Postcard from the North Coast

The Capital Letters is on the road again. This time, it's a two-week sojourn into the British Columbia interior, but before I regale you with tales of wintry afternoon sleigh rides and harrowing Greyhound bus trips on slippery, desolate roads, a few notes about Ottawa.

It finally snowed. For real. And of course it did so on the precise morning I was trying to get somewhere by plane, which led to a whole host of delays and rushing airport scenes in order to make my necessary connections. My sources tell me the snow and cold weather remained, but the jury's still out on whether or not the canal will freeze.

Before I left Ottawa, I had two adventures to share. The first was a screening of Shut Up and Sing at the Bytowne. This is the doc that follows the Dixie Chicks before, during and after their unintentional run-in with the limits of free speech in George W. Bush's, post 9-11 America. To put you in the loop, lead singer Natalie Maines said she was "ashamed" Bush was from the state of Texas between songs at a 2003 show in London, England. What followed was a downward spiral for the Chicks - the country music establishment turned its back on them, radio stations refused to play their music, former fans protested outside their shows, and one man allegedly threatened Maines' life. Undeterred, the Chicks stood by each other (not to mention what Maines said) and eventually released another album (yes, the one with that "Not Ready To Make Nice" song).

The film was a fascinating and intimate portrait of the Dixie Chicks, if a little thin in terms of analysis. I guess I wanted someone to be taken to task on camera for what happened to them, and that didn't really happen. The closest was a clip from a U.S. Senate Committee hearing in which Arizona Senator John McCain blasts one network for blacklisting the Chicks by not playing their music. Go McCain!

Incidentally, I saw the film two days after Bush announced he was sending 20,000 more troops to Iraq, creating an interesting backdrop for a film in which many Americans interviewed on camera reiterated that the U.S. was winning the war and would be out of Iraq in no time. Oh, the lessons of time.

The next night was a far less political affair. It was the Rock Plaza Central show at Zaphod's. A good crowd turned out on a cold night to see the Toronto band, who put on a decent, but not exemplary, show. Still, it was worth it just to hear lead singer Chris Eaton explain that the band's most recent album, Are We Not Horses, is about steel horses who think they are real horses.

Now, Ottawa couldn't seem much farther away as I look out on the Prince Rupert harbour from the window of my hotel room. Perhaps that's part of Prince Rupert's scrubby, oceanside charm. I was in Smithers last week and, as always, was captivated by the reliability of its beauty. Some friends and I spent an afternoon on a gorgeous horse-drawn sleighride over the rolling hills east of town before taking in a concert at The Old Church Hall that night.

Yael Wand, a young singer-songwriter who moved to Smithers recently from Wells, BC, was magnificent, as always. And she's heading out on a cross-Canada tour soon and plans to stop in Ottawa, so that will be a fine chance to bring two of my favourite places together.

From Smithers, I took a Greyhound bus west to the coast. It was a long and, at times, harrowing ride through snow and slush and darkness, but we made it. It's a clear day here on the coast, the rain at bay at least for now.

The Oscar-nominated film The Queen is showing at the theatre in Prince Rupert. Last night, I was all alone for the 9:10 pm screening. It was amazing to have the theatre all to myself. And what a film. Believe everything you've read or heard about Helen Mirren's performance, for she was incendiary as Queen Elizabeth II. Having said that, for me the real enjoyment came from the performances of the supporting cast: the portrayal of the Queen Mum as old, fat and bitchy and of Prince Philip as a blustering, homophobic jerk were my favourites. The film also sheds an interesting light on the early days of Tony Blair's government, and foreshadows just slightly on how even he too will eventually come to disappoint the British people.

And while we're on the subject of disappointing Prime Ministers... today is Stephen Harper's first anniversary. In his speech this morning at a rally in Ottawa, Harper quoted none other than Vancouver art and lit darling, Douglas Coupland. Oh, to be one of the birds Coupland lets into his kitchen this morning.

Bring on the Bunker rock

Upon second glance, I noticed last week's Resolutions blog left off the ubiquitous one that appears on almost everyone's list of things to try but inevitably fail at over the coming months: to exercise more. Thankfully, this is made somewhat easier for me because I have access to a gym. If only I had access to motivation, so I would use said gym.

It's amazing I can even find the gym, considering it's in the basement of the basement of the Wellington Building, across the street from the Hill. Parliament, the rest of Ottawa in fact, could be blown off the map and folks in the gym would not likely notice a thing, that's how much it resembles a bunker. A bunker with bad talk radio, which is to suggest that good talk radio exists, a notion I think highly unlikely.

All this talk of bunkers has me momentarily wondering about the Diefenbunker, "Canada's Cold War Museum," located just outside of Ottawa. I haven't been to the museum yet, but who can deny its attraction with a description like this:

"A huge four-storey bunker, buried deep under a hillside and meant to house crucial elements of Canadian government in a nuclear war ... built in secrecy during the height of the Cold War between 1959 and 1961, and meant to house the top officials of the government and military during the risk of nuclear attack. Tours of this incredibly unique facility take visitors through a time warp to 1960s era government rooms, living quarters, cryptographic areas. Visitors enjoy a guided tour of the entire facility ... Some of the focal points include the Prime Minister’s suite, the War Cabinet Room, the CBC radio studio, the Bank of Canada vault, and the Emergency Government Situation Centre."

I'll have to add it to the "To Do" list. In the meantime, I did visit the Canadian Science and Technology Museum on the weekend to check out the "Autopsy of a Murder" exhibit. No doubt inspired by the popularity of TV franchises Law & Order and CSI, the exhibit offers visitors a hands-on chance to solve the murder of Sarah Melville, a ficticious student.

Before entering the exhibit, visitors watch a short, introductory film which re-enacts the crime and introduces the three main suspects. Once inside, the crime scene is the first stop. It appears exactly as it did on the night of Melville's murder, and from there, the investigation is the hands of the visitor. Gathering clues from a number of different laboratories - ballistics, genetics, voice analysis, fibre analysis, and chemistry-toxicology - as well as viewing statements by all three suspects, visitors slowly piece together what they think happened on that fateful night.

It's a fascinating way to spend a rainy (or snowy, if it ever comes to that) afternoon, so long as you're prepared to be surrounded by kids. And if you do go, make sure you play around with FACES, the software that allows visitors to create composite sketches of criminals. My blogging would decrease heavily if I had the program on my computer because it's so fun. You gotta try it!

And while we're on the topic of "You Gotta Try It!," it's almost impossible this Saturday's show at Zaphod's will suck. Ottawa's own My Dad Vs. Yours and As the Poets Affirm are opening for Toronto's Rock Plaza Central, currently one of our favourite bands here at the Capital Letters. It will only cost you $6, so get out of your bunkers and join us at the show.

I resolve...

I don't know about you, but I'm just happy that I got home last night through the freezing rain without breaking a hip or being accosted by some punk who thought I was trying to steal his cab. New Year's Eve can sometimes bring out the worst in people, so I took it as a good sign that 2007 began without any scrapes or bruises.

To mark the occasion, I joined some friends for a fancy-pants, four-course meal at the Oz Kafe (361 Elgin). Oz was doing two dinner seatings, so we opted for the 9 pm slot and stayed until after midnight.

Now, if you're a loyal Ottawa XPress reader, please don't let their restaurant review from a few years back fool you: Oz is a fantastic resto with first-class service and yummy food. I had lamb skewers for an appetizer, followed by a champagne sorbet shot, grilled tuna with mashed yams and veggies, and some divine chocolate concoction for dessert. All very good. I haven't had tuna as good as they make it at Oz. Ever.

I will admit we waited awhile for the food (close to two hours for the main course) and it was a somewhat pricey affair ($50 per person), but thankfully the conversation (not to mention the delicious appetizers at the pre-party) helped stave off the onset of hunger.

Oz also had a jazz band playing for the first part of the night, followed by a marathon mixing set by Ottawa's own dj CPI, who was apparently booked to spin until 6 am. Things were definitely going strong when we left just after 1 am, so who knows?

Which brings us to today. And my New Year's Resolutions for life in Ottawa. Herewith, in a vaguely particular order:

• Find more free stuff to do. What with Christmas and all those meals out, I'm close to being a broken man, financially-speaking. It's time for me to uncover the free stuff. Thankfully, Winterlude is around the corner. Stars and K'Naan are both booked to play shows.
• Hang out in Westboro, New Edinburgh and Little Italy. I have been to all of these neighbourhoods, but never for a sustained period of time. I feel like I use Westboro for its Mountain Equipment Co-Op, but nothing else. And I'm convinced there must be more to it. Same goes for New Edinburgh and Little Italy.
• Get a job at Compact Music on Bank Street. I know, I already have a full-time job, but I've never got working in a record store out of my system since I worked at one in high school. And the folks at the Glebe location are always so peppy. I'm not used to record store folks who are so amicable.
• Land a volunteer gig I can sink my teeth into. Ottawa has lots happening, partly because folks get involved. I'm an organizer, it's just in my blood.
• Attend a Sens game. Laugh if you will, but it's important to see how the other side live. I don't know a thing about hockey or the Sens, but a lot of people in this town get really excited about them, so I want to know what it's all about. I'm just sad I have to go to Scotiabank Place because it's ugly.
• Blog more. Well, if I'm going to be out doing all this fun stuff, I have to write about it, right? How else will you know about the good stuff Ottawa has to offer?

Stay tuned, my peeps. It's going to be a good year.

How I spent my Christmas vacation

Hi. Yes, me again, you're long-lost blogger brethren. I know I've been a bad little blogger and I should pay. But I have some treats for you. Here, now, in the form of an essay that I submitted to The Globe and Mail today for the Facts and Arguments page. And, a little later on, my New Year's Resolutions... I know, I'm, like, the most original blogger because I've got some resolutions. Well, at least I'm not going to bore you with my "Best of 2006" lists like every print media source currently in print.

Ok, so here, in a nutshell, my Christmas vacation. Chevy Chase, don't look now.

Hotel for the Holidays

My mother is preparing the Boxing Day lunch in Room 115. She piles deli meat onto a plate and slices a dozen or so dinner rolls, while my sister folds down the top of a bag of potato chips, molding it into a makeshift bowl. Mom gets out the napkins and readies the condiments: two types of mustard, mayonnaise, butter, sliced white onions, firm tomatoes and smooth peanut butter. When I catch her eye, the look on her face says, “What? It’s for the grandchildren.”

I realize these are perhaps uncommon culinary choices for Boxing Day, a day when meals are almost strictly the domain of Christmas leftovers for most families. But we are not most families. We are, afterall, celebrating Christmas in a hotel. By choice.

When my parents first began having babies in 1964, I don’t think they expected they would eventually have six of them. Nor do I imagine they anticipated the exponential growth that would occur when those six grew up, got married and began having babies of their own. And now, even one of those “babies” has a baby of her own.

At last count, we are a family of 29. No longer can we all gather comfortably into any of our respective homes for any amount of quality time. This is why, for the past four years, my family has created a new tradition: we have gone hotel for the holidays.

Mom and Dad found a place in London, Ont., complete with palm trees, an indoor pool with a waterslide, and an arcade. They book each family adjoining poolside rooms with a common patio. My Dad dubs it “Christmas in Florida”.

They also book a banquet room, where the family gathers to have sit-down Christmas dinner served from a specialized menu. This year’s choices included grilled chicken, roast beef, liver and onions, and, of course, turkey. I opted for the turkey, but Mom and Dad both went for the liver and onions. Had I known better, I might have ordered the hamburger and fries from the kids menu, just because I could.

When our server gathered the dishes after the meal, Mom – ever the kitchen mistress – tried to lend a hand, and was quickly rebuffed. “No, Mrs. Pearson, please sit down. That’s why you have me,” the young woman smiled.

Now, I will fully admit that when it comes to Christmas, I am a bit of a traditionalist. I like the storybook ideal of everyone coming home and gathering around the tree at Mom and Dad’s while some poor soul plunks their way through carols on an out-of-tune piano. I like home-made stuffing and pecan pie and that feeling of being ready to burst. I like wearing pajamas until three in the afternoon and playing boardgames with brothers-in
law who have found their way into a glass of rum and eggnog.

Yet here I am in this suburban hotel, warming to the idea of us being here. My nieces and nephews love the pool and waterslide. They spend hours swimming and splashing and being together, giving little thought to all of the presents they received just a day before.

My brothers-in-law gently chide my father, a rare drinker, for offering them bottles of Labatt 50, while their wives – the four Pearson girls – swap stories of work, life and the burgeoning teen years they face as parents.

After the pool closes at 10 pm, I find a log-jam of nieces and nephews laying across a pull-out couch watching a DVD, while three doors down, my oldest niece is putting her eight-month son to bed after a day of being passed cheerily from arm to arm. No one in this family can resist a new baby.

The rest of family passes the time on the patio, my mom in her makeshift kitchen in Room 115, freeing the late-night shrimp ring and countless desserts from their plastic covers. The hotel has turned the pool lights off, so we’re mostly in darkness, but no one seems to notice. This lasts until after midnight, when everyone begins to wander off to their respective rooms to settle down for the night.

The pool re-opens at 8 am the next morning. The kids swim before and after breakfast, while their parents are packing up and checking out.

Down the hall, the cleaning staff is busy tidying a room when Mom peaks inside for a look. It’s a much larger room than the others, and features a king-size bed and Jacuzzi bathtub. Mom doesn’t care about those things nearly as much as the full kitchen and dining room. Her eyes tinkle with thoughts of next Christmas. Dad is dispatched to the front desk to book the room, while I go find a trolley to carry our suitcases to the car.

We will be back next year. This is our new tradition.