I totally don't get gardening. Why has this become an activity that women are supposed to enjoy? There's dirt and all sort of really disgusting bugs involved. Not that women shouldn't be allowed to garden, or discriminated against in the gardening industry, but I don't see how messing around with dirt and bugs got mixed in with shopping, baking cookies, sipping Chardonnay while reading trashy novels, and other stereotypically feminine activities that I can more wholeheartedly support.

Which is not to say that my gardens don't have themes. I don't go for those overused, boring themes like "English Countryside" or "Wildflower Medley," rather, my front-garden theme is "Evolution in Action." The plants that are best suited to the Toronto climate, rainfall, and sun exposure next to our driveway will survive, and the rest will die. Weeding and watering are just delaying the inevitable demise of unfit species. I want hardy specimens that don't need mollycoddling! The backyard theme, meanwhile, is "Lily's Jungle Wonderland."

My front patch is looking quite spiffy today thanks to the city of Toronto, which requires homeowners to plant trees when they install a parking pad (something about the circle of life, I suppose). So the previous owner paid for the tree, which was delivered and planted this morning. It looks great, except for the fact that they planted it directly under the telephone wires leading to our house, so if it grows more about three feet taller they'll have to come back and cut it down. Which is probably exactly what they have in mind -- the circle of life in this case being the circle of continuous employment for Toronto civil servants. Our tax dollars at work!

Death is icky! Maybe if we ignore it, it will just go away and everything will be puppies and rainbows and positive approval ratings forevah and evah. Unfortunately the new Canadian government has adopted this crackerjack logic from the Bush administration and is now forbidding media coverage of flag-draped coffins coming from Afghanistan, where four soldiers died last week.

I seem to recall I spent a lot of time right after Stephen Harper was elected assuring everyone that Conservatives here in Canada are sooooo much different from the ones in the States, and Harper's not a mini-Bush, 'cause after all this is Canada and he only has a minority government and there's no way Canadians would stand for that repressive bullshit.

Oops! My bad. So sorry about that, as the Canadians would say.

The only thing is, mini-Bush aka Harper hasn't really cottoned on to the force necessary to quash the rights of a free press. So they restricted reporters' and photographers' access to the returning war dead to behind a chain-link fence. Which, as you may know, has big holes in it. And apparently photographers have these marvelous inventions called lenses which allow them to zoom in on action that is far away. Who knew?! Apparently not the Conservative government. Or maybe deep down, their strong and free Canadian hearts just don't have what it takes to make a mockery out of the fight for freedom by taking away the rights of the press to document the very sacrifices that such a fight demands.

Or maybe they're just dumbasses. Either way, bravo to the Toronto Star for refusing to go gentle into that good night.

One common misperception about Canada is that everyone here speaks French. They don't, except in Quebec, which is where I'm headed this weekend! I have been polishing my rusty French skills with weekly classes at a local community center, et mon mari pense que je parle francais tres bien! Of course, he doesn't speak it at all, so I may just be spouting gibberish. However, my French got rave reviews when I left an answering machine message making a reservation at Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal -- the woman who called me back said my French was "not bad!" Which for a French speaker is a gushing compliment.

Hopeful as I am to become the David Sedaris of Canada, I wondered if my French class would be at all like his in Paris, as described in "Me Talk Pretty One Day":

"Huddled in the hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.
'Sometimes me cry alone at night.'
'That be common for I, also, but be more strong, you. Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay.'"

Even though my verbs remain mostly stuck in the present tense, there has been no crying in my French class, at least not yet. And I've rediscovered one of the great things about French, which is that if you're stuck for a word you can just say the English word with a French accent, and about 50 percent of the time you'll be right. My profession, par exemple, is journaliste. (Or redactrice de l'enfer, depending on the mood.)

I have also noticed that my ten years of not speaking French at all have definitely left a mark. I hear French flawlessly in my head, but when I speak it all seems to come out with an American-southern accent. How that happened, I don't know. Au revoir, y'all!

Of all the marvelous things the World Wide Web has given me -- Television Without Pity, Go Fug Yourself, and of course this lovely conduit of self-expression -- I think my favorite thing online is the dictionary. Because there are a lot of 50-cent words hanging around in the back of my vocabulary, sort of half-raising their hands and letting their hair flop on their face self-consciously when I'm asking for volunteers. I'm 60-95 percent sure I know what they mean, but not totally sure. And is it too much to ask that I get my lazy butt up and walk five steps to the bookshelf and look up the word, risking twisted ankles and paper cuts? Yes, yes it is. But with m-w.com, I never lack for scintillating yet apropos word choices.

Also, m-w.com supplies unintended hilarity. Today I looked up heretical, because I was writing something that I thought might get me struck by lightening and wanted to make sure that was the right word, which it was, and here are two google ads that showed up under the definition:

Believe in Jesus?We'll pay you $75 right now to complete a simple survey!

Agnostics with awe: What if the Universe itself were the only god?www.pantheism.net

Way to cover all the bases, google ads!

I got a job!!!

Yes, I have found gainful employment beyond freelancing and catering to the whims of Wonder Dog (both of which are full-time jobs, I'll have you know). It turns out the freewheelin' life of a freelancer is not so much for me -- I need a bit more human interaction. I think it's safe to say that when you come to believe that Oprah is speaking directly to you, it's time to find work outside the home.

So in mid-May I'll be starting a job at one of Canada's leading newspapers, thanks to editors of good taste and refinement who have the good sense to realize that knowing who Canada's ambassador to the U.S. is isn't everything. I have a feeling I'll enjoy my last few weeks of freedom a lot more now that I know there's a steady paycheck in my future.

So today I was feeling a little blue, and I sat down with just a wee spoonful of cookie dough to watch a bit of Oprah. I turn the TV on and swear to God, Oprah is saying, "Today, we talk to women who have let themselves go. Next up -- numbing the pain with food."

Damn, Oprah! Cut me some slack!! That Oprah, she doesn't mess around. And for the record, cookie dough is a marvelous temporary analgesic. I feel much better now.

Another random little thought: I found this amusing. A good lesson: if you want to intimidate someone with not-so-subtly veiled threats, don't do it in e-mail. As a former boss used to say, and it applies to so much, that's a conversation you have, not a letter you send.

A while back I interviewed Warren Kinsella (I spent the first few months here thinking he was the same as W.P. Kinsella, and being pretty amazed that this famous novelist was also a big-shot political consultant, but apparently they are not the same person. Or related, as far as I know). I was later warned that he was a loose cannon, but I found him quite articulate and cogent. Besides, I have no bias against interviewing crazy people; in fact I often prefer it. They say interesting things.

For the record and in my defense, Alan Doyle is the leader of Great Big Sea (awesome band, by the way), and Great Big Sea is from Newfoundland, which is also known as The Rock -- so you can see how it's so totally understandable and practically not even a mistake at all to think Allan Rock is the lead singer of Great Big Sea.

A few fun facts I learned this weekend by reading The Globe and Mail style guide cover-to-cover:

• Meringues are called pettes de souers in Quebec, which translates to nuns' farts.
• The first white person born in North America was named Snorri Thorfinnson (just Snorri on second reference). Born around 1005 to a Norse couple, possibly on the banks of the St. Lawrence River. Snorri and the Thorfinnsons returned to Iceland in 1015.
• The Bible mentions "wise men from the east" but doesn't say there were three; people just assume that because of the three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. I'd like to think there were four, and the fourth was like, "I just thought we were going to follow the star, I didn't know we were bringing gifts! I am sooooo embarrassed. Look, can we just say the myrrh is from both of us? C'mon, please?"
• My cousins' children are my first cousins once removed; my great-aunt's children are my second cousins. I never understood that whole thing before.
• Pyorrhea means "any continuous discharge of pus." Why they need this information at hand to put out a newspaper, I do not know.
• In Canadian libel cases, the burden of proof rests on the defendant. Bummer!
• There are nine species of tarantulas in Ontario, but their venom has little or no effect on humans.