Canadian Opinions are Worthless..........
Posted: Sun Oct 16, 2016 10:59 am
....or, so some idiot once wrote, so let me give you the 'Marriken view of the 2nd Canadian invasion of the Eastern Shore of Virginia:
Day 1-----Thursday. I had arrived the previous afternoon and spent my time eating crabcakes and preparing the property for Res and Chipz. This entailed only some minor tidying up and careful placement of sandbags and picket rails to provide some resistance to the perimeters. Despite my best attempt to alert Customs, they were allowed through the previous day, so there was no stopping now. They arrived in Virginia after noon, having been delayed by Canadian GPS technology and the sudden realization that our gasoline delivery systems are programmed to thwart Canadians. Now, if you all reading accept any part of this post as completely honest, believe the following: Res and Chipz are both fine, fun-loving people, good company and good people. Now, back to the lies and exaggerations.....Chipz appeared first from the car, a small, perky blond women, exuberant as hell, likely because she'd finally been freed from a thousand miles in a car with Res. Res himself emerged, looking every bit the prototype Canadian male. By which, I mean he was wearing a beaver skin jacket and wearing a Mounted Police hat, both of which I suggested were too warm for Virginia weather. Actually, both came attired in Redskins gear, a diabolically clever plan to infiltrate the local people of the Shore. We went back to the house, where, in the course of 48 hours, half of the town came to observe a car with Ontario plates in the driveway. Having been alerted, no doubt by Customs and Homeland Security, the town police commenced hourly patrols of the place. We ate seafood at the house and spent a good while mainly realizing that these three people(yes, Slappy, there are actually three of us, you fucking moron) were alive in front of each other. We all jumped into the Fabulous Fishing Car and headed east towards the ocean, as Chipz had stated that she'd never seen an ocean. Noting she was blond, I took advantage of the 15 minute drive to the Island to explain to her what an ocean was, and was pretty much up to the part about the Continental Shelf when we arrived. The Atlantic Ocean was putting on a magnificent show for her, and I'm pretty sure Res and I could have tiptoed back to the car, driven into town for beers and come back to pick her up at nightfall. We didn't, however, and eventually dragged her back to car for a fine seafood feast(#2 of the day) overlooking the Chincoteague Bay at sunset. Back to the house, where Res and Chipz hadn't even really unpacked. Their luggage was basic: a couple of bags, a couple gift bags of assorted maple products(Ms Slick approves, thanks you and wishes you to adopt her), and about 23 cases of Molson Beer. We retreated to the front porch, the social hub of any good Southern home, and solved the worlds problems until it was time to rest for the Tour Du Shore on Friday.
Day 2-----Friday. I introduced the Canadian guests to the joys of Eastern Shore, VA living: Cheap fucking cigarettes.....No, seriously, I took it a bit past that. We started off with chicory coffee on the porch and caught up on the latest Trump idiocy. Sensing quickly that doing the latter would kill the rest of the usable day, we headed out and they were shown the area when the first Slick washed up onto shore, and then to catch their first glimpse of the magnificent Chesapeake Bay. Chipz was a BIT less out of control, but still was snapping pictures like crazy. I suppose she'd seen a Bay before, so understandable. Res soaked it all in happily, and being a typical Canadian, polished off the first case of Molson as a chaser to get the coffee taste from his mouth. An admirable performance, even if we did have to pull over every 500 yards for bathroom stops. On into my little town, a careful recreation of the set of Mayberry RFD, for breakfast. There, Res and Chipz were introduced to Sausage Gravy and biscuits, while I ate everything else lying about the kitchen. Being clearly identified as foreign once they'd said 'feckin eh' enough times, the townspeople kept a wary eye on them, and a small crowd gathered across the street. The crowd seemed agitated and I feared they were Trump supporters, who seem easily agitated and dangerously stupid, but they were merely curious locals setting up a flea market. Wallowing out of the restaurant, we met with the town seafood store owners to order dinner for later pickup. Once again, we found ourselves in a situation where Res and I could have quietly departed and Chipz wouldn't have realized it until much later. The younger owner has an epic Shore watermans' accent, and had also gifted Chipz a Redskins shirt. She was mesmerized and near glued to the floor. Despite this, Res and I wrestled her out to the car and headed off to the oldest deepwater port in the Virginia Colony, Onancock, VA. After several stabs at pronouncing Onancock, I gave up teaching and took the two of them down to the harbor, which contained several nice sailboats, a fishing boat and perhaps the nicest yacht I've ever seen. Most yachts are pretentious, oversized piecs of crap, but this vessel was maybe 75 feet long and ideal. If it didn't likely cost 150 grand a year to operate(full time staff of 3, living onboard), and likely half of my assets to purchase, I'd have purchased it on the spot. More pictures taken, some of them even standing still(most of Chipz photos were taken from a moving car, so I expect a collection of late Impressionist images of the Low Country). It was then off to Wachapreague, on the ocean and a mere 20 miles away. The drive consisted of Res and Chipz remarking on the odd names of local towns. This from folks who have a town named Flin-Flon someplace to the west! In no time, we were sitting in the sun, gazing on the fishing vessel Foxy Lady and the inland creeks and inlets. Oh, and we had found a bar. Res and I had beer, but Chipz ordered a mixed drink, obviously prepared by a barmaid with an interest in a sociological study of drunk Canadians. Making each subsequent drink more highly alcoholic, by the third round, Chipz had hit peak excitabilty. I thought we might have to use the can of ether, but Res managed to subdue her with a couple tranquilizer darts and we were able to make it back to Parksley before the street crews came out to roll up the streets. Returning to town, Res and Chipz rounded up souvenirs at the old Five and Ten Store, and we headed out to pick up the makings of supper. This consisted of a half-bushel of VERY live crabs and a pound of shrimp, in case I fucked up cooking the crabs. A short discouse came up between myself and the waterman with the killer accent over the merits of the two main types of seasoning(Old Bay and JO's Baltimore Spice), which is serious business down that way. Thank goodness, Donny didn't want upset the Canadian guests,who he'd managed to provide 60 crabs in a half-bushel purchase) so we didn't resolve the debate via the traditional "Duel with Single Shot Pistols on the Town Square" method, and we all safely returned to the Slick home. Now, let me place the scene: we were back in my house with about 55 lively Blue Crabs (with the other half dozen mean as hell but laying low), two large cans of Old Bay, a bit of Molson beer, some sweet tea, some shrimp and the evening in front of us. We checked the news to see the 35 stupid things Trump had done or said since 8 AM, had a good laugh and commenced to the full-on Crab Fest. For about 3 hours, we cracked crabs, ate shrimp, drank beer, smoked cheap cigarettes, and talked about the days when CWOS wasn't a wasteland, devoid of intelligent life, and of some of the true characters who've wandered through. We toasted some of the greats such as Soapy, Fats, Ruggie, Nutz, etc We attempted to clean up, but I decided it would be far simpler to torch the place and put in an insurance claim. We fled the smoldering ruins and after the Volunteer Fire Company left, retreated to the porch until late night(which, since we're in actuality a trio of aging codgers, was defined as 11:15 PM). The Canadians were still putting away Molsons at the rate of about one every 7 minutes, so, not being a beer person, I didn't attempt to keep up, moving to sweet tea and dangerous chemicals. Eventually we all crawled upstairs to the bedrooms, amazingly without either assistance nor bloodshed, and collapsed. I think I did a good job of giving them a Shore primer, but I'm sure Res and Chipz will be along with their report. They departed north on Saturday morning. Exactly two Molsons had survived. For the record, Molson Canadian is a VERY fine beer with seafood. It was clearly brewed by a Canadian who had seen an ocean! The happy newlyweds headed off to watch what will no doubt be an embarrassing a perhaps season-ending defeat this afternoon at the hands of the Philadelphia Eagles. With any luck, Res and Chipz will make it safely home. It was an absolute joy to meet both of them. In some ways, different than envisioned, but every bit the decent, good people I always knew they were. I hope I didn't terrify them too much, but they seemed none the worse for the visit.
Day 1-----Thursday. I had arrived the previous afternoon and spent my time eating crabcakes and preparing the property for Res and Chipz. This entailed only some minor tidying up and careful placement of sandbags and picket rails to provide some resistance to the perimeters. Despite my best attempt to alert Customs, they were allowed through the previous day, so there was no stopping now. They arrived in Virginia after noon, having been delayed by Canadian GPS technology and the sudden realization that our gasoline delivery systems are programmed to thwart Canadians. Now, if you all reading accept any part of this post as completely honest, believe the following: Res and Chipz are both fine, fun-loving people, good company and good people. Now, back to the lies and exaggerations.....Chipz appeared first from the car, a small, perky blond women, exuberant as hell, likely because she'd finally been freed from a thousand miles in a car with Res. Res himself emerged, looking every bit the prototype Canadian male. By which, I mean he was wearing a beaver skin jacket and wearing a Mounted Police hat, both of which I suggested were too warm for Virginia weather. Actually, both came attired in Redskins gear, a diabolically clever plan to infiltrate the local people of the Shore. We went back to the house, where, in the course of 48 hours, half of the town came to observe a car with Ontario plates in the driveway. Having been alerted, no doubt by Customs and Homeland Security, the town police commenced hourly patrols of the place. We ate seafood at the house and spent a good while mainly realizing that these three people(yes, Slappy, there are actually three of us, you fucking moron) were alive in front of each other. We all jumped into the Fabulous Fishing Car and headed east towards the ocean, as Chipz had stated that she'd never seen an ocean. Noting she was blond, I took advantage of the 15 minute drive to the Island to explain to her what an ocean was, and was pretty much up to the part about the Continental Shelf when we arrived. The Atlantic Ocean was putting on a magnificent show for her, and I'm pretty sure Res and I could have tiptoed back to the car, driven into town for beers and come back to pick her up at nightfall. We didn't, however, and eventually dragged her back to car for a fine seafood feast(#2 of the day) overlooking the Chincoteague Bay at sunset. Back to the house, where Res and Chipz hadn't even really unpacked. Their luggage was basic: a couple of bags, a couple gift bags of assorted maple products(Ms Slick approves, thanks you and wishes you to adopt her), and about 23 cases of Molson Beer. We retreated to the front porch, the social hub of any good Southern home, and solved the worlds problems until it was time to rest for the Tour Du Shore on Friday.
Day 2-----Friday. I introduced the Canadian guests to the joys of Eastern Shore, VA living: Cheap fucking cigarettes.....No, seriously, I took it a bit past that. We started off with chicory coffee on the porch and caught up on the latest Trump idiocy. Sensing quickly that doing the latter would kill the rest of the usable day, we headed out and they were shown the area when the first Slick washed up onto shore, and then to catch their first glimpse of the magnificent Chesapeake Bay. Chipz was a BIT less out of control, but still was snapping pictures like crazy. I suppose she'd seen a Bay before, so understandable. Res soaked it all in happily, and being a typical Canadian, polished off the first case of Molson as a chaser to get the coffee taste from his mouth. An admirable performance, even if we did have to pull over every 500 yards for bathroom stops. On into my little town, a careful recreation of the set of Mayberry RFD, for breakfast. There, Res and Chipz were introduced to Sausage Gravy and biscuits, while I ate everything else lying about the kitchen. Being clearly identified as foreign once they'd said 'feckin eh' enough times, the townspeople kept a wary eye on them, and a small crowd gathered across the street. The crowd seemed agitated and I feared they were Trump supporters, who seem easily agitated and dangerously stupid, but they were merely curious locals setting up a flea market. Wallowing out of the restaurant, we met with the town seafood store owners to order dinner for later pickup. Once again, we found ourselves in a situation where Res and I could have quietly departed and Chipz wouldn't have realized it until much later. The younger owner has an epic Shore watermans' accent, and had also gifted Chipz a Redskins shirt. She was mesmerized and near glued to the floor. Despite this, Res and I wrestled her out to the car and headed off to the oldest deepwater port in the Virginia Colony, Onancock, VA. After several stabs at pronouncing Onancock, I gave up teaching and took the two of them down to the harbor, which contained several nice sailboats, a fishing boat and perhaps the nicest yacht I've ever seen. Most yachts are pretentious, oversized piecs of crap, but this vessel was maybe 75 feet long and ideal. If it didn't likely cost 150 grand a year to operate(full time staff of 3, living onboard), and likely half of my assets to purchase, I'd have purchased it on the spot. More pictures taken, some of them even standing still(most of Chipz photos were taken from a moving car, so I expect a collection of late Impressionist images of the Low Country). It was then off to Wachapreague, on the ocean and a mere 20 miles away. The drive consisted of Res and Chipz remarking on the odd names of local towns. This from folks who have a town named Flin-Flon someplace to the west! In no time, we were sitting in the sun, gazing on the fishing vessel Foxy Lady and the inland creeks and inlets. Oh, and we had found a bar. Res and I had beer, but Chipz ordered a mixed drink, obviously prepared by a barmaid with an interest in a sociological study of drunk Canadians. Making each subsequent drink more highly alcoholic, by the third round, Chipz had hit peak excitabilty. I thought we might have to use the can of ether, but Res managed to subdue her with a couple tranquilizer darts and we were able to make it back to Parksley before the street crews came out to roll up the streets. Returning to town, Res and Chipz rounded up souvenirs at the old Five and Ten Store, and we headed out to pick up the makings of supper. This consisted of a half-bushel of VERY live crabs and a pound of shrimp, in case I fucked up cooking the crabs. A short discouse came up between myself and the waterman with the killer accent over the merits of the two main types of seasoning(Old Bay and JO's Baltimore Spice), which is serious business down that way. Thank goodness, Donny didn't want upset the Canadian guests,who he'd managed to provide 60 crabs in a half-bushel purchase) so we didn't resolve the debate via the traditional "Duel with Single Shot Pistols on the Town Square" method, and we all safely returned to the Slick home. Now, let me place the scene: we were back in my house with about 55 lively Blue Crabs (with the other half dozen mean as hell but laying low), two large cans of Old Bay, a bit of Molson beer, some sweet tea, some shrimp and the evening in front of us. We checked the news to see the 35 stupid things Trump had done or said since 8 AM, had a good laugh and commenced to the full-on Crab Fest. For about 3 hours, we cracked crabs, ate shrimp, drank beer, smoked cheap cigarettes, and talked about the days when CWOS wasn't a wasteland, devoid of intelligent life, and of some of the true characters who've wandered through. We toasted some of the greats such as Soapy, Fats, Ruggie, Nutz, etc We attempted to clean up, but I decided it would be far simpler to torch the place and put in an insurance claim. We fled the smoldering ruins and after the Volunteer Fire Company left, retreated to the porch until late night(which, since we're in actuality a trio of aging codgers, was defined as 11:15 PM). The Canadians were still putting away Molsons at the rate of about one every 7 minutes, so, not being a beer person, I didn't attempt to keep up, moving to sweet tea and dangerous chemicals. Eventually we all crawled upstairs to the bedrooms, amazingly without either assistance nor bloodshed, and collapsed. I think I did a good job of giving them a Shore primer, but I'm sure Res and Chipz will be along with their report. They departed north on Saturday morning. Exactly two Molsons had survived. For the record, Molson Canadian is a VERY fine beer with seafood. It was clearly brewed by a Canadian who had seen an ocean! The happy newlyweds headed off to watch what will no doubt be an embarrassing a perhaps season-ending defeat this afternoon at the hands of the Philadelphia Eagles. With any luck, Res and Chipz will make it safely home. It was an absolute joy to meet both of them. In some ways, different than envisioned, but every bit the decent, good people I always knew they were. I hope I didn't terrify them too much, but they seemed none the worse for the visit.
