A Noise in the Basement

As I think about househunting in Montreal, I am thinking about America.

I did get lucky with the place I saw today: newly renovated with washers for my clothes and dishes, and no stairs to tackle (driveway entrance). This is probably my new home, if I don’t forget to pester the landlord and they actually believe my rundown on my income and work.

And yet, I think about America...

As a Canadian, I am often asked about our relationship with the people to the south. Canadians still define themselves by not being American, but there are better ways at looking at our nation as we stare at the border: imagine that you are home late at night. It has been a long day; you’re tired; you just want you favourite Netflix/YouTube moments flowing on a screen in front of you as you gorge on Doritos.

And then you hear a noise in the basement...

Now, what do you do? Go the Horror Movie/Scooby-Doo route and check out
 the commotion, or stay put and see what happens next?

For me, this is the quintessential portrait of what it means to be a Canadian at this very dizzy moment in history. If the noise stops, the lights stay on, nothing leaks up through the floorboards, or attempts to climb up the stairs, you can live your life. Once any of those statements proves not to be true, then we need to act. Fortunately, Canada is not a country the U.S. takes much of an interest in (and look at what happens to countries when they take an interest in them).

So, we let the noises continue...

Oh, and that place I saw today? It was the ground floor of a home...with no basement!

Heat Wave!

What's the big deal?

I am here in Montreal, dealing with another weekend of heat and humidity and trying to figure out why there is so much negativity.  The possibility of sunstroke, skin cancer and death are very serious and very real, but there is so much about the present weather condition in most of Canada that I love.

First, I can go out without a heavy coat, wool cap and boots.  I have a very keen and long memory of the winter period (due to return in just a few months), and I do not like the idea that soon it will be too cold to go out and enjoy myself.  Shorts and a shirt with sandals?  You are all set.

Second, the women.  Always beautiful here, and with the heat they are not shy about showing some skin.  That may be the real cause for a loss of life (too distracting).

Third, my work.  The college is laid back with the weather and the idea that they can come to school and leave before the sun sets and the day is done.  With my own writing, I have finished two stories in rough and have entered several contests and plan on entering even more.

Finally, my appetite.  I have always had issues with the way I look - thanks to a very vocal community and family, this is not an issue that is going away - and I now can walk about without a shirt.  No heavy eating and less self-conscious behaviour around myself is a great combination.

So, enjoy the sun and the heat.  We deserve it!

The Sell Out (Part 7)

A Quote on Los Angeles:

"If I close my eyes, and picture L.A., all I see is one big varicose vein." - Marilyn Monroe

Can an entire city be a sell-out?  I have been thinking about this with the recent deaths of Gary Coleman and Dennis Hopper.  I know that this may seem excessive - or just perverse - but I have to see both losses as a symptom of that town we all know and exaggerate: Hollywood, the place where dreams come to die. 

I've been there.  We went to Los Angeles when I was eleven years old.  It was a road trip from Canada to California and I loved it, even the bad food, incredible heat, and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements (usually in a van).  But what I remember most is the end of that trip in SoCal.  Dust, desert scrub, expensive houses surrounded by dead air.  We visited a mall and it felt like the last days of Rome (decadent and dying); I went swimming at a man-made lake (perverse again; I only saw the beach once) and was surrounded by the youth of L.A.  It was like the DMZ between the Koreas or the neutral zone in "Star Trek".  You had to learn fast how to deal with the unexpected.  A lot for an eleven-year-old, but still...

So, celebrity death and selling out: they do go together.  I am more convinced of this as the deaths and scandals roll on.  When I was there, I had that inexplicable feeling that I was trespassing.  It was not a place that belonged to me culturally, emotionally or psychologically.  After that trip by van, we had to take a plane home.  Part of me is glad about this.  Getting out that air space helped me think about what I had seen and done.  Again, I was only eleven.

You will be missed, Misters Hopper and Coleman.  We can only hope that there is peace for you both now...