Thoughts from a Northern Airport
Jackson Hunter
Jackson Hunter
- I don't understand why people are so much more scared of flying than they are of driving. Granted, I do fall into the category of people who seem to expect the worst out of their flights, but I recognize it doesn't make much sense. Statistically, you're way, (way), (WAY), more likely to get injured or killed in a car crash than a plane accident. I mean, of course we always hear about plane crashes, they're big news because they never happen! But everyday, we could have an entire newspaper dedicated to individual car accidents. For me, I guess the scary part it's the finality of a plane crash. If something goes wrong while you're 3000 metres in the sky, you're not surviving the fall. Unless you want to end up like the people from LOST (to which death may be preferable) you're screwed.
- It's always made me chuckle a little inside when people say they want to be a character from a certain book or series. A perfect example of this would be Harry Potter. "Oh yeah, I think being Harry Potter would just be the coolest thing". But honestly, for most people, it wouldn't be. And this goes for most main characters; they all experience an extreme amount of physical, emotional, and/or physiological pain to become who they are. Look at Harry: he spent the first eleven years of his life being constantly bullied by his family and living in the closet under the stairs. And then once he gets to Hogwarts, shit goes down for Harry and he always seems to be struggling in some sort of way. Would you actually want to be Harry Potter? Probably not. Would you want to be a wizard? Hell yeah! I definitely want to be a wizard. Let's be wizards together!
- Sometimes, I wonder what other people are doing at this exact moment. Celebrities like Beyoncé or Taylor swift, what are these queens of the music doing as I wait for my bus to go school? I'd like to think that they're not that different than me. Even though they live this magnificent life that on a Monday at 8am they wake up with bed head and bad breath. Sometimes, I think about more obscure people. Like certain strangers I remember, or Alanis Morrisette's Dad (whom I've met, by the way.) Are they any different than me? Right now I'm thinking of my boyfriend back home. I wonder what he's doing without me. And I wonder if I crawled my fingers across a map and lay them over Ottawa, would he know I'm thinking of him? Would something in his gut tells him I miss him so much I ache? Probably not, unless by some chance God intervened. This then leads me to think: who is thinking of me right now and I don't know it.
- I really am quite far from home. 5,437 kilometres to be exact. And I just feel so disconnected with what's going on in Ottawa. Being here, not only in a completely different environment than the city but with a completely different brand of people, I feel like a lost particle inside a foreign mixture. I love it here, but I'm not meant to stay. Luckily for me I've got a phone and wifi (as does everyone else in the world) and it's only a few clicks of a button to talk to the people I love and miss. This makes me think about early European colonizers of Canada and the states. They must have have just felt so lonely. Because not only did they not belong in the Indigenous populated country, but they had no fast way to contact their homes. Their families. The people they loved.
- If I cross my eyes long enough, will my head explode?
- What's faster? The fastest plane of Earth going at its fastest speed, or The Flash going at his fastest speed? If the answer is The Flash, how could one transfer The Flash's powers into the plane to make it go faster, perhaps going faster than light and allowing time travel? If The Flash drives the plane, does he subsequently donate his powers to the vehicle he's driving? Or do his speed powers only come into effect when he's running with his own two feet? Side note: if The Flash is required to go at the speed of the mode of transportation he's in, how hellish would it be for him to be punished to eternal use of mortal transportation, after he's used to decades of speed.
- I know this is a classic one, but I wonder how many of the strangers around me I've seen before. I mean, there only a few hundred people on a plane. I wonder what the likelyhood is that I've already seen a few of them before. And I wonder if we'll ever cross paths again.
- What if every plane just stoped working all of a sudden. No one could get off the ground. How long would it take me to walk home? If I'm 5,437 km away from home, and I walked 5km an hour, and rested for 10 hours out of every 24, it would take me roughly 110 days to get home. That is, if I didn't die in the Canadian wilderness, but hey, I'm dreaming here. Would I walk that to get home or would I rather make my home here? Honestly, I think the prospect of never seeing my boyfriend again might just motivate me to walk.
- I'm hungry, and I'm not looking forward to airplane food.
A Guide to Canada for the Desperate American
Pascale Malenfant
Hello my fellow Americans.
It has come to my attention that many of you are trying to make Canada your new home due to your most recent hot-mess of a presidential campaign.
While I congratulate you on your recognition of the reality of your grim situation, I must warn you, Canada is not all that it seems.
As a former American myself who has successfully converted to Canadianism, I feel that it is my civic duty to provide you with some tips and tricks on how to blend in as a Canadian in the great white north.
2. We LOVE maple syrup. A lot.
And I’m not talking about that Aunt Jemima bullcrap. According to Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada, Canada made up 82% of the world’s total maple syrup industry in 2014. If your household does not spend at least 8% of its annual income on pure maple syrup, you’re doing something wrong. Our beloved maple syrup leaves its mark on virtually everything in this country, from our classic red-and-white maple leaf flag to our incredibly overly-priced gift shops. Which leads me to my next point…
3. Due to the fact that our dollar is currently down the poop-hole, everything here is much more expensive.
Now, maybe you as a fancy American with your “paper money” and “booming economy” will live your first year and a half here as a tourist, taking advantage of the fact that our economy really just sucks. However, once you start to rake in those measly Canadian loonies, you’ll soon learn the reason why Target left us, and why everyone hates Stephen Harper.
4. Guns are illegal here.
Now, I don’t want to get too much into American politics here, as, quite frankly, you people scare the living bejesus out of me, but Canada doesn’t take very well to poor black kids getting shot in the streets, or insane people shooting up elementary schools. We prefer to live simpler, more peaceful lives by protecting our families with common Canadian household items, like snow shovels or stale Jos Louis cakes until the assailant promptly apologizes.
5. We love Nickelback.
I’m kidding. No one loves Nickelback.
6. We have more than two political parties.
While America tends to stick with its historically evolved two-party system, us Canadians like to keep things exciting by having multiple registered parties that no one really votes for but somehow still exist. These include:
I’d now like to familiarize you all with some completely legit Canadian terms and facts that I think will be very useful in order to begin a competent life in Canada as a recently emigrated American.
I know this may be triggering to some of your senses of freedom, but Canada has always been in Britain’s good graces. We spell our words like them, we use the same measurement system. We even have the Queen on some of our money.
Tim Horton is not our prime minister. He was a very successful hockey player that now has a very large and poor-quality coffee chain named after him.
Our actual current prime minister is Justin Trudeau, the hottie with a hockey player’s body. And I know what you may be asking; Pascale, why does that even matter? Well, it doesn’t, but his only other great achievement is that he’s related to Pierre Trudeau, so… sorry.
Some of the most common words and phrases in our vocabulary include “hoser,” “rip,” “beer,” “sorry,” “eh,” “pop,” and “It’s only -30 degrees outside!”
We have two official languages; English and French. I recommend learning at least a few common phrases in French for those occasional trips to the province Quebec, such as “Bonjour!” “Au revoir!” and “Juste séparez… grenouilles insupportables.”
Well, there you go. The essential elements to a successful transition from a red-blooded American citizen to a docile resident of Canada. I hope this helped some of you aspiring northerners out. Just remember that, even if you aren’t able to make the move to Canada, we’ll always be thankful for the mistakes you’ve made before we had to make them, and if abstaining from sending thousands of young men and women to die for natural resources in the Middle East is the price we have to pay for always coming in second; well, so be it.
Pascale Malenfant
Hello my fellow Americans.
It has come to my attention that many of you are trying to make Canada your new home due to your most recent hot-mess of a presidential campaign.
While I congratulate you on your recognition of the reality of your grim situation, I must warn you, Canada is not all that it seems.
As a former American myself who has successfully converted to Canadianism, I feel that it is my civic duty to provide you with some tips and tricks on how to blend in as a Canadian in the great white north.
- Our roads are horrible, but we never really complain about it.
2. We LOVE maple syrup. A lot.
And I’m not talking about that Aunt Jemima bullcrap. According to Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada, Canada made up 82% of the world’s total maple syrup industry in 2014. If your household does not spend at least 8% of its annual income on pure maple syrup, you’re doing something wrong. Our beloved maple syrup leaves its mark on virtually everything in this country, from our classic red-and-white maple leaf flag to our incredibly overly-priced gift shops. Which leads me to my next point…
3. Due to the fact that our dollar is currently down the poop-hole, everything here is much more expensive.
Now, maybe you as a fancy American with your “paper money” and “booming economy” will live your first year and a half here as a tourist, taking advantage of the fact that our economy really just sucks. However, once you start to rake in those measly Canadian loonies, you’ll soon learn the reason why Target left us, and why everyone hates Stephen Harper.
4. Guns are illegal here.
Now, I don’t want to get too much into American politics here, as, quite frankly, you people scare the living bejesus out of me, but Canada doesn’t take very well to poor black kids getting shot in the streets, or insane people shooting up elementary schools. We prefer to live simpler, more peaceful lives by protecting our families with common Canadian household items, like snow shovels or stale Jos Louis cakes until the assailant promptly apologizes.
5. We love Nickelback.
I’m kidding. No one loves Nickelback.
6. We have more than two political parties.
While America tends to stick with its historically evolved two-party system, us Canadians like to keep things exciting by having multiple registered parties that no one really votes for but somehow still exist. These include:
- The Pirate Party
- The Communist Party
- The Marijuana Party
- The Animal Alliance Environment Voters Party
- The Marxist-Leninist Party
- The Nazi Party
- And finally, The Conservative Party
I’d now like to familiarize you all with some completely legit Canadian terms and facts that I think will be very useful in order to begin a competent life in Canada as a recently emigrated American.
I know this may be triggering to some of your senses of freedom, but Canada has always been in Britain’s good graces. We spell our words like them, we use the same measurement system. We even have the Queen on some of our money.
Tim Horton is not our prime minister. He was a very successful hockey player that now has a very large and poor-quality coffee chain named after him.
Our actual current prime minister is Justin Trudeau, the hottie with a hockey player’s body. And I know what you may be asking; Pascale, why does that even matter? Well, it doesn’t, but his only other great achievement is that he’s related to Pierre Trudeau, so… sorry.
Some of the most common words and phrases in our vocabulary include “hoser,” “rip,” “beer,” “sorry,” “eh,” “pop,” and “It’s only -30 degrees outside!”
We have two official languages; English and French. I recommend learning at least a few common phrases in French for those occasional trips to the province Quebec, such as “Bonjour!” “Au revoir!” and “Juste séparez… grenouilles insupportables.”
Well, there you go. The essential elements to a successful transition from a red-blooded American citizen to a docile resident of Canada. I hope this helped some of you aspiring northerners out. Just remember that, even if you aren’t able to make the move to Canada, we’ll always be thankful for the mistakes you’ve made before we had to make them, and if abstaining from sending thousands of young men and women to die for natural resources in the Middle East is the price we have to pay for always coming in second; well, so be it.
Home
Ginger Hum
Home is sitting alone in the fourth last seat of a school bus on the left side planning when and
what to say to my new co-workers, specifically the girl sitting behind me.
Home is staying up past midnight to look at stars and ponder our existence as we pray that no
campers find us.
Home is dragging a twin sized comforter to the docks so we can tuck ourselves away from the
harsh reality of parents who don’t notice their children are lost and wandering.
Home is meeting up in the kitchen and eating chocolate lucky charms for snack at eleven in the
evening and teaching each other how to eat Mr. Noodles the proper way.
Home is a plot of land with cinder block cabins and a beautiful view of the sun setting behind an
island that lives in its own separate world.
Home is taking the whiteboards from our lockers and drawing pictures of unicorns because at
fourteen we didn’t know how to make good conversation.
Home is sticking with each other even as groups form around us and take shape making it up to
us to push our way in and easier to leave ourselves open to being left out.
Home is writing murder mysteries with white gloves and butlers while arguing over whether to
spell his name Victor or Viktor.
Home is running lines and dropping chips on a old dirty couch while listening to the original
Psychopath's Anthem and googling sound effects for slamming a car trunk closed.
Home is a lobby covered in art we could only dream to have painted and a room on the top floor
with tea in the office and boards plastered with ‘The Hot Guy’ and Kurt Vonnegut.
Home is baking sugar cookies and hiding away little pieces of dough to share when our mom
has her back turned.
Home is dipping our fingers in water to smooth against wonton wrappers while our dad braves
the cold wind to avoid having our house smell like oil for days.
Home is sitting on one of our beds, talking in hushed voices about missed opportunities and
waiting too long to pick up a puppy that’s too small for the love that’s already so big.
Home is driving down a rocky country road eating cheese strings and squinting at signs, while
cackling about all the things that could have gone wrong.
Home is the only coloured room in a house of neutrals, with blue paint peeking out from behind
the snapshots of memories and barely held back smiles.
Ginger Hum
Home is sitting alone in the fourth last seat of a school bus on the left side planning when and
what to say to my new co-workers, specifically the girl sitting behind me.
Home is staying up past midnight to look at stars and ponder our existence as we pray that no
campers find us.
Home is dragging a twin sized comforter to the docks so we can tuck ourselves away from the
harsh reality of parents who don’t notice their children are lost and wandering.
Home is meeting up in the kitchen and eating chocolate lucky charms for snack at eleven in the
evening and teaching each other how to eat Mr. Noodles the proper way.
Home is a plot of land with cinder block cabins and a beautiful view of the sun setting behind an
island that lives in its own separate world.
Home is taking the whiteboards from our lockers and drawing pictures of unicorns because at
fourteen we didn’t know how to make good conversation.
Home is sticking with each other even as groups form around us and take shape making it up to
us to push our way in and easier to leave ourselves open to being left out.
Home is writing murder mysteries with white gloves and butlers while arguing over whether to
spell his name Victor or Viktor.
Home is running lines and dropping chips on a old dirty couch while listening to the original
Psychopath's Anthem and googling sound effects for slamming a car trunk closed.
Home is a lobby covered in art we could only dream to have painted and a room on the top floor
with tea in the office and boards plastered with ‘The Hot Guy’ and Kurt Vonnegut.
Home is baking sugar cookies and hiding away little pieces of dough to share when our mom
has her back turned.
Home is dipping our fingers in water to smooth against wonton wrappers while our dad braves
the cold wind to avoid having our house smell like oil for days.
Home is sitting on one of our beds, talking in hushed voices about missed opportunities and
waiting too long to pick up a puppy that’s too small for the love that’s already so big.
Home is driving down a rocky country road eating cheese strings and squinting at signs, while
cackling about all the things that could have gone wrong.
Home is the only coloured room in a house of neutrals, with blue paint peeking out from behind
the snapshots of memories and barely held back smiles.