Tired

Lately, I've been tired.  I don't mean for the past two or three days.  I mean for the past two or three weeks.  I get 7-8 hours' sleep, and I'm going to bed earlier and earlier.  Yet when I'm not working, I'm existing from one nap to the next.  I've also been having some vivid, odd dreams.  Last night I dreamt I was driving across the American southwest, when I ran into my friend Angelle Arata in New Mexico.  (Back when I went to Arizona State, I made that trip on several occasions.  I've got no idea how Angelle got in there.)  I've also been craving beer, though I haven't been drinking a lot, typically 1-3 each night.  While I've always liked beer, usually after the first, I'm moving on to the whiskey.  My tiredness and my beer craving seem related, but I don't know how.

(Also, Nicole has told me that on several occasions she's woken in the middle of the night and looked over at me, only to find our cat Ella sitting on my chest and just staring down at my unconscious face.  I've wondered if she's psychically tapping into my weird dreams.)



I think what's going on is . . . With our new life here in St. John's, we've arrived in a more stable, happy place, and I feel like my body's trying to catch up on all the stress it's carried over the past few years.  The same thing happened right after I got off active duty.  I was thrilled to be done with the Army, but suddenly my body had all these stress-related symptoms.  Later, I realized my body was pushing down the stress when I was on active duty until it could let down.

One thing about being this tired is that we've missed some things.  There was a women's film festival.  I'd wanted to go but missed it.  Every year here they have a big Halloween/Mardi Gras celebration on George Street.  (I know, they've conflated Halloween and Mardi Gras due to the costumes.  Actually, today I explained to a local that Mardi Gras is the day before Ash Wednesday.)  We missed both.  Ah well.

One of the things I've missed is my St. John's slide show.  It's coming, people!  But here are some tidbits about Newfoundland.  Though St. John's is very old, Newfoundland is the last territory to join Canada, in 1949.  It had been a British territory, and there was serious talk about its joining the US.  But Newfoundland isn't a province by itself.  For some reason it's grafted on to Labrador.  Labrador is about the size of Arizona, but has about 50,000 people living there.  It's total wilderness.  So the province is actually "Newfoundland and Labrador."

I know there's been some talk about my recent post, announcing my marriage to Nicole.  So I'd like to share this video with you.  Obviously, it's not of Nicole and me, but I was struck by the eerie similarities between the video and how I proposed to Nicole.

Catch All

I've been really busy at work these last two weeks, though I'm glad to have a productive task to give myself to.  I've been expanding the capabilities of an existing computer program, which is a living example of every bad programming practice.  At one point, I needed a break and went to see "The Social Network" about the founding of facebook and got to watch the fictionalized Mark Zuckerberg programming away.  I identified with him completely.  Though of course by the end of the movie, he ends up a billionaire, and I am not one.   Though I do have more friends than he did at the end of the movie (none).  So I'd say I'm richer than he is.  (And yes, that means you can expect me to ask you for a loan soon.)  Nevertheless like Zuckerberg, I've neglected other aspects of my life (including this blog), and I've got to correct that.

I'd intended to offer a slide show of St. John's, but that's not going to happen tonight.  When asked what St. John's is like, I have to say "Ireland."  And I say that without having spent one second in Ireland.  But from what I've seen they're quite similar--green rolling hills over rocky terrain jutting out into the Atlantic.  St. John's is actually closer to Ireland  than it is to New Orleans.  But I guess the clincher is that the local accent is a real, full-on brogue.  (It is not the Canadian accent, eh.)  I'm constantly asked about my accent, and I think My accent?!  Have you listened to yourself?

Just the other evening, I was leaving a grocery store when a local guy ask me for money.  I gave him some change, and he asked if I had time for a joke.  Sure.  An old man . . . and after that he lost me.  His voice became just a low, ripple of rolly's, lolly's, holly's. So as I stood there, looking at him, I wondered how his face got so damn freckled this far north, and then I realized--out on the sea, fishing.  About that time, he reached the punchline.  I knew because he showed me his god-awful teeth in a big grin.  I gave him a convincing laugh and a nod and went on my way.

We're married!

Most of you know that Nicole and I got married.  Though there's some of you who don't, but now you do.  However, many of you don't know that this November we'll celebrate our fourth anniversary.

So here's the story.  Way back in 2006, in the post-Katrina summer, Nicole and I went on our first date to hear Kermit Ruffins at Vaughn's.  (If you've been watching the Treme, you're familiar with the act.  Actually, Kermit and his music figure prominently in this video.)

I found aspects of post-Katrina New Orleans rather romantic; things were starting over and just being there felt like an act of defiance.  I likened it to living in post-WWII Paris.  So naturally, we fell in love.

Our relationship was going great, when we decided to take a vacation to Vancouver in November.  But then,  Nicole wasn't allowed back in the US, because her papers weren't in order.  A week later, she was given a visa solely for the purpose of getting her van and belongings back into Canada.  The visa would expire in a matter of days, and then she'd have to remain in Canada indefinitely.

Well at that point, I'd had five straight months of her hot lovin'.  There was no way in hell I was letting my Canuck cookie out of my clutches.  So the next day, we went to the Gretna courthouse, eloped, and told Immigration to suck it.

So why'd it take so long for you to hear about it?  Well, at first, it was our secret, which made it all the more romantic.  We hadn't been together that long, and while we definitely wanted to continue our relationship, we weren't ready to publicly wear the "married couple" label.  Then after that, of course, we had the house fire and were completely distracted by that.  And the truth is the period after that has been a difficult one for each of us as well as our relationship.  There never seemed to be the "right" time.

But now that we're starting over again in St. John's, I hope that our lives and relationship are entering a happier phase.  And I'm happy to have Nicole in my life.

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!