Doing the Can-Con

I need to write something, don't I? Instead of just enduring this post-vacation distraction and, it must be said, mild apres-holiday depression.

Ten days elsewhere, visiting my friend Smidgen in Ottawa, first, and attending Bluesfest, then on to Niagara-on-the-Lake and the Shaw Festival. With a lot of lovely friendship, poutine, Korean barbecue, shopping, Group of Seven paintings, ice hockey, al fresco dining by the Gatineau River in Wakefield, Quebec, and driving and drinking (but not at the same time) in between. Too bad it had to end.

But . . . I don't feel like writing about it all quite yet. So I won't, and, instead, will just torment you with a few videos that should keep us both in that Canadian State (er, Province? Dominion?) of Mind for a while longer.

Besides, under law, I'm told that 35 percent of all blog postings must feature Canadian content. Just following the rules.

* * *

Slowly I turn . . . another year older

Obviously, there was a great gap (and, no doubt, gasp, as we all need to come up for air sometime) between my last post in September and my first post in October--the reason being that I turned another year older (rising to 46 on the Hot 100, still with a bullet, which is probably heading straight for my cranium) in the interim and decided to celebrate by making a marathon motor tour of Central New York and the Niagara region of Ontario.

I have a few stories to tell from the adventure and hopefully I'll get to those before I've forgotten all about them (age can do that to you) or have moved on to some other blogworthy (one can but dream) observations about life, love, and a certain senator's testicles.

But today I'm pressed for time at the mo', traveling a fair amount for work until mid-November. So instead I'll give you the short version (for me) and share a few photos from my travels.

I had a wonderful time visiting my friend, the Itinerant Professor of Chinese in New York State, and also enjoyed a splendid retreat on my own in Niagara Falls and Niagara-on-the-Lake.

While in New York, I did some hiking with the Itinerant Professor, traveling to Chittenango Falls, Green Lakes State Park, and another nature preserve near Earlville and Hamilton, New York. I also dined out a lot, went to the movies, made some new acquaintances, and did the antiques roadshow circuit of Central New York.

In the Niagara region, I made myself quite at home at the Brock Plaza Hotel, the same hotel in which Marilyn Monroe stayed while filming the appropriately titled Niagara in the early 1950s. It was as camp a decision as I've ever made (other than my antiquing adventures mentioned above). I just had to do it--it seemed like a charming and slightly fabulous way to spend one's birthday. Heck, I even splurged and spent the extra $30 a night (woo hoo!) for the fallsview room, instead of the one with the vista of the late '70s modern parking deck. Despite my fear of heights, I even opened all the windows of my 11th floor room and let the roar of the American and Canadian falls lull me to sleep.

On my last day, before heading home, I spent the afternoon in the sublime Niagara-on-the-Lake, situated just so with a perfect view of Lake Ontario. I could have done more there--such as get my Anglophilia groove on while enjoying afternoon tea at the Prince of Wales Hotel--but it was hot and humid that day. Just call me Lily White of the Valley--I must be the only person who goes to Canada and gets a sunburn.

So I headed home to Pittsburgh, vowing to return another time for a longer visit. All in all, it was a splendid way to spend a birthday.

Perhaps it all sounds very lowkey and a "small" way to celebrate one of life's milestones. I mean, $30 extra for a fallsview room? Maybe I need to learn to expand my definition of splurging.

Nevertheless, it was exactly what I needed, precisely what I had been craving. Some time away, some time with friends, and some time alone, in a lovely and tranquil setting.

Oh, it's come to this, has it? First, gardening and origami, now beauty and peace over excitement and frenzied adventure?

Yes, thankfully so, it has.

Give it some Gas

OK, admittedly, I haven't posted in a while, as my friend No Rella just reminded me in a phone conversation this evening. *Heavy sigh.* The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd, Britney. Our public--and children's social services, apparently--is sooo demanding.

For tonight, I'll keep it simple--especially as, I suspect, some of you are still recovering from singed eyelashes and -brows due to the highly flammable content of my last post. So . . .

No discussion of the anniversary of 9/11 tomorrow (please, the Bush administration and that Congress full of Caspar Milquetoasts have already scraped that carcass clean--why need I?); no pointed comparisons between that infamous day and 8/29, for which our fearless leaders missed a platinum-coated opportunity to refocus the nation on a progressive social agenda (gentle reminder, dear readers: 8/29 is the new 9/11, the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and the inundation of New Orleans); no unsubtle allusions to the MTV Video Music Awards and the decline and fall of Western Civilization. I'm not talking about Britney Spears, for goodness sake--some bad lip-synching and a slightly off dance routine don't make you venal. It's a different story, however, when it comes to Pamela Anderson, Kid Rock, Tommy Lee, Kanye West, Justin Timberlake . . . .

(And while we're at it, just what kind of a name is Kanye West, anyway? It sounds like the name of a gated community in suburban Phoenix. Homes starting in the low $500,000's. Such a bargain.)

But, really, I promise, nothing at all like that in this post.

Instead of dancing with tears in my eyes while Rome self-immolates, I come to crow about the cultural and social merits of Dog River, Saskatchewan.

Last night Superstation WGN Chicago premiered the Canadian TV show Corner Gas, which has been airing since 2004 on CTV, but has just now made it South of the Border on American airwaves. This week, WGN will offer a sneak peak at various times and hours. Get that TiVo ready, set, go! 'cause you'll never follow the schedule this week. Here goes . . .

• Tonight, the show aired two episodes at 8 pm
• Tuesday night, September 11th, the show broadcasts two episodes at 9 pm Eastern, one of which is a repeat from last night
• Wednesday night, one episode at 7:30 pm Eastern and two more at 11:30 pm Eastern
• Finally, Saturday, two episodes from 4 to 5 pm Eastern

Got that? And you thought trying to schedule a peace conference in the Middle East was complicated. Pish posh.

Starting on Monday, September 17th, the show will air regularly (one can but dream) at 12 am Eastern (but does that mean Sunday night or Monday night? only my DVR knows for sure) with repeats at various times during the week. Really, just go to the WGN Superstation website and pray for the best. If you succeed in following the guidance for tuning in, you're eligible to complete your own tax forms this coming season.

So why am I shilling this show to you? Because it's a really funny, very silly, and just a plum ol' enjoyable diversion in an overly torrid (not to mention arid, not to mention vapid) U.S. broadcast landscape. Think I'm kidding? I swear to you last night some bimbo commentator (all the cluelessness, double the cleavage) on the Dan Abrams show on MSNBC used the term "man sausage" in a reference to the physical merits of Hep C poster boy Tommy Lee in a discussion on his smack-down with Kid Rock at the MTV VMAs. Man sausage? Goodness. Whatever happened to the simple but eloquent "salami soldier" or the slightly more euphemistic but still to the, ahem, point "dude flounder"? (Once you land it, the only way to control it is to club it senseless in the bottom of a boat, I guess.)

Oh, while we're at it, why not just go ahead and show in primetime that infamous homemade porn flick between Pammy and Tommy?

Seriously, though, has it come to this? Now even TV commentators sound like letter-writers to Playgirl magazine.

* * *

I was lucky enough to catch a couple of episodes of Corner Gas when I visited Canada last August, and it made me laugh out loud a number of times and just made me feel good overall. In fact, funnily enough, I had recently been window-shopping at the online stores for Amazon.ca and Indigo, thinking, hmmm, I might just have to buy one of the seasons on DVD to see more. But whenever my full-bodied fantasy life makes a northward turn toward Moose Jaw, our beloved, all-American Pittsbugh comes to the rescue once again: The Post-Gazette ran an article on Sunday about the show's impending American debut.

So what's it all about, you ask? Here ya go--

Corner Gas is the story of the residents of the fictional town of Dog River, Saskatchewan, "40 miles/40 kilometres from nowhere and way beyond normal." Not much happens--Brent manages the corner gas station, at least as best he can under the cranky, hawkish eye of his perpetually p.o.'ed father, Oscar. He hangs out with his slightly paranoid/fairly dumb buddy Hank. He interacts with wise Wanda the store clerk; his hell-on-wheels mother, Emma; and the two town cops, Davis and Karen aka "Serpico." (Ah, you have to watch . . .) And they all more or less welcome Lacey, a recent transplant from Toronto, who has moved to Dog River to take over and transform her late Aunt Ruby's coffeeshop. ("The walls are pink . . . and now she's put these cloth things on the tables!" says Hank. "Tablecloths?" says Brent. "Yeah! She's turned Ruby's into a gay bar!" says Hank.)

The taxman (excuse me, I mean, a taxman--again, you gotta watch to get the joke) comes to visit; Lacey starts a pilates class and some Dog River residents get the wrong idea and think she's paying tribute to the "guy who killed Jesus"; Brent gets a tiny cellphone and Davis becomes a sort of inverse size queen, trying to top him, as it were, with an even smaller model; in an effort to attract tourists, the town decides to build a giant "gardening implement" rising out of topsoil--in other words, "the world's biggest dirty ho(e)." And that's about it.

Nonetheless, the writers and actors do mine the minutiae of small-town (or everyday?) life for some rich, quirky gems. Think Northern Exposure, but think Northern Exposure before it became too aware of its own preciousness, and then drop it down in middle of the town of Mayberry, North Carolina, with Brent as a kind of sarcastic Andy Griffith and Hank as a Canadian grease-monkey equivalent of Deputy Barney Fife. Which I guess would make him like Gomer or Goober, but slightly smarter and way cuter.

Or think of it as a prairie-based Seinfeld with Brent as Jerry, Hank as a mix of George and Kramer (pre-racist rants), and Oscar as a crossbreed between and George, George's father, and every overstimulated New Yorker you've ever met.

The show appeals to me in part because the setting reminds me of Kansas, where much of my family lives now. The first episode even featured an extended riff on the flatness of Saskatchewan by way of the slow, sarky torture of a gas station customer who makes the standard "it's flat here" comment to Brent and Hank while passing through Dog River. (You can view the segment on the WGN website, selecting "Corner Gas: Comedy Clip 1" from the video menu.) "How do you mean, topographically?" Yeah, duh, it's flat. Thanks, Sherlock, for that expert detection. It's a scene that I'm sure many Kansans could relate to and would enjoy recreating in their own encounters with auslanders.

Not that the liberal bubble of Lawrence is a stand-in for Dog River, mind you, but there are some Plains States qualities--the humor, the quirkiness, the small town-iness, and the national perception that it inhabits a "flyover zone" not worth paying attention to--that parallel life in the Prairie Provinces. Did I ever tell you about the conversation my Mom had with the store clerk in Lyndon about where to have lunch in town ("here in Lyndon, we're famous for our Buzzard's Pizza")? Or comment on the sign I saw for the Ritzy Rascals boarding kennel near Overbrook ("don't overlook Overbrook!")?

No?

Ah, something for later, taters . . .

* * *

In another way, the show appeals to me because of this still ongoing jones for Canada I have been experiencing for the last few years. I don't fully get it either, although I suspect that Northern Exposure-Mayberry RFD (hopefully minus the annoying Howard and the even more annoying Emmett) comparison speaks more truth than I care to admit. Maybe it all just comes down to the neverending quest for a simpler, pleasanter, less contentious, less consternatious way of life.

(Editor's note: One of the good things about being an American: you can make up words like "consternatious" like nobody's free-market business.)

A case in point--on the morning of August 11th, I woke up from a deep dream with a sudden and strong sense-memory of being in Elora, Ontario, a town I had visited exactly one year ago (to the day, as they say). I could taste the maple ice cream; I could see the Canadian flags flapping and snapping in the cool breeze along the High Street; I could hear the rushing of the nearby waterfall as it cascaded over the rock ledge; I could feel the dappled sunshine on my skin as I strolled around the town. Pure Canadian exotica--which is a somewhat oxymoronic concept, given the preponderance of GM cars and American-styled and -owned big-box stores in Ontario.

Nonetheless, I felt at peace in a way that I haven't felt since 9/11.

But not for the reasons you might imagine. My desire for something else, something more, for emigration, has never been about the fear of international terrorism; it's always been more about living out new challenges (no matter how content I am wherever I am, eventually I have to know what's around the corner), especially in an environment where people still think the purpose of government is to make life better for everyone, not just a podium for lowest common denominator blowhardiness, empire-building, and an elaborate, formal, and rather aesthetically disappointing (Official Washington: Hollywood for Ugly People) method for lining the pockets of a select few.

But whatever. The point is that, more than anything, Corner Gas is a hoot. It's a Calgon-take-me-away kind of thing--for thirty minutes, minus corporate sponsorship, I get to laugh, often almost constantly throughout the program. And, holy hockey pucks, I need something different to holler about from time to time, something that doesn't involve war, poverty, global jihad, or Pamela Anderson's soul.

Pammy's Canadian, you know. Which, come to think of it, depending on your persuasion and your allergic reaction to silicone, peroxide, and lord knows what infectious diseases she's carrying around, isn't really the best advertisement for the Canadian way of life. Although she does speak volumes about highway safety and the dangers of tire overinflation.

* * *

If you choose to watch Corner Gas (and I hope you will), be sure to stick around through the closing credits. Nope, no funny surprises; instead, just check out the overdramatic and somewhat frightening network logo for CTV, the Canadian television network that originally aired Corner Gas. Three ginormous flags--red, blue, and green--billowing menacingly over a wheat field. Or a corn field. Or Saskatchewan. Spooky.

The attached picture only hints at the terror engendered from this frilled lizard of corporate iconography, this demonic angel of media branding. It's like the symbolic representation of some North-of-the-Border supervillain--or at least his flaring, tri-colored cape.

Run for your lives! It's Canadian Shield Man!