Observations

In my last update, I mentioned that I had more thoughts to write down, but since the post was getting quite long, I decided to wait for the new year to share them with you. I hope there is some, small, token anticipation, though not so much that you are disappointed with what I have to offer.

Anticipation is a tricky thing; it's often enjoyable because we can imagine a happy outcome, a reward, you might say, for our patience. Yet other times, it can be downright awful – I'm not talking about dreading something, not that kind of anticipation – I'm talking about anticipation that grows out of proportion to whatever it is you are waiting for, so that when the time finally arrives, you are buzzing with it, positively bursting, but the long-awaited reward turns out to be unsatisfactory and you are left feeling deflated and unhappy. One could argue of course, that it isn't the anticipation itself that is at fault, but the resulting negative emotion associated with unrequited desire, but I digress...

Observation: Canadians are everywhere. It's true. I meet one everytime I fly, and I'm not talking about flights to and from Canada, because that that would be too easy. On our last flight from Vegas to San Diego, I met an Acadian, who was living in Nevada because he was working there. Oddly, his destination was Conneticut – his flights were like a connect-the-dots puzzle because of holiday “mix-ups”. Poor guy. He was stoic about it though. Must the be Canadian in him...

We also met a Canadian family in the line up to a restaurant in Vegas. This of course is not that surprising, considering the fact that Vegas is a tourist destination, but I still found it to be a pleasant surprise. They were from Winnepeg I believe and were... c'mon, say it with me... “very nice and polite.”

I regularly bump into new people here in San Diego who are from Canada and just the other night, at a party of mostly unknown people, I met a fellow “Quebecer” who had come to San Diego to teach. My theory is that Canada will slowly but surely infiltrate the entire U.S.A, all the while being very quiet and polite about it, until eventually, large parts of this country (think blue states) will eventually come to realize they would rather be Canadian and politely cede, eh?

Or maybe not. It's just a theory.

We do get noticed however; it's our accent usually, but here's a new example: Phillip and I were eating at a deli in Vegas – one of those old-fashioned places that have black and white tiles everywhere, chequered tableclothes and pickled eggs in jars on the counter – I had ordered a lox plate and Phillip got the turkey dinner sandwich. There was an older couple sitting right beside us because the tables were those metal-edged pedestle affairs that can be pushed together for large parties but are otherwise separated by four inches of space for couples. My bagel and lox was huge: typical for American delis, and apparently my method of eating caught the attention of the gentleman, who asked us if we were European.

When we corrected him, he nodded, as if satisfied, and I couldn't resist asking why he thought we were from Europe. His answer: “You were eating with your knife and fork.” Well! I had no idea that the polite use of utensils was considered “foreign”. It's not like we've seen Americans on hands and knees, grubbing in their food with sauce-covered fingers, but perhaps because I found the bagel, cream cheese and lox too much to comfortably manage with my hands, I was identified an “non-native”. We got a good laugh out of that.

Another funny moment happened while Phillip and I were weaving our way through one of the many casinos that seem to grow like mushrooms in every available space of Las Vegas, including the underground walkways connecting the hotels. Of course, they are the main attraction in the lobby of every hotel, but in this case, we were on a lower level, looking for a box office, and quite lost. We were not alone in this predicament, for as we approached the the glowing promise of a directory map, we saw many other people with similar expressions of bewilderment etched upon their neon-lit faces. My favourite was a family that was circling the area like a herd of sheep when the mother suddenly exclaimed “Wait, I just got a whiff of fresh air! I think it's this way!”

One other, more disturbing thing we noticed on our visits to the classic tourists spots in Vegas is that the majority of people we saw there were obese. Some of them frighteningly so – often with obese children in tow. Considering the massive portions served in every popular restaurant we went to, and the tendency towards highly processed and fast foods available both at the drive through (a sad development in itself) and in our grocery stores,it's really not a surprise that North America as a whole is getting fatter every year. Living in Southern California, we have perhaps had less exposure to it; I believe California tends to be a “healthier” state than most, at least in appearance, so we were rather more aware of it in Vegas when suddenly everyone around us was three times our size. I won't quote statistics and sound-bites here, because I'm sure that most of you have heard them, but evidence to the reality of the situation can be seen in the fact that there are whole groups dedicated to studying the problem.

Something else that is prevalant everwhere we go: Starbucks. It's amazing! I have to admit, however, that we were grateful for the familiar symbol in one instance at least... It was our first morning in Vegas and we were both hungry, caffeine deprived and impatient with the endless lines at every hotel restaurant, so we left in search of a local breakfast place. After walking for a while, it became apparent to us why the concierge had looked at us strangely when we asked directions to the nearest bakery or pancake house. There's little else on the Strip except hotels, so we searched in vain for a while before finally ducking into another hotel, hoping for smaller crowds. Through the haze of smoke and flashing lights from hundreds of slot machines, we saw the white and green sign and, like castaways on a desert island hurrying towards a mirage, we pushed our way through the obstacle course of the casino floor and arrived gasping at our destination. I claimed the first empty table in the shop with a mixture of relief and resignation while Phillip stood in line - this one shorter than others we had seen. I had to fend off the various bids for the empty chair I was saving for Phillip and when he finally returned, I was informed that I should appreciate the mocha and muffin I was having because, in addition to the coffee and muffin Phillip had for his breakfast, we were out another twenty dollars. One would think that the sheer expense of their products would be a deterrent, but in the two-and-a-half years that we've lived here, we've discovered no less than three in our neighbourhood (walking distance) with an additional three within a five minute drive from us. Two of them opened in the last year. Still, I occasionally crave a grandé, non-fat, two-pump mocha, no whip cream, please.

If a cold beer is more to your liking, we spotted a sign during our travels at a local watering hole: “Happy Hour, 11am – 6am”. How's that for a tall drink? Wish I'd had my camera.

Speaking of which, Peter Lik is a photographer who had a gallery at the Venetian; here's a link to his site and a sample of his surrealist landscapes. The black-walled space they used to display his work highlighted the incredible light and colour in his images. I recommend a visit.

Well, that's all for this update. I know I rambled, but that's why I saved this stuff for last. It was a little bit of everything, all scraped together, so you'll forgive the ocassionaly dramatic turn of phrase, I hope, and drop us a line sometime.