Because we have heaps, and HEAPS of space, until we get that teleportation science down, it’s going to keep taking dogs years to travel across.
This morning I was up at the ungodly hour of 4:45 am, getting ready to head back to real life here in BC.
I crawled out of bed, jumped into the shower, and slowly steamed my eyelids open.
I allotted myself as much time as possible to wake up, before heading out to the Halifax airport for my 6:20 departure. My sister Jessi and her boyfriend Adam were kind enough to drive me – he being tempted by the promise of a Tim Horton’s breakfast sandwich, and she driven by her enduring and ever-deepening love for me.
HAH!
But seriously though – Timmy Ho’s.
I tell ya. That stuff will take over your life.
It’s interesting – despite the proliferation of Starbucks the world over, Tim Hortons still reigns supreme here in Canada (minus of course several urban centers, of which Vancouver is one.)
I mean, “Double-Double” (the shorthand term for two creams, two sugars in a Tim Hortons coffee) is an entry in the Oxford Canadian English Dictionary!
WHAT.
It can be weird trying to explain this institution to someone who hasn’t lived here.
It’s just SO Canadian.
(Despite its brief American ownership and merger with Wendys Corporation. This is referred to as the “Dark Time”, of which we never speak.)
Just kidding.
Kind of.
It also has the guts to put out the most heart-wrenching commercials (aka ridiculous Canadiana propaganda.)
Let me implore you to check out this ad:
DAH.
THE EMOTIONS!
(I never said that this ploy didn’t work, now did I?)
ONE THING though – if you’re going to bring your family over in the middle of the winter, feeding them terrible coffee isn’t going to make the transition any easier! JUST SAYING.
The one thing that actually does bother me about Tim Hortons is that I have a hard time believing that people actually like it as much as they purport to LOVE it.
It’s like this business has woven itself into our national framework (mythology?) to such an extent, that we no longer know what we actually want in terms of coffee and baked goods.
Or, perhaps that it’s that we’ve convinced ourselves that easy access, trumps quality.
For instance, Tim Hortons jingle used to be: “Always Fresh, Always, Tim Horntons.” And now it’s just “Always Tim Hortons.”
(Or it might be “Time for Tim’s – I’m not sure. Since throwing away cable for Netflix, my ability to keep up with this inane crap has been severely compromised.)
Anywho, if it is indeed “Always Tim Hortons”, that is apt as all get out, because they are indeed EVERYWHERE.
And it’s not like there is anything all that great about the foodstuffs available for purchase at any of these restaurants.
Its hot chocolate is okay, its coffee – as previously stated – is just awful.
Their baked goods run the gamut of delicious (honey cruellers and sour cream glazed) to absolutely dismal (anything claiming to be “old fashioned” tastes of dish soap and will completely destroy your will to live.)
I’ve never been a fan of the Iced Capp, but those that do would give away their first born when a craving hits.
Their bagels are okay, but are always smothered in so much cream cheese you start to wonder what it’s actually made out of that they give it away in such liberal amounts.
What can I say?
I’ve never, ever in my life woken up and thought: I want nothing more than ***** from Tim Horton’s.
But the other night, whilst out with friends and family, what did we IMMEDIATELY do once we left the bar?
Oh you betcha:
What can I say?
At my inner most core, I am Canadian.
(But only when soaked in white wine!)
OH MY GOODNESS I CANNOT BELIEVE I JUST WROTE AN 800 WORD POST ON TIM HORTONS.
Yeesh.
Please dear readers. I blame it on post-travel nackeredness. Eight hours on a plane will do that to you!
I really must be off for (another) shower and sleep.
I’ll be back to our regular scheduled program in but the (40) winks of an eye.
In the meantime, tell me your Tim Hortons stories.
We’ll see if we can get them made into a commercial.
Well folks, another day, another early morning hangout at Toronto Pearson Airport.
Early morning hot chocolate. Also, my nails really are the worst.
I am seriously starting to think that I know this place better than I do some of my friends.
I am seriously staring to think that I like this place better than I do some of my friends.
JUST KIDDING!
Although said friends don’t have a sweet twenty-four hours David’s Tea, nor do they have sexy fluorescent lighting that give myself, and all of my fellow travellers that all-too sought after “it may be consumption” pallor.
We should all be so lucky!
But back to what I was saying – AIRPORTS.
While I’m not the biggest fan of air flight (particularly takeoffs and landings – talk about hair-raising central!) I do have a perverse like for these giant atriums of travel.
They are the perfect mish-mash of random: Tim Horton’s restaurants (restaurants, hah!), nail salons, the obligatory Hudson Bay Store (we’re talking domestic Canadian airports here, otherwise, please substitute in Duty-Free and some fancy, chain, over-priced wine bar), sit-up massage chairs, totally random shoe shine stations, and store, after store chock-a-block of Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clark, magazines, expensive candy, and those head-rest pillows everyone (and yet no one?) seems to buy.
I am currently heading down to Halifax for a family visit, culminating in my cousin Andrew’s wedding taking place this Saturday.
I am the queen of carry-on, and managed to cram three dresses, two pairs of pants, two skirts, six shirts, three sweaters, two pairs of shoes, two winter running outfits, my pajamas, my computer, and all other manner of lady detritus in this here bag:
One day I’m going to get an award for this stuff!
Anyways, in completely different news, Canadian politics is totally nutters at the moment.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Toronto mayor Rob Ford finally admitted to smoking crack cocaine, and yet somehow still refuses to resign from his position.
The man plans on running again next year for re-election!
WHAT THE WHAT.
His exact words:
“Exactly. Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine. I’ve made mistakes… all I can do is apologize and move on.”
“But, no, do I? Am I an addict? No.”
“Have I tried it? Probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately about a year ago.
How is this man even a real human being!?
I feel like we are living in bizarre world.
If I was a journalist in Toronto right now I’d go around telling everyone that I was “one heck of a crack reporter!”
(Too much, I apologize. But it had to be said.)
Meanwhile, our national political stage is riddled with just as much madness.
Our Prime Minister doesn’t seem to have any knowledge of what has been going on with his Conservative senators, and is likely fuming over the fact that no one gives two cares about his free trade agreement with the European Union, when all anyone wants to do is talk about Mike Duffy’s cheque requisition program.
I am just waiting for Nigel Wright to show up at Question Time and pull a full-fledged Banquo.
IS THIS A DAGGER I SEE BEFORE ME?
I am mixing my Shakespeare all over the place, but I CANNOT HELP IT.
These situations mix me up!
And here in BC (or I suppose I should say “back in BC”, what with this being written in Toronto, or “The Big Smoke” if you will….there is another crack joke there, I’m sure) our premier Christy Clark has reneged on her promise not to go forward with plans to construct an oil pipeline from Alberta, and has instead met with Alison Redford (Alberta’s premier) and put together a set of points on how to go forward.
This decision just kills me.
We are going to be swimming in environmental damage, just you wait.
What drives me crazy here is that Clark keeps talking about how when she was re-elected, the electorate backed her plans to expand BC’s natural resource sector, when 1.) No one wanted this expansion to include a pipeline, and 2.) This woman wasn’t even re-elected in our last election! She lost her riding! She had to re-run in a jurisdiction where she was guaranteed to win, after the MLA-elect gave up his seat!
(Meanwhile, it’s just been revealed that he has been giving a plush position as an economic ambassador to BC’s Asian trading markets. But of course he has!)
But seriously folks, how are we supposed to have any faith in the democratic process, when so many of those involved display the utmost contempt for the entire system?
It drives me batty.
Marc has a theory that politicians should be paid very little money, in an effort to keep out those who are not invested in making the country/province/city a better place, and attract those who don’t care about bilking their travel expense claims for all that their worth.
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I do know that whatever we have going on right now, it really isn’t working.
Much like Mike Duffy, Patrick Brazeau, and Pamela Wallin.
ZING!
(See what I did there?)
And now I’m off to find some overpriced food to eat with my four dollar water bottle.
Currently I am missing Birmingham, UK something fierce. In the fall of 2009 my husband and I spent four months in the city. I was on academic exchange for my graduate program, and during our time overseas I attended classes, travelled the country, taught English at a school for young Afghani asylum seekers, spent a week in Switzerland – in short, I had the most amazing and profound adventure of my life.
As we crawl closer to September – the month we departed for the UK – I cannot help but reflect on our time spent in Brum.
Here is a brief snapshot of the start to what ended up being a truly brilliant, beautiful, and life-changing time:
Day three/four in Jolly Ol’ England. Baaaaaahhhh.
Yesterday we moved into our new place. The night previous Marc had seriously destroyed his stomach (the tragic mistake? Purchasing a can of Carlsberg lager on our way home from dinner as an accompaniment for six individually wrapped cake pastries that were amazing, yet deliriously rich and quite heavy on the tummy) and spent most of the night in agony, pacing around the hotel room. This, coupled by the fact that we had spent a good portion of the day walking around the city left us completely knackered (in the parlance of our times, or at least country) and we managed to not only sleep in past breakfast, but past check-out.
Hotel room!
Stress was had.
And we had ALL of it.
Also I’m not sure I would do very well as a regular student at the University of Birmingham. The campus seems to be run in a “laissez-faire” kind of way, which does not sit well with neurotics and obsessive compulsives (aka-me.)
I met today with my tutor, who was lovely and personable and we discussed my course sign up, but mostly we chatted about the campus and how easy it is to sit in on other professors’ courses as long as you contact them first.
There is a PoliSci introduction this Friday from 11-12 that will cover everything course-related and although I didn’t want to make her go through everything that I would be hearing in two days’ time, it was all I could do not to jump up from my seat and yell out “WHY THE CAN’T WE DO ANYTHING BY A STRICT SCHEDULE I AM NOT GOOD WITH BLURRY LINES.”
She was so calm as she sat there telling me that as long as I had signed up for my courses by the second week of term (bloody October 10th or there around) I would be okay.
My guts were roiling just thinking about this.
The campus is phenomenal, with lovely red brick buildings that stand in sharp contrast to the velvety green of the grass that spreads around the campus like a deranged serpent in pursuit of higher learning (or maybe just to munch on the ankle of an undergrad or two.)
Campus clock!
I am excited to explore the European Research Institute and attend the guest lecture series available to all students.
I am excited to attend classes where I will actually be interested in the material in hopes to rediscover why I actually fell in love with academia in the first place.
I am excited to ride my bike along Norfolk Road wearing my chunky boots and pink tuque, daydreaming about the city’s Christmas market while trying not to get killed each time I forget which way the cars are coming.
Christmas market!
I cannot believe that Marc and I will be here for but four months. The city is powered by a maddeningly seductive electricity that I have yet to discover anywhere in Vancouver. This spark runs through the multicultural signposts standing at each street corner, and in the form of head scarfs and turbans and skin colours that range from the palest pales to the deepest blacks. It is present in the bustling how-to-do of New Street and the downtown core, in the cheap but flavourful takeaways that take up space on most street corners (and often in between), and the men selling fresh dairy products down at the open air market, bellowing over and over about their jumbo sized eggs, sold either in a half or one dozen cartons.
This country is also bloody fantastic due to the amount of candy available EVERYWHERE. As I sit typing this I am eating a package of “Quarter Pounders” drinking a class of Diet Cherry Coke.
I feel a bit of existential angst every time I set foot in a grocery mart: there is so much to choose from I find myself asking “what’s the point? I’ll never be able to try all of these products!”
Further, I used to think that I drank quite a lot of tea and only now realize how silly I was in my naivety. M and I drink somewhere between eight to ten cups of tea a day, more on days that we spend time in the company of friends. It will be running through our veins in no time and I’ll find myself transformed into Kevin McDonald’s Tetley addict, imagining that Dave Foley dressed as a giant tea bag is chasing me around my flat shouting “COME ON…DUNK ME! DUNK ME!”
First off, “A Taste of Greece” is an actual store that exists at the Athens airport, and I have been laughing at this fact for the past five years straight.
HOW COULD YOU NAME YOUR STORE THAT!?
Anyways, five years ago Marc and I were on our honeymoon, gallivanting about Athens and then all around the island of Crete – exploring ruins, drinking wine, eating olives, and sweating all the sweat that there was to be sweated.
It was incredible and we had one heck of a time.
Here are three of my favourite snaps from our adventures:
Cookie monster.
Rant and Roll 