My Trip Out West

A couple of months ago, I was thinking about the people we know living out west.  Lisa and Elana had just moved to Vancouver.  My friend Tony had been in Seattle for a few years, as had Phil and Morgan.  I thought it'd be nice to have a vacation out there and visit both cities and all those friends.  Then, a few days later, my boss told me about the American Meteorological Society conference in Seattle and that we ought to go, and that was that.

One thing for sure, I didn't want to fly directly to Seattle because I didn't want to expose myself to the TSA's abusive practices.  My plan was to fly to Vancouver on Friday, hang out with Lisa and Elana over the weekend, and then take the train down to Seattle.  Unfortunately on Thursday afternoon I got a call that Lisa's mother was about to pass away, and that they had to hurry back to Toronto.

I was able to reschedule my flight to Sunday morning--early Sunday morning.

The view from my first flight on the trip.

But that also meant I would do all the traveling--from St. John's to Vancouver then down to Seattle--in one day, 22 hours of straight travel.  Several things made the trip easier, though.  I made the trip across the continent in only two flights.  I had exit-row or bulkhead seats for all of my flights.  And on the plane, I was able to watch most of the NFC championship game.  It was a long day, but it could have been worse.

In Seattle, I only had one chance to get together with Phil.  Unfortunately on that day, he injured his eye pruning some grape vines.  (What a wino!)  So we weren't able to get together.

I wasn't able to get together with Morgan either; she was sick that week.  When I told her where I was staying, she said my hotel was right in her neighborhood.  I thought it might have been a few blocks to a few miles from her place.  No, when I stepped out of the hotel and looked to my right, hers was the first building I saw.  I walked by it several times a day, yet strangely we didn't get together.  Ah well.

I was able to get together with Tony, though.

Tony, after I said, "Smile."

On Tuesday, he took me to a bar with 100+ beers on tap.  Then Thursday night, we went to the Science Fiction Museum, where they had a Battlestar Galactica exhibit.  You can see my slide show of the exhibit here.

The Sci Fi Museum's exhibit of the Tree of Life from Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain, a film I highly recommend.

After the museum, we did some old-school bar hopping in a cool Seattle neighborhood whose name escapes me due to the old-school bar hopping.  We had a great visit.

In Seattle, a single of Bailey's in a regular tumbler.

(Let me now point out how impressed I was by the generosity of the Seattle bartenders.  Having grown accustomed to Canadian pours, I ordered a double whiskey; I got a full tumbler of booze.  Canucks, I love ya, but this is one area the Americans have over you.)

The view from the train.

As I've documented, the next morning did not go well, yet that had little to do with the night before.  Fortunately, Elana was able to pick me up at the train station.  Sadly, Lisa's mother did pass away that week, and she'd stayed in Toronto to attend to family business.  Elana and I had a great visit, though, and it did involve alcohol.  It also involved an early flight the next morning as well.

BLOG FLASHBACK:  Previously on UITGWN, I described how the circumstances precipitating my marrying Nicole had involved a trip to Vancouver and Seattle.  While in Vancouver, Nicole and I had brunched in Havana, a cool restaurant.  So when Elana and I were bar-hopping in her cool neighborhood, I was shocked to see and recognize the place, which I'd all but forgotten.  "I've eaten there," I said, which surprised her because she'd just learned about the place.  At the end of the evening, I dragged her there for dessert, which means she watched me eat creme brulee' as we each had one last white Russian.

Havana.

After the border incident on my trip with Nicole, I had returned to Seattle without her and went to a neighborhood bar to drink my sorrows away.  The next morning, I woke up late, still a little drunk, and had to speed through the Seattle rain to return my rental car and make my flight.  Last week as I walked to the Sci Fi Museum, I walked past the place, the 5 Point Bar.

5 Point, a friendly bar worth photographing but not worth crossing the street for.

It was odd to have this trip out west echoing that momentous trip from several years ago.  END FLASHBACK


So on this trip, I saw 40% of the friends I'd planned on.  That's less than I'd hoped, but I enjoyed all my time with them.  I noticed, too, how booze figured prominently in this blog entry.  That's telling me something . . . my friends like to drink too much.


Now I will leave you with a slideshow of the winter wonderland that's befallen St. John's.  Click here.

A Great Time in Toronto

So after visiting Nicole's parents in Midland, we went down to Toronto for a few days.  While living in the city was a bit of a grind, we had a great time, simply hanging out there and visiting friends.

First we went to our favorite Toronto bar, the Communist's Daughter, to hang out with our favorite bartender, Michael Louis Johnson.

The Communist's Daughter, which was once Narare' Snack Bar

There, as always, we got into an interesting discussion, during which I met a visiting journalist Michael DiGregorio.  DiGregorio was there to write about the death of a local bicyclist and cycling in the city in general, a subject near and dear to my heart.  So we had a fascinating conversation.  He told me about a recent documentary, Scapper, he did which I'd also love to see.  Here's the trailer for it.


The next day, Nicole and I bounced around Queen Street West during the day and saw "Fair Game" at the Bloor that night.

On our last day in Toronto, we were able visit with several of our friends--John and Ann, Derek and Linda--as we had a delicious meal at le Papillion.  Linda's brother, Jed, was there, and later our friend Michelle joined us at Derek's house.  Here's a typical segment of our goings-on there:


As is always the case with such visits, we didn't get to see everyone we would have liked.  So if we missed you, we hope to catch you next time.  And we found that, refreshingly, Toronto is a much easier city to visit than it is to live in. 

This time off has been good; contrary to my intentions, I haven't touched my worked since Christmas Eve.  But tomorrow, I go back to work, and I'm looking forward to it.

Merry Boxing Day, a Better New Year, and Belated Christmas

The Georgian Bay at Midland, Ontario.

Like last year, Nicole and I are spending Christmas at her parents' place in Midland.  Her mother lives to cook, so you can't go wrong.  It's been a relaxing, enjoyable time.

Unfortunately though, this is as close as I'm going to get to sending a Christmas card.  This year I just had too many papers to push; Christmas cards simply weren't . . . in the cards.  But I hope all of you had a good one.

For me this is the first time I've taken any time off since I started my job, time that is needed.  Since starting, I've unleashed my inner workaholic, often working through weekends and holidays.  It's also good to be in Ontario.  Sure, Ontario is colder staying just below freezing, while St. John's has had an atypical winter often as warm as 8 degrees Celsius.  Nevertheless, the weather is better in Ontario, as St. John's has been hit with two solid weeks of driving rain.  (By "solid" I mean 196 uninterrupted hours of.)

On Monday, we're going down to Toronto to hang out and visit friends.

Visitor #2 and other events

This week I had the pleasure of my second visitor to Newfoundland, Dr. Sukanta Basu.

Sukanta was my favorite professor during the Wind Energy program at Texas Tech.  I had some good teachers at Texas Tech and one not so good one, but it's no understatement to say Sukanta's training made an enormous difference in my program.  This week he came to St. John's, because my company hired him as a consultant, training me and a co-worker further and advising us on our wind forecasting project.  We worked really hard but also got to hang out and get to know each other better.  So it was a great experience.

The view from my front porch.

This week we got hit with our first snow that hung around for any length of time.  The onset of heavy snow has been a concern, because I need to get the Firebird in storage beforehand.  Of course, I needed to get it registered here before that.  So that meant a lengthy, tedious process of importing, getting inspections and insurance, and finally getting both cars registered.  Friday, at long last, I put the Newfie plates on my cars.  I'm now done with lionshare of bullshit regarding car ownership.

Tomorrow I'm off to Montreal for even more training with Environment Canada.  I'm looking forward to gaining even more skills, and I'm looking forward to spending time in the city.  It should be great.

Seasons

This week my maternal grandmother, Mary Alice McCormick, passed away.   She was 86, had been in decline for a year, and went peacefully in her sleep with my mother and uncle beside her.

4 Generations:  Mary Alice, my mother Kathy, my sister Anna, and my niece Grace.

As I think about her life, I realize how I've seen her differently at different phases of my life.  As a child, she was, naturally, revered.  Now I realize how my tee-totaling, Southern-Baptist parents projected their values on to my perception of my grandparents; as a child, I assumed they were "good" Baptists, too.  Only later, did I realize that all of my grandparents, like most from south Louisiana, liked to drink; Maw Maw was also into ballroom dancing.  As a teenager, Maw Maw was a familial novelty.  And as an adult, I started to know her as an adult, and that's when the trouble started.

Maw Maw had a difficult personality.  She would frequently foist unwanted and unnecessary advice on you and do so in less than diplomatic terms.  She was often an argument waiting to happen, and as an adult, that turned me off.  Over time, though, I gained some insight into some of the psychological dynamics behind the behavior I didn't like.  And right now, I'm less inclined to think about some of the things that she said and more about some of the things she did.  Though she never had much (She married my good-for-nothing grandfather.), she was reliably generous and hospitable.  She loved books, and she was a good storyteller.  She will be missed.

The delicious pecan pie Nicole made for Thanksgiving.

It was Thanksgiving in the U.S.  In Canada, that occurs in early October.  Nevertheless, Nicole prepared a traditional tofurky feast, and afterward we watched the Saints almost give a game away to the Dallas Cowboys.  I was telling a co-worker that I prefer the U.S.'s Thanksgiving to Canada's.  There the end-of-year holidays begin with the light and fun Halloween.  A month later, the holidays escalate with Thanksgiving.  A month later, the holidays crescendo with Christmas, followed by a coda at New Year's.  Of course in New Orleans, there's Twelfth Night, too.  I thoroughly enjoyed the Thanksgiving here, and when I brought my co-workers half of Nicole's pecan pie, they enjoyed it, too.

The Move

As I've stated, I felt bad that I couldn't help Nicole with the move out of Toronto.  So she and her 70+-year-old parents were left to load up a 14-foot U-Haul truck on their own.  (On the other hand, I told Nicole to hire movers, but she said was too busy to get around to it.  I say she was too busy not to.)  Some twelve exhausting hours later, they got the truck loaded.  Or so I thought.

When I called her around ten the next morning to see how their drive was going, they were still loading things.  But by about 10:30, they did depart.  Unfortunately, somewhere near the Ontario-Quebec border, a trucker dozed off and rammed his truck into a bridge over the main highway.  The trucker was unhurt, but his truck exploded.  More to the point, traffic was stopped for hours.  Nicole and her parents ended up stranded in a truckstop, whereupon learning the cause of the hold-up, Nicole proceeded to mock the incompetence of the said driver (in a truckstop).  They didn't make it to Montreal as they'd planned. 

Meanwhile, as I stated, Newfoundland was shit-hammered by Hurricane Igor.  No it does not compare to Hurricane Katrina.  But it was serious.  One man was killed.  Lots of homes were flooded, and more roads were washed out.  I was without power for two days.  And I also got my first direct exposure to hurricane-force winds, learning firsthand of the phenomenon "stinging rain."  As I told my co-workers, "In Louisiana, we stay home when a hurricane hits."

But the effects of Igor weren't done with us.  When Nicole and her parents arrived at North Sydney, Nova Scotia, they found the ferry--the last of the season that goes directly to St. John's--getting filled with military personnel and their heavy equipment.  They were going to assist with the post-hurricane clean-up, and it was looking like, because of that, our U-Haul wouldn't make it on.  Fortunately, Nicole's mother, Maria, was on the scene.  She's a little, septuagenarian with a thick German accent, and when she sets her mind to something, it's hard to say "no" to her.  She spoke to three different ferry personnel before getting assured the U-Haul would be included.

The ferry ride was 16 hours.  Fortunately, Nicole and her parents had their own cabin.  But the cats were left in the cabin of the cars.  And it freaked them out pretty good.  Ella spent the whole trip under the passenger's seat.

Fortunately, though, they arrived Saturday afternoon.  And the next day, we unloaded the U-Haul.  That is, I hired movers.  Best $169 I ever spent.

Things to do

Next week, Nicole and her parents (and our cats) begin their trek from Toronto to St. John's.  They leave Tuesday and will arrive Saturday morning.

 It goes without saying that Nicole has had a lot to do.  (Yet I say it anyway.)  I feel bad that I can't help her with it, and I feel glad that I don't have to.  But while I may have escaped the hassle of moving out, I cannot escape the hassle of moving in, starting a new job, moving to a new city, and immigrating to a new country.  The pile of tedious phone calls and documents seems endless.

I realize that few enjoy fumbling with the minutiae of modern life, but I honestly dread it.  Sure I get it done, but the whole time I'm, say, interacting with an automated phone system to, say, set up my internet, I've got a script rolling in the back of my head--Why in the hell am I wasting my brain power on this?  Such experiences have revealed something about myself--I like ideas, thinking about "the big picture," but I don't like dealing with all the details that go into that big picture.

Bart's photo of Friends of Lafitte Corridor, on an annual hike of the route.

Here's an example.  Years ago, I was walking with my friend Bart when we crossed a dead railroad bed, and I said that someone ought to make it a bike trail.  That happened one or two more times, before Bart started a group, Friends of Lafitte Corridor.  To make a very long story short, this group became the impetus for making this trail a reality.  That is, after a lot of work by Bart and other volunteers, New Orleans' City Hall signed a contract with a design firm; the bike trail/park is going to happen, marking a major improvement in New Orleans' infrastructure.  Bart has credited me with the idea, and I appreciate that.  But the truth is I didn't do, nor would have done, dick-all to make that happen.  I had a big idea but no patience for the details.

I can't wait for Nicole and our kittens to arrive.  As we begin our lives in this new city, I should invest myself more in the details of some of my ideas.

Canadian Milestones

This week, I've passed several milestones for life in Canada.

I've had my first visitor to St. John's.  (I know--that was fast.)  Elana had actually planned the trip before I got the job here.  (So she's staying in a hotel and not sharing the inflatable mattress with me.)  Circumstances provided a fortuitous bit of company and a good excuse to go out and drink more.  I also got my first taste of local music, a pretty good local band Quiet Elephant.  I'm glad I got to see Elana again.  She and her wife, Lisa, have been among the best friends Nicole and I have made in Toronto.

Second, I got my Ontario Health Plan card.

Me, post-sex & name changes.

That's right!  The horror of socialized medicine is upon me.  Oh, and the death panel--THE DEATH PANEL!  I felt like Charlton Heston in "The Planet of the Apes," stripped down and made to stand before that board of bureaucratic baboons.  They only gave me two years to live!  And I said, "Well hell, why bother with this fucking job, then?"  Oh, Auntie Sarah Palin, why didn't I listen to you?

Ahem, so this is where I point out that, based on everything I observed over 2+ years, there's no perceptible difference between the quality of treatment you receive in Canada vs. the US.  Are there waits?  Sometimes, but no different  than those you'd find in the US.  If you need immediate care, you go to a walk-in clinic or emergency room, just as you would in the US.  The big difference is that, here, there's no bill waiting for you.

I know, I know, that bill is in the higher taxes, right?  Because everyone knows in Canada they take half of your salary in taxes, yes?  Well, I just got my first paycheck in Canada, and its deductions for taxes looked no different than what I'd experienced in the US for comparable pay. 

It's almost like someone lied to us, so thoroughly flooding public discourse with misinformation that the misinformation becomes the default public perception, even when the perception bears no semblance to reality.  Why would anyone do such a thing?  I can't imagine.

It's back, baby!

With this new chapter in my life, I'm reviving this blog, "Up in the Great White North."  Perhaps that's because, having moved to St. John's, Newfoundland, I feel like I'm much more "up in" the great white North.  To me, St. John's is a more exotic location than Toronto as well, one that prompts reflection.

Downtown St. John's

 Generally, I feel great about where I am right now.  St. John's is the oldest English-speaking city in North America, a charming port city overlooking the Atlantic.  It's got a lot to offer in terms night life, theater, and music, and once Nicole arrives here, I look forward to it exploring it with her.  It's also got a small geographical footprint making it very walkable and bike-able, and the people here are friendly.  I'll have more to say about it throughout the course of this blog.  Nicole and I would welcome any visitors here.

Water Street in downtown.

I also like my new job.  The work is challenging, but such aspirations only hone my skills.  And I get along great with my co-workers.  It's a great environment.

The trip here was interesting, too.  It took me through Quebec and the Atlantic provinces, on to an 8-hour overnight ferry ride.  I was warned that north of Quebec City no one speaks English.  Naturally, it was well north of the city that my car gave me trouble.   And when the CAA truck pulled up, the first thing the driver said was, "I don't speak English.  Do you speak French?"  I had to shake my head.  But he helped me get the car started to my great relief, and I happily gave him a $10 tip.  (Contrary to a lot rumors, I found the Quebecois pretty friendly.)  Once I landed on Newfoundland, I immediately saw a moose.  (In Newfoundland, moose out number people and are involved in a lot of serious car accidents.)  Fortunately, it was beside the road and not looming over it.

And now, I must reflect on my car which got me here.  Arriving here in St. John's, the Firebird has completed a 3,300 mile trip from New Orleans.  The car's 42 years old.  It's got an engine that's quite historic and rare, only manufactured for two years.  That is, it was only manufactured for two years because back in the day the engine was a mechanical disaster, "the Temple of Doom" my mechanic called it.  But Eddie, that same mechanic, re-built the engine and clearly did a hell of a job.  And despite the rat-a-tat-tat of its overhead cam, it runs like a top.  I'd like to call Eddie and tell him how far his work has taken me, but sadly his excellent shop didn't survive Katrina.  Also, this 42 year old muscle car gets 20 miles per gallon on the highway!  There are far too many modern cars that can't match that.  So here's to Eddie and Francis who took such good care of my sweet ride!

Anniversary

Today's the first anniversary of our house fire. I think about where the time went and what's changed.

For me, the most painful thing about the house fire was the death of my cat, Oleanna. I'd had her for 14 years, my first pet I'd gotten on my own, and a companion through every significant phase of my adulthood. She was a smart, funny, loving cat. In a strange way, I feel some guilt about having moved on without her.

So where has the year gone? I realize now it can be divided into three phases. First, the insurance post-mortem from June to October. Second, our period in Oakville, Ontario from October to Februrary. Our period in Toronto from February to the present. Each phase was four months, strange.

What do I have to show for the year? Insurance money and much, though not all, of my belongings replaced. Life in a (slightly) different country.

The most significant accomplishment was writing my screenplay Alien Harvest, and by a fluke of timing, yesterday I mailed that script to Ridley Scott's assistant. I realize the odds aren't good, but at the risk of indulging in some writerly jargon, I feel like I owe it to the characters to give them a chance.

I've gotten some really positive feedback from the three people who've read the script--Nicole, Bart, and my friend here John O'Neill. None of them (not even Nicole) dole out compliments insincerely, which I appreciate. Two of them said one of the best things a writer can hope to hear--Once I started reading, I couldn't put it down. (I've gotten some very helpful suggestions, too.) So I'm hoping that Ridley Scott's assistant is curious enough to pick it up and just read the first few pages.

Also, yesterday, my attorney filed suit against the company whose product started the fire. We've all heard of the elderly woman made a millionaire because she spilled McDonald's coffee. So what sum do you think you could pursue from a company whose product burned your house down, killed your cats, and put your life in a tailspin? Well, not much, no where close to what that woman got. Part of that has to due with the conservative judges appointed in New Orleans, yet another way the Bush administration is fucking me over.

I don't want to end on that negative note. So I'll say that I feel like my life is moving in a positive direction. I don't know the external destination, but inside the trip feels OK with the possibility of improving.

Ramblings about New Orleans

Now that I'm in Toronto, I'm reminded of another experience I had when I left New Orleans for another city, Phoenix. As I've written, I do miss New Orleans; I know what that means. But I've been thinking what specifically I miss.

I've read that New Orleans is one of America's three legendary cities; such legend and all the feelings that surround it are a big part of what's missing in my experience in other cities. It gave me the sense that I was part of something much larger and deeper. By way of contrast, when I look at Toronto or Phoenix, I had the strong feeling that everyone was there simply to be a consumer, a pretty empty prescription for life. (Though, I've just begun to learn about Toronto.) Perhaps coincidentally, Phoenix and Toronto have god-awful traffic, a system that puts one in an adversarial relationship with everyone around them, not great for a sense of community. Such living calls to mind the words of Tyler Durden: "Advertisement has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate, so we can buy shit we don't need."

One of the aspects of life in New Orleans gets touched upon every time we call it "the Big Easy." What does that mean exactly? For me, it means that a considerable part of the city's culture lives in rejection to the terms of global capitalism. In New Orleans, there's the sense that there's more to life than being a cog in a coporate wheel, making as much money as you can for someone else. So many people have a do-it-yourself spirit and a sense of community, investing their lives in causes and projects, rather than just buy and spend. Though, to the outside world, that's a liability. After Katrina, we frequently heard how the city was a poor one. That referred to many of its citizens but also to the corporate wealth within the city. In many ways, New Orleans could be ahead of the times, a model for a post-corporate world if we ever get there (and we need to).

If there's a danger in having a legend it's that it could can keep you looking back and not forward. I think that happened before the storm. Likewise, the city government is an absymal failure. New Orleans may not be the wealthiest city, but nothing excuses the gross incompetence of its administration. Since the storm, people have gotten much more politically active. I hope that start to bring some accountability to the city's government.

What's Going On?

Yesterday, after I posted about BSG, I looked over my recent postings and thouht it was kind of pathetic. All of my recent posts have largely been about the media, with embedded clips. There hasn't been a lot of writing about what's going on with me. THAT ALL CHANGES TODAY!

So what's been going on? Not much.

OK, that's not good writing. Honestly, I find myself really bored, which might explain why I consume so much media and post about it. Since I arrived in Canada, I'd looked forward to exploring Toronto. But the weather really inhibitied that. Sunday I found out this winter we were 8 inches (i.e., not much at all) from breaking the record for all-time snow fall. With that kind of weather, you really don't even feel like leaving the house, so I did so as little as possible. Last week, it rained continuously for two days--high's in the low 40's, continuous rain; I'd just as soon take the 8 inches of snow. This week looks like the first to offer some decent weather--still cold, but at least sunny.

Something else has restricted my exploration of the city--the cost of getting around. I do live in the city, but in a neighborhood a bit more family oriented than I'd like. I'd compare it to the Carrollton area near S. Claiborne. Public transit is good and readily available, but it's pretty darn expensive--$2.75, $2.25 if you buy tokens in advance. Compare that to $2 in New York (which is a vastly better system), and $1.25 in New Orleans and that cost starts to add up. All of the city is set up so there's practically no where you can park without paying about $4 for it. The parking meters here are expensive, run until 9 pm, and are rigorously enforced. Having to shell out $4-5 every time you go somewhere gets old. This week, I've got to get a bike.

I have found some gems, though. Actually, Nicole found them. The Cameron House is a great neighborhood bar (another neighborhood) not falling into one of the two types of bars commonly found in Toronto, a pub or some swank, mod club. It's got a creative flare and interesting history. Essentially, it feels like a bar in New Orleans. Sunday night I was there at the bar, waiting for the band, Kevin Quain and the Mad Bastards, to start. I overheard the bartender talking to someone who'd just arrived. The guy said how much he liked the bar, and the bartender said, "Yeah, it's got this kind of New Orleans feel to it." I said, "I'm from New Orleans, and I think you're right, which is why I like it." Then, as always happens, the guy had a lot of questions about what's going on in New Orleans.

The band that night is a good instance of local music. I first heard them when Nicole and I took Megan's neighbor, Matt Ennis, there. The show was really great. Good music, great song writing, and a vibe I would compare to Tom Waits, though not at all derivative. Here's a video, though it doesn't do the grouop justice:



Otherwise, I'm busier than one might think about someone who doesn't have a job. Replacing practically everything you had takes time, and I hate to shop. And then there's a seemingly unending pile of bureaucratic hurdles to jump over. The latest, of course, were my taxes, which were extremely complicated, especially for someone who doesn't have a job. A bit of advice to those who own a double. If you ever imagine selling it two years in advance, you should set up residency in the other side of the double. When you report the sale of the property, any income made on that property won't be considered income from a business.

Why I live in Canada

This American Life's most recent episode, "The Audacity of Government," gives a good rundown of some of the reasons why I wanted to live in Canada. One of the acts describe a situation that could be directly applicable to Nicole and me. I post about it because I think everyone needs to know what their government is up to and how much their government has changed under this administration. It also illustrates why I hold so much animus for this administration.

This isn't funny

Today it has snowed all day. Two days ago I awoke to find the city had been dusted with fresh snow. When I was in New Orleans, Nicole told me the city was hit with a major snow storm. This shit is getting old!

For the past few weeks, it's gradually been warming, snow has been melting. But this shit sucks. I'm not kidding. Make it stop.

Live from Toronto

Last night, Nicole and I spent our first night in the city. Today I actually used the subway as a means of transportation. If you don't hear from me, it's because we're a bit wiped and are still getting the place in order.

Ash Primary

With the presidential primaries as tight as ever, it looks like it's good that Louisiana's primary is all by itself this Saturday. I hope that it affords the state some much-needed attention from the Presidential candidates.

Get out and vote y'all (for Obama).

I had two ways to vote: through an absentee ballot from Louisiana or through Democrats Abroad. I received an absentee ballot, but went with Democrats abroad just because I'd have to return the absentee ballot by Friday, which would be a hassle. The Democratic party affords 11 delegates to all Democrats living abroad, and they offer two ways to vote in that primary. Vote on-line or in person. Last night, I voted in person. The polling center was a pub, and it was packed. All the TV's were on the election returns, not hockey. I'm glad I voted. But Nicole was really turned on by it. After I voted, I said "That's the way we do it. No pledge to the queen, no nothing!"

The Inner Ring of Moving

Yesterday was our first day with our new place, and we've both been looking forward to getting there. As I've said, we're ready to establish ourselves in the big city, and we're tired of staying in the home of Nicole's parents. We're ready for our own place. Still, it will take a week or so, before we're ready to take occupancy. Furniture has to be delivered and whatnot. Yesterday, we were just trying to drop off a few of our posessions.

But there was a serious winter storm yesterday. The library was closed. Other places were closed. When I got back from the coffeehouse, I said we shouldn't go, but Nicole said we would be OK if we took surface streets. Not being from here and not having heard a weather report, I deferred to her.

Once on the road, I tuned in the CBC to find news reports about the storm. Over 200 traffic accidents in the city that day. We saw several flashing ambulances out and about. This was no day to be on the road.

An hour and a half later, we arrived only to find the prior tenant had not moved out. He was in the process of moving out. Forunately, Nicole stayed in the van, and I talked to the landlord and the tenant. I told the landlord that the tenant would need to pay for the day's rent, which he did. They offered to let us drop off our stuff, but fortunately, I had the good sense to decline. Undoubtedly, his hired movers would have loaded our stuff into their truck and taken off with it.

I say it's good that Nicole stayed in the van, because once I returned and explained the situation, she was really upset. Very upset. I think our moving into our own nice place represents the first tangible step in moving past the difficulties of the last year. She was looking forward to moving; she's done most of the work to get us ready. At the very least, she was upset that the landlord hadn't called to tell us the situation.

I found myself in the strange position of consoling her after spending the latter part of the drive irritated that we'd come out in the first place. Upon further consideration, I began to understand why our landlord hadn't called and other things that were said at the apartment. I mean, the landlord should have called us, but I beieve I understand why she didn't. Two hours later, we returned to Oakville, four hours I'll never get back. I told Nicole in the future we'll laugh about this, but she wasn't laughing. Neither was I.

In his Divine Comedy, Dante portrayed the inner ring of hell as a freezing place. I'm here to tell you he was correct.

Jokeville

To elaborate on my last post . . .

When Nicole and I started dating, she refered to her hometown as "Jokeville." When I first visited, I didn't understand. It's got a charming downtown with nice restaurants, coffeehouses, bars, and public library, seemingly the foundation a pleasant civic life. But having lived here a while, I get it.

Oakville is a nice town, once distinct from the greater Toronto area. Historically, it was once an end point in the Underground Railroad, as escaping slaves were smuggled to a local church in coffins. But now it's a suburb where Canadian yuppies go to raise kids or retire. In short, it's got no soul. None.

What I find really surprising is my absolute lack of desire to go to the nice restaurants or bars just blocks away from me. It's really illuminated my experience in New Orleans. That is, in New Orleans, I loved going to bars and restaurants in large part, because in doing so, I was connecting to something, the city's rich culture. It was a point of pride for me that, prior to leaving, when I walked in the Balcony Bar I was invariably greeted by several people who knew me by name.

I realize Toronto's culture will not be as rich as New Orleans', but I'm hoping there will be something there I want to be a part of.

Bored

Last night, I said to Nicole, "So is this what winter's like?" She said yes.

I was talking about being bored, which I am. The cold really inhibits outdoor activity. Besides, there's not much in Oakville I want to do anyway. Really nothing. Toronto is too far to go there with any regularity, too. So, as I said, I'm bored.

Ironically, being bored means having too much time on your hands, yet I neglect things I should keep up with like this blog. I'm counting on this boredom lifting once we've moved to Toronto in two weeks. It's got to! Meanwhile, I continue neglecting things like haircuts and shaving. Click here to see a recent picture of me.

Boxing Day = Lumps of coal

In Canada, the day after Christmas is Boxing Day. I've got no idea what that means to Canadians, but for me, it means an opportunity to dole out lumps of coal via my blog.

So who gets the coal? You'll recall some time ago, I posted a request that you post a comment to the blog, even if you just said "hi." Those of you who haven't honored my request know who you are and, now, so will everyone else. Please take this in the spirit it is intended--ABSOLUTE RAGE!

A lump of coal to:

Michelle Gremillion--Michelle works in a public library; clearly she has no opportunity to comment on my blog.
Michael Merino
Alison Neustrom
Vanessa Murphree--Vanessa is a professor of communications, so blogs may be beneath her.
Dr. Matt--After Katrina, I dabbled with a cellphone, upon which Matt chided, "Welcome to modernity." Modernity? Have you ever tried to get an email from this guy? If you want to contact him over the web, you'd better be in an on-line poker room.
Denice Bizot
Todd Michney--He should split his lump with Laura. I assumed significant others would tell the other about the blog.

Half a lump to:

Anna Maria--Anna Maria did email me about the blog which was nice, though she could have just as well posted her comments on the blog.
Bruce Owen--Same thing as Anna Maria.

A free pass to:

Angelle--Angelle also emailed me about the blog but explained she couldn't post, because her work computer prevented her.

I'd like to thank Bart for suggesting calling out these people. (And, OK, I'm not really filled with rage. Well, maybe a little, but not about commenting on this blog.)