birthday, so as ex-patriots, and exploiters of  the monarchy, we mug every long weekend we can out of them.  I used to think it was named after a case of beer…college days!

It’s the first long weekend of warm weather, but for me it’s a double-edged sword.  This is also the time of year that all the lovely trees are bursting forth with their pollen-spawn, clogging up my sinuses and attacking my immune system.  I usually spend it in the basement with a bottle of Benadryl and box of tissues.

Yup, Spring is a total poser – a cheap veneer, looking like a real season, but it’s just a mirage – a delusion, tricking us into liking it.  Don’t believe me?

Let’s look at the differences:

SUMMER:

  • Long days of sun
  • Warmest weather we’ll see all year
  • Vacations
  • Bikinis
  • Beer gardens & patios
  • Swimming pools
  • Days at the beach
  • Pina Colada scented suntan lotion

SPRING:

  • Rain and/or snow and/or sleet and/or freezing rain
  • Allergies
  • Weather that makes you think it’s summer until you go outside and are freezing in 10 minutes
  • All the dirt, garbage, dog bombs, brown grass, and other nasties that were hidden in the snow
  • Flooding
  • Mud
  • The smells…yuck!
  • Mosquito spray
  • Dead skunks, racoons, or anything else trying to procreate by crossing a busy road
  • Allergies (it’s worth mentioning twice)
  • Birds nesting in my dryer vent

I used to think birds nesting was kind of cute.  In our first house, they nested in the vent for the bathroom fan.  At first is was sweet, being sung to by those melodic, hungry little chicks in the morning while taking care of business, but like all animals, they grew up and trashed the house.  The mess down the outside of my home was a toxic, sticky sludge that had baked into the siding.

See?  Spring is a lousy season.  It’s only positive is that it’s followed by Summer, so it gets the polite applause it doesn’t really deserve.  It rides on the coat-tails of our greatest season, taking all the credit: “Spring showers bring May flowers” – like it’s supposed to make us all warm and fuzzy about dreary, wet days.

Walking the dog this morning, I noticed that the receding glaciers from this past Winter are exposing a lovely collection of pop cans, wrappers, and poop – literally some was on top of one of those green utility boxes.  ON TOP!  That was some dog, I tell you.

The weather was too cold for Spring attire, but because it was above freezing, everything was a muddy mess.  Just to cap it off, a bug – probably the only one alive this time of year – flew directly into my ear.

Oh, yeah.  Let’s welcome Spring, but only because it means that the main attraction is somewhere in the wings, waiting to make it’s appearance.

I can only hope that this Spring is a one-act show….

What’s up, Doc?

When you reach a certain age, you spend more time getting prodded and poked and tested by the medical establishment. I hear that some people, especially when they are in their senior years, actually look forward to visiting their doctors, like it’s a lunch date or something.

I don’t. Like a lot of men, I don’t enjoy going to the doctor.   I don’t want bad news about my health, I don’t want them to ask for ‘samples’ to test, or to stand on the weigh scales in the open area of their offices.  And I don’t want to undress and lay on a cold examination table, especially when my clothes are out of reach and the door doesn’t lock from the inside.

It’s not that I’m unhealthy or anything, in fact, despite trying to prove Newton’s first law of motion of an object at rest tending to stay at rest, I’m actually in fairly good shape, against all odds.

But, when you hit that magical age, regardless of your perceived level of health, you really do need to suck it up and get on that cold, ugly table.  So, I did.

I’m starting to really understand why I find these things so unpleasant, and surprisingly, it’s not the reasons that you might think.  Things like giving a blood sample, while not a happy feeling, isn’t all that bad.  In fact, I even donate blood on occasion.

By the way, if you ever want to have a little fun when giving blood, there’s a question in the screening process about being close to or having contact with monkeys.  When you get to this questions, ask out loud, “Does anyone know if a lemur is considered a monkey?  I’ll just put down ‘no'”.  That usually gets their attention.

It’s not even the actual procedures that bother me, or giving ‘samples’ that I find difficult, although it’s totally gross.

It’s all the prep stuff.  I had to give some bodily fluids for testing, which seemed simple enough, since doing this is pretty normal, other than how it’s collected, but things get complicated to do that properly.  First, you have to starve yourself for 12 hours, then you have to deprive yourself of any fluids for 6 hours before going to give of yourself.

They tell me that this gives them a ‘normal’ reading.  Really? What’s normal about that?  If they wanted a normal reading, they should come by the house around 10 at night after I’ve finished a big meal, and I’m sitting on the couch with a bag of chips and a cold beer.  That’s normal!

Unless you’re a survivalist, or living in a 3rd world country, there’s nothing normal about not eating or drinking for half a day, and your body hates you for it!  I really feel sorry for women who are very pregnant then have to drink 4 gallons of water, wait for an hour, then drive to the doctor’s office for an ultrasound.  Then, just to test their constitution, they push on your bladder while sliding a cold, gooey devise all over your belly.

Years from now, the medical field will probably look at this like witchcraft or a weird voodoo ritual.

Hitting 50 means I had to deal with the ‘C’ word….yes, Colonoscopy. This word usually sends most men into the hills in fear, almost as quickly as the frightful ‘vasectomy’.  I probably just lost half of my male readers.

I will tell you that the procedure itself was a breeze (if you’ve had one, you’re probably laughing at the ‘breeze’ reference).  Really – it was not in the least way painful, uncomfortable, or in any way difficult.  I was given a nice dose of a drug that put me into a dreamy snooze.  I slept through the whole thing.  It was great!

That’s the good news.

The bad news is, again, the prep.  I won’t go into details, other than to say that they need ‘clean plumbing’ to do the procedure, so you’ll be spending a good 24 hours using a lot of bathroom supplies.  Oh, and you can’t eat for about a day and a half before hand.

Luckily, if you get the all-clear (hee, hee), you don’t have to repeat it for another 10 years. I even have pictures of my procedure.  I’ll share them if I don’t get enough responses to this blog…you’ve been warned!

I’d also like to know exactly when and how the medical profession, particularly dentists, figured they’d change the word ‘pain’ to ‘discomfort’.  With a small drill boring into my excited tooth nerves, the dentist will say something like, “this might be uncomfortable“. I don’t know what medieval school she went to, but my idea of uncomfortable is an itchy wool sweater, not a piercing pain shooting from my hairline to my toes.

There’s something else that you never expect when you get tests done.  Doctor’s who are surprised or don’t know what you’ve got.  I had a few instances where medical specialists had these reactions.  You don’t want your medical specialist to be surprised or baffled – ever!

A number of years ago, I was tested for allergies.  I had a pretty good idea of what I was allergic to, but they had to test me to see what could be done about it.  Apparently, they graph your back or arm, and do little ‘scratches’ with different types of allergens.  If something swells up, or gets itchy, presto – you have an allergy.

I was asked to lay face-down on one of those lovely exam beds, then the allergy doctor did his scratching.  He and his nurse left the room, and said they’d be back in about 5 minutes.  It only took enough time for them to leave the room and close the door, when it felt like someone had dropped a Molotov Cocktail on my back.

The nurse came back in to get something from the room, looked at my back and said ‘Oh, my GOD!‘, then ran out of the room, yelling for the doctor.  Trust me on this one.  It’s not something you ever want your healthcare professional to say.

Turns out, I was more allergic to cats than I thought.

Recently, I had a growth on my right foot.  Nothing serious, but the kids would tease me about the extra toe growing on the top of my foot.

Reluctantly, I went to the doctor, who sent me to a specialist to get it checked out.

While doing an ultrasound on the little growth, the doctor said, “Hmm.  I have no idea what that is, but I think we should remove it”.  No idea?  10 years of education, another decade of seeing people just like me every day, and she has no idea what’s growing on my foot?

I was referred to a surgeon to get my new little foot friend taken off. In the operating room, he introduced himself, examined my foot, then promptly told me what it was and what he was going to do about it.  Thank goodness!  Someone out there knows what they’re doing!

Like other procedures, the removal was easy…the freezing was another story all together.  It felt like he let loose a swarm of angry wasps on my foot, who kept stinging me over and over.  shortly, the freezing kicked in and I stopped crying.

The surgeon was performing his magic on my foot, then stopped and said “Hmm.  This isn’t what I thought it was”.  Super!  I was halfway waiting for him to ask me if I’d been in contact with a monkey recently.

In the end, the small lump was removed and I was sewn back up, almost as good as new, but a little wary of the medical profession.

I guess medicine is like any other business, really.  They’re just people who come across new things every day, and deal with them accordingly.  I only wish they had more classes on how to NOT react to something new.

I also wish more research went into how to get prepared for a test without putting your body through bizarre food and water deficiencies.  It doesn’t seem to make sense that preparing for a test is worse than the test itself…or the initial problem for that matter.

Anyone want to know what you need to do to prepare for a vasectomy?  Anyone?

Toronto Fashion Week – a guide for middle-aged men

When people stop me on the street and ask for autographs or pictures, the ladies will often ask me when I’m going to write about Men’s fashion, given my impeccable, age-appropriate style and looks.  It seems that their fellas are having some difficulty transitioning into middle-aged fashion-wear.

Although I do my best to steer clear from offering advice most of the time, I too have noticed the struggle many men have when it comes to their wardrobes.  So, in order to encourage and support my fellow mature male counterparts, I will walk you through some helpful hints, ideas, and logic that should make dressing yourself appropriately simple, easy, and comfortable.

Gentlemen – let me be clear about this.  Middle-aged fashion is ALL about comfort.  If it doesn’t feel comfortable, toss it.  You’ve complied with tight, itchy, bunchy and downright annoying clothes all your life – it’s time to liberate your body.  You deserve nothing less.

Lets begin by reviewing some of the common issues men often face when it comes to choosing and wearing clothing.

COLOUR BLINDNESS

If you’re like me, you either play golf, talk about golf or watch golf on T.V.  What do you notice most about golf attire?  Colour!  Multi-coloured pants that do not match the shirt.  White shoes no matter what the rest of the outfit looks like.  There’s a good reason for this.  You see, in nature, it is the male of the species, not the female, that has all the style and colour and pizzazz. This is natures way of creating a visual distraction that temporarily blinds or confuses other males, allowing one to ‘swoop in’ and take its rightful mate.

In golf, although there aren’t a lot of ‘mates’ out there with the guys, the basic principal is the same – you want to create a distraction with your wardrobe so that the other players can’t focus on their game.

I get a chuckle when I’m leaving the house to go golfing and my wife questions my wardrobe choices.  She’s so cute!  She doesn’t understand that the colour choice of the golf outfit is almost as important as the club choice.  In fact, if you golf like I do, its a more important choice.

When it comes to colour, gentlemen, you need to dock the dockers, burn the beige, grind up the gray, and put on the loudest, mismatched outfit you can get your hands on.  Nothing will tell the world you’re over 50 and ready to take it on, more than a bold colour pallet on your back.

WHERE DO I WEAR MY PANTS?

The debate over belt height is a contentious one, to be sure.  Because of a wardrobe malfunction on a ‘gang-banger’ in East L.A. back in the ’80’s’, kids all over the world, in an attempt to stay young, have abandoned their belts.  This has allowed their pants to continually droop down to the point where they not only look like they’ve messed themselves, they can barely walk at all.  Ironically, that’s exactly the same look you’d find in a senior’s home.

Most pants these days don’t allow for much freedom when it comes to where the waist sits on your body.  Many men with ample, trophy-sized mid sections, tend to hunker their pants below the waist, since getting them any higher would mean buying their clothes from a tent maker rather than a good men’s store.

Others are unnaturally slim, probably from a vegan lifestyle.  These people only wear clothing that has drawstrings or are made of spandex, and they ride bicycles.  Fashion is irrelevant to them.

There are some men, due to no fault of their own, perhaps due to a terrible illness or a meat allergy, have grotesquely small waists, and tend to wear their pants as high up as possible.  I assume that this is to hide an embarrassingly small mid-section.  I don’t blame them for doing this, but it isn’t a good look.

Either way, there is only one solution for all of these body types – do not tuck in your shirt.  Tucked in shirts are for uptight corporate types and people under 40.  What do you need to prove, anyway? Let it hang, gentlemen.  This negates any further conversation of where on your waist you should wear your pants – it doesn’t matter, as  long as it’s covered up.

SHIRTS

This is a real struggle for most men.  Bottom line is, wear a shirt at all times.  There are hairy, lumpy bits that the rest of the world doesn’t want to see (I’m really hoping the guy at the end of my street reads this before he works in his yard again).

Okay, so now you have to decide what kind of shirt to wear, depending on the event.  Here are some basic ground rules:

  • If you’re wearing a t-shirt you got in a case of beer, or at a concert or NASCAR event, you should only wear it to flea markets, rib eating contests, doing chores around the house, or to your mother-in-law’s home.
  • Golf shirts are the ultimate fashion ‘must-have’ for men – casual as a t-shirt, classy enough for the office.  Because of the collar, it can be worn with shorts, jeans, or even dress pants.  It’s our version of the little black dress.
  • Long-sleeve button up shirts are for serious business only, or funerals and weddings.  They don’t go with shorts, unless you’re at a really hot wedding…

Again, be sure it fits comfortably, and isn’t too short – nothing is worse than a good old beer t-shirt that doesn’t cover the beer holder gut you worked so hard on. This will also take care of the whole pant height thing too.

FOOTWEAR

I know – sandals and socks, right?  Well, it’s more complicated than that.  As a rule, if you’re wearing sandals, it’s because you’re wearing shorts, or God forbid, a Speedo, which means it’s too warm to wear socks. However, due to horrible foot fungus disfigurements or toe-nail removals, there are times when socks are not only a good idea, but a necessity in order to keep the general public from loosing their lunch as you stroll around town.

For all other purposes, slip-on shoes are the way to go.  You’ve bowed to the lace gods for far too long.  Stand up straight and slide those dogs into something that doesn’t ask anything in return.  Velcro straps are also a stylish and practical option as well, but they require bending over.  No one wants to see that.

I’ve heard that some people claim the shoes should match the belt, but I think that’s a sexual reference that I don’t understand.  Do what feels right.  If you only have a black belt, any kind of footwear is fine – please refer back to my comments on pants and shirts.

UNDERGARMENTS

It used to be simple – boxers or briefs.  For the sake of any squeamish readers or the very young, I won’t post an image on undergarments. Today, there are any number of hybrid underwear styles, shapes, materials, and colours.  This is typical fashion industry propaganda, foisted upon an unsuspecting public who are just trying to keep the ‘boys’ from going where they shouldn’t go.  Let me make it simple:

  1. In warm weather, briefs will keep things from sticking to other things, if you know what I mean
  2. In cold weather, boxers are a comfortable, breathable vacation to your buddies, who have been crammed together all summer

If you’re wondering about thongs, you’re on the wrong blog page.

With these basic principals cleared up, there is always one question that remains for the fashion-challenged mature man;  How do I know I’m dressed appropriately?

Interestingly, the rule of thumb for men is diametrically opposed to the strategy of the fairer sex.  If a lady enters a party in a beautiful dress, the most embarrassing thing that could happen, other than toilet paper stuck to her shoe, is seeing another lady in exactly the same dress.  Horrors!

For men, if you enter a party and some other man,or even better, a group of men, are dressed in exactly the same outfit, it’s a very good thing.  This confirms that you dressed correctly. Since there’s safety in numbers, you now have a brotherhood of like-minded peers in which to discuss the game, the toilet paper on that woman’s shoe, or what to do with those little shrimp tails from the buffet.

There’s also another important rule of thumb to follow when it comes to dressing for the occasion.  I call it the rule of ‘wife’.  When you’re waiting at the front door for 20 minutes with the keys and a bottle of wine in your hand, you don’t want her to come down and tell you to go and change.  This will make you the reason you’re late.

When you’re dressed and ready to go, you should give your better half a ‘once-over’ twirl on your wardrobe selection.  This accomplishes two things:

1 – it tells her that you are ready to leave, and the clock is officially ticking.

2 – it gives her a chance to review your outfit.  If she says anything along the lines of “Are you wearing that?”, you better drop the keys and dig through the closet for a new outfit.

If she asks you to do some random job around the house, like water the tropical fish, she’s stalling for time.  This is okay, because it’ll keep you busy, and it tells you that your clothing choice will not embarrass her.

I think you’ll find this blog a handy and insightful guide when it comes to the problematic world of dressing oneself.  You might want to print this off and attach it to your dresser, so you can reference it when you’re standing there in your bedroom in your underwear and socks, scratching your head about what to put on.

Oh, one last thing. If your better half scoffs at this guide, be patient.  It’s only because she has spent decades being brain-washed by the fashion establishment, with those glossy magazines and impossible to walk in clothes.  Eventually, she’ll be dressing exactly the same way as you.

Canadian Thanksgiving – a vaguely historical account

This weekend, Canada will celebrate it’s 56th official Thanksgiving Holiday weekend.

Up here in the ‘Great White North’ we honour this event on the second Monday of October, not because our season is shorter, and we’ve harvested the crops already, but we really just wanted to beat the Americans at something.

Canada is relatively new at this as an actual holiday, having made it official in 1957. I guess being the polite sorts we are, we didn’t want to offend anyone by being officially thankful without making sure everyone was okay with it.

The original conception for the Canadian Thanksgiving, by my recollection, actually started way back in the 1500’s, when an explorer named Martin Frobisher had loaded his boats with what some historians believe was maple syrup (some insist it was gold, but that would ruin the story – you’ll see what I mean).  He ran into the ice and the sailors had to be saved by the local indigenous people.  By some strange twist of fate, he hit the ice in Frobisher Bay.  Huh.

Most of the syrup was lost, but the kind and gentle natives who witnessed the accident, had a big supply of Canadian back bacon and decided to share it with the sweet-toothed explorers.  Of course, Canada hadn’t been invented yet, so it wasn’t called Canadian back bacon at the time.

Some of the maple syrup that leaked from the ships, froze into smallish disks on the ice and the locals would hit them with their hunting spears. The syrup ‘pucks’ would slide across the ice, giving birth to our greatest national pastime, hockey.  Others would eat the tasty frozen treat, which was delicious, but they had to be careful not to get hit with one of the spears.  This probably led to the hockey helmet being invented.

Hockey, another gift from our First Nations people, accidentally led to the expansion westward from Quebec City, when the natives and explores were playing hockey with frozen syrup on the St. Lawrence river.  One of the explorers got a breakaway, and because they hadn’t invented goalies or nets yet, skated all the way to what is now known as Kingston.

The explorers were so pleased and thankful for this discovery, that they decided to take all the land from the indigenous people, and throw a huge party for themselves.

Although this all happened in the middle of winter, the English and French settlers argued about when to hold this annual celebration.  The French wanted it in October, the time of year that they bamboozled the generous locals into giving up their bountiful harvest.  The English wanted it in the spring, because this is when the river thawed out, and they were able to paddle in-land and take over a significant part of the country.  Then, the English changed their minds, and decided November was a better time for this, since it’s when they officially pilfered the land.

For a long time, the celebration was held on different dates, until the English decided that they wanted a special day to mark the taking over of the country with a separate war-related holiday, thus giving in to the French.  As it turns out, this was the first (and maybe only) time that the French ever actually won anything.

In a weird twist of cultural irony, it is Quebec, our French-speaking province that does not view our modern Thanksgiving celebration as an official holiday.  This is because, when the rest of English Canada got on board with the October feast, Quebec immediately abandoned it, siting a need to be a distinct society.

The precursor to our Thanksgiving in October is another celebration brought over by the Germans, who oddly enough, had nothing to do with the take-over of this land.  Anyway, it was the October festival, known as ‘Oktoberfest’, celebrated in major cities, but primarily hosted in Kitchener, Ontario because of its large German population, that is considered one of our unofficial kick-offs to Thanksgiving.  I mean, what says ‘Let’s get this party started’ more than drinking too much beer while wearing leather shorts?

Today, our modern Thanksgiving is celebrated in a very similar fashion to that of our American cousins.  Families gather for the long weekend to dine, close the pools and cottages, rake leaves, and spend time together. They eat themselves into a tryptophan induced coma with turkey and ham, and all the usual fixings, like stale bread stuffed into the backside of a dead bird.  Sometimes, it defies explanation how these traditions came about.

Unlike our American counterparts, we may not have the big football game, or the official kick-off to the Christmas season, but we, in very Canadian style, reenact some of our unique history by watching English and French millionaire athletes chase a puck around the frozen pond. They don’t use syrup any more, and instead, in a back-handed, slightly racist tip of the hat to our First Nations people kind of way, use an ‘Indian rubber’ puck.

I can’t confirm that all of the historical points above are completely accurate – I slept through most of grade 9 Canadian History class.  I do know that I can’t wait to head up north where the air is crisp and clean, the leaves are blazing with colour, and we’ll give thanks for the awesome country we live in at a family cottage, while feasting on the above-mentioned turkey and stuffing.

Wherever or whenever, or even however you celebrate Thanksgiving, my wish to you is that you celebrate it with good friends and family, and that you take a moment to reflect not only on what you’re thankful for, but  who you’re thankful to.

Wishing all of you a happy and safe Canadian Thanksgiving, eh!

P.S. – for handy tips on how NOT to cook a turkey this Thanksgiving, see my Blog “Folklore, Flaming Turkeys and Family Traditions”   https://troypulchinski.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/folklore-flaming-turkeys-and-family-traditions/

P.P.S. – If you found this blog offensive, see my Blog, “The Perils Of Humor”  https://troypulchinski.wordpress.com/2013/08/01/the-perils-of-humor/

O Canada!

This Monday, July 1st, Canada will turn 146.  This blog is a list of all things Canada for all those who are Canadian and still suffer from an identity crisis, or those who are not Canadian, and want to know what Canadians are really like.

I’m dedicating this blog to our Canadian family living in the Seattle area, and doing a great job of integrating into their new surroundings. I’m sure the locals don’t suspect a thing!

This is being Canadian…

  • We do say ‘eh‘ a lot, but we think it’s more polite than ‘what?’, or ‘huh?
  • We don’t often say ‘No Doubt About It‘ (sounds like ‘nuh doot aboot it’ – it helps with the pronunciation if you purse your lips while saying it)
  • Almost none of us have even seen a real igloo let alone lived in one
  • We get really excited if ANY Canadian city, object, map, name, person, idea, sport, or anything else Canadian gets mentioned on a U.S. television show
  • No one has a pet polar bear – they eat people
  • Beavers and Canada Geese are annoying…really!
  • Maple syrup is not on every kitchen table
  • Celine Dion and Justin Bieber are our gift to the world…. please don’t return them
  • Plaid jackets and fur hats are not part of our wardrobe…at least not in the cities
  • Most of us don’t speak French…in fact most French Canadians don’t really speak French – they speak ‘Frenglish’
  • Poutine is not our national dish, but it should be
  • We spell neighbour and honour and colour with a ‘u’.  I don’t know why, and Microsoft Word hates it
  • We really don’t like it when we’re told our currency looks like Monopoly money
  • We’ll almost never pick a fight, but we’ll almost never back down from one either
  • Even though we have oceans on 3 of our 4 sides, the West Edmonton Mall has more submarines than our navy – don’t tell Russia
  • Canadians like their beer
  • Overall, we are very polite.  We even apologize when someone else bumps into us
  • We invented basketball and hockey, but our official national sport is lacrosse….I don’t know why
  • We eat chocolate bars and drink pop, not candy bars and soda
  • We don’t know ‘Dave’ from Vancouver
  • Most of us don’t understand what people from Newfoundland are saying, either
  • Universal health care is great, and it doesn’t make us communists
  • We interchange the Metric and Imperial systems because we’re still trying to figure out what the heck a deciliter is
  • William Shatner (Canadian) keeps getting cooler
  • We know that you’re not from here because you pronounce ‘Toronto‘ the way it’s spelt
  • There are only 8 people for every square mile of land (or 3.4 per square kilometer), but most of us are crammed into a tiny area around Lake Ontario
  • The Royal Canadian Mounted Police are almost never mounted
  • Tim Horton’s coffee is an obsession.  Get over it
  • We pronounce it ‘zed’ not ‘zee’

That’s being Canadian, from ‘eh’ to ‘zed’.  I hope you found this blog educational and insightful. I also apologize for anything in the aforementioned blog that may be found offensive or otherwise in poor taste and I in no way mean to slander either Ms. Dion or Mr. Bieber…or French Canadians….or beavers.  The comment on the geese stands.

Happy Birthday, Hoser! (we don’t really say that either…)

P.S. – my band ‘Barefoot’ will be playing a street party this Canada Day in Oshawa, and accepting food donations for a local food bank. It will be a free event.  If you’re in the area and want to drop by, let me know and I’ll give you the details.