So, we still don’t have cable. Now, I don’t know how many of you are aware of this, but I loves me some tv. I know Mama Fazari knows this, since, back in the good old days of the Maples, also known as the building from hell, I was on a three-week high after we first got those 60 channels. As I may have already mentioned, it’s not exactly easy to get cable here. Basic cable, or antenna cable, gives you FIVE channels, two of which are the BBC. The. BBC. Twice. Who cares? Maybe if they had some decent programming I would be interested in watching it. But with shows like "How to paint your garden stones", "Pet rescue", "What the Victorians did for us" and "Wild Scotland", I’m frankly not that interested in television. In fact, most nights, I’d rather watch paint dry. And this is why I was so excited when I found out that Channel Four was going to be showing the current season of Frasier. Yes, folks, I let out a yelp of joy for Frasier. I’m so embarrassed. But I’ll take any damn American television I can get. Channel Four is also showing the current season of Friends on Friday nights. The Sopranos (season four) starts in March, and Law & Order (season nine, which, in case you don’t know, is THREE years old) will be on Saturday nights. Sigh. I am so glad I still have an episode of Trading Spaces, an episode of Angel and three Buffys on dvd. Of course, when we get really desperate for good old North American humour, we pop in an episode of the Simpsons. I can’t get enough of "The Substitute Teacher" episode. Tee hee. Anywho… there was a point to all of this: we are going to get cable. Yes, that’s right. Pretty soon we’ll have 81 channels, many of which show lots and lots of American programming. I can’t wait. Of course, we have to jump through, oh I don’t know, eight thousand hoops to get cable. But I won’t bore you with the details; Shane will (haha). Check this out: http://fromthedeskofthebastard.blogspot.com/. Crazy huh? So, basically, we have to pay these fuckers a 200-pound deposit for cable, because we haven’t lived in the UK for three years. What the fuck. Talk about a misdirected attempt at preventing "terrorism".
Oh, speaking of which, if any of you have been concerned about that ricin terrorist attack scare, rest assured that the jerks who were arrested lived right around the corner from us. Nice and safe this new neighbourhood is. Nothing like the ghetto we used to live in. You know, sometimes I still have nightmares about the fatlady. Seriously. I keep thinking I’m going to run into her. She’d probably flatten me with her big ass. Shudder.
Oh! Guess who got a raise! YEAH baby, I rule! I passed my probation at work, and was rewarded with a pay raise. Nice.
Anyway, that’s it for me. I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while, but damn, life flies by when all you do is work and watch crappy tv. But, just so you start your weekend off right, I thought I’d include a little passage from my new favourite book: How to be a Canadian.
The Canadian fetish for beer goes deeper than mere role-playing. Much deeper. It springs from the dark, musty, mildewed corners of the national psyche. It strikes at the very heart of the Great Canadian Inferiority Complex vis-à-vis (who else?) the Americans. Simply put, brewing beer is one of the few things that Canadians do better than Americans. Which may also explain the irrestible attraction between beer and curling. Sure, the average Englishman may sniff with disdain at the mild brown lager that is our National Drink, but what do Canadians care? It is not the Brits that we want to beat. Hell, they drink their beer warm, for Chrissake! A Canadian wouldn’t drink a warm beer if they had just been pulled out of a snowbank in Saskatoon. I’m sorry, but "Give me a warm one!" just doesn’t scan.
And that my friends, is why Canadians are the greatest people on earth.
S.
