I must be getting more Canadian, because I'm actually happy that it's snowing today. It's so much prettier! And there's nothing better than a pretty snowfall when you have nothing to do for the next few days other than curl up on the couch with hot cocoa.

The big new year's shindig in Toronto is an outside fest at Nathan Phillips Square, with fireworks and a concert by Bedouin Soundclash, who have at least one song I really like, and a few other bands I haven't heard of. There's also a "daring stunt by Santini: The Dark Master of Escape!" according to the web site, which is tempting, but I think I'll watch from the comfort of my own couch. First, the square is just 'round the corner from where the big shootout was last Monday, so I'm thinking it might be wise to skip it. Plus I dislike being cold and being in large crowds of people, so that's just icing on the random gunfire cake of reasons to not be there. But I'll let you know how the dark master of escape does.

I wonder what Santini's business cards look like? I think I should get business cards with "Rebecca: Dark Master of Freelancing!" on them. Business cards should have more exclamation points, I think, and who could not hire me with a title like that? They'd be too scared of my Dark Powers not to hire me. This is such an excellent plan. I'm retreating to my Lair (the couch) to plot my next Diabolical Scheme (grocery shopping) now. Mwahahahahaaaaaaa!!!

It's not even safe to go shoe shopping in this city anymore -- what is Canada coming to? Today I visited a makeshift shrine to 15-year-old Jane Creba, shot dead in the crossfire of two rival gangs while doing some apres-Christmas bargain shopping in downtown Toronto with her family. Six other people were wounded.

Makeshift shrines all tend to look the same -- grocery store flowers, flickering candles, stuffed animals, scrawled notes and prayers -- but I always find them touching. Here you could tell so many of the notes were written by teenage girls by their rounded, cutesy handwriting -- girls who knew Jane, girls saying goodbye like they're writing in a yearbook. I'm especially moved by the people who didn't even know her, but felt they had to come pay their respects, leave flowers or light a candle for her. Less noble motives led me to pause at the shrine outside the Foot Locker -- I was there for a story.

The police investigator said this murder made Toronto lose its innocence. Of course, people also said that a while back when a teenager was shot to death in a church during the funeral of a friend who was also shot to death. Personally, I thought maybe the innocence had been lost earlier this summer when a four-year-old boy was shot multiple times in a drive-by (he survived). But whatever, I guess now the innocence is officially, totally lost.

It would be too facile to say people just care about this shooting because it claimed the life of a pretty white girl. But I think race isn't so much of a factor -- the outcry would probably be the same if the victim had been a black 15-year-old girl who, like Jane, was a popular star athelete and good student. Really it's the location of the shooting that hits home -- right outside Eaton Center, the most popular mall in the city, and just around the corner from city hall. It was the first time most people (including me) read about a Toronto shooting and thought, that could have been me.

Of course, Toronto is still way safer than any American city -- 78 homicides this year in a city of 2.5 million. Chicago, with 2.8 million people, had 444 homicides and Houston, with 2 million people, had 324. At least each murder is still a big deal in Toronto -- that's not the best thing to brag about, but I suppose it's something.

Sorry for the downer post, but after visiting a teenage girl's murder site shrine it's sorta hard to think of other topics of conversation. I know it's cliche, but my heart goes out to her family, especially her older sister. They were shopping together and got separated, and after the shooting happened the sister was looking frantically for Jane and couldn't find her. Finally a cop told her and her mom what had happened. I guess as an older sister myself I can imagine her panic and devastation. I hope she's OK.

I was talking to a lady at the shrine today and we agreed we just couldn't fathom what someone would be thinking as they pulled a gun and started firing in a crowd. I mean, it's not like I can't imagine wanting to kill or injure someone -- I felt that way several times today while I was on the phone trying to resolve a health insurance dispute with truculent bureaucrats. But on a crowded sidewalk like that? If you're going to be a "gangsta," and please note those quote marks are dripping with condescending irony, at least learn to aim. Assholes.

OK, here's my plan for world peace this holiday season. (And on a side note, I never before paid much attention to whether I said "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" or just grunted into my eggnog, but now I intentionally say "Happy Holidays" just to spite those crazy "Merry CHRISTmas" jerkoffs. Ha! Take that, Bill O'Reilly!)

Anyway, back to the world peace plan. We should replace all television news footage worldwide with this: http://sandiegozoo.org/news/panda_news.html. For about a week, maybe two. Sure, people might be a bit perturbed at first when they turn on the news and instead get nonstop coverage of a baby panda frolicking. But pretty soon they'd be like, "Awww, damn, that is CUTE! I am totally going to love my fellow humans, and pandas, from now on." You can't really argue with the logic of an unbelievably cute baby panda chewing on bamboo shoots, so don't even try.

Plus I think this plan would spark a lot of "Panda-monium" headlines, and that's one pun I can't get enough of. Bring on the panda-monium and have a very pandamazing holidays!

Alas, actual work has distracted me from my busy schedule of obsessively chronicling my dog's life and mocking Canadian politics. But my research in the workaday world has led me to some marvelous things. For example, in this story about the first same-sex marriage in the U.K., I particularly enjoyed this exchange:

"You need to turn yourself away from your sinful lifestyle. You're an abomination before God," a Scottish preacher, the Rev. James Dawson, told one lesbian couple walking past.

"You would be so lucky to have this lady, love. I'll see you at the gates of heaven, mate," retorted Belfast woman Brenda Murphy, walking beside her partner, Nuala Quiery.

I know it's not overtly funny, but think about it with the accents.

Scottish preacher, ala Mike Myers: If it's na Scottish an' fundamentalist Christian it's CRAP!!!
Belfast lesbian, ala Lucky Charms leprechaun: Stop trying ta steal me lucky charms, ya bigot!

Cute accents totally take the sting off divisive social issues, I think. If I were in a debate with a Scottish preacher about gay marriage I might bust out a few Highland Fling moves, just to throw him off. We might just settle the whole thing with a dance-off. I also think "I'll see you at the gates of heaven, mate," makes an awesome comeback for almost any situation. I'm going to start using that. I'm also going to try getting some sleep.

I watched the first debate of the election campaign last night -- in French. They'll do another one tonight in English. Mais oui! I watched the translated version, of course, and found myself paying more attention to the translation than to the politicians' rather predictable answers.

My question is, how do they pick these interpreters? Because I learned that all interpreters are NOT created equal. Jack Layton's guy sounded like Anthony Edwards circa "Revenge of the Nerds." And I swear poor Stephen Harper's interpreter was the guy who played Charlotte's very fey, gay friend on Sex in the City. Who knew Anthony was bilingual in French and English? Nice to see he's working, though. This led to much cognitive dissonance, especially when Harper was talking about how he wanted to repeal the gay marriage law. I kept expecting Anthony the Interpreter to hiss "you bitch!!" under his breath.

So now I'm really curious about these interpreters. It's a pretty high-stakes job, non? You make one little slip-up and your candidate just told the world he wants to give every Canadian more raccoon facelifts instead of more economic opportunities. Oopsie! Do the interpreters hang out with the candidates ahead of time to get to know their speech patterns, or study tapes of them? If the candidates say something in broken French do they clean up the grammar or repeat it in broken English? ("Is our children learning?") From last night's debate I'm guessing they clean it up because I didn't hear any awkward phrases. There were a couple times when the candidate spoke in French for like 20 seconds, with silence from the interpreter, and then all of a sudden the interpreter would start speaking really rapidly. Maybe it took a while to figure out where the sentence was going? I can imagine it would be hard translating politicians, with all their circular logic and verbal wankery. I bet that's an advanced class at interpreter college: Verbal Wankery 301.

True transcript of a conversation that took place in my house last night.

Me, petting Wonder Dog: "Hey, check it out! Her ears totally smell like Cheetos!"
Husband, skeptically: "What?"
Me: "Really! Smell her ears!"

Husband smells WD's ears, then stands up with growing look of concern on face.

Me: "See? Cheetos!!"
Husband: "Honey, you really need to get a job."

Of course I told him that jobs are for suckas!! Once I write this letter to the Frito-Lay company I'm sure the endorsement money for me and WD will start rolling in and THEN who will be the crazy one? Hah!

So the big news in Canada is the U.S. ambassador giving Prime Minister Paul Martin a stern talking-to in retaliation for Martin's verbal bitch-slap to Bush at the recent global warming conference.

Martin, a Liberal, said the U.S. lacked a "global conscience" on global warming, what with Bush refusing to acknowledge it exists.
The U.S. ambassador was all, hey Prime Minister Smarty Pants, I think it's time for you to have a heaping helping of shut-the-hell-up!

This whole kerfuffle plays right into one of Canada's favorite national pastimes, which is complaining about America being a big bully with weak beer and an inadequate appreciation for curling.

Apparently the Bush administration doesn't know or doesn't care that in Canada, being criticized by Bush (or his ambassador/lackey) is worth at least 15 points at the polls. It's not that Canadians hate Americans, but they do hate Bush a lot. In the last poll I saw, 73 percent of Canadians disapprove of Bush and 38 percent think he's more dangerous to world security than bin Laden! So Martin getting criticized by Bush is sort of like bin Laden coming out with a pre-election video slamming Bush.

Seriously, Martin is LOVING this and poor Conservative leader Stephen Harper probably cries himself to sleep every time the Bushies say something mean about Martin. OK, what U.S. Ambassador to Canada David Wilkins actually said was,

"What if one of your best friends criticized you directly and indirectly almost relentlessly? What if that friend's agenda was to highlight your perceived flaws while avoiding mentioning your successes? What if that friend demanded respect but offered little in return? Wouldn't that begin to sow the seeds of doubt in your mind about the strength of your friendship?"

OMG! Canada and the U.S. are totally frenemies!! Now it all makes sense....

Or perhaps, as one commenter said on The Globe and Mail web site, if my best friend said all that to me I would take a long, hard look in the mirror.

I visited the nursing home again today with Wonder Dog, and I think I love the arthritic lady with her little claw hands and her motorized wheelchair. She's so awesome. Some of her choice quotes this week:

"Dogs are so much better than children, don't you think?"
"Now, if you had a child running around here, I would feel resentful. But you can let the dog go wherever she wants. Does she want to get up on my bed?"
And, more philosophically, "I don't mean to be morbid, but really, this is how everyone's going to end up. Some people don't want to come here because they don't want to think about it. I mean, I don't want to think about it sometimes. I think, why me? But, oh well ..." (pets dog).

We also visited a tiny, birdlike old lady who couldn't get out of bed and could hardly speak. But as soon as she saw Wonder Dog she started making these little "ohhhh! ohhhh!" noises of joy. I put WD on a chair next to her bed so she could pet her ears. She showed us a photograph of one of her daughters sitting with two border collies. She just loved the dog. She cried a little when we left.

Our last visit was with an older man who'd had a stroke who sort of played it cool. He wanted WD to come in, but he very firmly said he didn't want to pet her. At first he seemed to be ignoring her but then I noticed he was sneaking peeks at her and smiling when he thought I wasn't watching. WD did her "sit" and "shake" for him, which I think he enjoyed. So I counted that as a successful visit.

In other news, a friend who lives in the suburbs of Toronto and had us over for dinner once told us her husband may be getting a new job, which would require them to move possibly to our neighborhood and for her to quit her job. Is it wrong for me to hope they do so that I can have a Starbucks buddy in the middle of the day? She's an American ex-pat too, and gave us the very wise advice never to argue with a Canadian about beer, hockey or health care.

Pet peeves and assorted rants, in no particular order:

Celsius temperatures: The problem with Celsius is that it just makes everything sound so much colder than is reasonable. The temperature today is now -14 degrees C. That's just crazy! Not that 7 degrees Fahrenheit is balmy, but it at least sounds a bit more human, whereas -14 sounds to me like some forecast for one of those planets very far from the sun. It's psychologically demoralizing. Both measurement systems are too hard to spell, also, but that's equal demerits for both. Some say Celsius, like the metric system, is a Communist plot, but I think it's a Canadian conspiracy designed to convince Americans that it's far too cold here to invade. So far it's worked, so I guess I should give Celsius some grudging respect for that.

Ontario wine: Dear lord it SUCKS! This was an unpleasant surprise, coming from Washington state where you can get a lovely local bottle of whatever you want for less than $10. Not so here, where the Niagara "wine region," and I use that term loosely, churns out barrels of red sugar-water. They market it like crazy, and I wish they'd put just a teensy bit of that marketing money into some research on how to make their swill drinkable. If only Ontario wine were better, it might make the whole Celsius thing easier to bear, but no, I've got to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit and spell them both without a buzz on. And the crazy protectionist tariffs here mean they want me to pay $20 for some drinkable Australian wine that should cost $8. Bastards!

Slushy puddles: self-explanatory.

The bacteria in my dog's urinary tract: Why do you have to be so darn antibiotic resistant? You couldn't be killed off by the $40 antibiotics, nooooooo, you have to have the $140 antibiotics specially made for you. And to anyone whose pet peeve is TMI about my dog's health, I officially apologize. But in my household there is no such thing as TMI about the wonder dog.

Cheapo grocery store: Part of me still loves you, cheapo grocery store. I don't even mind the way you make me bring my own bags, because yes, we should all recycle, and yes I would prefer those savings to be passed on to me. And I loved that one time you sold me those big bottles of Diet Coke for $1 each. That was awesome, and I should have bought more. But your aisles are fraught with danger, cheapo grocery store! I never before thought of checking the expiration date for bread, but apparently it can go brilliantly moldy and bad within a few days of purchase at the cheapo grocery store -- my bad. Next time I will be warned, and I will also warn other, less mold-alert members of my household to check the color of the bread BEFORE making a tuna-fish sandwich. You have odd smells, cheapo grocery store, and sometimes you are mysteriously out of previously available items such as Parmesan cheese and I have to scurry over to the expensive grocery store and be reminded of all that I'm missing. And yet I will probably return to you, cheapo grocery store, because we are both cheapo and I am out of Diet Coke.

Dude, I have seriously underestimated the market value of my ranting. Check out Slate's cutting commentary on the evil that is "My Humps." Of course, the writer quotes Susan Sontag and treats the song as a stinging rebuke to relativism, a song so awful "it reminds us that categories such as 'good' and 'bad' still matter."

Of course, readers of this blog knew that long ago! I have learned my lesson -- no longer will I give away my rants for free. Next time I'll throw some Sontag in there and sell that puppy to Slate.

Speaking of Microsoft-owned online media hilarity (smooth segue, eh?), I highly recommend this MSNBC.com column: the straight dude's guide to seeing "Brokeback Mountain." Yay for the hot gay cowboy movie! As the columnist points out, Westerns are like 1000 percent gay anyway so it's really not much of a stretch.

Personally my plan was to shield my straight dude from any "Brokeback Mountain" marketing or reviews, then take him to the movie with the explanation it's a Western about cowboys, and then feign total surprise when the cowboy-on-cowboy lovin' commences. But unfortunately, he reads this blog, so my evil plan is probably foiled.

The thing I'm wondering these days is, does it get colder than this? Because I think I've reached the limits of my cold-temperature endurance. You know how fancy winter coats and sleeping bags have labels saying what weather they're good in -- I should have a tag saying I work in temperatures down to 20 degrees Fahrenheit, and after that I must be kept inside with a mug of hot tea.

As I walked along the beach yesterday with the Wonder Dog, my cheeks freezing from red to white and my fingers numb in my non-Toronto-worthy fleece gloves, I decided I've really had enough of winter. Fall was lovely, we all love a little fresh, crisp air, but if it's all right with everyone I think I'd like to fast forward through the next few months of weather. Luckily for WD, we have a fenced-in yard. The cold doesn't seem to bother her. On the contrary, there's nothing she seems to enjoy more than slowly, thoroughly sniffing every snow-crusted leaf on the sidewalk while my feet turn to blocks of ice.

Of course it doesn't help that our bedroom is apparently unheated. Two heating vents, but neither seem interested in blowing hot air into the room. A down comforter purchase is in my near future. I'm finding that sleeping in a fetal position under the covers to conserve warmth makes for vivid dreams -- two days ago I dreamt there were snakes crawling all over me (still getting over those willies) and last night I dreamt that AP sent me a check for $400 for no reason. I hope and I fear, respectively, that neither dream is prophetic.

Hmmm, apparently it does get colder here. I'd better stock up on tea.

In non-political news, the Wonder Dog and I recently made our first visit to the nursing home as therapy dog and handler. Wonder Dog (WD) was a bit freaked out by the institutional smells and I think she wanted to eat the decorative pine boughs, or at least taste them (you never know what's edible until you try, is WD's motto). But she settled down pretty well, apart from the occasional lunging at invisible crumbs on the floor.

It was quite challenging, even though technically WD was doing all the work and I was just along for the ride. I'm supposed to get everyone to wipe their hands with antibacterial stuff before and after they touch WD, and put a towel on the clients' laps to prevent undue shedding/drooling on them, which doesn't sound hard -- but juggling excited dog on leash, towels, hand sanitizer and bag containing water for dog/spare towels/more hand sanitizer taxed my limited coordination abilities. And these old people can move pretty fast when they see a dog they want to pet.

But overall it was lovely and I'm looking forward to doing it again. One of my favorite ladies wheeled up to us in the lobby. Her hands were all twisted and claw-y and had some weird knobby protrusions on them, and at first I was like, ew. (Hey, I'm a volunteer-in-training, not Mother Teresa.)

She said "I love dogs" over and over again as she petted WD with her poor little folded-over hands. As WD gazed soulfully into the old lady's eyes and sniffed her face (for crumbs, probably) I realized the lady had really bad arthritis, thus explaining her freaky hands. So I told her that WD, who is nine, has arthritis too. She laughed and said, "Well, we'll get along then. We can compare notes!"

Later today, I'm off to the vet again so Wonder Dog can display another one of her Wonder Talents -- racking up expensive medical bills. Unfortunately the free Canadian health care does not extend to the canine members of the family. Of course, nothing's too good for my baby....

The up-is-down, night-is-day world of Canadian politics continues to mystify me. Conservative Stephen Harper just proposed cutting the sales tax -- which of course is a regressive tax that disproportionately affects the poor.

Liberal Paul Martin, meanwhile, wants to cut the income tax -- a progressive tax that mostly affects the rich.

What? Huh? Conservatives like poor people in the country? I'm so confused now. Why can't they just color the provinces red or blue like they do with the states in America?

For more Canadian political news, please see The Daily Show's excellent "Hosed." Which was, sadly, probably the most extensive U.S. news coverage devoted to the fall of the Canadian government. My favorite part is when Samantha Bee (a real Canadian!) explains the fall of the government and Jon Stewart asks her to back it up a bit.

Bee (paraphrasing because the video has disappeared from the web site): Well Jon, many MPs will face tough re-election campaigns in their ridings, which--
Stewart: Whoa, whoa. Back it up there a little bit. Big picture.
Bee: OK, so ridings are like American congressional districts, and--
Stewart: Back it up a little farther.
Bee: Um, OK. Canada is a parliamentary democracy, based on the British system--
Stewart: Farther.
Bee: Well, there was a political scandal here, and now the leaders will be held accountable in a democratic election.
Stewart: Hmmm, interesting. Tell me, Samantha, where is Canada?

Funny 'cause it's true!