Home Sweet Canada... For 8 more days

Yes, my uneventful summer is winding down. Next Thursday Melissa and I will be hitting the long, dusty trail back to Clemson (if interstates can be considered dusty trails these days).

Today when I got home from work I found some new stuff in the house. I may have mentioned before that the house I live in is in a state of renovation- one that hasn't seen any work done since early July. I think my landlord must be on spanish summer hours. Anyway, it was a surprise and an ugly one so I snapped some photos to share.


But after I snapped these gems I realized I've never posted photos of the abode. So Enjoy these pictures of my home sweet house in Canada.

The Kitchen

Dining Room

From the kitchen through the dining room to the front door.

The front room, with the blinds I'm not allowed to touch.

Front porch, site of many a book read.

My room upstairs. Not as clean as it looks- there are piles in the corners you can't see, and that's not an accident.

My room from the other way.

My bathroom.

The tile in my bathroom is so cute I want to steal it.

Well, there are 3 other bedrooms upstairs and one on the first floor plus a office, but they all have locked doors. Maybe because I would steal from them or hide all my Canadian friends in them?

Spinsterhood

Best quote from Gone with the Wind, found on page 723.

The mantle of spinsterhood was definitely on her shoulders now. She was twenty-five and looked it, and so there was no longer any need for her to try to be attractive.

That pretty much sums it up. I am just 2 years and 3 months from being in that very position. In fact, at 22 I'm really past my prime. Scarlett was married twice before she was 22 and had a child for each husband.

Vacation is hard.

Okay, I've now spent 3 days chillaxing, sleeping in and vegetating and I got beef.

Watching tv in Quebec is tricky, more than half the channels are in French, and the US channels only stick to the regular schedules about 60% of the time. In my search for watchable TV I've taken up watching "CSI: Miami". Mostly its because its on every night against "CSI Las Vegas" which I hate.

But now I've watched 3 episodes of Miami and in every one they've shot a CSI and in two they killed off main characters. In the 3rd they killed off one of the CSI's wives who was the sister of another. How can I get into a show if they kill off all the good-looking characters? I still have to put up with Horatio, and I'm constantly in fear of the likable people getting shot. I cannot believe this is one of CBS's most successful shows. It hurts me.

I'm only slightly forgiving Canadian tv because I caught an episode of "My Name is Earl", and they have CMT. Late last night CMT showed "Great Balls of Fire", a fantastic movie which I highly recommend. If you haven't seen it, its about Jerry Lee Lewis. He's played by Dennis Quaid and Lewis' 13-yr-old cousin and bride is played by Winona Ryder. It is so disturbing, you'll love it.

So to summarize:
movies about incest and pedophilia - good
"CSI: Miami" - bad

Now back to Gone With the Wind, 1025 pages of vacationy goodness.

A Parade!

Last week I went to a parade in Drummondville. Drummond excitement?!?!?! Its true.

They've been having this Mondial festival which is an international dance festival and on Wednesday there was a parade. I went with Carolle, this nice lady that works at my office.

The parade started at 7:30 and the route was like 27 miles long, so it was more like 8:30 when we finally started seeing it. It was entirely composed of dance troupes from around the world and there were no floats, just trucks with big speakers. Interesting. I tried to take pictures, but by the time they were coming by it was pretty dark out so they mostly didn't turn out. I did get a few though and here they are:

The good people of Drummondville and Quebec, lining the streets in anticipation.

Traditional Quebecuois dancers, already its dark-ish, and this is the 1st group.

Apparently, clown school is considered a dancing troupe.

This is the only good picture I took in the dark, but it turned out f*cking awesome.

Well, this one turned out kind of okay, I think these were Russians.

After the parade there were fireworks down by the river, which started at 11pm. Coincidently this is also the time it started raining. Still, it was fun. Fun compared to other things I've done in Drummondville, of course. I got rained on at all of those too.

Hot Stuff

I'm bored, so I'm sharing a story from the Waller wedding. And as a bonus its a story about how hot I am.

On the day of the wedding all the groomsmen were doing their groomsmen thing with the groom so I was left to my own devices a bit. I ended up going down by the pool with mother Waller and her good friend, the preacher's wife. They were taking in the sun, but I know better, so I threw on a t-shirt and took my nail polish down to do a last minute touch-up.

We, of course, wound up having that discussion about how my nails are freakish and when the ladies last had manicures and if they were showing their toes at the wedding. Around then the preacher showed up. We moved on to wardrobe and the ladies told me about their dresses and I showed them my polish to describe mine. Naturally, I have polish that is the exact color of my dress- this is the 3rd wedding that dress has attended. After some oohs and aahs and more description the preacher interjects, "Well, Abby, I'm sure you have a very nice dress, but I hope you'll forgive me if I like my wife's better."

I say, "I don't know. This is a pretty fabulous dress. I understand that you are required to love your wife's, but you haven't seen this thing yet. Its amazing."

He insists he'll like his wife's best and we all laugh about how whipped he is after some 40 years of marriage.

Fast-forward 4 or 5 hours to the cocktail hour after the ceremony, which was great, in part because the preacher is a funny, personable guy. I'm chatting with someone, plowing through my 2nd or 3rd drink because its hot as hades out, when the preacher sort of sidles up to the conversation. He leans in all secretive like and gives a cheesy glance in each direction like he's looking for an FBI surveillance team. Then he says, "That is a great dress." and he walks off.

I collapse into a giggle fit, which no one understands, because no one could really hear him, and none of them were out by the pool with us. I considered explaining it, but finally decide to go with 'you had to be there' because it mostly just sounds like a guy in his 60s hitting on a 22-yr-old. But whatever. Its pretty funny. And who could blame him? I'm hot shit.

Dia's Travel Journal

Click here to see Dia's photo journal of our adventures in Canada (and her adventures in getting here.)

Her instructions for maximum photojournal enjoyment are, "Click on the first photo (in the upper left hand corner) and advance to each photo from there. They are in order, and there's commentary for each one."

Good times.

Today (Tuesday) I'm back in Canada after spending the weekend with the Wallers in the Poconos. It was soo much fun that I can't blog about it now. I'm at work, what do you want from me? Hopefully I'll have some photos by the end of the week to really fill out the stories. We'll see.

Checking In, Still Alive

I haven't been at the computer lately, because Dia came to visit (yay!) We had much fun, but instead of relating the whole thing, I'll link you over to her Flickr photo journal when its available. Just know we had fun, emptied bank accounts and got rained on repeatedly.

As for this weekend.... Off to Pennsylvania for my first encounter with the Waller family. Very exciting. And probably you'll have to hear about it afterwards, because the internet at the house is all messed up. Sigh.

For the second week in a row I'm doing almost no work, Monday was a holiday, Tuesday I took the morning off to deliver Dia to the airport, and yesterday Frankie and I were on site near Quebec City so we quit around 3 and spent the evening in Q-town. We drank some beers and toasted America in honor of the 4th. Goood times.

Until I get back my technology, entertain yourselves with the always improving dictionabby.

Books and Stories

Catch up with my reading:

I finished About A Boy on my way to St. Luey and Ava's Man on the way back. Blogged about both on Heartwarming Stories. Now I'm reading An Hour Before Sunrise by Jimmy Carter. I'm all about the presidential biographies these days.

On to more dramatic tales.... Quick! Name 3 ways to die in a gas station parking lot!

1. Fire during a gasoline fight
2. Shot by a Capulet
3. Run over by a getaway car

I didn't die in any of these ways. But I did almost die twice.

1. As I crossed the parking lot to buy a soda an old man pulled out of his parking space and made no attempt to not hit me. I had to leap out of the way in heels. And even after I cleared the initial danger zone he just kept backing up, much further than neccessary to leave the space. So I keep walking further and further back and the whole time he keeps his eyes glued forward, never glances back once to check for cute pedestrians.
2. This one was weirder. As I head for the driveway there is a towtruck hitching up to a brokendown jeep. The towtruck driver has hopped out of the cab to check something, left the engine running, the door open. About the time I pull behind these two to exit the lot, the entire operation starts rolling towards me. Because the driver failed to put her in Park. So now I'm sandwiched between a car waiting for traffic to pull into the road, a car waiting for a pump behind me and a towtruck/jeep monster that is rolling towards me faster and faster. Luckily the driver notices that his stuff is on the move and runs and jumps into the cab as the car in front of me hangs a left onto the road. I gun it and clear the truck's path just before the driver gets it all under control.

So I didn't die. But I totally could have. The Esso station is dangerous.

How Abby Became a Mean, Nasty Witch

Tonight I ran out of tolerance. It's sad, I will have to be racist, sexist, homophobic, bigoted, and prejudiced against people who mispronounce the names of states until my July stock of tolerance comes in. Sad, but true.

How does this happen? you might wonder, Abby usually has a surplus of tolerance, enough to share.

Well, you may have heard that my housemate (and technically my landlord), Robert, is sort of.... difficult to get on with. Anyone who has seen any room I've ever lived in can sympathize with Robert of course, I'm next to impossible to live with. I'm dirty and lazy, I don't wash dishes for weeks, I do my laundry even less often and my closet is on my floor. I lose my keys/shoes/cell phone with amazing frequency because, well, I'm a mess.

Usually.

Lemme layout my impact in Canada. After about 18 hours of living with Robert it became apparent that he was obsessive compulsive. So I have made a special effort to minimize my affect on his world. I do my dishes every night. The longest any dish sits in the sink is from breakfast until I was them after dinner- when I wake up early enough to eat breakfast. This is usually one small plate, a knife and a fork. Not unreasonable. I dry all the dishes and put them away immediately.

The only belongings I leave in the kitchen is one pair of shoes, under the counter near the door where they are not a tripping hazard.

The remaining rooms of the first floor house my dvd collection- two cd cases on an end table in the corner of the living room by the dvd player. I could keep them in my room, but I like to share.

I have a drawer in the bathroom where I keep my soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc. and I have shampoo and stuff in the shower.

That's it. Nothing else is out of my room. My room is of course an epic disaster, but my door is always shut and locked.

I know. It sounds completely impossible. It has been really hard for me.

Is this effort appreciated? No, not really. Not at all actually. There's just always something. Like I should always use the fan over the stove, and I can't park in the driveway. But today, I've been pushed over the line.

This morning Robert got up at the crack of dawn (usually he doesn't get up until after I leave) to interrogate me about the locations of a red bucket and a coffee mug. The mug I was guilty of hoarding, it got carried to my room sometime over the weekend and I just keep refilling it in the bathroom because I'm too damn lazy to go all the way downstairs. The bucket I'd never seen before. Though I readily admitted my guilt in the mug case he seemed convinced I'd stolen his bucket. What the hell do I want with a bucket? Also, how did he know I had the mug? We have at least 8 coffee mugs for the two of us. Does he do a weekly inventory?

So tonight I'm in the living room, watching My Name is Earl on my laptop when Robert comes home. There is a wicked electrical storm going on, so I have the blinds in the living room all the way open so I can watch.

Robert enters. 'What happened in here?'
Me: 'What happened to what?'
R: 'The...' He points to the blinds, he struggles sometimes with the english. 'What happened?' He reaches for the cord as lightning flashes outside.
Me: 'Wait! I pulled them up, I was watching the lightning. Have you seen this storm?'
Robert is still poised to draw the curtains. 'Oh yeah. But you can watch with them down.'
Me: 'Its lightning! Its so fun, I wanted to be able to really see it. Don't put down the curtains, I'll pull them when the storm is over.'

Robert reluctantly leaves. For almost 3 whole minutes. Then he shoots back into the room straight to the curtains and yanks them down.

Me: 'Hey! I am still watching the storm!'
Robert: 'No, its dark out, you close the curtains when its dark.'
Me: 'I know, but it isn't even dark out yet and I just told you I was watching out there.'
R: 'No, if they are open it looks like there are no curtains. What if someone came by and thought they would rent here, but oh, there are no curtains.'
Me: dead silence. I'm trying to process that. Do people really choose housing based on outside visibility of window coverings?
Robert now twists the little thing so not only are the blinds down, they are a wall.
Me: 'Well can't you at least leave them turned so I can see?'
R: 'No.'
Me: 'Are you trying to be mean to me? Can't you just leave one turned up?' There are three windowshades after all, one open would be enough!
R: 'No, its dark. I close them when its dark out. See I closed the ones in the other rooms. You can go outside if you want to see.'
Again I'm trying to work out how this makes sense. First of all, I'm not looking out any of the other windows. Second, I'm pretty sure the purpose of shades is to keep light out, so closing them when its dark is retarded. Third, its pouring effing rain outside and there's lightning. It seems dangerous to venture out.
So I spend the next 5 minutes debating with Robert the purpose of shades, the likelihood a potential renter is going to wander by in this storm, whether or not this renter would be more swayed by the presence of curtains than the presence of a cute girl, the chances of me being struck by lightning should I go outside, and whether or not he is actually doing this for the sole purpose of torturing me. Finally, he goes here: 'They are my curtains and I say they are close.'

Yep. They are your curtains, and you own the house. You're a big man now. And then he freaking goes into the basement for the next 3 hours.

So that's it. Don't cross me. After that whole exchange I didn't open the blinds or kick him or anything. But it used up every last bit of my kindness. Beware.

Check Out What's new on the Web

Recent Web Actions:

The new site Quoted Quotables is a joined effort between Miranda and I to preserve the memories of all the ridiculous things anyone has ever said in our presences.

The Dictionabby is featuring some new additions- see googlasm, canoogle, and tocks!

Plus coming soon to this site: a review of the book About a Boy which I finished recently, and a dramatic tale of escaping death in an Esso parking lot.

Thanks for staying with me!

Bad Travel, Good Party

So its been over a week, but I really couldn’t write about my weekend in St. Louis until now.

I was traumatized. And for once it wasn’t even because of my family. My therapist is going to have a heart-attack.

It was O’Hare, American Airlines, and the god of weather that ate my brain, and the adjoining nervous system. But for the moment that’s all I have to say about that.

My cousin Michael’s wedding was a lovely event, complete with flower-girl hi-jinks, romance, bickering, crying (only the good kind) and booze. And that was just my side of the family.

Highlights:
The flower-girl, Haley, had a personal problem during the ceremony, but she’s four and ‘personal’ problems are no problem for her, because she’s four. So when her unmentionables started creeping, she just started digging through her layers of tulle to fix them. No matter that she’s at the front of the church 2 inches from the bride with her back to the assembled family and friends of the happy couple. She just reaches back and spends a good 5 minutes trying to get her Sunday panties out of her crack.

Could my teen-aged cousins contain their laughter from the 3rd row? Barely. And I mean dirty-mom-looks, pinch yourself, don’t make eye contact with your older, more mature, cousins Abby and Emily because they are not in fact mature and are actually trouble-makers and bad influences—barely.

All this is really only mildly amusing though, until you hear Emily’s take on it, which she whispered to me as the pastor elaborated on the seriousness of marriage. “Who let that child wear underpants?” Riiiiiiiiight. Clearly the problem here is the fleeting fad of wearing underwear.

Later, when the groom was dancing with the flower girl by swooping her around Supergirl style (what else do you do when the groom is over six and a half feet tall and the flower girl doesn’t even clear his waist?) Emily admitted that maybe the underwear weren’t such a bad idea after all.

Romance? Those same giggling cousins took quite a fancy to the ushers (cousins on the bride’s side). Unfortunately, once the women in my family started the choreographed-on-the-spot, high-school-musical style dancing, those gentlemen were much too terrified to come near us. They pretty much disappeared, which shows how scary the women in my family are—my cousin Alana is practically a model, guys 10 years older than her shamelessly flirt with her in front of her very intimidating father. The dancing was impressive though. People who think that its unrealistic in movies when people just break into song and dance have never been to a wedding with my family. It’s great.

Really the only other great development happened at the hotel after the reception, where members of the brides family showed up with most of the left over beer from the reception in a Missouri, which is now a part of the dictionabby.

Its just a jump to the left.....

2, count 'em two, time warp phenomena have come to my attention today.

1st Wrinkle in Time

Work starts at 8am. If I leave my house at 7:40, I arrive at the office at 7:58. If I leave my house at 7:52, I arrive at the office at 7:59. I know this, because usually I try to leave around 7:40 and today I overslept and left at 7:52.

How could this be? I did notice that there is a lot less traffic after 7:50, probably because everyone has to be at work by 8 and is already almost there. Other than that, I think it must be pure will-power for time to slow down, because I didn't really speed more than usual. Its just a time warp.

Crazy time lapse 2

Let me lay out the usual office schedule- I arrive at 2 minutes to 8. All office employees are already there with the exceptions of the big boss and the accountant. The nice accounting lady shows at 9 and the boss between 8:30 and 11 depending on his morning schedule. This means 9 people are in the office when I arrive.

At noon about half the people take off for lunch and half eat something they brought or one person picks up food for more. Generally no one is out of the office more than 45 minutes and people eating in the kitchen only take 30.

In the evening, I leave at 5, and (aside from the big boss, a manager guy and the accounting lady who keep their own hours) one or two people leave with me, the rest staying until sometime after 5.

This is normal. Today is not normal. Today is the day that no managers were in the office. The big boss and his second in command were out on business, the bookkeeper and the sales guy (the only non-boss people I perceive as having more seniority than the rest of my cubicle-mates) were not in the office either.

This is how today's schedule went. I walk in at 8:01 (I was shocked by how fast I made it to work. It took me a minute to recover and gloss) and only one person is there. One. Not 9. One.

Nearing lunchtime, every single person left for lunch at 5 to noon. Everyone. We had to lock up.

Sensing that the ship was not being run as tightly as usual, I didn't bother coming back until 12:55 (usually I'd rush to be back before 12:40). Again, only one person beat me back. (Both times it was the only remaining male in the office- who barely counts as a man, its an awkward 20something tech guy who is like the office pet.) The girls showed up at 1:15. Hour and a half for lunch on a Monday. A record.

And! they didn't go back to work. They took themselves some dessert in the kitchen which lasted at least another 20 minutes. Nobody even answered the phones.

So do you think they all stayed late to make up the hours? Nope. At 4:42 they were gathered near my desk, all, "Abby are you leaving yet?" Um, yeah. They are all waiting for me, a solid 15 minutes earlier than I've ever left the office before. The place was cleared, locked, and parking lot emptied at 4:46.

Clearly the clock hands travel at a different pace without some supervision. One day without the bosses, it was like anarchy. The music was even turned up. Normally there is some satellite Top 20 station playing in the office at a volume I'd describe as "barely audible" (which is good if they play Justin Timberlake and the Pussycat Dolls 15 times a day). Today the music was more like "just quiet enough that phone calls won't be disturbed. And it was a different station, one with commercials. Who knows what was going on. All I've learned is the next time we're on the honor system, my lunch is going to include a beer and an ice cream.

Which reminds me....

Time Warp 3

How long does it take for Canada to go from early spring to mid-summer? 12 hours. I go to sleep on Thursday and its been cold and dreary and rainy for 3 weeks and I wake up Friday and its sunny, highs in the 80s and cloudless, for going on 4 straight days now. Ridiculous.

It Takes a Village

I read "It Takes a Village" by Hillary.

Kerry: "On purpose?"

Ha, ha. The madre got it when she saw Hill speak in Chi-town so I stole it and read it.

It didn't make me hate her. Its all about the importance of supporting and educating children. Its about half political, half uber-sentimental with splashes of science mixed in for effect.

I actually felt like I was learning, there was a lot of sciency studies about how babies and chilluns learn and how most parents (as you may have expected) are clueless about parenting. Mrs. Clinton put forth a lot of reasonable, realistic strategies for helping our youth and makes a good argument for the importance of this from political, moral, and economic standpoints.

The book also didn't make me want to vote Hillary into the White House. I
think she'd make an excellent Cabinet member, Secretary of Education or something.

So the book was enjoyable, I cried through the first four chapters because they were all heart-wrenching tales of Hil's orphaned mother and Bill's abusive step-father and what being a mother means to her. Its pretty much the kind of stuff that makes women of all ages go all to pieces. It settles down though and the last 2/3rds are less of a sob-fest.

One entertaining aspect was noticing how very dated it is. It was written while Hil was in the White House so its only like 12-yrs old, but all of her hope-filled-promise-of-a-better-tomorrow-things-are-already-improving plans are non-existant today and things have very obviously gotten worse. Also she used the word out-sourcing and put it in "quotes" and then defined it. Because its a new-fangled idea that no one understands. Hahahahahhahahah. Awesome.

So I rate this book readable, but Hil should update it or something. Do a part 2 thats angry and bitter. That would be fantastic.

**Note: I'm double posting this on Heartwarming Stories for the sake of consistency on the literature goals for the year.

Beware of Sharks!!!!

A few days ago I took myself out for a little walk around D-ville. After spending several hours exploring whats withing walking distance and doing some reading on various public benches I headed home. When I was only about 3 blocks away, on a street I've never been down I noticed something odd. A truck dragging a flat trailer was backing out of a driveway.

(That's not odd, the next bit is, stay with me.)

When he'd driven off I glanced up his driveway and saw a shark tank. Like one of those cages really brave stupid people on the Discovery Channel load themselves into after painting themselves in fish guts so that they can play with hungry sharks without being violently dismembered. I was somewhat confused and so like a retard I just stood there and stared for a few minutes trying to decide how I could be wrong, how my eyes could trick me. They couldn't.

Unless there is another purpose for a person-sized cage with 5-inch gaps between the bars and a giant crane hook at the top... It even had a cautionary sign on it.

It is now the strangest thing I've seen in Canada. So Far.

Lost in Translation?

I got lost today.

Frankie and I were supposed to go out to a factory to do some recon on their lighting systems. The place was between Frankie's and the office so we were to meet there. Here is the address I had:

1522 9E Rang Simpson

So I drive along until I come to a road marked "3 Rang Simpson" and I turn down it hoping the number at the front will increase as I drive. The first house I pass is number 220 so I have a ways to go. I drive and drive and eventually come to 1518 and the next place is 1602. Damnit! I circle back and drive slow and, no, there is nothing between 1518 and 1602. Luckily I left pretty early (knowing I am prone to getting lost.)

I get back to the main road and drive and drive and drive and pass a total of 3 streets that head off to the south, one of which is marked "6 Rang Cant-recall". This makes me hopeful that somewhere eventually there is a "9 Rang". And after about 10 miles there is!

So I turn down "9 Rang Simpson" and the first place is number 2248 so I drive and drive, and realize that I'm now going to be a minute or two late, so I call Frankie to let him know whats happening. He tells me that he's only just turned onto Simpson so he's actually behind me, no worries. Finally, 6 miles later I come to 1576 and then 1544 and then 1500.... Dammit! Not again!

Call Frankie- "Okay once again I am on the wrong road... It's 9E Rang Simpson?" "Oh, no. Sorry I should have checked your map, its 10 Rang Simpson." Hang up. Obscenities.

All the way back to the main road. The next street is Rue St-Someone and the next one is 10 Rang Simpson, and after I drove 6 miles down there actually was a 1522. So in the 14 miles encompassing my first wrong turn and my correct turn there were a total of 6 roads, half of which were called Rang Simpson!!!!!!!!!

Canadia is Stupid. That was so not my fault.

Francois

Yesterday I met Francois. He's like my boss. Or colleague. Anyway its just him and me on the project at work.

And readers (mom in particular) you are going to like Francois.

Firstly, within an hour of meeting him he mentioned that the only reason he and his wife are married is so she and their children could come to the states when he was working there. Terribly romantic. He also told me an elaborate story about these rings engineers in Quebec get when they graduate (which I've seen a lot of really old guys wearing) and then he immediately whispered to me that he thinks its really pretentious, he only wears his because his boss does too.

So I'm putting Frankie (yay nicknames!) at 39-42 he's got 2 chilluns (middle school age) and he's been working at AMETVS for 45 days. He may have been hired the same day as me. Before this week he wasn't sure his project would be funded past mid-July. I was a good sign. I'm a little concerned about this kind of thing.

Anyway, the very, very best thing about Frankie is this:

He's a bass player.

In a Band.

Like a Rock Band.

This will entertain me for years. Or at least the duration of the summer. Particularly if I get to go see them play. Apparently they have a regular gig somewhere. Oh yeah.

In Grey's news: I watched last weeks on TV links, saw through the opening credits of this week's at which point my housemate (in an obvious attempt to get me to kill him) refused to let me continue watching unless I cleaned the stove on the commercial break. "Fine. I'm going to bed. Good night."

Why do people want me to be angry?

CURSES!!!!!!!

i missed last week's grey's.

now this.

Canada Why?

Oh right. Not everyone understands the random "now I'm in Canada".

Well I've acquired a summer internship with AMETVS which is French for the Association of Transportation Equipment and Specialty Vehicle Manufacturers, which is based here, in Drummondville, Quebec.

Drummondville is located on the south side of the St. Lawrence River, about 40 miles north of Vermont. About 66,000 people live here, but I have not as yet figured out why. They all speak French.

My job is to work on an Energy Efficiency project with a man by the name of Francois. Yup.

So I'm here doing that and exploring Montreal and Quebec (each less than 2 hrs away, and allegedly fun) until mid-August.

And that's why I'm in Canada.

Vote Obama. I'm afraid the campaign will suffer while I'm away. Seriously. Vote Obama!

Bonjour Canada!

Welcome to my new blog, where I will attempt to recount how I inadvertantly learn about hockey, to speak french and other accidental Canadian experiences.

I've been in Drummondville, Quebec 4 days and here's what I've learned:

• almost no French
• Canadians love universal signs making the need for french minimal
• Canada loves Rod Stewart- I heard "Fooled Around and Fell in Love" 3 times on the radio in the last 24 hours.
• NBC, ABC, and FOX all come on in english (Dieu Merci! Heroes was awesome last night)
• based solely on my experience, it rains 60% of the time and is cold 80% of the time
• Cold in Celsius

So I'm here, I have plenty of space (more about the house later) and you must all come visit.

Au Revoir!

Vote Obama!