I have a theory.
Okay, I have a lot of theories, and I try the patience of my long-suffering friends by expounding on them, often over whiskey (neat), sometimes while one or another of those long-suffering friends keeps me from plunging sideways into a bonfire or through a coffee table. Even when generously marinated in Ireland’s finest, I exhibit perspicacity and blarney than amuses more often than it angers. At least, that’s how I choose to remember it in the clear light of day. It is the only explanation for my continued rescue from the fate that awaits those who are unrestrained in both consumption of whiskey and expression of half-baked opinions, though perhaps I should give more credit to the kind natures and loving hearts of my friends.
But this is one pet theory I’ve cherished for almost a decade, and I think it’s ready for the slightly more public forum of the world wide web. I’m not sure the world - and, in particular, Canadians - are ready for this; it’s controversial, it’s going to inflame strong opinions and, no doubt, passionate debate. So, before I go on, I implore you to keep it civil in the comments.
My friends in the United States may not be aware of this, but in Canada, ‘north’ is a place the is completely subject to interpretation. To some people, mostly Torontonians, I live in the north, even though I’m actually more eastish in relation to them. To me, Sudbury and North Bay is the real, no-foolin’ north (it even says so in the name), and Thunder Bay has true northiness. But what I rarely stop to consider (and I think my southern Ontario neighbours are with me on this one), is that most of Canada is north of all of the places I’ve named, and that actually none of them are even north of the 49th parallel. Kapuskasing mocks the northiness of Thunder Bay, and Nunvavut sits secure in the knowledge of being the northest of us all.
So, to simplify; people think we’re all north in Canada, we think we’re all north, and everyone north of each of us thinks everyone south of them is the southiest. Add to that the idea that being a southern Canadian is like having cooties forever, and then being a southern Ontarian is like cooties to the power of infinity. We’re lame. We’re not aware of how lame we are, but everyone else in Canada knows it like they know where you get a double-double and where you buy a two-four. Read the rest of this entry »
I had a number of very bad, stressful Christmases a few years ago; school, money, relationships, friends, family issues, everything kind-of just piled on while I was in university, and I couldn’t seem to work my way out from under it to recapture the loveliness, the excitement, the sparkle that I used to always be able to access despite the inevitable garbage. I was certainly snarky at Christmas’ expense during those years; I felt like it was a season that ought to be awesome, but whose loveliness was ruined by passive-aggressive guilt, personal tragedy, greed and people-related misery. I’d consider moving to another country to avoid it all, or getting drunk around mid-December and staying well-and-truly blitzed until January 5 or so. These options seemed pretty reasonable.
