WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 1-31-07

Today's Wednesday Word is "search" as in "When you're in, say, a Dragon Lord's lair, it is very important to search."

As was first mentioned back on 11/27 I have been playing Dragon Warrior rather frequently on my roommate's NES. Here's a bit of advice I have stumbled upon. If you are in the final boss' lair, and you've been informed by more than one towns person throughout your quest that there's a secret passage in the final castle behind the throne, and you've tried everything you can think of to find it. You might want to use your "search" function. I mean, if you've wandered over every square inch of the castle both inside and outside and still can't find the passage, you might want to use the "search" function.

I'm just saying, if you've wandered all around the throne area, all 5 squares of it, and you've tried every item in your inventory, and I mean every item; Rainbow stone, fairy water, fairy flute, fairy fairy, herbs, a second herb just in case it's a cumulative effect, fighter's ring, dragon scale and nothing works, you may want to choose from one of the 6 actions you can take. And don't choose talk or stairs or status. Or item. Or spell. Pick search.

It's up to you obviously, I mean, you could try all of the spells known to you. Radiant, Hurt, Heal, Hurtmore, Sleep, Sleep again just in case you needed to cast that after you play the fairy flute, but just remember to save 8 magic points so you can cast Return and go back to the castle to refill your magic points then. Sure it's a 10 minute walk back to the final castle, but no one ever died from being thorough. Well, you did, twice, because you kept running into blue dragons trying to push the throne from side to side, but still, what's two deaths and losing half your gold in the long run? But, if that's not your cup of tea, you might want to just click on that Search function that you've had since the very first second of the game.

You know, seeing as you've already been searching every tree, rock, and bridge you've come across the entire game in case there was some sort of hidden treasure cleverly buried in the middle of an 8-bit field. Seeing as you've searched every square of every town looking for possible dropped keys or armor. Seeing as you've spent two extra days leveling up your character thinking maybe at some magical "higher level" the door to the Dragon Lord would just be *poof* Opened To You, you might, just as a flailing, Hail Mary, swing for the bleachers, wild chance of a slim possibility TRY searching the throne.

Cause if the entrance was a bear it would have bit you, that's all I'm saying.

TICK TOCK TICK *SIGH* TOCK

This weekend, for the very first time, I partook in a Power Hour. It was... well, it was okay.

For those of you who don't know, a Power Hour is where you drink a shot of beer every minute for an hour. That's it, that's all there is to it. Like the best of drinking games, it is genius in its simplicity.

However, that is also it's downfall. That's all you do, you drink every minute for an hour. And in the end, all you've done is use up an hour. I mean, I was kinda drunk, but it was nothing like the Herculean task I was lead to believe I would be undertaking. I've heard stories of people vomiting, coming back to the table to catch back up (which is allowed in the official rules), vomit again, only to finish in honor. And those are the people that finish. I've heard of people that have to give up all together, rather than continue. I thought, surely, this will be the greatest drinking test my body has ever been put to. But then *bzzzz* it was the end of the hour and I was the most sober person out of the group. And did I mention I'd spent Thursday home sick with the flu? Because I HAD. Yet on Saturday I drank 7 1/2 beers in an hour like it was no big deal. I don't know if that says more about my body's incredible recuperative ability or my body's borderline alcoholic tendencies.

Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting, but I was expecting more than what happened. Maybe falling to one knee exhausted at the 45 minute mark, blurry eyes scanning the table trying to find my glass as time ticked away to the next drinking point. A shaky hand raising the last shot to my parched lips. A celebratory chorus of cheers as the final draught slipped down my throat. If I was up for it, a quick parade around the house with myself hoisted upon others' shoulders. Instead I finished the last drink, grabbed a fresh can and went to watch hockey highlights on ESPN HD. I had not defeated anyone, I had not risen above my peers. I had calmly strolled to the finish line, waited for everyone else to catch up, then joined hands and crossed together. To-geth-er.

Really, when you think about it, it's UnAmerican. I'd feel obliged to call the office of Homeland Security on all of us, but we were drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, so I think it evens out. At least I hope so. I'd hate to have been consorting with terrorists... even if they did have a really nice entertainment center.

PLEASE EXCUSE OUR MESS

Hello all.
Sorry there was no Wednesday Word this week. I spent most of Wednesday struggling to have enough energy to sit upright at work, and then I spent Thursday trying to keep Saltine crackers in my stomach instead of, you know, not.

So this is just a short update during one of my brief spurts of energy. I was watching the State of the Union Address on Tuesday, and while it was as entertaining as always and raised a point or two that I may ignorantly stab at later, it's not what I want to focus on today.

Once the speech was done, the news organizations all cut to the Democratic response to the speech. I didn't stick around to watch this, and instead hopped to whatever station was on the "return" button of the remote. By doing this I caught a commercial for something called "Tooth Tunes" or "Tunes Teeth" or something like that. It's a toothbrush, geared for kids, that beams music into your brain while you brush. It's not a radio, no, no that would be too pedestrian, too 19th century for today's youth. This toothbrush uses vibrations to send the signal through your teeth and into your brain (which they showed with some amazing animation involving a series of musical notes and a big blue space where I can only assume a child's brain is supposed to be located). The music, therefore, is only audible when you are brushing, so if the kids want the sweet sound candy, they have to keep scrubbing.

Now my question is not for the inventors of this product, but rather the marketing company that put the commercial on the air. This is a product being pitched towards children, so you would think it would play music that children would relate to and be intrigued by. Maybe some Black Eyed Peas "Let's Get It Started" or Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone". Possibly Rhianna's "S.O.S" or even something from High School: The Musical. Any of these, I would think, would be fine musical choices to get the little kiddies' interests piqued.

They chose "I Wanna Rock And Roll All Night" by KISS. ...

...

Now, I know that this is a song that we are all familiar with. It is a song that is played during sporting events, weddings, KISS concerts, KISS cover band concerts, bat mitzvah's, KISS concert commercials, etc, etc, etc. But as a song, for children, do you really think that's the tune you should use to pitch your awesome new toothbrush? A rock anthem that celebrated it's 30th anniversary two years ago? That's your idea of hip music?

What, was "Rock Around The Clock" going to cost too much in royalties?

FREE ADVICE

Isaiah "Don't Call Me George" Washington, best known to the TV watching world as Dr. Preston Burke on "Grey's Anatomy", is in the news yet again after a slip of the tongue at the Golden Globes where, as E! put it, "he said the 'f-word', no the other 'f-word'."

This is not Mr. Washington's first time in the news for saying this word, as back in October he and his co-star, Patrick "Can't Buy Me Love" Dempsey, nearly came to blows, allegedly over his use of the word on set.

In response to his repeated slip-ups, Isaiah Washington has just this week fired his P.R. staff and hired a new team who specializes in "crisis aversion". I don't know what specialists of that caliber charge normally, but I'm going to try and save the tarnished thespian some greenbacks and impart a little Star Worz wisdom pro bono.

*ahem*
Stop Saying Faggot.

That's good advice right there, I suggest he take it under advisement.

HELLO, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?

People often ask me, "S. Worz, you're the most famous, most respected, funniest wernalist on this continent, why do you even bother coming in to your day job anymore?" My answer is two fold. "You forgot handsome" and "Because then I wouldn't get to talk to people like this woman."

Me- Hello [Business name], how can I help you?
Her- Who are you?
Me- [Business name], how can I help you?
Her- Who are you?
Me- [Business name].
Her- Who are You??
(Now, I get what she's asking at this point. But I'm not about to just give out my name. We get enough nut jobs that call here that I don't just offer that sort of thing up. Also, she's being rude. "My I ask who I'm speaking too" or even "Who's this" will get a response. A terse "Who are you" will not.)
Me- [Business name], how can I help you ma'am?
Her- Do you advertise in the phone book?
Me- Not that I know of ma'am. We're listed in the phone book though.
Her- Who are you?
Me- [Business name].
Her- Seems like you're closer to the YWCA to me.
(Now, this is geographically true, but our actual name isn't even close, not alphabetically, not number of letters, not sounds like, nothing. Also, I now notice she's starting to get a little bit more of attitude, even though I still have no clue why she's on the phone with me.)
Me- Not really.
Her- Where are you?
Me- [Address]
Her- No. Where are you?
(Now I'm starting to get the feeling like she's trying to build to something, but still no clue what. I also don't know why she needs to know my personal location.)
Me- [Address]
Her- What do you look like?
Me- What do we look like?
Her- No. What do you look like and where are you?
(Okay, now there's no way On. This. Earth. I am telling this woman what I look like. Who asks that? So I decide to be coy.)
Me- Well we look like a big building with [identifying mark] right across from [another identifying building].
Her- What do YOU look like?
(Reflexively I look up to see if there's someone on the stairwell staring at me. Then I look past the stairwell out the window to see if there's someone standing on roof next door. The way this lady sounds, it is not outside the realm of reality that she'd be pulling a Batman right now.)
Me- Why do you need to know what I look like?
Her- Because we Pulled YOUR F***ING TAGS!! *click*
(Wait... how does a building have tags? Because she's not calling about me. I'm parked safely in my designated lot. She must have meant one of the other 100+ people who work here. I should have asked her who she thought she was yelling at before she hung up, but I can understand her rush. The pancakes were probably telling her the dog and cat weren't going to marry themselves.)

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 1-17-07

Today's Wednesday Word is "blues" as in "Someone is a really big 'Folsom County Blues' fan."

Two teens from Nelsonville, Ohio were re-arrested after leaving their juvenile detention center and stealing a vehicle. What vehicle you might ask? No, not a car. No, not a school bus. Not a helicopter, not a boat. These two stole... a train.

Think about that for a moment. You have just left your juvenile detention center. I emphasise the word left, because this was the Hocking Valley Community Residential Center, where "youth stay on the honor system" instead of going to a state run juvie hall. So you already know you're going to be in trouble when you get caught. So what do you do? You steal the vehicle least likely to evade the police. A hot air balloon has more maneuverability than a train. A rookie police officer, blind from birth and recently hit in the head with a snow shovel could track these two. These aren't exactly The Defiant Ones. They're not even Laurel and Hardy.

The Buster Keaton enthusiasts, one of whom had "some knowledge of trains", took the train on a 12 mile joy ride before stopping off at a grocery store where they were finally apprehended. So, so, so many questions arise from this.

1) The boy who had the "knowledge of trains" was 16. Where did he learn this fantastic train knowledge? Was he a Hobo before being "locked up" at Hocking Valley Community Residential Center? Was he a train thief, hot wiring trains on the mean streets of Nelsonville? Did he just watch a lot of Thomas the Tank Engine?

2) What was so tempting at the grocery store that the two just had to stop? A sale on spaghetti sauce? Gatorade to replenish the fluids you lose hijacking a train engine? Or did one of them just really need to use the little train robbers room and figured no one would notice if they parked the Reading Railroad for a few minutes?

3) How the heck do they make it 12 miles before anyone notices that a train, that normally runs only on the weekends, is racing along the tracks past both the Hocking College police AND the city police office?
"Hey Chief."
"Hey Bill."
WHOOOOOOO-WHOOOOOOOO!!
"What was that, Bill?"
"Looks like the Scenic Railway engine."
"Isn't that only supposed to run on the weekends?"
"Whatevs."
"I don't think people actually say 'whatevs' out loud, Bill."
"Whatevs."
"...seriously Bill. I'll shoot you in the face if you do it again."
"Wha-"
"BLAM!!"
WHOOOOOOOO-WHOOOOOO!!

The Casey Jones boys were charged with juvenile counts of burglary, theft and escape, and I'm sure they've learned their lesson. If they choose to break out again, I doubt they'll ride around in anything so silly and cumbersome.

Next time it'll be gondolas.

I'M STILL A FUNGI

I have these two giant ferns my old roommate and I were given as gifts by a friend of ours. It was a bit of a sneaky hand-off, as when someone says to you "Hey, would you like two ferns" one tends to think of tiny, flower pot contained, windowsill plants, not the four foot tall monstrosities that were dropped off at our door. But as we always say, "When life gives you lemons, stick them in the back corner of the room and water them infrequently."

Apparently an infrequent watering is still too much, as I discovered while leaving for work this morning that the planters have been leaking for a long, long time. How long? You know how I found out they were leaking? Mushrooms. That's right. Mushrooms were growing out of the CARPET BEHIND THE PLANTER!! I am no longer impressed by the story of Moses and the mana from heaven, because I have somehow grown mushrooms out of carpet fibers.

Feel free to dry heave if you want, I know I did while making a mad dash for the cleaning supplies. Snagging the Windex, the only product I was positive would not stain the carpet, I carpet bombed the entire area leaving, hopefully, no survivors. Then, for good measure I sent in a land force of half a cup of dish soap and scrubbed until I had foam up to my wrist. Tonight when I get home I'm sowing salt into the area so that their children's children's children may not know prosperity there.

My house has never been what Mr. Webster would call "clean", but there's a difference between "two days of dishes in the sink and a pile of clothes in your own bedroom" dirty and "growing fungus in your living room" dirty. I feel like I'm failing some sort of Adult test, so I'm disappointed. I mean, I'm growing mushrooms on accident, but I can't get the plants in my closet to grow at all.

Oh, that reminds me, I need to pick up some more UV bulbs and baggies tonight from the store. Does Ziploc make a dime bag with the fresh seal?

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 1-10-07

Today's Wednesday Word is "Phone" as in, "I am going to dig Alexander Graham Bell up out of his grave, then hire a voodoo priest to bring him back to live, and then murder him back to death. With a phone."

I answer phones where I work for a living. Well, as we all know, I write for a living, I'm a professional writer. I just, you know, answer phones to cover the other 95% of my living expenses.

We're having a phone "problem" at work this week. I call it a problem because I don't know how to spell catrastophy(<--- see?) and because I try not to use the f-word on this page. Why? Because I'm thinking about the children. I ran for City Council with that as my campaign slogan last year. S. Worz "I'm Always Thinking About Your Children. Always." Somehow I lost in a landslide. So the phones have been on the blink. What will happen is that our first line will ring but when I pick up there's no one there. When I hang up the line will immediately ring back with a disconnected tone. I hang the line up only to have it, again, immediately ring back. And again. And again. After the fourth tone the line will usually ring, but this time, instead of a tone, I get the start of the "If you'd like to make a call" message. No, I would not like to make a call, that's not what I'm paid to do. I'm paid to answer the phones. I'm like a baseball pitcher. They pay pitchers to pitch, not to hit (at least that's what watching the Milwaukee Brewers for the last two decades has taught me). But if I hang up THAT call then it just calls back as if oblivious to my rejection. "- please hang up and dial the number again..." I didn't dial a number in the first place!

The phone has been doing this for three straight days now, usually once every twenty minutes or so. So that's 500 plus wasted calls we've had to sit through. And you can't get rid of them. We've tried putting the line on hold, but it just hangs up on itself and starts calling you right back. Our engineer disengaged the line, but then line two started acting up. So he disconnected line two, only to have our special inside line go nuts. It's like our phone is channeling Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. I would not be surprised if I came to work tomorrow to find out that the phone had killed our rabbit. If we had a rabbit. ...Okay, so it'd be a little surprising, but not a lot surprising.

We can't get a new phone system either, because we're moving soon, and it wouldn't be smart to install a whole new system you're going to use for less than a year. Until then, I guess I'll just have to put up with the ghost dialer.

This must be karma for all of the prank calling I did in college.
In my defense though, I was at least funny. "Is your fridge running?" Ha-ha-ha-ha, feel free to use that one. I won't even charge you for it.

RUN FOR THE BORDER

Canada, despite it's lack of wandering hockey players and lackluster breakfasts, is still a separate country from the United States of America. That means you have to cross the border to enter the country, and that means you have to deal with a border guard. I had heard rumors from my brother, who had been to the Great White North the summer before, that crossing back into the United States was especially trying, as the guards had no qualms about dragging an entire mission trip worth of high school students off of a bus and searching all of them, checking their documentation, making them empty all of their luggage and then forcing them to run a gauntlet versus gladiators Nitro and Gemini.

Knowing this, we were more nervous about crossing back into American than we were about crossing into Canada. I mean, c'mon, it's Canada. How tough could it be? We rolled up to the window to find a shaggy haired Canadian, who was 22 if he was a year, waiting for us.

Canadian Border Guard: Hey there, welcome to Canada, eh? Nice weather today, eh?
Me: Yeah, it's nice.
CBG: You folks up for the week?
Me: Just a couple of days.
CBG: Well look out for the moose, okay? They get pretty big up here.
Me: How about that Wayne Gretzky?
CBG: *wistful sigh* Oh Wayne.
Me: Well, have a good day.
CBG: You too. Say, you want a Molson for the road?

That... was not actually how it went down. The conversation was more like this:

CBG: Where are you going?
Me: Uh, Thunder Bay?
CBG: Where you from?
Me: Um, Wisconsin?
CGB: Country of Origin?
Me: *getting worried* America?
CBG: How long will you be staying?
Me: Three days.
CBG: Why?
Me: *looking to my girlfriend for help* A wedding?
CBG: You got any alcohol or tobacco?
Me: No!
CBG: Firearms?
Me: I just- it's not even my friends!
CBG: Will you be leaving anything in Canada?
Me: A card! Sweet Heavenly Mercy, a card, that's all I swear!
CBG: No gift?
Me: What?
CBG: No gift??
Me: No! The card has money in it!
CBG: Enjoy your visit. *muttered* cheapskate

Two days later we're in line to go back to America, and I'm practically bending the steering wheel I'm so nervous. With the Canadian interrogation still fresh in my mind, I could only imagine how rigorous the American re-entry would be. Would we be asked to step out of the car? Would we be fingerprinted? Strip Searched? Forced to name the last three American Idol winners? The mind boggled. Then I pulled up to the window.

American Border Guard: *bored* Morning.
Me: AMERICA!
ABG: Excuse me?
Me: Nothing.
ABG: Destination.
Me: AMERICA!
ABG: Business in the United States.
Me: Home!
ABG: Driver's license.
Me: *hands over license*
ABG: Wisconsin, huh. How about the Packers.
Me: I don't think they're going to make the playoffs.
ABG: I'm from Wisconsin. Pop your trunk.
Me: Okay... oh, wait, you mean of the car.
ABG: Of course.
Me: *whew*
ABG: Have a good day.

If the Canadian guard had been Captain Intense, then the American guard was Johnny Whatever. He wasn't friendly, and he never changed his voice from a monotone, but he at least engaged us in a semi-conversation. It took me a while, but I think I've figured out why there was a difference between the two men.

In Canada, they train you to be intense. Why? Because that's all they've got. If someone did decided to start something, it would take at least an hour for the Mounties to make it out of Thunder Bay and to the border to help. In America, they can afford to be a little more laid back. Why? Because it's America. If someone so much as breathes wrong at the border an agent can have a battalion of Apache helicopters hovering overhead in the blink of an eye. Heck, we could have a warship launch a missile from Lake Michigan and still pick off any troublemakers.

And besides, if anyone did sneak past our border, what are they going to do? Mess up Minnesota? Have you been to Minnesota? Anything they'd do there would be an improvement.

CANADA CONTINENTAL

The hotel we stayed at in Thunder Bay was very nice and had three pluses going for it. 1) It was at the intersection of the town's two major roads, so it was easy to find. 2) It was next to the airport, so it was convenient for those attending the wedding who had to fly in. 3) It included a pool, sauna and exercise center.

It also had a continental breakfast.

You'll notice I didn't put that in the plus category.

Now, as I mentioned, this was a nice hotel, on a major intersection, next to the airport and included several amenities. So when we learned they had a continental breakfast we were understandably excited. As a member of a family that always drove for vacation, I have stayed at many hotels and have had many continental breakfasts. This will certainly go down as one of the most memorable. Most continental breakfasts that I have encountered run from 5 a.m. until about 9 a.m. A nice, though early, time frame for people to rise, wash up, and have something to eat on their way out of the hotel. This breakfast, however, only ran from 5 a.m. until 7 a.m. We discounted it as a Canadian quirk and a marketing ploy to get people to visit the more expensive (aka not free) restaurants inside the hotel.

So there I was, 6 in the morning, body confused as to why it was not currently in bed, lumbering my way to the continental breakfast. The entire night before we had speculated what sort of wonders might be laid out in front of us. This was a hotel with a pool, AND restaurants inside. It certainly would fall in the upper ranks of the Continental Breakfast Pyramid, which are:

Top Tier: Waffle maker with cups of batter, donuts, muffins, bagels, a toaster for the bagels, bread, cereal, fresh fruit, silverware, plates, coffee, juice, milk, hot water for tea, complimentary newspaper

Second Tier: Donuts, muffins, cold bagels, cereal, plates, spoons, coffee, juice, milk

Third Tier: Donuts, mini-muffins, bagel 1/8's, napkins, coffee, juice

Fourth Tier: Mini-muffins, napkins, coffee, juice.

The Canadian Breakfast did not fall in the top tier. It did not fall in the second or third tier. It completely missed the fourth tier. Below even that, below the very foundation of the Pyramid, rests The Canadian idea of a Continental Breakfast.

I wandered up to the deserted table to find nothing, absolutely nothing, edible. There were a handful of tea bags, a pitcher for hot water and a pitcher with coffee in it. This might have been understandable if it were, say, 7:05 or even 6:50, but it wasn't. It was 6 a.m. And there was nothing. There wasn't even an empty platter.

So I turned to the young Ontarian working the front desk.
Me- Hi.
Him- Good morning.
Me- Um, is this where the Continental Breakfast is? Or is it, you know...
Him- No, it's usually right over there.
Me- Okay. ...cause there's nothing there.
Him- Oh. Really?
Me- Yeah. I mean, you know...
Him- Oh. Let me go check.

So he wandered off into the still closed restaurant to look for answers, leaving me standing in a Thunder Bay hotel lobby at 6 in the morning in my sweatpants wondering how easily I could cross the street to the Best Western for their breakfast. Finally he came back out with a tray in his hand. On the tray was the most meager excuse for a breakfast I have ever seen, and I have fasted in the woods before. There was one whole muffin cut into quarters, along with two small danishes, also quartered. One was pineapple, the other was, I don't know, mud? Is mud a danish topping? Because it looked like mud. So with half a muffin in my one hand and half of a pineapple danish in the other I walked back to my room, mind reeling in disbelief. Perhaps it was all a dream, I thought. But then I woke up in my room two hours later with the quarters still staring up at me from their pathetic muffin wrapper carrying cases and I knew that it was not.

Needless to say, I did not get up the next morning for more of the same.

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 1-3-07

Today's Wednesday Word is "bay" as in "I was up in Thunder Bay for three days last week, and yee-haw is it... ehhh."

Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada is a lovely little town not much bigger than my own. Located a mere stone's throw away from Lake Superior, it is the biggest city in... well it was the biggest city we saw for 4 hours after leaving Duluth, Minnesota and the ONLY city we saw after we crossed the Canadian border. As such it was the only Canadian experience we had other than an overly intense Canadian border guard (which I'll cover next time), and I have to say I was very underwhelmed by it all.

Now, this was my first time in Canada, so maybe I only had the stereotypes to go on, but I really think Thunder Bay could have tried harder to make me feel like I was in another country. There was no giant Canadian flag taunting me with its red maple leaf, there was no pack of caribou grazing the middle of the highway, there was no giant sign saying "Hey, remember when you tried to invade us in 1812? Yeah, how'd that work out for you?". It was like I had spent all the time driving just to reach a slightly colder part of Minnesota. Sure, the father of the bride made fun of our American money and their Applebee's menu's said "Enjoy our Flavour" but that was about it.

Yeah, you heard me correctly, Applebees. That's where we ate. Smack dab in the heart of Canadia and am I chowing down on Flapjacks with real maple syrup? No. Am I dining on fine Canadian trout? No. Am I digging in to a thick, tender baby seal sirloin? No! I'm eating at frickin' Applebees because Canada apparently has no "ethnic" dish. Unless, that is, you count Chinese food. My teachers never informed me that Canada was founded by Chinese immigrants fleeing the California railroads, but that must be the case as there was a Chinese restaurant every block in downtown Thunder Bay. I've been to Chinatowns with fewer Chinese restaurants. I've been to towns in China with fewer Chinese restaurants.

What gives Canada? Where were the roaming bands of hockey players? Where was the flannel? Where were the Mounties asking me "What's all this aboot, eh?" I drove almost 10 hours for this Canada, and you couldn't show me a dog sled team or an Inuit or something? Your pool was even measured in Feet! I didn't memorize a metric conversion chart for nothing Great White North! You come to Wisconsin and you best believe we'll show you dairy cows until your head spins. You go to a restaurant and you're going to see fried cheese on the menu. You walk around the towns and you're going to see people wearing Packers clothing, even to weddings. Why? Because that's what you want to see when you visit somewhere else. You don't want it to be "just like home", you want it to be a bizarre, fish out of water experience that you know your friends will never believe when you tell them.

Shame on you Canada. No wonder England still bosses you around.