I can’t believe I went to the hottest restaurant in New Westminster and they had two televisions hanging from the ceiling, playing curling. I don’t think I live in the same country as the rest of these people do; this is a cultural divide that cannot be bridged. It’s all very well for me to lord it over Americans and the English, yammering on about PC and Relativism and Pierre Trudeau, but there is, let’s face it, no multicultural initiative that can allow the curling fans and the I-suppose-they-call-us-mundanes to coexist. Hence Newfoundland; it’s a 21st Century sort of reservation/theme park for curlers.

When I get back to Vancouver, I’m sneaking into Delilah’s and not leaving until they throw me out and given how their clientele normally behaves (to say nothing of the staff) I may be there for the rest of my life, sustaining myself on smoked oysters, olives, lime wedges, and vodka-infused apricots. That’s all the food groups, right?

In any case, after several years on the Downtown EastSide, if there is nothing else I know, I do know how to give Canada what it wants: