| |
|
something i don't like about canada is that you have to go to special stores to get alcohol, and they close at 9pm. 9pm!
Hmm, not around these prairie parts, eh? Here in Cowtown, home of the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth, where men and woman of various colour and creed drive large SUVs or sleek sporty cars, or even the biggest gas guzzling trucks trucks (for here in Cowtown, where the Sad hosts the Trage, it is every white bread’s privilege to live off the black gold buried in the land, and it is the privilege of some whitey white breads, and the rest of our 13% visible minorities to some how earn a living serving those who live off the bowels of the land—so of course not everyone here drives the shiniest new spiffy vehicles, eh?); here in Cowtown, where the Red Mile Surges as people of all ethnic groups clad in spirit form the C of rouge, and where the flame burns bright when the red light is a flight, and the fumes of the bowels of the land burn atop what used to be the city’s tallest tower (but now big business builds higher, the banker’s halls mirror the twin trade, only much smaller…well…and still standing): well here my friends, you can buy booze at “special stores” (we here call them “Liquor Stores”) that are located on every other corner—it sometimes seems—and some even stay open ‘till 2:00 am—‘casue here in Cowtown we’re our country’s heaviest drinkers, eh?
But, I don’t drink too often myself, eh?
also don't forget about their crazy anti-smoking warnings on their weird-shaped cigarette packs, replete w/pics of diseased lungs
Some people are most offended by the terrible picture of what smoking can do to your teeth. So much so, some will often desire a package with a different label and warning—perhaps the one about how smoking kills babies. But not me: I don’t care what sort of warning or picture is on the package, eh?
Heh, on aboot the Canadian winter, eh (note, I don’t actually ever say “aboot,”)? Here on the prairies, in Cowtown, you can wait for the C-train in forty below weather (yes, that’s Celsius), and yes, you have to get out of bed and go to work. But there’s jobs for everybody here in Cowtown—it’s old King Ralph’s “Alberta Advantage”—at least that’s what some would say, anyway (of course, many of the jobs here are labour or service, at least the one’s that seem ready available—skilled and unskilled, naturally): but I see people living on the streets, sleeping in parks, collecting bottles, begging for change. So yes, there are societal problems here that extend from my own neighbourhood, into relations with our Aboriginal people, up to our politicians, and so on and so forth. Kinda’ like other places, but more often than not we don’t shoot one and other over it, eh?
‘Cause we’re the “peace keepers”, eh?
From my awfully small point of view Canada seems like an all right place to live. Perhaps a little better than many other places I could find myself if I was someone else—it’s all relative, eh?
Don’t forget Skinny Puppy, although I don’t listen to them so much anymore, and nomeansno are pretty kickass. And years ago—back in the days of the Deer—some friends and I missed our chance, by fleeting moments, to fight the Barenaked Ladies. They were playing the lounge at the RDC and had popped into one of the few downtown haunts. That was back before they were big. Well, I guess they’ve always been big, but I mean before they became somewhat popular, eh?
G’day. |
|
|
