Should I stay or should I go?

With typical Canadian understatement, Parliament reconvened earlier this week, almost two months after Prime Minister Harper decided to start the Christmas holiday early. The budget was re-presented and this time, with conditions, the Liberal Party decided to accept it, thus preserving Stephen Harper's tenuous grip on power.

However, the NDP and Bloc Quebecois both rejected the terms of the new budget; the Bloc Quebecois complained that not enough resources would be directed Quebec's way, and during a subsequent interview Gilles Duceppe, leader of the Bloc, made a very revealing comment:

"The interests of Canada are not those of Quebec."

Such an incredible statement puts a picture of a petulant teenager in my head who, just before slamming the door and leaving the house, shouts out something to his parents like "You just don't understand me, why can't you give me my own space? I hate you...I don't want to see you again, ever!" as he skulks away, underwear still defiantly visible above the top of his jeans.

Now, in 99% of such scenarios, said teenager eventually skulks back, tail between the legs, after he realises that life in the real world is actually very hard without the support of those darned parents. It would seem to me that Mr Duceppe really wants to take Quebec out that door before slamming it firmly behind him, and as I have said before, if that's what Quebec wants, then let it go. Whether the petulant teenager eventually skulks back to his Canadian parents in this case only time would tell, but if he did I can only hope, for his sake, that the parents haven't changed the locks.

Blowing hot and cold

What a world of contrasts we live in. It was -32°C here today (-46 with windchill), and I honestly thought that my eyeballs were going to freeze on the way to work this morning. However, both I and my eyes survived, and as I write I'm watching play from the Australian Open tennis in Melbourne (on TV: my eyes, frozen or not, aren't that good), where the on-court temperature is a staggering 61°C (that's over 140°F). Novak Djokovic has just been receiving treatment for heat exhaustion, and has been seeking solace from an ice-pack version of one of those sausage things you that you wear around your neck on the plane.

So, allowing for windchill and 'heatchill' (just what is the equivalent word for an out-of-the-shade temperature?), that's a difference of over 100° (and 16000km) between Inukjuak and Melbourne! I don't think the players would be any better off playing up here though. Holding the raquet would be very difficult in oversize sealskin mittens, and certain parts of the body do tend to shrivel up somewhat in such extreme cold...

"...new balls, please."

Hockey heretic

I have no respect for hockey.

There, I've come out and said it. I know that such a statement is likely to be seen as heresy in Canada, and akin to me writing about democracy in China, but I can contain myself no longer.

Now, I realise that when you choose to live in another country you should make every effort to integrate with the culture and live by the norms and values that exist there. I think I've managed to do this by and large: I eat poutine, I have more Canadian Tire money than real money, Tim Horton's is my second home (at least when I'm in the South) and I've even been known to say the odd 'eh.' However, when it comes to hockey, I simply can't do it. I can admire the skill on the ice, I can identify with the passion shown by the fans off the ice, but there is one thing I can't get my head round.

The fighting.

I simply cannot respect a sport that condones fighting to the extent that hockey does. In a game in the AHL today (for the uninitiated, that's the American Hockey League, the primary 'feeder' league for the NHL), a fight broke out seconds after the start of the game, the result of which left Garrett Klotz, a player for the Philadelphia Phantoms, writhing and convulsing violently on the ice, courtesy of the Manchester Monarchs' Kevin Westgarth. He was rushed to hospital from where, thankfully, the early reports on his health seem to be positive.

For those of you unfamiliar with the game, when a fight breaks out the referees allow it to continue and only step in when one or both players finally hit the ice. The arguments given in defence of fighting include lines like "it's a physical sport," "it's a man's game," "it's part of the action," or "the players have to let off steam." I've even heard the comment "it wouldn't be the same game without the fighting."

Pathetic.

Look at rugby. There are few more physical sports on this planet, but fighting is not considered 'part of the game.' Indeed, if any combatants do emerge, intervention is immediate and bans are swift and suitably lengthy. The attraction of the game is not diluted as a result. Other than a few minutes in the penalty box, I am not sure what the repercussions (if any) are for fighting in hockey - I'm sure someone reading this will let me know - and you even get idiots like Don Cherry extolling the fighting skills of various players in his match summaries on TV.

To be fair, there are many Canadians who share my view on this subject, but there are just as many, if not more, who will disagree; just look at the comments registered on the TSN website regarding the Garrett v Westgarth fight. So, what will it take for sense to prevail? I fear that someone is going to have to be killed for action to be taken, and even then I am not so sure. I sincerely hope that this will not be the case, but until action is taken, I cannot embrace hockey.

I am now ready for deportation.

Double vision

As a footnote to yesterday's inauguration, if President Obama ever finds the going simply too tough to handle over the next few years, he can always hire this guy to take his place:

Uncanny is not the word (bird is the word, apparently). The man on the left is one Ilham Anas, and he lives in Jakarta in Indonesia where, coincidentally (or is it ironically?.....Alanis, Alanis, can you come here a minute?) Obama went to school when he was a boy. I'm not sure how much presidents get paid, but I'd be willing to wager that Mr Anas stands to make considerably more money than Mr Obama over the next few years, and he's already appeared in an ad in the Philippines:



Oh, and perhaps somewhat presciently, an anagram of Ilham Anas is 'Anal Sham I'; let's just hope, for all our sakes, that the bottom doesn't fall out of his market.

Hello Goodbye

So, America finally has its first Irish President in the shape of Barack O'Bama....sorry, what's that? Oh, apparently that's not right, but whatever the heritage of the new Commander-in-Chief, today was certainly a momentous day in history. Obama was suitably statesman-like, Aretha Franklin put a whole new spin on God Save The Queen and George Bush just looked plain bewildered by the whole affair; the whole notion of people actually cheering in his presence must have been a most novel experience.

Apparently it's traditional for the outgoing President to leave a note tucked inside the desk in the Oval Office for the new incumbent. I have it on good authority that the note left by Bush was written in crayon and consisted of the following short message:

'Tag - you're it! And no tag-backs.'

God bless America.

Christmas comes but twice a year

There are few greater pleasures in life than the late, unexpected Christmas present, and I have been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end twice in the past week. Firstly, Vikki gave me a collection of gifts that rather accurately summed up all that I hold dear and believe to be true: a trivia-based game, a toilet roll with jokes on, a scarf and a Family Guy DVD (OK, the scarf may have been a bit of a red herring, although it was rather stylish).

And then, to cap it all, at the weekend I was presented with my very own...wait for it...Sham Wow and Mighty Putty!!!!! (Thanks, Dave!).

Consequently my cup now runneth over, and the good thing is that I am now in a position both to mop up the mess and mend the handle should the cup topple over as well as runneth.

Life is sweet.

Blind ambition

Following on from yesterday's informational piece, we now go from the sublime to the ridiculous. The new season of American Idol started this week, and on Tuesday night's show the final hopeful to be featured was a young blind man. He sang really well and earned a ticket to Hollywood from the judges, bringing the night's show to a most touching, heartfelt finale.

Well, almost.

If you watch the show regularly you will know that the host, Ryan Seacrest, waits outside the judges' room to either console or congratulate the contestant after their audition. Ryan was duly waiting for our blind chanteur to emerge, and when he saw the golden ticket he silently raised his hand in anticipation of a high five.

Think about this situation for a moment...

...Ryan obviously hadn't. 

If you build it, they will come

A purely informative, educational piece today (that's probably lost me at least half my audience):

Yesterday saw the official opening of the new building for the Unaaq Men's Association (UMA) here in Inukjuak. The UMA is a group that is dedicated to teaching traditional and/or practical skills to the youth of the town, and this new building provides them with the facilities to do just that.

The construction of the building was undertaken by students from my school, Nunavimmi Pigiursavik, who worked under the supervision of their teachers and gained excellent experience in their chosen trades. There was an existing skeleton of a run down shack, and the students installed dry walls, plumbing and an electricity supply as well as setting up the equipment that would be used by the UMA.

Despite temperatures that dipped below -40 with windchill, a sizeable crowd gathered outside the building for the official opening ceremony, and the ceremonial rope (no ribbons here!) was cut by Adamie Niviaxie, the 'oldest elder' of Inukjuak. It is very heartening to see the skills learned by the students being put to positive use, and one would hope that the pride that has been generated here will spur them on in their studies and their future careers.

The boy is back in town

After a weekend of travelling I'm now reinstalled in the North, and it's just how I left it: cold and white. I'm already missing my Tim's, and I'm only gradually accepting the fact that it's back to the Mr Noodles diet until May. It's been good to see everyone again though, and there is the possibility that I may be receiving two new students this week, which will dramatically up my workload; I'm really going to have to develop a coping strategy, and fast!

Well, I now have a hard evening's TV to get through and my noodles are ready, so I must be going.

TTFN!

Six hours

Remember that sword I was mentioning a couple of posts ago? Well it dropped today. Painfully. My dentist's appointment was moved up two days as there had been a number of cancellations due to the weather, and I'm now wishing I'd been one of those who's stayed at home. Six hours I was there. Six bloody hours! Now, I know that going to the dentist doesn't really rank that highly in the pantheon of life-challenging events, but show me someone who enjoys such visits and I'll show you someone who's either a masochist or someone who actually works at the surgery.

Now, in the past, I've been used to seeing the dentist and having his or her (it's so difficult to tell these days) undivided attention for the duration of my visit. However, the practice I've attended this week piles in the patients, then the dentist flits between them like one of those old variety acts you used to see where they kept dozens of plates spinning on long, wobbly poles. Often they would then purposely smash the plates at the end of the act just to show you that they had been using real, breakable china rather than plastic, which always seemed to defeat the purpose of the entire act; it would be like a doctor performing complex heart surgery then shooting the patient at the end.

Where was I?

Ah yes...the dentist would prod around, sigh, make some notes, sigh again (never a good sign), numb the area of the mouth he was about to invade, then leave. He'd then work on another patient or two before returning to complete whatever it was he had to do to me. Over the course of the day this process was repeated a number of times, so you can see what I mean about spinning plates.

By the time it was all over, I felt like I'd had the orthodontic version of Mike Holmes and his team at work in my mouth, and I'd had to pay for the privilege. At least I now have a couple of days rest before travelling North at the weekend, and hopefully I will have regained all the feeling in my lips and cheeks again by then. I feel like a cross between Mick Jagger and Alvin and the Chipmunks at the moment.

Six hours!

Relativity Theory

I know everything is relative, especially your aunt and uncle, but I had to grin after reading an article on the BBC website this morning entitled 'More Arctic temperatures to come.' Wondering what environmental catastrophe had befallen the UK overnight, images from The Day After Tomorrow ran through my head as I brought up the page, but once I started reading I realised that I needn't have worried.

"Temperatures in some areas plummeted as low as -8C" proclaimed the article, which then went on to describe how the country had been plunged into near anarchy due to such conditions. I've become somewhat battle-hardened when it comes to cold weather after four winters in Canada, and although I will admit that -8C is indeed cold, I'd hardly call it Arctic. So, whilst I have sympathy for those of you shivering back in Blighty, just be thankful that your cars look like this:

Heavy snow in the West Midlands yesterday

rather than this:

My car last week

Happy New Year

With the holidays over, the blog is back! I suppose I could have re-run old posts over the last week or so, much in the way that the major networks air re-runs whilst their top shows are in hiatus over Christmas and New Year, but I didn't want to short change you, dear reader. I say the holiday's over, but I actually have an extra week's laze to look forward to, courtesy of a cunningly booked dentist's appointment this coming Friday. I should have flown back North yesterday, but now I will probably not return until Sunday, so I can continue to enjoy my Tim's for a few more days. That said, my trip to the dentist will now hang over me like the Sword of Damocles for the rest of the week, so I suppose it's a bit of a mixed blessing.

Melanie is now safely back in the UK, and I've been entrusted with taking down all the Christmas decorations by myself, always an arduous task. It's always a touch sad to have to 'de-Christmas' the house after all the build-up to the day itself, and you can bet your bottom dollar - or your top one if you like - that I'm going to miss something, and that we'll be finding a surreptitiously hidden snowman or reindeer come Easter. Speaking of Christmas, ours was very good, and involved the usual round of eating and greeting, and public thanks to Tarni and Dave for providing such a feast on Christmas Day.

New Year's Eve was a quiet, 'at home' affair, and I must say that I was most disappointed with the fare offered on TV over here. Nothing to touch Andy Stewart's hogmanay party, and in fact many channels didn't even show anything different to their normal programming. You could very easily have unknowingly ushered in the New Year whilst watching the Sham Wow commercial. Speaking of Sham Wow, I had the privilege of actually using one over the holiday, having anticipated such a day for longer than I care to remember. However, just as in the way that it's often disappointing to meet your heroes, my Sham Wow experience was a bit of a let down. It didn't mop up vast areas of spillage as depicted on screen, and my idea of using miles of Sham Wow as a tsunami defence system looks like it will now have to be shelved.

I hesitate to try Mighty Putty now.

Happy New Year.