Down with the ship

Hold onto your hats people, here comes James Cameron on his white horse to save the day. This week, Cameron will be in Fort McMurray visiting the oil sands, or what he affectionately refers to as a “black eye” on Canada’s environmental record. In addition to the hot air he will be blowing at press conferences and the like, Cameron’s plan to fly to Fort McMurray will also have negative environmental impacts, like the approximate 0.56 tones of carbon dioxide produced by a plane flying from Los Angeles to Fort McMurray. In addition, Premier Ed Stelmach’s has announced his intention to make use of a government-chartered plane, which will take him from his previous scheduled visit in Ottawa to Fort McMurray in time to meet Cameron. So far, Cameron’s plan to save the world includes two short-term plane rides, one of which will cost Canadian taxpayers approximately 10, 000 dollars. Two green thumbs up for that one, Cameron.

While discussing Canada’s environmental track record, Cameron brought up the idea of “social responsibility” and while that is definitely something that we all need to be reminded of, it’s a lesson that hasn’t seemed to stick very well with him. Did the world really need Dances With Wolves 2: Blue Edition? That would have saved the world $280 million (and me a mind-boggling $17), a figure which comfortably exceeds the GDP of eleven countries. Instead of leading by example, Cameron’s lifestyle is only considered frugal by Imelda Marcos. His $3.475 million, 6-bed, 7-bath, 8,272 square foot residence in one of America’s smoggiest cities sits firmly in the category of opulent. He visited 107 countries while promoting Avatar, shaking babies and kissing hands while promoting a very one-sided sustainable lifestyle.

Here’s some advice for you Mr. Cameron: Next time, save us some eye-rolling and a chunk of carbon offsets by staying in Los Angeles.

Poutine poutine: A lament.

You dastardly poutine fry. The gravy and cheese that you loll about in is simultaneously appealing and challenging. While the medley of flavours is the reason for my delirious hunger pains, it also provides you with a last minute opportunity to escape your eventual destiny; assuaging my hunger. My cheap plastic fork leaves me inadequately prepared, its tiny tines unable to grasp your slippery stalk. Wily French creation. Just when I have you in my sights, my dining companion swoops in and devours you before my eyes. Back to the drawing board.

Conversion by Osmosis

Just when I thought my house couldn't get any stranger, they let Jesus in. In an out-of-character foray into cleaning and organization, I opened a previously unused drawer in which to store phone books and there it was. The Bible. Sitting in a corner, the wee innocuous book that said (in my landlord's voice) "If ever there was a group of girls that would need this..." No thanks. Conversion by osmosis clearly hasn't taken hold, if the antics of last week are any indication. Trust me, you don't want me. If the running Mormons didn't get me and living with honest-to-goodness real, Italian nuns didn't convert me, then by-your-god, it isn't going to stick.

"Where did you put the take out Menu from Happy Garden?"
"Its in the drawer with the phonebooks and Jesus"

Mobile Douch-nozzle Unit

The Humvee is generally thought to be a area-specific vehicle - associated with active war zones and Stallone. Admittedly, our winters are really harsh and as a result, the potholes in the street really do give appearance of having been recently carpet-bombed. Regardless, no one walks through the streets totting AK-47s or grenade launchers. There is no need to drive through the streets in a vehicle that could easily take out a herd of cattle or store a travelling circus (minus the bearded lady). Dismount from the vehicle, douchenozzle. If you are so huge it takes an army vehicle to transport you, you should probably considered walking anyways.

Ham and Water -PPPffffffttttt

City of Residence, you are letting me down. What happened to your stereotypical image of cowboys and riggers? Apparently, they have all discarded their Stetsons for hair gel and Ed Hardy. Who knew my final foray to the cold north would take a complete turn and land me directly in the festering lap of the Jersey Shore? So many of my nights have been highjacked by impromptu fist-pumping meatheads humping along to house music. So damnit, fair city, send back the 'roid popping techno-junkies back to the depths of whatever wood-paneled basement that spawned them.

Crack reporting? Maybe not. (Then again, this is the news site that employs the dunce Heather Mallick) Nonetheless, hugely entertaining: now added to the bucket list (right after throw a drink into someone's face)? Take down a helicopter with a jeep.

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