Go West (For a Week)

Big news: I'm finally going back to Victoria. And I mean it this time - the flights have been booked, though the rest of the trip remains unplanned. Where am I staying? Quite possibly in one of the many fine bus shelters of Victoria! Where am I eating? Er, Hernandez at least once, the rest from whatever is conveniently located within walking distance of said bus shelter. Entertainment? Books.

THANK GOD THE BOOK LIST IS ALL PLANNED OUT AT LEAST.

So, prepare Victoria. I'll be arriving, with my books and possibly no living arrangements, on March 29. 

Some Things I Miss About Victoria, BC

I'm not a mammal who handles the heat well. So Toronto's recent wave of warm weather - and all the sweating, thirsting, and general whining it brought with it - has made me miss my old home. Victoria. Where the weather is neither too warm nor too cold, and people still wear Baja pullovers. And now that I've started missing Victoria's climate, my mind has turned to the other things I miss about that city. I did one of these for Montreal, and now it's Victoria's turn.

1. The Drink and Draw crowd: Leaving this band of interesting and talented young folks behind was the hardest thing about moving back east. Sure, they were inspiring artists, but they were also excellent people, welcoming an odd girl from Ontario into their brunch eating and bike riding lifestyle. Thanks to Facebook, I know they're all doing well, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I could know that from first-hand experience.
2. Hernande'z: Their bean burritos haunt my dreams. Sometimes I wake up with a tear upon my cheek, wondering why my mouth tastes of delicious, delicious beans when all my fridge holds is a frozen dinner I forgot to put in the freezer.
3. Legends Comics: I still haven't found a replacement in Toronto for my favourite comic book store. It wasn't just that their selection was awesome, but Gareth (one of the co-owners) is such a peach. He gave me a hug when I was preparing to leave the city, and I briefly considered never washing my arms again. I decided against that- it would be disgusting otherwise - but I did use him as an example of excellent customer service in a job interview.
4. Seeing Whales on the Way to Vancouver: British Columbians were greedy when it came to natural beauty, and it has made them weak. WEAAAAKK. They barely seem excited when a bus ride brings stunning vistas of lakes, forest and mountains. My walk in my current Toronto neighbourhood brings me to soul-stirring sight of a Popeye's Chicken outlet. Anyway, I once saw a whale and her calf off of a BC ferry, and my heart grew four sizes that day.
5. Cold Comfort Ice Cream: Ah, Saturday mornings. When I would mount my faithful Korean wonder bike, Bikegolgi, and zip down to the Moss Street Market. I always bought a few vegetables, but those were mostly out of guilt. The true goal of my mission was always an ice cream sandwich from Autumn. Favourites included sour cherry with rosemary, honey lavender and apricot.

This is What *I* Want You to Think: An Anti-Conspiracy Theory Rant

Before moving to B.C., I found conspiracy theories to be quaint and wacky little things. Oh the joy I felt at seeing a conspiracy theorist in the wild once, eyes a-darting and hands a-fluttering, explaining to a friend how the American government had been the ones responsible for the Oklahoma City bombings. But that was in Montréal, where most of the people were too cynical to trust the government, but also too cynical to trust a poorly-edited website instead. So he was a novelty.

Out here he would have been about as common as a seagull. Conspiracy theories are party conversation in Victoria. I would rather have malicious gossip and petty cattiness. I may even prefer talking about the weather. Instead, I have heard that:

• The U.S. didn't really kill bin Laden
• The U.S. (or at least the FBI, CIA, etc) did kill JFK
• Chemtrails are a real thing
• The government and university scientists are also bouncing radio waves off of those chemtrails to control our weather
  
• We should be growing all our vegetables using hydroponics as the Fukishima disaster has irradiated all of our land
• Bobby Fischer was the victim of a Cold War-era plot that lead to his exile
• D.S.K. was framed
  

All of this conspiracy talk has lead me to develop a ratings system for the theories. "Probably Wrong, But Understandable" is a level 1. Level 2 is "getting wacky." Level 3 is "WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS." Here's how I've rated the former theories:

• The U.S. didn't really kill bin Laden (1)
  
• The U.S. (or at least the FBI, CIA, etc) did kill JFK (2)
  
• Chemtrails are a real thing (2)
  
• The government and university scientists are also bouncing radio waves off of those chemtrails to control our weather (3)
  
• We should be growing all our vegetables using hydroponics as the Fukishima disaster has irradiated all of our land (2)
• Bobby Fischer was the victim of a Cold War-era plot that lead to his exile (1)
• DSK was framed (1)
  

This ratings system can also be applied to various 9/11 conspiracy theories:

• The U.S. knew 9/11 was going to happen, but did nothing to stop it (1)
• The U.S. blew up the planes themselves (2)
• The U.S. strapped propulsion engines to the top of the buildings, there were no planes at all and the JEWS WERE INVOLVED SOMEHOW (3+)

I know I shouldn't care, but I do. Not enough to argue with them-mostly because Beer #6 is when I'm accused of thinking what THEY want me to think, and Beer #5 is when I actually stopped thinking, whether for myself or others. But two reasons and a hangover usually lead to some irritation the next morning.

First reason: conspiracy theories are a waste of effort. Skepticism is a sign of a healthy democracy, but these beliefs are just more blind faith with a different end in mind. Governments and corporations do enough heinous things in the broad daylight that you don't have to waste your time chasing after shadows. Complain about corporate tax loopholes instead of chemtrails. All you need is a tax code and some filings, instead of a shaky grasp of physics and meteorology. These issues are a sideshow to genuine social problems.

Second reason: these theories come down to emotion winning out over logic. Talk to a few of these true believers for a while, and there's a pattern. Step 1: Something doesn't "feel" right about event X. Step 2: They go on the Internet. Step 3: They search out theories that validate their own "feelings" about event X. Step 4: They corner you so that you, too, may begin to see the light. Feelings aren't facts. Don't turn one into the other and call it a plot. It's just bad research. With the increasingly fearful and combative state of politics both here in Canada and down south, less emotion is exactly what we need.

Grudgingly, I'll admit that there's a chance, if slim, that some of these theories might be true. Or maybe the story's so good that it might as well be so. Thanks to my comic book reading habit, I spent most of my adult life believing that FDR knew that Pearl Harbor was going to happen- it was that handy of a narrative. But you know what they say about broken clocks and blind squirrels. They're right, they find nuts, but not often enough to start watching the skies and writing off exploding jets.

I Love Legends Comics

Pictured: Nerd Alley

There's a particular section of Victoria's Johnson Street, from Douglas to, say, Government that I've taken to calling Nerd Alley. It features two comic book stores, a collectible store (in other words, a toy store for items that are not to be toyed with), two stores for WarHammer figure painters, and one used bookstore. Even the bookstore focuses on the occult, SciFi, and Ayn Rand. If they only added a bubble tea place to the block, it would be possible for any nerd to live, quite happily, in a block-square area of town.

Or at least it would be possible for me to live in a one-block radius, if I didn't hate Ayn Rand and her brand of cuckoo con-objectivism so much. But, from 5:15pm to 5:40pm on Wednesdays, I do anyways. That's because it's New Comic Book Day, and I have an unofficial appointment to be at my preferred of the two comic book stores at that time, begging for the latest issue of Sweet Tooth. Legends Comics is the best, because there are no action figures or licensed T-shirts, just comic books and graphic novels crammed into every conceivable corner and surface. The one area which doesn't have some kind of literature on it is only there, so you can park your coffee and not spill anything on the paper that's everywhere else.

Along with their stock, Legends also has Gareth and Lloyd, the owners. Gareth knows my name and always tells me that I'm awesome. Lloyd, on the other hand, still asks me if I live in town. This is in spite of the fact he's heard Gareth say I'm awesome at least a half-dozen times, so he should know that A. I live in Victoria, and B. am awesome. You might think this means I like Lloyd less than Gareth, but that's not true. Okay, so Gareth does have an edge, but that's as much for his expert lettering on The Perogy Cat as for his weekly validation of my worth. Really, G and L are the yin and the yang of customer-proprietor relationships. On the one hand, the soothing mother's milk where somebody knows your name and the books you like. On the other, the bracing two buck chuck of mild indifference that you yearn to impress away.

I might even be making progress on the latter: Lloyd now knows my name, and even dug through boxes to find an issue of this month's The Unwritten for me. This is a book I've found uneven in the past, alternately gripping and perplexing, but this month's instalment had my complete attention. There's a plot featuring an intelligent, brittle pulp fiction writer, blessed with a schnozz, and the hard-boiled man who loves her. For self-evident reasons, I'm a sucker for those.

Orcas! Orcas, Ahoy!

With May comes many things: flowers, my tax rebate, moving, and the realization that I better step things up if I want to have my BC Bingo card completed on time.

What, you didn't know about BC Bingo? Actually, that's perfectly understandable, because I just made it up. The centre square is "Free," like all bingo cards, but the other squares include "Make Breakfast Quinoa" and "Complain about Albertans." And another square: "See orcas off the side of the ferry." Fortunately, I can dab that one off with the ole Bingo Bright, because this past Sunday a pod of orcas was spotted off the Spirit of British Columbia, the vessel that was transporting my slightly dopey self back to Victoria.

The Captain came over the P.A- we would be passing a pod of orcas off the starboard side soon. Hearing, perhaps, the lack of shuffling, he helpfully clarified, "the right-hand side of the boat." We landlubbers dutifully made our way to the right-board side.

Part of me felt foolish for going. I felt like a tourist. Not the savvy Victorian I was, a Victorian who has seen both Free Willy AND Free Willy 2, and is thus well-versed in the biology, symbology and mythology of orcas. But then I saw them ducking underneath the water, jumping up, and looking black, white and beautiful. They moved on, we moved on, and suddenly I had a new sympathy for the sea parks I had just read about in "The Killer in the Pool." I still think keeping killer whales in captivity is wrong, that it insults their intelligence and our humanity to do so. But I understand why the sea park owners do it, and why so many of us go to see them. Wanting to keep an animal that beautiful is no weak thing, even if that desire translates, on a practical level, into making them smile as grubby children pet their tongues.

Meet Craigslist, The New Hemingway

Hemingway famously wrote a six word story: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." And Craigslist has provided a current version. It's a bit wordier (and comes with photos!), but I feel it contains the same sense of tragedy.

Text: "This album has a lovely detailed plush heart on the front. I was going to use it for wedding scrapbookking[sic] but never did."

Or... maybe this woman had five other wedding scrapbooks she filled instead. We will never know!

Introducing Cascadia: The Best Place That Doesn't Exist (Yet)

Sorry about the total drought of posting- it can be blamed on a combination of things, from Marmotinis (like a regular Martini, but more endangered and expensive, and found only in the Bengal Lounge of the Empress Hotel, aka The One Place Where the Sun Has Never Set On The British Empire) to woodworking to house sitting.

But mostly, I blame Seattle. After nine months of being apart from my beloved ex-roommate Ivy McDougalhopper, we finally made plans to be in the same city. She lives in Minnesota, I live in BC, and so we ended up meeting, if not quite in the middle, then at least on her side of the border.

Seattle, of course, was lovely. Any city that offers honey-lavender and balsamic-strawberry ice cream (at Molly Moon's, in Capitol Hill) must be amazing. But it also felt strangely familiar. There were people in GoreTex, bicyclists, rainy weather, piers, fairly liberal politics... OH MY GOD, I had actually taken the wrong seaplane and ended up back in VANCOUVER.

Oh wait, no, the money is still uniformly and confusingly green. So many one dollar bills! I can't count them all! I must still be in Seattle. But it did feel a fair bit like BC. Then my coworker explained my confusion by introducing me to the fake country of Cascadia.

The Douglas Fir Flag, emblem of Cascadia. Likely to be pine-scented as well.

Cascadia is the union of Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia into an independent nation. One assumes its main exports would be lumber, agricultural products, and flannel-wearing men. And, for a fake country, it has an awful lot of real support. It's shown up in a bunch of Sci-Fi books, but more endearingly the Cascadia Cup is contested between the city's respective soccer teams (the Whitecaps, Sounders and Timbers) and three breweries put the flag on their product.

Between the soccer and the local brew, it's clearly a movement with a particular audience. I imagine the ideal Cascadian citizen being Grant Lawrence, the scruffy Cowichan sweater fan and CBC broadcaster. His favourite beer is already Phillips Blue Buck, which comes emblazoned with the Doug flag, and I'm sure Cascadian Public Radio would find a place in its heart for this man.

And I'm just in love with this idea too. From now on, I'm a dual Canadian/Cascadian citizen. Rule, Cascadia! Cascadia, rule the coast!

West Coast Living

When I'm at work, I work hard... at living up to the stereotype of the disgruntled Easterner. In short, I celebrate the following:

1. Smoking (although I haven't since that brief flirtation with tobacco in aught-eight)
2. Grease-laden foods
3. Toronto
4. the Montreal Canadiens
5. Concrete

While disparaging the following:

1. Camping
2. Sunflower seeds in everything
3. The Sunshine Coast
4. the Vancouver Canucks
5. Crab traps

Secretly, however, there's a sugary nougat centre beneath my prickly exterior. I like Victoria. I like taking the ferry back when it's not dark and raining, so I can watch from the deck as the postcard-pretty islands pass by. There are purple starfish, used bookstores and Eccles cakes as far as the eye can see.

Or at least until your eyes get to Saaanich, at which point things get pretty residential and unexciting, but still. Lots of fun to see before then.

These are all lovely little comforts, but I'm also fond of making rent and keeping things in the pantry besides lentils. I'll need to find a job after my internship is over, and the word on Fort an Douglas streets is that's not the simplest of tasks. So I'm cruel to Victoria and it's many delights because I don't want to fall in love with the city, and then regret moving back to Toronto.

However, every mean word about the sunflower thing was in earnest. That's just whack.

Greetings From The Island

Well, as promised, I made the move to Victoria just over a week ago. And, as my brother promised me, finding a room in Victoria is a bit of a nightmare. I finally ended up with a place that reminds me of what being a young career girl in the '50s must have been like, except with more Ikea furnishings. I live above an older couple and have a wee kitchenette all to myself, and kind of do and kind of don't have Internet.

So, posting will likely be erratic until I figure out what's going on with the connection. Hopefully it won't all end with me darning my nylon stockings by the radio, waiting for the phone to ring, or whatever it was ladies with an education and without a husband did back then (bridge?).