Road Trip

This summer my family and I loaded up the sedan, strapped my brother to the roof and drove cross country.

-Our first stop was Edmunston NB, there I attempted my best French while ordering dinner. The waitress, like most francophones, gave up and started speaking to us in English. Just so we're clear, my French was better. Afterwards we went go-karting. I hate driving. Really hate driving. Did I mention I hate driving? It was not the most enjoyable experiance. My father and brother matched my one lap to their four.

-The next day we piled in the car and drove to Quebec City. Along the way we stopped for gas and snacks. My brother decided that because it was summer he would eat a popsicle whenever possible. Unfortunately for us, he's the world's pickiest eater. This began many road-side stops in attempt to find a popsicle he liked.

-When we got to Quebec City, my family went off to do some shopping in Old Quebec. Ever since being in Quebec I had been craving a poutine. For those who have not had the privilage of eating a poutine, it is a plate of fries covered in melted cheese and gravy. I had not been to Quebec in a number of years and when I entered the restaurant their board was covered in a variety of poutines whose combinations seemed a little out of place. After struggling to explain to the girl I wanted a plain poutine we got in the car just before the rain. That evening at dinner, my brother began another tradition. Chicken strips at ever meal. I kid you not for two weeks straight, lunch and dinner.

-A day later we headed to Ottawa.  Again we were followed by the rain. We walked around aimlessly fighting through the rush hour of business workers. The following day we visited the Parliment Building and the War Museum. My life was complete, not because I witnessed some of Canada's most important war artifacts but an original Andy Warhol painting and a sketch from Project Runway.

-Then we headed to Toronto, stopping along the way in, yes you guessed it, the saga to find a popsicle. We stayed with my cousins and drove downtown to do some shopping. My day had be ruined after discovering that we had missed the Abercrombie and Fitch models appearing in-store by one day. Afterwards we waited three hours to make it to the top of the CN tower. Mothers with large strollers quickly became the baine of my exsistance. Driving out of the city, we started our list of spying all of the American licence plates. This grew to embarrassment as my father would yell out a plate as the owner was getting out of the car and in clear ear shot.

-The next day we spent dodging between cars at the boarder crossing. When we arrived at the gate, as luck would have it we ended up with an officer who thought he was "The Man". My mother had recently lost a lot of weight and looked nothing like her passport picture. Finally we were let through and on our way. My brother insisted on stopping at an Army Surplus store in downtown Buffalo. We drove for a while and quickly became lost. I'm not one who is normal fearful for my life but when a middle class family from Nova Scotia finds themselves in a NY ghetto, I wasn't entirely sure we would make it out alive. To add to this fear we spent the night in possibly the scummiest hotel in Syracuse. Mother hen didn't sleep a wink and the old couple nextdoor to us didn't even stay the night.

-We spent the the next two days driving through Vermont and New Hampshire. Stopping occasionally for a popsicle or a restaurant with chicken strips. Finally we arrived in Maine. My mother shopped every outlet in the state and I finally got in a few good swims considering this was the first hotel with a pool. One morning we headed down to breakfast and oddly enough saw my brother's music teacher. I'm no math expert but the chances of seeing someone you know in a different country are not likely. On our way back to our room, we discovered that the hotel was dog friendly. Just as my mother opened our hotel door, a passing dog jumped out of it's owners arms and bolted into our room. Luckly the man was too embarrassed to take note of the eruption of clothes strewn across the room.

-On the last day we drove 12 hours straight from Kittery to Nova Scotia. After that, three hours to a University is nothing.

This trip was really a great experiance and I truely feel that it brought our family closer together even if we lost a day of travel do to the popsicle episode.

How To Choose A University

I'm basically making this list for myself but feel free to follow it as well.

1. Distance from home: For those who can't wait to be free of the 'rents, the more km (or miles for the Americans) the better. Three hours is a good starting point, too far to come home every weekend but still within the driving range.

2. The Town: Even though we all know staying in all night and dutifully studying is what every responsible adult should be doing but that is hardly the case. A university needs to be in a town where there is plenty to do and more importantly; eat. Tumbleweed town will not sufice for those late night Big Mac cravings.

3. Bathrooms: A mon avis the most important decision one will ever make is choosing a school with single dorm wasrooms. I kid you not, privacy is a virtue and I'm not one to spend four years of my life wearing a bathingsuit in the shower to avoid awkward moments. Apply early and pick a dorm where one can actually lock the bathroom door.

4. Distance to Meal Hall: Again with the food? There are pros and cons to being a certain distance from meal hall. Close: less time spent actually getting there, which means more time for eating! Far: Canadian winters will not be kind to you but on the plus side, one can walk off their Freshman 15.

5. Classes: Oh right, the most important part. Pick a school with lots of options within ones prefered field of study.

Judy Blume Here I come!

Well, here's the part where I throw a famous quote out there, grab the reader's attention and blow their minds with my choice of diction and imagery. I thought I would do my good deed of the day and spare this blog of that. Instead I'm going to filter those skills into something that 75% of the people that start never finish, a book. Quite simply because I have great respect for authors. Who else would have the courage to sum up their imagination and have it critiqued by everyone? And who knows, maybe I will beat the odds and actually complete my story. Maybe one day my imagination will be bound and sold just like the others.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said that "Language is the building in which every human being brought a stone" These words say it all. These words are the truth. I love these words. Thanks to men like Emerson we the people can enjoy what litterature has to offer. Apart from the required AP novels, I tend to find myself wandering through the teen section of Chapter's more often than I should. These books have advanced slightly, The days of "Babysitter Club" and Goosebumps" have gone the way of the dinosaurs. Unfourtunately they seem to have been replaced by a certain blood-sucking theme. When was the last time a book character actually died, sans being undead and sparkling? The classics are the way to go, I mean if they were good two hundred years ago, they're good today. Heathcliff could take Edward any day.

FOR-SALE: SOLD! My own little piece of cyber space. Where I can harbour the thoughts that enter my head and make the huge assumption that my words will be read over and over by the late night bloggers and distracted students. Enjoy.