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Vincent: You know what they put on French fries in Holland instead of ketchup?
Jules: What?
Vincent: Mayonnaise.
Jules: Goddamn.
Vincent: I’ve seen ’em do it, man. They fucking drown ’em in that shit.

I’ve been in Canada for almost 7 weeks now, and I’ve been keeping a mental checklist of the “little differences” that I’ve noticed to date. Although I’ve spent a lot of time up here over the last 33 years, I haven’t been fully immersed like this in over a decade. Here are some subtle little day-to-day observations I’ve been collecting.

1. Condiments: Vinegar and gravy are available absolutely everywhere. Swiss Chalet sauce is making a bigger impression on me than bathtub meth. You never have to ask for ketchup.

2. Traffic: Is awful. Toronto traffic is at the levels that LA is famous for. An enormous, sprawling city of highways and overpasses. You can traverse the 401 to the North, or the Gardiner Expressway to the South – but either way, unless it’s between 2am and 3:30am, you’re sitting bumper-to-bumper for hours.

3. Traffic Laws: You can turn right on a red light. Some States (Florida, etc.) allow this but it’s a no-no in Massachusetts. I love it. I get back little snippets of time that make up for some of the traffic jams.

4. HBO Surprises: One of the first things I did when I got up here was figure out which of the cable channels was linked to HBO so I could be sure to see the last episodes of the Sopranos. The channel in question is called MMX, and their programming is quite unique. You have all your first run blockbusters during the day, but as soon as the clock strikes 11pm Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban is replaced promptly by Saving Ryan’s Privates. I’m talking full-on, hardcore pornography on a channel that five minutes before might have been showing Entourage. It’s simply fabulous.

5: Pizza: Canadians don’t know what a cheese pizza is. I think ordering a plain pie must be some sort of taboo which is done in private clubs in North York. Bacon is a big seller. As is BBQ sauce, feta cheese, sun dried tomatoes, hamburger and my new favorite topping – green olives.

6: Tattoos: Everybody has one.

I’ll keep adding to this list as I notice more of them. Feel free to chime in.

Let me just preface this post by saying – at this day in age, if anyone did this to me, my friends or a member of my family I would chase them down and beat the fecking piss out of them on the street. Luckily, the show in question is filmed in Europe where people don’t sue you for belching in the same elevator as them.

In addition to its citrusy-flavored, strangely tasty, candy brand association, Skittles is an old European sport, from which Ten-pin bowling, Duckpin bowling, and Candlepin bowling in the United States, and Five-pin bowling in Canada are descended. I don’t usually copy and paste so blatantly from Wikipedia, but there was no way I was prepared to capitalize so many words in a sentence after 3 cans of Canadian.

Urban Skittles is the name given to one of the many urban sports invented by a character called ‘Neg’ from the worthwhile British comedy show, Balls of Steel. It involves running into a public place, usually a fast food restaurant, and screaming at the top of your lungs to “get down on the floor!” For every pedestrian who drops on their face, you get a point. I really don’t want to laugh at this. My second favorite Neg scene is definitely Big Stranger Rodeo.

There are roughly 12 recurring characters of which Neg is just one. If you liked, or were repulsed, by the Urban Sportsman you’ll also want to check out Bunny Boiler (a cute woman who blatantly hits on men while they are with their girlfriends), the Annoying Devil (a guy in a devil suit who spreads dog poo on crosswalk buttons), and Mr. Inappropriate (a dude in a suit who whacks off in variety stores, among other things).

I’ve arrived safe and sound in Canada, and am splitting my time between Burlington and Portland as time and duty allows. I can’t begin to summarize the last 3 weeks properly in the amount of time I have to devote to the blog today, so I’ll instead point you to a couple of FaceBook galleries where I have been uploading and writing captions for all the post-move photos to date. You may choose between a general gallery covering moving, cleaning, garage sales and revelry – or a photo essay documenting phase one of last weekend’s Operation Bunkhouse. Click a photo and scroll through like a sideshow to see the captions. The thumbnails alone aren’t nearly as interesting.

I made a down payment today to my new favorite web designer to thoroughly revamp and re-envision this silly website to which I have grown so attached over the last three years. Reese recently redid my dog sweater site, andf I have the utmost faith in her abilities. So fear not, dear reader (if there any of you left). I shall return with a lukewarm vengeance.

Smack dab in the middle of some tactical reverse psychology on a six-year-old yesterday, I was reminded of a poem I loved when I too was a wee’un. It’s by Dennis Lee, and I swear I still knew almost all of it – even 25 years later.

When they bring me a plate
Full of stuff that I hate
Like spinach and turnips and guck.
I sit very straight
and I look at the plate
and I quietly say to it: “Yuck!”

Little kids bawl,
cause I used to be small
and throw it all over the tray.
But now I am three
and much more like me
so I “Yuck!” ’til they take it away.

But sometimes my Dad
gets terrifically mad
and he says, “Don’t you drink from that cup!”
But he can’t say it right,
cause he’s not very bright.
So I trick him and drink it all up.

Then he gets up and roars
and he stomps on the floor
and he hollers, “I warn you, don’t eat!”
He counts up to ten
and I trick him again,
and I practically finish my meat.

Then I start on the guck,
and my Daddy goes, “Yuck!”
and scrunches his eyes ’til they hurt.
So I shovel it in
and he grins a big grin
and then we all have dessert!

Granted, she ‘accidentally ‘dropped and smashed it shortly after I was finished my masterpiece. So the joke may have been on me. Happy Easter, regardless!