Frankenstorm

In light of the election occurring today, I thought I would draw attention to an issue that candidates should perhaps consider a priority now more than ever: global warming. Now, I am not here to yammer on about this plant dying, that animal changing, this place warming—I’m talking ‘bout the big one. You know her; you surely don’t love her, the infamous Ms. Hurricane Sandy.

Taking a quick detour to fall of 2011 and we arrive at freak storm number one, a.k.a., Snowpocalypse. This storm consisted of several inches of snowfall the weekend of Halloween. With all the leaves still on the trees, branches couldn’t support the weight and well, what resulted was a whole lot of branches on a whole lot of power lines. After 24 hours of huddling over cellphone light, the school administration decided that it might be challenging to have school without power, so all students were evacuated from campus. After an extended 5-day weekend, we came back to school with the mindset this freak storm was an anomaly and a fun college story.

Coming back to the fall of 2012, we were graced with a hurricane people have deemed as, “Frankenstorm.”  After surviving the week that ensued after hurricane Sandy, or Frankenstorm, it is safe to say that I travelled 6 and a half hours to go to a school that really doesn’t like have classes during the week of Halloween.  After hearing news of classes being cancelled, I packed my suitcase full of very useless clothing that would prove to provide very little warmth and comfort, and was on my way to a friend’s house in New Jersey.

Being in New Jersey was great. After watching ten hours of movies within the span of two days, we began to feel optimistic about maintaining power. With the wind beginning to pick up a little outside, we decided it was time to watch the long awaited Magic Mike, and then it happened. As quickly as Channing Tatum took of his undershirt—the lights were off for good.

At first, being without power was fun. Learning how to light the stove with a match, having real face-to-face interaction without any buzzes or flashes and realizing that everyone looks fantastic in candlelight were things that I really appreciated during the storm. However—all of this got old, fast. I quickly came to realize that none of us really knew how to entertain ourselves. With only the cat version of monopoly and school textbooks in hand, we were doomed to boredom. Luckily for us, this week fell over a certain sugar-filled holiday. With Halloween being cancelled, we were allowed to dive into all of the “fun-size” snacks, treats and candies until we couldn’t keep count of how many we had ate.

All in all, I had a fun week and it was nice not having to go to classes but it is safe to say that I really don’t want classes to be cancelled during Halloween next year. Although I do love wearing the same clothes for about a week and sleeping in subzero temperatures, I don’t know how fun it’ll be a third time. More importantly, I don’t want classes to be cancelled again because the amount of Halloween candy consumed during these two chance breaks was definitely not meant to happen a third time.

Canadian Thanksgiv'er

While I sit here waiting for my flight at gate F57—taking full advantage of the free Wi-Fi, I realize that my dual-citizenship has made thanksgiving my favorite holiday. Why, you might ask, well…let’s backtrack a little bit.

First off Canadians have their own thanksgiving that takes place the second Monday of October. Yep it’s true there is such a thing as Canadian thanksgiving. Now, you may be thinking, why on earth do Canadians have their own thanksgiving—I mean, pilgrims and indigenous peoples didn’t share some notable meal in Canada as well, did they? Well, that’s a good question, because honestly, I had no idea either…until I did a little research.

According to the ever-helpful Wikipedia.com, “The history of Thanksgiving in Canada can be traced back to the 1578 voyage of Martin Frobisher from England in search of the Northwest Passage. In this, his third, voyage to the Frobisher Bay area of Baffin Island in the present Canadian Territory of Nunavut, it was also the intention to start a small settlement and his fleet of 15 ships were so fitted out with men, materials and provisions for this purpose.”

So, there you have it. Some guy travelled across some channel and boom…Canadian thanksgiving. Similar to the American version, the typical Canadian thanksgiving meal includes turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, apple/pumpkin pie and my personal fave, sautéed brussel sprouts (not necessarily typical in every Canadian household).

Like our neighbors down south, us Canadians enjoy both watching and playing a little pigskin during the day. However, feel like the Canadian holiday gives you a little more variety of what you can watch on TV during the day. There’s NFL, CFL and since the NHL is currently in another lockout (ugh), they replayed old games of the World Juniors for hockey.

Regardless of whether you have your thanksgiving in October or November, thanksgiving is a great holiday for a couple reasons. First and foremost, you’re allowed—no expected to eat copious amounts of food. In my mind, Canadian thanksgiving marks the beginning of fall, which means the beginning of fall boots and cardigans. It gives me a valid excuse to come back to my hometown and most importantly; I get to spend time with my crazy family with no annoying extras. No cards, no gifts, no expectations, just myself and my family—and a fridge full of leftovers, what’s not to love?

Milk in Bags

For the past three weeks, I have been living in a house that gets its fridge stocked semiweekly. This might not seem like a noteworthy occasion, but for us foreigners, it’s an opportunity to discover unique tastes and products, a riveting experience unlike any other!

Okay—not quite, but you guys do have Cheez-Its which is definitely a plus.

So this is relevant because it enlightened me on one of Canada’s less-than-favorable products. One of Canada’s biggest fallbacks—other than the Maple Leaf’s record—is the placement of milk into bags.  Yes, milk in bags, it is indeed a real thing. It seems like food for astronauts, but apparently us Canucks think that encasing our milk in plastic makes for a better milk experience.

Not only does ‘milk in bags’ look weird, but it is a heck of a nuisance as well! The wrong cut could spell disaster. Too little of a cut—you’ll finish pouring milk onto your cereal by lunchtime and too big of a cut—you’re left with soggy Mini Wheat’s swimming in a liter of 2%.

Another problem with this selective packaging of dairy is that scissors and milk go hand-in-hand. Let’s just say you’ve just enjoyed the unique college delicacy of a spoonful of peanut butter with Nutella, what happens if you’re without scissors? Your throat becomes dry, tongue sticky, lips chapped…that peanut butter is not going down easily. In other words, catastrophe.

Situations like this and worse will continue to occur if Canada doesn’t make the full transition to cartons soon.  In this instance we need to stop trying to be unique and just adapt to the American way. 

That Summer Job

So after taking a relatively long hiatus from blogging due to finals, summer and general laziness, it is time for my triumphant return to the Kelly Canuck Blog! Wahoo!

As I sit here in my sophomore year living accommodation—equipped with all of the necessary living amenities such as a beanbag chair, a Siamese fighting fish and 3 seasons of the O.C.—I begin to reflect on the past summer and the week leading up to my first day as a sophomore student.

Side note—it took me about 3 days to memorize that I was a sophomore. In Canada, we say 1^st year, 2^nd year etc. so it’s a wee bit hard to get the system down pat.  Also I DID spent two whole semesters mindlessly repeating my freshman status—and I must say that that freshman label is hard to shake!

Anyways…what was I talking about? Oh right, summer.  So this summer was my third summer employed as a camp counselor at a traditional co-ed camp called Camp Wenonah. Even though this wasn’t my first summer as a counselor, I must say it was my most memorable summer yet. Perhaps as a seasoned vet, I am able to reflect more on my experience and what it truly means to be a camp counselor

It’s on rainy days like today that I begin to really miss the sitting on the dock in the Muskoka sun…

            I miss having a cabin of 10 13-year-old girls from four different countries for an entire month. Picking up probably over a 100 daddy longlegs from bunks, having to deal with an abundance of pre-teen sass and my favorite—what the nurses called “a very severe case of head lice”—(I wish I was joking)—has made me the resilient and competent person I am today.   

I miss having a cabin of 14 7-year-old girls for what seemed like a very—VERY long week.  I mean, have you ever had to climb under a cabin to convince a camper to shower not once, not twice but on three separate occasions? Another tidbit of info I’ve come to reluctantly accept is that no matter how many times you remind junior campers to go to the washroom (US translation: bathroom)—it is never EVER nearly enough times.

I decided to talk about being a camp counselor because the benefits of the experience are universal, regardless of whether you’re from ‘Murica or Canada…and more importantly I couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about.                  

Whenever someone asks me what I did this past summer and I reply with a perky “camp counselor of course!”, if that person was also involved in camp at some point in their life, regardless of nationality, their face instantly brightens. They just somehow know about the fantastic whirlwind of a summer that you’ve just endured, and how you’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 

photo credits: Jake Read

for more info see: www.campwenonah.com

Canuck O' The Week: Maverick

For my final Canuck O’ the Week, I decided to talk about a Canadian who I personally think is beautiful, majestic, kind—quite the stud muffin if you ask me. With a stunning black and white coat, vibrant green eyes and weighing a whopping 22 pounds, I introduce to you: Maverick Starbucks.

Before I talk about why Maverick deserves the honorary title of this week’s Canuck O’ the week, let me back track a little bit. First off, you may be wondering as to why I have a picture of Ryan Gosling. Well, firstly this is because Sir Ryan is indeed Canadian. Secondly (and most importantly), I wanted to grab your attention—I mean look at him, he’s beautiful.

I wanted to end my final post with someone who is close to home—although I would mind having Ryan Gosling a little closer to home. So Maverick, if you haven’t put the pieces together yet, is my 8-year-old cat that my family and I adopted from the local humane society back when I was in grade 5.

My brothers complain that Maverick doesn’t really do all that much, he just lounges, walks at a mesmerizingly slow pace, does his own thing and just, (for a lack of a better word) chills. To me, however, because he is able to lounge for hours, in all of his 22 pounds of glory, is exactly why he’s the best cat there is.

At this point you may be thinking, okay what’s the big whoop about this cat? Well, the reason I admire Maverick and his ability to do absolutely everything with the utmost nonchalance is because he has been through quite a lot. He has had not one but two hip replacements. He also has a heart murmur, asthma and a condition call atrophic cardio-myopathy. Despite all of this, he loves nothing more than waking everyone up at 6:30 a.m., laying out in the sun, drinking out of the sink, and taking up more than his fair share of the bed.

So congrats Maverick and keep on lounging!

Also, regarding his weight of 22 pounds—he’s not chubby…just big-boned!

Tim Horton's

While sitting in my personality psychology lecture today and learning about the variety of personality characteristics of humans that derived from higher-order primates, my mind started to wander off and brainstorm about what I should write about next in my blog.

Attentively listening to the lecture—and certainly not on facebook, #whatshouldwecallme or lululemon.com (which actually originated from Vancouver)—I got a brain blast like no other.

Even though the professor kept mumbling things like “important”, “need to know”, “may not pass class if…”—all I could think about was the fact that I had not yet written about the one establishment that embodies everything that is Canada.

I could not believe that I had failed my moral duty, as a Canadian, to shed light on the most magnificent Canadian-made place in the history of ever. Why yes, I am indeed talking about the one, the only, Tim Horton’s.

Before any trip up to the cottage, chalet, airport or hockey rink it customary to make a quick stop at your local Tim Horton’s.

It is known under many names: Timmy’s, Tim’s, Timmy Ho’s, but they all mean the same thing, a great Canadian shop to get real good and real cheap, food.

When explaining Tim Horton’s to my American friends, I get many perplexed looks. “So it’s the same thing as Dunkin’ Donuts?” they ask…to which I reply, no, not even a little bit—it’s so much more.

Obviously Starbucks has the better espresso drinks, but you don’t really go to Tim Horton’s for the fancy shmancy lattes.  You go for a cup of Joe and a box of 20 timbits, all for just a little more than toonie.

Tim Horton’s is such an important facet of Canadian culture, that its menu items have been embedded into our vocabulary.

For example:

·      Timbits: the little donut holes, (known as munchkins at Dunkin Donuts), but they are 10x better than munchkins I can assure you. My favorites are the sour cream glazed ones, but the chocolate ones are usually the first to go in a party pack.

·      Double-double: a coffee with two creams and two sugars (the standard drink order at Tim Horton’s)

·      Ice-cap: The Tim Horton’s version of an iced cappuccino—the drink of choice during the summer. However, if you ask an iced cappuccino instead of an ice cap, they might not know what you’re talking about!

After talking to some people from Rochester, I recently learned that several Tim Horton’s have opened in upstate New York. However, if you want to get the real Canadian experience, the true Tim Horton’s environment—you gotta go north of the border to grab your Tim’s.