Monday, November 03, 2003
Update from Cincinnati:
AMERICANS ARE WAY FATTER THAN CANADIANS.
If there are any Americans reading this, I apologize for being unable to find a nicer way to say that. But it's true.
I think it has something to do with the King-Kong-scale portions here. You don't order a half-rack of ribs here, you order half of the cow. And everything's got sugar in it... lots of sugar = lots of insulin in the bloodstream = lots of proteins turned into fat.
It's nothing new I suppose. The empire is crumbling from within and the signs are too numerous to count.
16 soldiers were killed in Iraq today. 2.73 billion gallons of oil were burned around the world. Tonight, I played X-box live for a bit, and now I'm typing on the internet.
I feel strangely at home down here, in the land of a million channels and equal opportunity (Unless you're black or hispanic, or well, not-white.) I guess it's just so featureless and midwestern I could be just about anywhere. The city lacks any kind of cultural center, so everyone just dresses in strip-mall fashions. Lots of Gap. Lots of Abercrombie. Lots of khakis and check shirts. Lots of Tommy Hilfigger. Lots of me shuddering as people waddle past.
It's like plato's cave here. There is real fashion out there somewhere, and real culture, but all you can see in Cincinnati are the shadows of New York cast by the bright plastic sunshine of Los Angeles.
Speaking of Fashion, my mom's suggested I get my hair cut while I'm here. I can't tell if it's a good idea or not. I've got the hipster mop-top happening, and I'm worried that if I let any of these midwestern barber types near me, I'll come out looking like The Beav. But then I think, maybe that could be ultra-hip. So uncool it's cool. The trucker cap of hair!
Or I could just look like The Beav.
Or I could look like I'm wearing a beaver on my head.
I think I'll wait 'til I'm back in Canada.
-Trevor
P.S. Thank buddha Mike Harris is staying out of politics. I really didn't want to have to assasinate him, and it was starting to look like the only option.
P.P.S. Someone tell my roommate (the writer) to start writing some material for this site. So far, he's been pretty slack.
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If there are any Americans reading this, I apologize for being unable to find a nicer way to say that. But it's true.
I think it has something to do with the King-Kong-scale portions here. You don't order a half-rack of ribs here, you order half of the cow. And everything's got sugar in it... lots of sugar = lots of insulin in the bloodstream = lots of proteins turned into fat.
It's nothing new I suppose. The empire is crumbling from within and the signs are too numerous to count.
16 soldiers were killed in Iraq today. 2.73 billion gallons of oil were burned around the world. Tonight, I played X-box live for a bit, and now I'm typing on the internet.
I feel strangely at home down here, in the land of a million channels and equal opportunity (Unless you're black or hispanic, or well, not-white.) I guess it's just so featureless and midwestern I could be just about anywhere. The city lacks any kind of cultural center, so everyone just dresses in strip-mall fashions. Lots of Gap. Lots of Abercrombie. Lots of khakis and check shirts. Lots of Tommy Hilfigger. Lots of me shuddering as people waddle past.
It's like plato's cave here. There is real fashion out there somewhere, and real culture, but all you can see in Cincinnati are the shadows of New York cast by the bright plastic sunshine of Los Angeles.
Speaking of Fashion, my mom's suggested I get my hair cut while I'm here. I can't tell if it's a good idea or not. I've got the hipster mop-top happening, and I'm worried that if I let any of these midwestern barber types near me, I'll come out looking like The Beav. But then I think, maybe that could be ultra-hip. So uncool it's cool. The trucker cap of hair!
Or I could just look like The Beav.
Or I could look like I'm wearing a beaver on my head.
I think I'll wait 'til I'm back in Canada.
-Trevor
P.S. Thank buddha Mike Harris is staying out of politics. I really didn't want to have to assasinate him, and it was starting to look like the only option.
P.P.S. Someone tell my roommate (the writer) to start writing some material for this site. So far, he's been pretty slack.
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