The Best Canadian Movie, Ever?

I had heard some good things (and some bad) about the movie The Trotsky, but I admit I was not fully prepared for how good this thing would be. I enjoyed it so much, I can't even tell you how good it is. You should just see it yourself.

So, with that - move over Porky's - The Trotsky really may be the best Canadian movie. I only add the "may" because I haven't seen every Canadian movie ever made... But I am not really stressing the maybe. It is only a technicality. Maybe.

Remembrance Day

Today is always an odd day for me. As a pacifist, I sometimes feel a conflict with my patriotism, as there are times when pacifistic ideals are not consistent with what the general public sees as patriotism. To a pacifist, I guess, the love of one's country does not spell out, "My Country, Right or Wrong," but is invested in wanting the best for the country, but also expecting the best of the country. Remembrance Day, then, is a conflicted day for me, especially since it has been adopted by less-clear-cut wars.

The Canadian involvement in WWI and WWII were, in terms of human effort, nothing short of heroic, even for those of us who don't often use that term in connection with soldiering. These were not wars of aggression, as Canada stood to gain no territory, and in many ways they were fought to halt aggression, according to history. Yet, I do not see them as purely altruistic wars. Yes, WWII saved the lives of millions of Jews and other prisoners in Nazi occupied territories, but the myth that WWII was waged to save the Jews is as erroneous as it is harmful.

They were actually wars fought to support the mother country, Britain, and, to a lesser extent, other allies. And, in this, I can see the point of the French and the Irish who resisted conscription on the basis that England was not their mother. Protecting ties is not altruism; it is merely protecting the symbiotic web upon which you rely.

And, while history records these wars as "Good Wars," I also have a deep-seated discomfort with claiming any war "good"... though, I suppose since Canada did not start these wars, we cannot primarily pin the bad on them.

Having said all that, there are in fact three interconnected reasons why I, as a pacifist, wear the poppy and keep Remembrance Day (aside from it being deeply soaked into my Nova Scotian roots).

First, Remembrance Day reminds me that WWI was Canada's birth. Though the nation factually dates to Confederation, Canada did not actually shed its colonial identity until WWI, and the way we see ourselves is deeply embedded in the trenches of Vimy Ridge, Ypres, Passchendaele, Beaumont Hamel... Places of unimaginable muck and gore, but also of strength and incredible will power. For a nation who claims that having no identity is our identity, we seem to get an awful lot of our sense of selves from these places. Like that legendary crucified soldier, we see ourselves as tireless workhorses, dedicated to our causes, and plain but powerful. Canadians, if nothing else, stand our ground, and work without complaint in some of the roughest conditions (or so we like to imagine).

It was WWI were Canada first fought not as a corps of the UK, but as Canadians, and it was WWI during which Canadians learned that people thought of them as "Canadians," a reputation that took on a specific character during WWI that has stuck.

Second, I wear it not out of support for the nations who wage war like bloody games of life-size chess from paper-strewn offices, but for the men and women who died. I don't give into the rhetoric of "they died for my freedom" as much as others do, but I can express grief that they died, nonetheless. The brightest flower of multiple generations was snuffed out during the world wars. And the poppy is worth it, for that reason alone, but it also shows solidarity with the now old men who gave up their carefree youthes to see what most of us, thankfully, do not have to witness.

Third, I wear the poppy to remind myself of all these, and the million other, ambiguities of war. The bright, cheerful head of the poppy waves over the bones of people killed in ways I cannot fully imagine. Today, we feel pride and sadness, horror and also a kind of happiness. War made Canada, but we are something of a peaceful nation. A crucified soldier might be forever in glory, but he remains just as dead, and just as mutilated. Blood and mud and excrement, the reality, gives way to this bright, shiny thing in history, which is also a type of reality for those of us who live in the fruits of their labour. And every time I put on my coat, I am reminded of that ambiguity of war, which keeps me neither too patriotic, nor too pacifist.

So, yes... I am a conflicted pacifist wearing a poppy today. And a Canadian, whatever that means. Most of the time, I am simply in the trenches of life trying to keep my matches dry. But, today, it's good to remember.

Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story (2006)

Seemingly continuing some sort of unintentional social credit movie marathon, I have followed up Our Daily Bread with the well made CBC miniseries on the life of the "Greatest Canadian," Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story.

Aside from a strange, seldom-acknowledged penchant for eugenics in his youth, Douglas is just about as complete a hero as you can get in this country, and Prairie Giant clearly plays to that legendary aspect of the small, bespectacled preacher from Saskatchewan. Painting an impressionistic landscape of Douglas' rise from Depression-era radical social-democratic minister to demonized "Red Menace" in the '50s to the 1970s leader of the nubile NDP, this miniseries is fairly informative (keeping in mind that it is TV, after all), hits Douglas' greatest hits (especially in terms of speeches and his iconic role in the founding of socialized medicine in Canada), and is actually quite slick for a Canadian TV production. It's enough to make the Captain Canuck in all of us bust a button or two.

At about 3 or 4 hours long, it's quite an extended lesson, but I find that it doesn't drag and manages to hold the attention and the imagination throughout. Some details are a bit dodgie (they show Douglas as actually present at the Estevan "riot," for instance, when he wasn't), but you do come away feeling bigger than when you started watching.

It's a fable of social ethics and of what people can do when they put their fellow humans first - for that, it's well worth a look.

(Also strongly recommended is the NFBC's Tommy Douglas: Keeper of the Flame, 1986.)

Gordon Lightfoot's Not Dead, According to Him.

Gordon Lightfoot's management says an Internet hoax created false rumours that the iconic Canadian folksinger had died Thursday.

Bernie Fiedler, Lightfoot's concert promoter, said the rumour started on Twitter.

"I just spoke to Gordon," Fiedler said in an interview, noting the singer was in good health. "He just got out of the dentist."

Lightfoot told CP24 Thursday afternoon that he has no idea what began the rumour he had died. "I was quite surprised to hear it myself driving in . . . to my office," he said. "I haven't had so much airplay for weeks."

http://www.canada.com/health/Gordon+Lightfoot+death+hoax/2582156/story.html

Glad to hear it.

A Little Bit of Harmony

Happy Canada Day!

Crap

Watched my first (and hopefully last) epsiode of Kenny vs Spenny tonight.

I can't believe public money goes to that crud, but yet they withhold my child allowance.

What a snowjobbed country we do live in!

thin times

The government took away my child allowance check because I am married to someone not in Canada who didn't have to file taxes and cannot prove his income, even though I support the baby and myself alone.

So they are now hounding me for the one month's worth they did give me - $277. $277 means NOTHING to the government - one less dinner for some fat-assed senator on the road. To me, it may as well be $5,000, as I am barely making ends meet.

Actually, I am not even making ends meet, really, as I owe $3000 tuition, with no way to pay it. I am facing being kicked out of school very soon, which really takes a bite out of my drive to work on the dissertation, I must admit. Why have half of it done when they kick me out?

It's skinny times right now, and I am starting to feel a bit treed by the wolves. What really pisses me off is that my own government is one of those wolves. Harper is f*cking Prince John, and I am left to either move to Sherwood Forest or just get the hell out of this country. There is little option left to me.

The social safety net is an illusion, people. Don't believe it. Canada will let people starve just as quickly as any other country, and my eyes are finally opened to just how cruddy this place is.

The only problem is, all places are cruddy.

There's no where left to turn.

Finally, a Reason to Like Canada's Border Gaurds

For those of who haven't heard, the Westboro (so-called) Baptist Church from Kansas is planning to disrupt the funeral of that young fellow killed on a Greyhound in Manitoba. They say the killing was an act of G-d that he deserved for being a "rebellious carny", and that Canada earned for our "rebellion" against G-d by being a "gay friendly" nation.

The government has alerted the border not to let these people in. Normally, I would say this just adds fuel to the fire of Americans who like to see Canada as a socialist tyranny. However, in balance to the idea of this kid's parents having to attend their son's funeral with screaming idiots outside explaining how he deserved it, I am all for the strong arm of the border lending their protection here.

This guy was a carny, yes, and perhaps he wasn't a saint. In fact, I am pretty perturbed by people tossing the label "hero" out on him - this is a term that has been practically destroyed by the Oprah crowd's desecration of it. He was neither a saint, nor a hero. He was a person. One who didn't deserve to be butchered in his sleep. Let's not forget that last part.

Whatever or whoever you worship, you can stick it up your ass when it's someone else's son being buried.

This is a horrible thing all around, and while I can't say I am uninterested in the story (especially when it comes to more news about the killer and what he was thinking/going through to make this situation arise), I do think it is time for people to move on. It was all the media coverage and rubber-necking that caused the victim to become a lightening rod for these freaks.

Let's let them mourn in peace, shall we?

Please, leave them alone.

mysteries

Today is the anniversary of the last time Canadian painter Tom Thompson was seen alive, way back in 1917. I love a good mystery!

Also, I recommend this site for a good browze.

Remember

Thank You Kindly

I miss Due South. I used to love it when I was in high school; watched it every week (especially before the later-seasons' bizarre sub-plots started). I wonder to what extent, in the way that the show flattered us Canadians, images of Canadian-ness and American-ness were constructed for my generation by things like this?

A Dudley Doright who actually does do right (and who is pretty damned hot to boot), and his foul American sidekick. (What a fantasy, eh? Canada, the beaver who is anally raped by the eagle three ways from Sunday, gets to lead the Yank around...) I wonder to what extent this is the way Canada sees itself - old fashioned, corny, and wholesome, yet polite and friendly. Healthy, too.

Now, I wonder to what extent that reflects reality.

And I also wonder what it means that the show was seemingly set in a poor view of Chicago, which was reportedly 10 times worse than any place in Canada... but was filmed in Canada. The magic of the lens, I suppose.

And I laugh at the way that, back when I was watching this show, I never once suspected I'd have cause to think of what it means to be "Canadian" or "American". I guess it goes to show one never knows.

Yup, I'm in Canada

Just got a nasty reminder of my heritage, as I took part in a winter ritual. Screw up your face, plug your nose, take a swig of Buckley's... wretch bitterly, and then check the the label again for the millionth time, asking in disbelief, "Is this really supposed to be taken internally?"

Take that, chest cold. There's a dose of pine-needle-scented napalm for you.

Take Off, You Hoser

Up late, getting a little work done, and watching Strange Brew (1983) by way of research for my departure for the Great State of Ohio on Wednesday. I figure, if they expect me to act like Bob and Doug McKenzie, I should take the trouble to re-watch the thing, eh?

So, this got me thinking about slang and other cool idiosyncrasies of the Great White North. I started to think of things I may want to weed out of my speech for the next week or so, just to be polite and accessible (or to over-crank just to annoy, as the case demands).

Aside from the over-use of the Canuck “u” in spelling, I know we must have slang of our own. TV pipes American trash into our brains from birth here, but we must have some things left that are distinctly our own, so help me out and drop a list of your favourite Canadian phrases, slang and terms.

A few of my favs:

• “To put the boots to you/it/him/‘er” – To express a healthy anger in a physical manner; to compete or drive with passion; to put one’s strength into something.
• “Beauty!” – OK, so this isn’t strictly Canuck, as I know it is also used a lot in Australia, but, oh my, the sound of that one, satisfied word expressed in a nice Canadian accent. Meaning: “Very good indeed – this pleases me!”
• “Maritimes” – I was surprised to realize that not everyone in the world knows this beloved term, or the adjective “Maritimer.” The Maritimes of Canada are the Atlantic provinces minus Newfoundland (for some reason) – Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick. In general, the term “Maritimer” technically means “someone from the Maritimes,” but also works out to mean “someone who is charming, witty, and loveable in almost every way, especially due to their adorable little accents.” Honest.
• “Back East” – UP HOME! (Alternatively, DOWN HOME!)
• “Bluenoser” – Folks from UP HOME. (Equiv. “Nova Scotioner.”)
• “Upper Canada” – Folks not from UP HOME (i.e. Ontaronians, who like to call themselves Ontarians, but who are they kidding?)
• “Out West” – That place over t'other side of Ontario.
• “Dipper” – A card carrying member of the NDP. (Whoot!)
• “loonie” – A dah-ller, eh?
• “double-double” – This one is a cheat, maybe, because it really is corporate-speak. This is a coffee from Tim’s with two cream and two sugars. However, once I started using this term at Star Bucks, I think it crossed the line into Canuck-lore-land.
• “serviette” – A paper napkin. General rule of thumb: Anything related to things mums may care about usually stem from really antiquated and chintzy British slang. This is a good example.
• “crack” – Technically Irish in origin, it can also be heard round down home. Not smoked from a pipe (necessarily), this is any type of fun.
• “toque” – I know that even Yanks use this term now, but I still claim it as ours. I had a beauty of a toque when I was a kid: red, white and blue stripped, with matching pom-pom, with “IRVING” knitted into the side all around it… yeah. That was left on the school bus pretty damned quick.
• “toque head” – The hair resulting from wearing previous item.
• “pogey” – Unemployment insurance, i.e. “Your brother-in-law’s beer allowance.”
• “poutine” – Canada’s answer to the Heart Smart menu: potato deep-fried in fat, covered with a layer of curded fat, and then topped off with a layer of liquid fat. Yum.
• “2-4” – a box of 24 beer… which is probably enough to kill five grown American men, after a lifetime wasted on the dishwater you all drink down there.
• “Making puppies” – A more polite euphemism for another, nastier term (ask me in private) for “doing nothing.”
• “G’Way!” or “G’Wan!” – A charming little Celtic remnant from UP HOME, meaning, “You know, I don’t fully believe that thing that you just said.”
• “Screech” – Severe and toxic drink; the last thing you will ever taste in this life, if you aren’t sufficiently braced for impact.
• “Whadda’yat?” – Translated: “Hello, fine fellow, well met! Pray tell, how you fair this fine morning?”
• “Mulroney” – A horrible, huge-chinned monster who scares small children and cuts funding with a huge, razor-covered mit. A cautionary tale of what could happen to anyone who gets into bed with Ronald Regan.

So, yeah, I know some of these expressions are pretty self-explanatory and may be all over, but, to me, they say Canada… Ah, Canucks. Bless our little white tube socks, eh?
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What Says, “Canada!” to You, eh?

With only six (five when you read this) more sleeps until Ohio, I am finishing up some last minute souvenir shopping for my Yank pals. Mugs and chocolate loonies abound, but I am unsure about what really says “Canada.”

Ontario wine? A canister of Tim Horton’s coffee? Maple syrup? Stompin’ Tom CD? Roots wear?

A wooden replica of the Blue Nose?

So, I put it to all my Canuck readers: What would you bring to the USA to represent this place? What says “Canada” to you?

(And, for inspiration, the pic above is me on Canada Day a few years ago, after 16 hours of work, on very little sleep and a ton of Canuck pride… How do you think the Yank border guards will like me? I plan on leaving the hat at home… as well as my “Burn, Bush, Burn” t-shirt and Cuban flag pins. Just to be on the safe side, right?)
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Rick Mercer’s Bits

Try as I might to get back on track with my reading for my doctoral exam, this just keeps stealing my attention.

“Hmm, time for lunch… May as well watch some Mercer.”

“Wow, my neck is sore from reading. Gee, a few Mercer clips wouldn’t take too long.”

“Hey! I finished a chapter… Let’s celebrate with some Mercer, shall we?”

“Haha… I just have to watch that Mercer-at-Stampede clip again.”

Oh, Rick Mercer. How long will you torment me? So what if you are like the nicest thing to look at on the CBC (which, admittedly, is not saying much)? Who cares that you’re a cute and funny (in a mom-sort-of-way) Newf – which makes you pretty irresistible?

I still have work to do, so leave me alone.


(Oh, and for all you Yanks out there, try this [pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, too] on.)
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Ty-Ranna

Off to the ROM today with the folks from the coast… Toronto. The Big Smoke. The Big Headache. Oh well, wish me well.

And here’s a little amusement that I enjoy, even if the jokes are semi-at-my-expense.

Enjoy!

PART I:



PART II:

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Oh Canada!

The back seat of a mini-van, with too little space and no activity, is not my favourite place in the world. I never travel in cars, actually. If I can’t walk to it, I rarely visit it. However, since we have folks up from out East, it seemed only good and proper to roam about and see what this strange Ontario has to offer.

We drove around to St. Jacobs to gawk at the Mennonites, and out to Stratford to see the river and the shops. The towns were ok, but the landscape was exquisite… trees, and hills, and crags, and fields, and horses as far as the eye could see. I could feel my heart swell.

Lord, but I do love this country. Even Ontario.

So, even with an ache in my hip from a total lack of leg room, and the strong desire to shove the map up the back passage of everyone who asked anything about “off-ramps” or “exits,” I was a bit misty. What if I had never been born in Canada? What if I had missed out on all this?

And it hit me, once and for all, that no matter where I go, I will have this feeling, always.

That was a nice realization.

To celebrate my patriotic surge, I picked up an item or two of souvenir-status for some folks out in Ohio. I can’t give too many details, but I can say that Mounties are involved.

It was a pretty good day.

Hope you are the same.
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Smuggle Me?

Hey folks! I have a dilemma. I need advice.

In over a month’s time I will be traveling to that great sleeping beast to the South.

Frankly, I am terrified to my marrow, however Amanda has tempted me and I cannot resist. My luck, I look like a terrorist to their eyes, and you’ll never see me again. In that event, all my mail can be forwarded, care of Bush, via Gitmo (or some other hellish place inspired by Devil’s Island or Club Med). Uh… you can just toss the bills; I don’t imagine I’ll need them any more after that.

And keep Amnesty International on speed dial, just in case.

(Why can’t Amanda live somewhere reasonable, like Thailand or Afghanistan?)

So, here is the main point. Can anyone who has crossed that pillar of fire called the US/CAN border tell me what ID a Canuck needs to penetrate the fortress of paranoia? Has anyone who is currently passport-less found this to be an issue?

Any advice will be appreciated.

And, yes, I already know that the Yank border guards do NOT enjoy it if you wear t-shirts with the Cuban flag on them. That I do remember from my youth.

Please help! I am a Canadian Socialist contemplating the belly of the beast. Save me from an uncertain fate.

I try to repeat this mantra: Cheap cigarettes; McCarthy is dead and buried.
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Beautiful

I took a wander this morning, to clear my mind and focus my energies.

It is lovely outside. We had a hard rain yesterday, so everything is fresh and green. It is not too terribly hot, but the sun is gold and dripping. A breeze shakes the pines outside my window. The spring animals are starting to come into their own, with juvenile squirrels and rabbits and birds covering every where, making every park and yard into a school room. The air is fresh and the sounds thrilling. It is that time when the flush of summer colour overlaps with the crispness of impending autumn. I love this time.

There are many things on my mind. I am starting to think of jobs and job hunting, planning ahead for the big 2009 that will (hopefully) mark my launch into my profession. Many of the best schools for me to teach at are in the States…

How can I be separated from this place, this land? Is the rain the same there? Will the snow be the snow I know so intimately here? Will I feel the same jolt through my feet when I walk on foreign grass and soil? Will I bleed internally for Canada? Will they reject me and my strange, “exotic” ways? Will I learn American fear? Will it erase Holly as I know her? Will I become disconnected?

If my heart breaks over the distance from Nova Scotia in my exile in Ontario, how could I stand the exile to another country all together?

Am I strong enough to live on batteries uncharged by Canadian soil? Would my heart remain buried here always, only to leave me without one elsewhere?

Or, perhaps, is a place just a place, and every nook and cranny can be beloved it if is home? After all, only four years ago, I never would have dreamt of loving Ontario land as much as I do here. Now I feel like I belong to it, somehow; Nova Scotia is the mother, and Waterloo is the aunt that I have come to visit.

After all, North America is only carved up by the hands of greedy humans. And nature is a law that snubs the concepts of our limited minds.

But, then, perhaps I am rambling.

Go out and enjoy the day, wherever you are.

(An appropriate tune for today.)
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