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Canadian WORD OF THE DAY: CELSIUS
Celsius is a newfangled kind of degree. Canadians like to use it to measure heat. You might hear one say: “It’s gonna be a hot one today – 29 degrees!” Don’t worry. Most Canadians are actually very intelligent – not crazy. 29 degrees Celsius converts to 82.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Hot, indeed.Warning: arguments over Fahrenheit/Celsius may lead to mile/kilometer, feet/meter hostility.
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Sometimes Ei and I forget we live abroad. Not this week. This hit me after I called a friend from home. The summit on every Torontonian's mind this weekend almost didn’t even come up.“Oh yeah, the G20. How was that?”
Hm. I know I already posted about the G20, but a lot has happened in the last few days. And no, Americans, this post isn’t a jab at you. Media coverage has been as unpredictable as the personal opinions I’ve encountered. Outside my (somewhat alternative) Canadian circles, I’ve seen a range of reactions to the weekend – from apathetic, to enraged, to disheartened, to oblivious.
More than 900 protesters were arrested over the course of Toronto’s G20 summit. Violence, emotion, tear gas, and vandalism changed the city atmosphere. Saturday, Ei and I kept safe on the west side of Bloor. Meanwhile, the entire city core shut down. When we walked east – just a few blocks towards downtown – we could smell smoke.
News aired the blow by blow of events – "FIRE!" "DANGER!" "VIOLENCE!" "ACTION!" It seemed evident what was happening (broken windows, police cars on fire, bomb threats), but we wanted to know why. In the aftermath, personal stories have started filling the gaps. Accounts of first-hand witnesses paint a more complex picture: protesters of all kinds (organized marchers, peaceful clowns, singing choruses), police outnumbering civilians (tear gas, rubber bullets, a horse-trampled-bystander), and over-packed, under-equipped holding cells for the detained.
Out of anger, a public inquiry into Toronto’s G20 is now under way. Police are suspected of instigating protesters, accused of trying to justify their $1 billion budget. As details surface, Canadian newspapers are telling more and more. However, the time for worldwide first-impressions has passed. U.S. news mostly glossed over the events - highlighting violent protests and arrests. American commentary is largely angry at “reckless” protesters. But they've only seen one viewpoint. Sure, officers were there to do their jobs, but civilians had a right to be there, too. They were vocalizing their beliefs. What about the peaceful citizens who were arrested, tear gassed, and trampled in the mix?
Misinformation is dangerous. Impassioned issues deserve to be seen clearly. Whose faces were behind the Black block bandannas and what was their message? Where is the coverage of Tibetan marchers, trying to fight for freedom? Why were hundreds of people arrested, and why weren’t their stories told? When protesters are labeled reckless – when police are called violent – snap judgments are perpetuated. The G20 exists to instigate change. So do protesters. Well, change starts with communication. In a continent that promotes free media and speech, every voice has the right to be heard.
(Hey, Ei - Hello! I'm just talkin' to ya! Bla bla blaa...)
Hot off the press, the newest episode of Americans in Canada.
Ever heard of Poutine?
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To all Americans in Canada: Warning - You are under alert.
Ah, I feel like I'm home again.
A few days ago, Ei got an email from the U.S. State Department (Oh, U.S.A., you bald mother hen.).Message: U.S. Citizens! From now until June 28th be wary of travel in Canada! Especially Toronto! Due to the G8/G20 summits in Huntsville and Toronto this week, there will probably be huge protests and mobs of raging anti-Americans! We're bumpin' up our security, but... you never know! Why not go to Maine instead!
(Ei deleted the actual message... but that's the gist of it.)
Well, U.S.S.D, my friend, you managed to lure Eileen back home for a vacation, but I'm still here. Bring it, G20.
As we speak national leaders are descending on Canada, escorted by legions of security guards, reporters, and protesters. Like a nose full of pollen, Toronto's about to get congested.
Traffic - by air, road, and foot - will be rerouted, as officials rope off the downtown core. Many national attractions and restaurants will close. Sporting events and theater (ahem, Theatre*) productions have been rescheduled. The entire University of Toronto has closed for the week to protect students from protesters.
Hm. I'm pretty vulnerable right now. I'm in Canada's danger zone, without even an American sister's solidarity. Anyone looking for a target will spot me - I must stand out like a sore thumb. I mean, I might as well tattoo the American flag to my chin. How can I fly under the radar? - Avoid the subway? Stay inside? Hitchike to Buffalo? (Eileen, where are your schemes when I need them?)
Wait - No. NO! I can't give into fear. Must look - on - bright - side.
OK. This will be a pleasant week. I'll be able to enjoy my quiet neighborhood without venturing downtown. Who needs the business district? And - hey! - looks like I have no class this week. It's almost like I'm on vacation, without having gone anywhere.
Yeah. Yeah! What was I worried about? I've survived bigger warnings. Come to think of it, D.C. and New York were always at least at Code Orange. And let's face it - from everything I've seen so far, Canada is much better at... well... peace.
With a $1 billion price tag and run-o-the-mill summit controversy, the G20 has brought the most political turmoil I've experienced in Canada yet. But apparently, lo and behold, there's also some pride for this week. Fine by me. Canada deserves to be respected as a world power. Host to the winter Olympics, it's dressed up nicely for the spotlight. I picked a good year to jump on the bandwagon!
Before I take cover underground, I'd like to add one more thing. Canada, as you become more high profile, please don't change. In particular, don't let your chatty older brother rub off on you - "WARNING! ALERT! CODE RED!" Sure, "homeland secuirty" is important. But what happens when it produces more phobias than security? - when it marginalzies people from other homelands? Canada and the U.S. were founded by immigrants. I love the principle that anyone can feel at home in either country.
Honestly, Canada I've been more than impressed by your integration (Ei, should we send field notes to the motherland?) As an outsider and a traveler, it's nice not to feel like an alien...
Tonight at 8: Episode 2 - rough cut - airs on Radio Cure Radio.
Come hungry. We're digging into poutine.
I love Canada.
Whenever I make something into a theme song , I make damn sure it’s true.
But I love America, too.
No matter how much I love a new home, it will never replace home home.
My parents just came up to visit for the week. (Stay tuned to Sunday’s podcast for an earful of those two!) It seemed like they were here for a microsecond. And they almost didn’t make it.
Two days before they were supposed to leave my brother checked into the hospital. He tore his esophagus after choking violently on his lunch. Jokes aside, this was obviously a serious injury. But, George Clooney be praised, he’s O.K., and as long as he sticks to a liquid diet for a while he’ll be back to normal in a few weeks. (Hm, think poutine’s mushy enough, Ei?)
“Back to normal.” My life has a very fortunate default setting. With family safe, everyone at home again, I can keep watch on them from up north.
Well, I have a confession. I’m not my gung-ho-Toronto, eh-hoser-loving self today. Maybe I’m just under a little cloud. Maybe I’m a little homesick.
Is that the bane of being a foreigner? One of the aspects of Toronto I’ve come to love is being part of a multicultural community. Various cultures integrate and collide all over West Bloorcourt. I wonder if all immigrants feel far away from their roots at times. Do they struggle with assimilating too little - or too much? Or is Canada’s progressive culture enough to put most immigrants completely at ease?
Ei just got to see her family, too. Her brief but beautiful tour of home, took her there and back, smoothly 'cross the border. Behind the wheel of her rental car – coffee in hand – pedal to the metal – married to the road and her itinerary – she conquered the trip like a marathon runner who doesn’t sleep. Old friends. New friends. Family. Milkshakes….And back again. (You blasted Sweet Potato Banana on the open road, didn’t you, Ei?)
It’s bittersweet to see loved ones – to have a reunion with an expiration date. And let’s scale “homesickness” down from immigration and national borders. Even moving a few hours away from someone is long distance. In today’s techno-crazy blogosphere, it’s “easy” to stay connected. The world is globalized and best friends chat from across oceans. This accessibility lets us get lazy. When we’re a click away from each other at all times, do we really connect meaningfully? Some people are diligent, thoughtful, thorough emailers. But what if I don’t have time – or need twenty pages to actually explain my life?
I realize my whiny contradictions. I chastise blogs – in a blog. I complain about technology… on the internet. I appreciate the world-wide-web, and take full-advantage of its net. But no form of contact replaces seeing, hearing, hugging, or smelling (Ei, remind me to talk to you about your new deodorant…) someone in person. When I get homesick I miss America - her people - her Fahrenheit - her mountains - her miles - her freedoms - her jokes - her traffic - her honkers - her Chipotle - her obesity - her obscenity - her trash bins. Nothing will replace being there. What’s an American in Canada to do?
Canadian WORD OF THE DAY: Poutine
Squishy, mushy, gravy fries originating from Quebec. Canadians LOVE this hefty snack. Not for the weak at heart. Or the lactose intolerant – these babies have cheese curds. Warning: do not consume with the same zest as French fries, unless you enjoy being cleaned bottom-side-out by a five-pound brick.
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I fear today’s entry might spark some rivalry amongst readers. In efforts to dissuade the yee old battle Ei and I often pretend doesn’t exist (We love Canada! All Canadians love Americans!), let me start with some field notes.
Americans have a hard time pinning down a national cuisine. Pizza? Italian. Spaghetti? Italian. Chinese food? Chinese. French fries? French. (What Ei? Nice try – no one’s gonna fall for the ol’ “Friench fries are really American” trick.) Sure we can claim burgers n’ dogs – many do enthusiastically, meat juice trickling down their chins. As vegetarians, Ei and I are just another strain of American weirdos with unidentifiable - probably un-American - tastes (Next 4th of July, I call seconds on the corn on the cob!).
There is an upside to not having a core “American” cuisine, though. It’s a reminder that our individual meals are all stewed in the big U.S. melting pot; America, land of the mutts.
Well, Canada is a bit of a mish-mash too. Especially Toronto. When I walk the ten blocks from my house to Eileen’s, I cross the compartmentalized, concretized countries of Korea, Greece, Ethiopia, Italy, and Portugal. Think they face a similar culinary identity dilemma? Oh Canada, you better believe it.
Enter: Poutine. The emblematic, bald eagle-esque, traditional Quebecois/Canadian dish. From its name you might imagine a meal quite similar to how it actually tastes – warm, soggy, starchy, blobby. But to Canadians, poutine is like George Clooney on a plate. He’s unmistakable. He’s everywhere. He’s adored by die-hard fans. When I first tasted it, I held my tongue – partially because I was afraid to ignite a cross-culture war – partially because, had I shifted the tepid glob of gravy fries, I might’ve puked. Since then, a soft spot has started growing in my heart (if not my mouth) for the soggy snack. How could it not when it means so much to my brothers here? Poutine, the golden star in every greasy Torontonian spoon, is real Canadian food.
Now all that brotherly love junk I just mentioned? All that stuff was true. Don't forget it.
Ok, here goes.
The International Poutine Eating Competition took place in Toronto last weekend…
The championship winner… was… American.
Heh.
Sorry Canada. It pains me to report that the only gold medal you can claim your own – the one, genuinely beloved North American rock star that was yours and not the states’ – was symbolically stolen from you Sunday:
Hailing from Chicago, Pat “Deep Dish” Bertoletti inhaled 13 pounds of poutine in ten minutes, blowing native participants out of the water.
You got ahead of yourself, Canada. You let your hunger, your love for poutine, carry you away. You organized a competition to celebrate your national cuisine without considering your chiseled American competitors. Your eyes were too big for your modest stomach.
Let’s face it, no one can match the American gut. This wasn’t the first time you were overshadowed by the girthy figure of our United States - (What Ei, I’m in the middle of something? Yeah, I know they have a lower rate of heart disease, and…
Ok…
Well…
Yeah…..... . . . . . . . . . )
Heh. Ok – Americans, when I said “girthy” I meant…
I mean.
Uh.
Oh man.
Let’s take a quick break everybody.
(Ok Ei, what the hell. I know somebody should be embarrassed here – but who? I’m so confused.)
Well, Canada, looks like maybe you didn’t lose this round. Crisis averted – no black eyes today! Alrighty well I’ve got loads of field notes to transcribe – gotta run – see you guys next time! Cheers! (Yeasurewellcoveracheersnothertimeon
WORDOFTHEDAY!)
Here we go kiddies:
Episode #1 Americans in Canada podcast
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