HHAC on the GFLMFRGM
The end result of buying groceries.
02 May 2007
28 April 2007
I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really good looking...
And I plan on finding out what that is. Zoolander (2001)
Why Pay BoRics $11.50…
When I can give myself a bad haircut for free?
Should there ever be a director's commentary I'll have to remark that my favorite part of this clip is the nearly seamless loop I created to lengthen the audio track. Technology.
19 April 2007
Canada Is a Silly Place (Le Canada est un endroit bête)
Hey buddy, your tallest building is a glorified TV antenna!
I drove to Buffalo this past weekend to hang out with my friend Doug, who was my roommate for two years prior to my accident. Doug moved to Buffalo last summer to take an administrative position in the athletic department at the University of Buffalo. I left on Friday afternoon around 4pm, making my way to Buffalo via Windsor, Ontario and re-entering the United States at Niagara, New York. Sunday, we drove up to Toronto to see the Tigers play the Blue Jays at the Rogers Centre (aka “used to be the Sky Dome”). As far as road trips are concerned, the drive itself isn’t anything to write home about; including an hour break to grab something to eat, I arrived in Buffalo in a pedestrian seven hours and I was back home again by Sunday evening at 9:30pm—a far cry from long distance trips I’ve taken in the past: Michigan to L.A. in 34 hours, por ejemplo. But since most of the travel took place across Ontario there were sufficient Canadian cultural idiosyncrasies to keep my brain occupied because Canada after all, it is a silly place.
First of all: Border crossings.
“Why are you entering Canada today?”
“I’m driving to Buffalo?”
“Are you driving straight through?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you going to Buffalo?”
Why is that any of your business? “I’m visiting a friend.”
“Are you bringing any illegal firearms, drugs or alcohol with you into Canada today?”
Nothing anybody would want to buy. “No.”
On the way back on Sunday, crossing the border at Port Huron:
“Are you bringing any food with you across the border today?”
“No.”
“What’s that?”
Thinking she’s pointing to the Wendy’s cup in my cup holder, “This?”
“No, the thing on your steering wheel.”
“It’s a hand control.”
Blank stare.
“I drive with my hands, not my feet.”
More blank staring.
“I’m in a wheelchair.” Is that not visibly apparent? My god, open your eyes, man! Our national security is at risk here!
Secondly: Coins.
Canadian money is blue, or at least the small denomination bills I saw were blue. That’s fine. I like looking at foreign currency. I find it intriguing. But the coins! Coins are a pain in the ass. I can’t access my pockets to store coins and handling coins usually means dropping them. Thus, I’ve basically given up on trying to execute exact change transactions in my monetary dealings. The only coins I have much use for are good old U.S. Quarter Dollars and that’s only because I need them to do laundry. Any change I get inevitably ends up in my lap and that which hits the floor, unless it’s an aforementioned quarter, I’m not worried about going after it. In Canada however, that mass of coins getting handed back to me could be anything short of $5, and now dropping change on the floor is eating into potential contributions towards my retirement savings.
Third: Mr. Sub and New York Fries.
Mr. Sub is the scab Canadian equivalent of Subway. Equivalent, in that, it isn’t as good as Subway (which really isn’t that good to begin with). The menu boasts the Great Canadian Club. Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, guys, but the club sandwich was invented in America. Mr. Sub is what you eat if you don’t want to wait in line behind the masses at the same Wendy’s or Tim Horton's at every service plaza along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way. By the way, how long are you guys going to let the British push you around anyway?). That is unless the service plaza has a New York Fries, because if there is one thing New York City is known for it’s their famous French fry vendors. Especially, French fries served with mayonnaise and vinegar. Good old Brooklyn-style French fries. I recommend calling it New York Chips, might as well lay your cultural influence conundrums right out there for everyone to see. In hindsight, New York Fries claims to have New York roots, but I’m choosing to ignore that.
Lastly, for now: Ontario’s 100 km/h Speed Limit.
Although I prefer miles per hour to kilometers per hour—drive 60 mph, drive a mile a minute—I do enjoy the psychological illusion that kilometers seem to go by faster. But forcing me to drive all those klicks at 100 km/h? Well, that’s got to go. It’s slow and it’s pointless. I’m sure the slow speed limit is intended to encourage safer driving, but it’s Ontario. There’s nothing to hit. A few years ago my friends and I drove across Canada to the Canadian Rockies and this is what most of that looked like. Ontario looks mostly like that but with a few more trees. So no one drives 100 km/h.
First of all: Border crossings.
“Why are you entering Canada today?”
“I’m driving to Buffalo?”
“Are you driving straight through?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you going to Buffalo?”
Why is that any of your business? “I’m visiting a friend.”
“Are you bringing any illegal firearms, drugs or alcohol with you into Canada today?”
Nothing anybody would want to buy. “No.”
On the way back on Sunday, crossing the border at Port Huron:
“Are you bringing any food with you across the border today?”
“No.”
“What’s that?”
Thinking she’s pointing to the Wendy’s cup in my cup holder, “This?”
“No, the thing on your steering wheel.”
“It’s a hand control.”
Blank stare.
“I drive with my hands, not my feet.”
More blank staring.
“I’m in a wheelchair.” Is that not visibly apparent? My god, open your eyes, man! Our national security is at risk here!
Secondly: Coins.
Canadian money is blue, or at least the small denomination bills I saw were blue. That’s fine. I like looking at foreign currency. I find it intriguing. But the coins! Coins are a pain in the ass. I can’t access my pockets to store coins and handling coins usually means dropping them. Thus, I’ve basically given up on trying to execute exact change transactions in my monetary dealings. The only coins I have much use for are good old U.S. Quarter Dollars and that’s only because I need them to do laundry. Any change I get inevitably ends up in my lap and that which hits the floor, unless it’s an aforementioned quarter, I’m not worried about going after it. In Canada however, that mass of coins getting handed back to me could be anything short of $5, and now dropping change on the floor is eating into potential contributions towards my retirement savings.
Third: Mr. Sub and New York Fries.
Mr. Sub is the scab Canadian equivalent of Subway. Equivalent, in that, it isn’t as good as Subway (which really isn’t that good to begin with). The menu boasts the Great Canadian Club. Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, guys, but the club sandwich was invented in America. Mr. Sub is what you eat if you don’t want to wait in line behind the masses at the same Wendy’s or Tim Horton's at every service plaza along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way. By the way, how long are you guys going to let the British push you around anyway?). That is unless the service plaza has a New York Fries, because if there is one thing New York City is known for it’s their famous French fry vendors. Especially, French fries served with mayonnaise and vinegar. Good old Brooklyn-style French fries. I recommend calling it New York Chips, might as well lay your cultural influence conundrums right out there for everyone to see. In hindsight, New York Fries claims to have New York roots, but I’m choosing to ignore that.
Lastly, for now: Ontario’s 100 km/h Speed Limit.
Although I prefer miles per hour to kilometers per hour—drive 60 mph, drive a mile a minute—I do enjoy the psychological illusion that kilometers seem to go by faster. But forcing me to drive all those klicks at 100 km/h? Well, that’s got to go. It’s slow and it’s pointless. I’m sure the slow speed limit is intended to encourage safer driving, but it’s Ontario. There’s nothing to hit. A few years ago my friends and I drove across Canada to the Canadian Rockies and this is what most of that looked like. Ontario looks mostly like that but with a few more trees. So no one drives 100 km/h.
Final trip stats: 773 miles (1243.9 km) round trip, 221 songs on the iPod (shuffle play), $150 in gas.
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