Pajiba

My darling husband went to graduate school with a Chilean man who married an Israeli woman. The wedding invitation was trifold with Spanish on the left side, Hebrew on the right side, and English down the middle. We couldn't attend the wedding because they held it in Canada. They mumbled something about free health care if someone fell off their chair and broke a leg during the "put the bride and groom on chairs, hoist them over our heads, and dance around with them" part of the reception.

I have a Canadian coin in my wallet. I've named it Coiny and have decided to keep it forever. If I should ever lose my dear Coiny I would be forced to search for her in her home country of Canada with my Coinfinderanator.

Can we win our own prizes?

Tracer, HA!

Terry Fox is perhaps one of the greatest Canadians to have ever lived. He embodied hope, courage, strength and showed us all what it meant to go down fighting. He is the Olympic Spirit. The man ran over 5,000 kilometres with a prosthetic leg to raise money for cancer research. Most towns and cities in Canada run a Marathon of Hope every September to honour him and raise money for cancer research.

I highly recommend anyone who doesn't know who he is to read his Wiki page or just google him.

The greatest place on earth is the Vancouver airport. We had a 17 hour layover there and the chairs were comfortable, there was food and it was pretty. And no one said a word to us. It was my first time on a plane and it was really cool. Plus, we had just gotten off a cruise, so I was chill. I loved it. Plus, there was a currency changer, which was amazing to someone from Utah. I love Canada.

They're not gonna like that "little" comment, Nadine.

I've only been to Canada once. During my brief visit, a friendly parking attendant very enthusiastically explained to me why the coins are called Loonies and Twonies. That's all I remember about my trip, but it's a good memory to have.

Mexican resorts are chock full of Canadians. While in Cabo last October, there was a full-on Canadian douchebag wedding going on. We're talking faux-hawks, Ed Hardy shirts, multiple nipple & facial piercings, tats, tanned & muscley etc. Two of the douchebag groomsmen came to the bar after the rehearsal in their dress pants and shirts totally unbuttoned. It was like a piece of 'Jersey Shore' only they ended every sentence in 'eh. I give the marriage 18 months.

I used to row crew in high school, and because Canada kicks all kinds of ass at rowing, they host the big high school regatta every year at St. Cats. So I'm up there with my team, and me and my friend Ben are in line at a Canadian Wendy's.

Ben (to me): Man, I love Canadian people. They're just so nice and polite.
Canadian Wendy's worker: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Later...

Me and my friend are on the Canadian side of Niagra falls. We run into some Canadian boys. They are cute. They flirt. They're girlfriends run up. It's a little awkward. They have been in the bathroom. One of the girls puts her hands over her boyfriend's eyes. Both the girls burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Boy: What's so funny?
Girl: (choking through laughter) She...haha...she peed on her hands!

Those are my Canada stories. I also enjoy Tim Hortons.

I like Canadians sooooo much I married one. I love driving up and seeing the in-laws in the GTA. It was a nice drive up to Montreal and the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa was awesome. Plus who else would think of Poutine.

My parents took me to Niagra Falls (on the Canadian side) when I was three. Three year olds are not so much impressed by large waterfalls, or at least I wasn't. But that may have had to do with my mother putting me in a day-glo orange poncho. Seriously, I looked like a small, psychedelic flying squirrel with a bad attitude. Anyways, my souvenir from the trip was a baton filled with water and glitter so it sparkled when I twirled it. (I was a baton twirling prodigy, or at least that's what the instructor that was scamming my parents said.) A few weeks after the trip, I was telling a cousin about the falls and my baton. He took the cap off one of the ends and threw it at me. I was covered in stale water, glitter and shattered dreams. I still weep for that moment. Mainly because I remember how much that glitter stung when it got in my eyes.

When I went to Toronto with a colleague for some work meetings, I was detained at airport customs & derided by a nationalistic harpy. Because I was apparently not sufficiently specific when explaining the nature of my work meetings, I was singled out for detention & questioning, & subjected to the unrestrained vindictiveness of some dirtball female customs agent at a counter desk. This goddamn banshee screamed at me when I attempted to ask another agent for a supervisor, reminded me that "you're not in the U.S. anymore, you're in Canada", & ultimately detained me for 90 minutes for no other reason than to indulge her churning nationalistic sadism. My only comfort was that on the following day, & every day to follow, that piece of shit would still be herself, & I would be me.

Once, as a younger man, I was very, very fat.

This very fat version of myself went on a spring road trip with his best friend and couple other friends to Montreal, to enjoy some quality beer and take in an Expos game before they were shipped to D.C. to become the worst baseball team ever.

It was a long drive from Cleveland, and we left early in the morning, and arrived in Montreal in the early evening, having no idea how to get to the stadium. We drove and drove and frustrations mounted as game time was approaching. My best friend, being a bit of a hothead (and an arrogant bastard to boot) began to bitch about all the signs being in la Francais. Well, I'd taken a few years of French in my even younger days, and--in a moment that included the desire to help, a desire to show off, AND a willful ignorance to who my best friend was--I picked the first French sign I could see and proclaimed: "Well, boulangerie: that's a bakery." My friend whipped around to look at me in the back seat and, without so much as a second's hesitation, disdainfully snapped:

"Yeah. Isn't it funny that the fat kid knows how to say 'bakery' in French."

He would later be the best man at my wedding. A sweet man.

I have more experiences in and a sincere love for Canada; but that's my funniest tale.

Canada, the land where disgrunted Americans long to be on the Wednesday after the first Monday in November. The other 364 days of the year we forget you exist until we need cheap prescriptions or a Kids in the Hall marathon shows up on TV, but on that Magical Wednesday, you are a shining beacon of hope to disappointed American voters.

What do we know about you? We know you keep polar bears as pets, and you drink a lot of beer. We know you're the birthplace of Alex Trebek, and you inexplicably put cheese curd and gravy on french fries. All Canadian children learn to ice skate before they walk and Canada uses that utterly ridiculous metric system that our high school chemistry teachers tried to force upon us. You're a little kooky, but you speak our language in a way that doesn't make you seem snobby, even though you nominally still worship the Queen and sometimes speak French.

Keep on being Canadian, Canada. We'll continue stealing all your best comedians, but that doesn't mean we don't love you like a scruffy little brother. We'll always be part of the same great North American family...emphasis on the American.

The prairies before harvest.

The Rockies as a Chinook rolls in.

Both so beautiful it hurts.

I lived with a Canadian girl at university and when she left she gave us all letters with little Canadian flag badges stuck to them. I still have it somewhere.

My boss is Canadian, every now and again I can get her to say 'eh?' though she would say she doesn't. As did the guy I met while climbing a volcano in Guatemala. He said 'Canadians don't all say eh? at the end of everything you know...eh?' 'You just did it!' 'No I didn't...eh?' He was highly amusing.

Someone Canadian adopt me! I seriously need to visit. Or I could go book a trip...

Hey, could I win some maple syrup? I really want some real maple syrup.

Figgy, honey send me your address through Facebook, I'll mail you out some real maple syrup.

Carrie, you can come visit me - as long as you don't mind sharing a house with a beer swilling Chihuahua.

Tracer, no one wants anything more than I want a puppy. Starving children dont want food more than I want a puppy.

I live in the city (a suburb of Vancouver). My backyard borders a greenbelt. One day I had to chase my dog (an overly zealous, loud-as-hell beagle) through the yard as he, in turn, chased a black bear. The poor thing (the bear, not my dog) was so bewildered that he couldn't even manage to climb the fence back out towards the greenbelt. I managed to catch up to my dog and pull him back as the bear finally made it over the fence. My dad's response as I later related the story to him? "Well, at least it wasn't a cougar." So wise, Dad. So wise.

Pet/Human danger scale: Squirrel

After finally seeing the glass jar of loose change filled up and consequently having to roll them, I made two discoveries about Canadian coins- 1; unlike their American counterparts you easily can pick up Canadian change with a magnet and that 2; there is at least one bit of entertainment of having Queen Elizabeth II on all the coins in that if you line up all the coins in chronological order you can watch the various portraits or her age over the years like a metal pressed version of Dorian Gray. Yes, you too can observe Bess go from freshly coronated young monarch into jowly, crabby grandmother. God help her if she lives her final years like Rose Kennedy because that would be some spooky looking coins.

During highschool I made friends with a bunch of kids in Niagara Falls/Lewiston, NY. Every time I visited we hung out on the Canadian side of the falls because... well, the American side sucks and the Canadian side is practically a street fair with pretty lights and wax statues.
Also, security was so lax back then that I was allowed back and forth across the border once on the strength of a name tag in my shirt (I wasn't "special" or anything, it was the only way to get my clothes back from the laundry)

The first proper grown-up style date I went on was to a restaurant at some vineyard on the Canadian side. And I didn't need a fake ID or nuthin'.
Ditto for seeing Diamanda Galas at the Pheonix in Toronto. She was playing with JOHN PAUL JONES! It was probably the weirdest crowd I've ever seen at any show ever. Ooh! And I saw my first ever hookers on that same trip! They were much more covered up than I expected but it was also like 5 degrees.

This one time, eh? I went to a Phish show with some friends at the air force base in Plattsburgh, New York, close to Lake Champlain and so so so close to the border of Canadia. I tried to convince my friends to go to Canadia, because we were *RIGHT THERE*, but htey were too high. I tried all weekend, though, eh?

Also, a Canadiastanian gentleman named me with my beavery handle. You People like beavers, dont'cha? Probably almost as much as I like that hat tuque, which would nicely demonstrate my Candianadian pride.

Gather round, children, and let met tell you the tale of the closest I've ever come to winding up in a mental institution, courtesy of our neighbor to the north, Canada.

It was a beautiful spring day on our High School band/chorus/orchestra trip to Toronto. We would be performing later that day in a competition for a meaningless trophy (we were only graded against a rubric, not other schools), then venturing out for a fun filled afternoon at Canada's Wonderland. A win-win situation, if you will.

Except for the mandatory detour of visiting the CN Tower. For those who do not know, the CN Tower is the tallest building in Toronto. Like many "come see our building" skyscrapers, there is an observation deck at the top. Like many schools, a cheap ride up an elevator to stare at a city from high above is a cost-efficient way to kill time on a trip.

It somehow did not occur to the chaperones that forcing everyone to ride up the elevator was a bad idea. I was specifically told "you don't go up, you don't compete, and you don't go the theme park." Ok, fine. They twisted my arm.

As I got in line for the elevator, I was already visibly pale and slightly shaking. I don't do heights. I get short of breath on a step ladder and have turned down paying music gigs because the stage was too high. Instead of checking to see if I was ok, the chaperone told me "don't be a sissy" and shoved me through the elevator door.

At that point I began talking to myself like a crazy homeless person not seen in Canada because they are offered proper medical care for free. I tried to reason with the elevator to go back down instead of going all the way to the top. When I realized that wasn't working, I began to cry.

The doors opened and the friendly chaperone physically removed me from the elevator. That was when I saw the glass floor and peed myself just a little bit in terror. Those slight shakes quickly turned into a full-on tremor, as if I magically transformed into a vibrating bed at a sleazy motel. I threw myself against the wall, squeezed my eyes shut, and really started babbling like a crazy person.

The chaperone would not have this. He dragged my onto the glass floor. That's when I started screaming and swinging my fists. I had gone from harmless bum sifting through trash bins for recyclables to violent street scum beating people because they looked at me funny.

At this point it gets a little blurry. I know I wound up at the bottom of the elevator with a kindly CN Tower employee offering to get me some water and telling me to sit down until I was calm. I just don't know how I got there. No one on the trip seemed to realize that I came really close to snapping like a Poe protagonist because of the tower, and they didn't care, either.

So thank you, Canada, for being kind and caring enough to realize that the teenager about to fling feces on tourists because he didn't want to be at the top of the CN Tower needed some kind words and ground level excitement.

Oh Robert that's horrible! I hope that chaperone got his/her ass kicked for that. My step son is claustrophobic (trapped in an elevator as a child) and has a height thing as well. If anyone did that to him I would puncture their lungs with a pencil.

Kelly, why would the chaperone get in trouble? He claims no one forced me onto the elevator and since the other students just didn't like me I had no one to back me up. He was never invited to chaperone again, though my mother, an employee of the school system, went on every subsequent music trip until she was transferred to one of the elementary schools three years ago. It balanced out eventually.

Oh I dunno Robert, how about the demeaning "don't be a sissy" and the physical force he displayed in both forcing you onto the elevator and dragging you on to the glass floor?

Just because he abused his power as an adult and you weren't well liked by the other kids doesn't mean he shouldn't have been punished with a pencil to the lungs.

Sorry, for clarification, the other two things are genuine Saskatchewan hot sauce and a cowboy hat made out of a beer box. Only people in Saskatchewan drink the beer that comes in that box so we export it as a delicacy.

Mrs. , and I honeymooned in Toronto. We stayed at a downtown hotel across the street from some government (city hall?) plaza.

The next morning (Aug. 1, IIRC -- the first Monday in August) we woke to the sound of cannons. Figuring the U.S. Army had timed the invasion to coincide with our visit and that we would soon be crowned Emperor and concubine, we nevertheless crept to the window and had a look.

There, 18 stories down on the plaza, were some soldiers in full regalia going through some kind of ceremony -- turns out it was a civic holiday (Wiki says "John Galt Day + Simcoe Day + others"). Who knew?

Anyway, for the tuque: My performance on honeymoon night got a 21-gun salute the next morning.

True story.

I've seen Rush four times (none in Canada), but I DID see Styx in their prime play the CNE. I've been to the hockey hall of fame.

I drove all night through a fucking blizzard two years ago to get ,daughter to her grad school audition at U. of Toronto.

The most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life was a gridlock traffic jam at 2 a.m. on a Saturday on Rue St. Catherine in Montreal ...

Jesus, you're making me work here for a funny looking hat.

Don't know if it fits here, but John Babcock, the last known Canadian WWI vet died today. He was 109. A piece of our history has passed with him. A proud piece of our history.

I used to live in Illinois, and before my mom and I made a cross-country move to California, we decided to make a trip across the border to our Canadian neighbors. We visited a bunch of cities, but two stick out in my mind.

When we were in Montreal, we stayed in a part of town that had a rather rambunctious nightlife. Seriously, there were a ton of people on the streets in crazy outfits, and every bar seemed to be an outdoor bar because the boozers spilled over onto the sidewalk. Me, being 13 (and therefore not yet "old enough to party" a la McLovin') and my mom, being a pretty stern Chinese woman, did not partake in these festivities. However, one night, when we were walking back to our hotel, we both noticed that there was a very crowded bar (again with the people drinking outside) that were completely filled with men in tight mesh shirts. My mother remarked on how cute they were (dunno what that says about her tastes) and I said, "Where are the girls?" We didn't think anything of it at that time. When we got back to our room, and I scanned our Montreal map, and I realized that our hotel was situated right in the middle of the "gay part" of town (I'm sure they had a more PC way of saying it - I just don't remember the exact quote.) I cracked up, showed it to my mom, who said, "No wonder." Keep in mind that this was before I moved to the Bay Area (HELLLOOO SAN FRANCISCO!!) and then NYC (Christopher street anyone?) so it was my first time in a gay neighborhood. I was pretty excited.

After we left Montreal, we headed to Quebec City. It literally looked like a fairy tale, and everyone was so nice and kind. I had a pretty rudimentary knowledge of French (middle school - so... yea) but the locals were kind enough to patiently wait for me to stammer out my questions. We were also there right around Bastille Day, so everyone was on the streets being merry. I bought a ton of cheap shoes, ate some french food, took lots of photos, and i had SO MUCH FUN.

One random memory I have of Ottawa: I went to some...changing of the guards thing, and they had a GOAT there with... gold horns??? I think that was it, and he had some cloth draped over him with a crest on it. I remember just cracking up about that.

Bon ben, I don't know if this counts, seeing as how it took place in Quebec, but one of my best Canadian Memories would be my first St-Jean Baptiste Day, in the venerable old fort that is Quebec City.

SJB Day doubles as La Fete Nationale du Quebec, and no one really knows what they are celebrating: A distinct nation within a nation? A battle that the french lost? Or just the opportunity to get completely shitfaced on cobblestone streets with thousands of other blue shirt wearing, fleur-de-lis caped hooligans.

Well, once you start drinking and while wobbling down winding roads, through gates in giant stone walls, with castles on hills in the distance, and the constant roar of people screaming "Bonne St-Jean" well, you start to feel like an entitled prince who is expected to proudly wear an air of decadence and debauchery and that is an awesome feeling.

So my tuque is in the mail, right?

Jeez, but I hope there's a strand of Replica's hair on it, with a root, because I am SO going to have that DNA shit cloned (as soon as someone can build a replica Replica out of it for under $100*.)

Because she's HOT, that's why.

*--U.S.

Re the George S thing..........at a mile a minute,you can reach him with my riddle........if you are travelling at the speed of light in the star ship enterprise and you turn on the front lights, what happens?? At a mile a minute, you have to take a minute and contemplate the speed at which George is travelling.......enlightenment is a blink away!! POPS

By chance due to the fact their feud in UFC 107 in December, there have been many times, where it was imagined that Evans and Jackson may possibly collide against a single another. Nonetheless, Jackson announced a retirement, which did not last for prolonged, but put the match on keep. Now, with the star announcing a return, rather a lot not too long ago, the feud has been reignited. Both of them will get an opportunity to settle their variations after and for all when they go head-to-head towards a single one more in UFC 114 on May 29.

Thank you for a great post

Thank you for a great post

The globe is cheering given that you, Chile! Many thanks rationale them all your adore and kindness. You on no account gave upward till you rescued your people. You taught the whole international a nice lesson.

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