Please excuse me but I got to ask...

Are you only being nice
Because you want something*

What follows is a really lame ass attempt at a real post. This one's for you my 4 loyal readers. I know it's been awhile so enjoy the esotericism while you can, because it's just a matter of time before I become facetious again.

Remember William Sampson? And Maher Arar? Sampson proved to me that soft power diplomacy in the Canadian context is a bunch of bullshit, because uh, we kind of have no power, soft or hard. I came to the painful realisation that if one day I found myself in a similar bind, my country would most likely fail me. Arar's issue is just frightening on so many different levels. I mean seriously. All you can do is look at what happened to him and say wtf? The whole idea of dual citizenship now makes me queasy. It's so evident that if your "other" citizenship happens to be in the wrong country, you're pretty fubared.

Are your spider senses tingling? Could this be a rant about the government's responsibility to uphold my Charter Rights? So close, yet so far. (Remember that earlier bit about this being lame ass? This is where it comes in.) See I was reading the newspaper and came across these two great articles about what it means to be a Canadian in light of what's been going down in Lebanon.

Canadian woman taking the piss out of a Lebanese soldier. For more heart warming pictures go here.

Given my predilection for wanting to get the hell out of Toronto as soon as possible - I love you t-dot, but even those in the most stable relationships need space - you can imagine that this would be a matter of concern for me. I sympathise with everyone who had to be evacuated, I'm sure that Lebanon must be a real hell hole right now. But what gets my quince is that a vast majority of those evacuees were permanent residents of Lebanon. Who were (sometimes ungratefully) airlifted out at the expense of the Canadian tax payer. There were reports that dual Lebanese-Canadian passport holders who hadn't lived in Canada for decades were given preference over Canadian permanent residents! Something just doesn't equate. You decide to leave Canada, settle down in Beirut, run your business raise your kids and be active members of life in Lebanon and then when shit happens you turn to Canada to bail you out?

Now fast forward to when I have given into my predilection. Myself and my (drop dead gorgeous husband) François have been settled down in Côte d'Ivoire for a couple of years and our kids attend a tony private school in Abidjan. Some sort of serious destabilisation within the country happens, and all foreign nationals need to leave as soon as possible. Hubby is a French passport holder and can easily leave but he works for an IGO and is obligated to stay as he is "essential" staff. I still travel on my Canadian passport, and my brats are dual nationals of both France and Canada. Here's the issue, they're both under the age of 8 and they've never lived in either country because François and I have been globe trotting for the last 13 years. We have neither contributed to society in Canada or France we do however work in the development sector and as such it would be "ethically" okay for me and the brats to be evacuated by the Canadian military.

I guess what this poorly executed post is actually trying to get at is this. What difference does it make if I've lived in Abidjan for 13 years as the wife of the CFO of Nestles West Africa (because, come on guys, you so know that François could handle that shit) or in the capacity of a bleeding heart aid worker. Both circumstances in my opinion are no different from the other, but it's all about perception right? As I've mentioned before, (and also annoyed most of you in person by voicing,) they're both inherently selfish. At the end of the day both a Canadian and a Frenchman have willingly left their countries of origins to make a life for themselves elsewhere. Do both scenarios deserve the same kind of attention in such a situation? The taxpaying public of Canada is definitely going to be much more sympathetic to the bleeding heart than they are to CFO. But is it fair?

So? This conundrum is now another one of those "factors" I'd have to think about before hightailing it out of here. Dual citizenship has been off the list for awhile now, as has the Middle East. Fortunately though François is brainier than a brain pudding and he'll be able to figure something out eventually.

*The Eraser. Sorry, I just can't stop listening to it!

Quips: Back by popular demand

It's been awhile since I've dug out some of the gems I've been privy to.

Words of wisdom from Aiya
Sucks that Aiya's moved out. But he does come home on Sunday mornings, and kinda hangs out until Monday. You guys know how he is. There's just too much goodness.

In the car, on the way for Sunday dinner
Me: I was on the internet, and i found this woman who breeds...
Aiya: Leprechauns?
Me: No you idiot...
Aiya: Lesbian Leprechauns?

After discovering a stash of phone cards, ammi deemed it appropriate to call all of our relatives.
Ammi: Here's a phone card, go and call your grandparents...
Aiya: Gah...
Ammi: You'll regret it when they get alzheimers
Aiya: No. If they had alzheimers and complained I never called, I'd tell them that I called them yesterday. And they wouldn't know.
*15 Seconds later*
Ammi: Did you call them??
Aiya: Ya. I did. The line was engaged
Ammi: This phone card? It hasn't even been scratched.

Random after dinner conversation
Me: Who's that on the front porch?
Vindhiya: Starts with an "E" and ends in a "K"
Aiya: Uh. Would that be "Eksathk"?
Me: No, I think the "K" is pronounced as an "H"
Aiya: Okay, well I think you're being something that starts with a "B" and ends in a "K"
Me: Hilarious. You should seriously look into stand up.
Aiya: That's right. A bitck. But remember, the "K" is pronounced "H"

On Food
We are a family of eaters. There's really not much more to it, as a result we spend a large portion of the day not only eating, but also talking about food.

At the local Sri Lankan take-out joint on a day when everyone was way too lazy to cook
Aiya: I want "cuttlefish"*
Me: Ya, I'm in the mood for calamari too.
Ammi: Well kids, I'm sorry. They don't have either of those. There's only squid on the menu.
* the posh way of saying "squid" in Sri Lanka. Although, as far as I know, they're two different species. But for the sake of this quip, let's just say they're one and the same.

Whilst watching a terribly written (what else is new?) Hindi movie
Me: You know what, the cinematography in this movie, it's so good. I'm speechless because I'm so surprised.
Aiya: I know, it's pretty impressive.
Me: It's all very Citizen Kane, with the camera angles and stuff...
Aiya: You mean, Citizen Jalebi.
Me: Ummkay.
Aiya: Or Citizen Gulab Jamun. Mmm. Citizen Ras Malai. Now that's something I haven't eaten in awhile. Ras Malai is so effing good.

After lunch at Punchi's place. Struggling against a sever case of 'itis
Punchi: Do you want some ice cream?
Me: Hmm...depends on what kind you have.
Vindhiya: We have a load. OoOoO There's Napoleon. You like that right?
Me: Napoleon?
Vindhiya: Ya Napoleon. You know, with the chocolate, vanilla and strawberry stripes?
Me: Napoleon? I think you mean Neapolitan? Have you been referring to it as Napoleon for the last 19 years?
Vindhiya: Maybe.

Surprisingly I haven't been pushed into anorexia. Yet.
Alby and I could never have an eating disorder. Not because we're totally happy with our love handles (among other things), but it's just because neither of us has the self will or determination to carry out an eating disorder. Keeping this in mind and viewing the below will give you ample evidence that there's enough psychological pressure to push me over the edge.

So terrible, that he will not even be named! But babe, you know who you are.
Me: I'm thinking about getting my belly button pierced.
Him: Really?
Me: Ya. Feeling a bit bleh these days and want to *do* something that doesn't involve getting drunk and making out with random guys.
Him: Well, ya that makes sense. But there's just one problem.
Me: What? That it'll be painful and I'll pass out?
Him: No. You have a gut. And no one will see the piercing, because it'll be completely obscured in its environment.
Me: It's a wonder that I don't have an eating disorder yet you know that?
Him: Loose the gut, and then get the piercing. That's my advice to you. It's foolproof.

While taking pictures after an overly large lunch when alby was able to break free from the holds of her Jewish over night camp and escape from Bracebridge for the day. Or wherever the hell that place is located
Alby: It looks like shit.
Me: Ya. We can't, we've spent like the last decade trying but we just can't.
Alby: Labro, just take the picture again, we both look like ass.
Labro: Is there anything that I can do...?
Me: Emergency face transplants perhaps?
Labro: I meant in terms of camera angles...

One of those occasions where were all just sitting around shooting the shit
Labro: (Looking at Copto) You know, loosing weight wasn't that hard. It's all about quantities...
Copto: Erm...
Me: Labro. Look how much weight he's lost. He's so thin now. I don't really think he needs any tips
Whoren: Ya, maybe you should be directing it this way. (Looks my way)
Me: Ya, I'm the one who needs it.
Copto: Ya, your words are wasted on me, she's the one who really needs the advice. (Turns my way)

Random Thoughts
I couldn't figure out where to stick these.

Whoren: So does he have a moustache?
Me: Whoren. What the hell?
Whoren: No seriously. Does he?
Me: Why would you even ask that?
Whoren: Well, you said he was Sri Lankan. Does he wear army fatigues too?
Me: You geek, he's not a Tamil Tiger.
Whoren: Ya but he should have a moustache. Otherwise it's just not right. Do you have a picture?
Me: Just this grainy one on my phone. He's the brown smudge on my right in blue.
Whoren: Whoa. He looks like he's 8 feet tall. That's a really tall guy. Does he play ball?
Copto: If he played ball, I could kill him. Guy we could kick his ass.
Me: (To Whoren) He's tall. But not as tall as that loser. (Glares at Copto.)
(Back to Whoren) As far as he's mentioned he only plays cricket in a hardcore manner.
Whoren: At least he's athletic. But really, it's a shame about that moustache

Aiya: Guess who I'm going to see August 27th?
Me: Um. I heard Ice Cube is coming?
Aiya: No. Listen to this.
Me: What is it?
Aiya: Just shut up and listen to it. It was like your summer theme song.
Me: Hmm, wasn't aware that I had one.
"Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira starts to play.*
Me: First of all you're an ass. Secondly, I didn't know Wyclef was coming, and why aren't you taking me?!
Aiya: Um. I'm going to see Shakira.
Me: Shut. The. Mom. Up.
*Long pause*
Me: I just don't know what to say. I'm so shocked.
*In my (albeit flimsy) defence, one could hardly call it a theme song. I just happened to be at this place called the Onyx one evening with some friends, and got asked to dance by 4 guys. At the same time. What can I say? Sri Lankans like Shaki.

Summah

As I've mentioned a few times already, I love Toronto, unashamedly and unabashedly. Although I'm not a huge fan of the sweltering, flesh cooking heat that we've been experiencing as of late, I still believe that summer time in this city is the best. You're not dealing with slush, salt, boots, and my personal favourite: wet cuffs on your pants.

Anywhere I've been, no matter what the length of time has been, I'm always struck by how kicking this city is. However, after my stint in Sri Lanka this year I've come home a touch confused. Is it just me or have Torontonians become more desperate? Or perhaps it might just be people who make the mistake of taking summer school? It doesn't matter what Canadian city you live in, as soon as the weather hits 14+ people (namely boys) will bust out the shorts and birkis assaulting as all with their iridescent white legs. It's not pretty, but it goes to show the love affair that this country has with the summer. This love methinks translates into the need to hook-up. Granted this issue is probably foremost on most single people's minds during the cold season as well, but it just hits a fever pitch when it's warm. Perhaps it's because hotpants have made a comeback? But really I don't know.

Here is a bit of an anomaly. The last time I checked, I was festively plump. Added to the plumpness I have a terrible farmer's tan from two months in motherland and yellow legs. The brown person's answer to pasty whiteness. Now friends, these are the facts. What I don't understand is the increase in drink offers since coming home. Can someone explain? Do I suddenly look like an alcoholic? Or perhaps it's because as I hinted above, I'm dealing with a new type of desperate? I mean, as Whoren has so kindly pointed out on numerous occasions, only really geeky people do summer school. And I agree. So maybe these summer school geeks are just more desperate than normal geeks in the summer?

Does anyone have answers to these burning questions of mine?

And so, here are a few random observations.

Toronto the Good

Regularly working A/C on the TTC. Dude. If you've ever travelled in one of the faulty cars, you know.

Saigon subs!

The dumpy fellow in the faded black t-shirt who offered to hold my books while I launched World War III against my umbrella, who during that particular torrential downpour deemed it appropriate to flip inside out. Multiple times.

The graffitti on the door of the last stall in the lady's washroom at Pratt. "Don't be pretentious on a bathroom stall." Love it! Mostly because it's only pretentious bastards who use Pratt ever. Damn artsies.

Toronto the Bad

Buying an ice cream cone, and then having the ice cream man try to bum smokes off of me.

The cute hipster watching the World Cup final behind me at the Beac who was about 6'2 and had a waistline I would die for.

Not being able to meet up with the core four more often.

Having to stoop and scoop.

Aiya moving out.

Late Breaking News

So. Um. I'm back?

Two months in Sri Lanka.

Worked once again with the most brilliant people I've ever met, and most probably that I'll ever meet period.

Met a really dodgy Auditor. (A Clyde to my Bonnie if you will. Or is it a Bonnie to my Clyde? Maybe even a Butch Cassidy to my Sundance Kid? A Thelma to my Louise? And now? All this outlaw talk? It's just left me confused.)

Discovered I have an Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity For Vodka. (Here after ACWHAAFV). Confirmed the general suspicion that it is indeed the Tamil side of the family who knows how to party.

Watched another (more sane) cousin walk down the aisle and felt a bit queasy because, my God. We're getting old! Time's not waiting up for me and I still feel like I'm 15.

Met a friend from Toronto in Colombo and was told that I had acquired a slight Sri Lankan accent. Nearly died. My worst fear realised. Full blame rests on the shoulders of the Auditor and the ACWHAAFV. Have attempted to drop said accent but it creeps up ever so often, especially when accidentally blurting out "yeah men."

Conned an entire city into believing that I am indeed a good person with morals and a level head on my shoulder. (Yeah, is your stomach cramping from laughter too?). The farce my friends is now officially international.

Engaged in some suspect behaviour that made me feel like a bonafide Sri Lankan (and not a hyphenated one) for the first time in my entire life.

Came home 3 weeks ago. Incidentally on Canada Day, couldn't have orchestrated a better day to land.

So, that kind of sums up all the main points of the last two months pretty well I think? Suprisingly succinct isn't it? Have no fear though, I'm still long winded and verbose. Just really lazy today that's all.

This Just In
Very little time these days for leisure writing children. This naturally can be a problem when one does not have any leisure to speak of. I'm in the thick of summer school. And yeah, I ask myself every day wtf I was thinking when I decided to sign up for not one but TWO courses. As a result there are a limited amount of subjects I can blog about coherently. (But wait, when was I ever coherent?)


- Yet another grainey photo that proves I'd be an amazing spy!But this is in the name of fashion, Robert Best from Project Runway

My spare time has been spent on the following: Enlightenment philosophy and its role in political theory and the concept of lost love in the collected works of Anton Chekhov. Why such light hearted and fun subjects you ask? Papers my friend. Papers. That's all I have time for. Well. And reality TV of course. I outed my dirty TV habits awhile ago and you're already well aware of my penchant for Bollywood and collegiate humour (more specifically anything with a Wilson, Stiller or Ferrell). And now with the new season of Project Runway airing a bit earlier than usual, do you understand why I haven't been blogging? I mean, that's all the justification you need. (That and the fact that Zizou took up most of my time when I came home. But we won't talk about that just yet.) I'm behind Robert, because, um how freaking cute is he? The little pot belly and tank-top combo? Loving it! And, I'm waiting like everyone else for Vincent to have Woody Allen-esque breakdown on national television.

Well my pets, hopefully my updates will be more frequent, but I wouldn't count on it (due to the aforementioned laziness.) First let's see if I even survive this coming week. That's right! Ammi's at home and Hezbollah's got nothing on her.