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Crow-Cat, often called

Raitha
Cassandra
Lilith
Freak in a Fedora
Doyle
That Crazy Bitch
Despot
... and many more (many more unfit for virginal ears, anyway) ...

Details

Age: 17
Gender: Female
Location: British Columbia
Contact: fearn_celt@mailcity.com
Likes: Root beer. Verbal whiplashin's. Hats. Really sharp pencils. The sound of panicking ducks. Movies with armoured sweating rugged men in 'em. Armoured sweating rugged men, period. All things Celtic. Hippie length hair. Historical funfacts. Stubble. Shaming older classmates in CompCiv12. Animation. Crows. Seagulls. Wombats. Kevin Spacey.
Dislikes: Cooked vegetables. Anime. Bienfang art supplies. The Dave Matthews Band. Class Mastigophora. Dustin Hoffman. Burrs. Deliberate nonconformists. Recycling Day.
Despises: Fundamentalist Christians. Incompetent math teachers. Anyone idiotic enough to do drugs. Stupid people, period. (Especially the ones who sit at the back of Biology or English class and ask what the teacher meant by "autotrophic", or why she considers the mentally deteriorating main character in a short story to be still quite rational. Only more often they say, "dur?".) Pop singers and movie stars. Television. Society's idiotic view of feminine perfection. Picasso. Stockwell Day.
Loves: Great Big Sea. Sirius Black. My cat, La Peste Noir. Staedtler Pigment pens. Jack Knox. Full moons. Half moons. Gibbous moons. Moons in general. Ireland. Aerodynamic rocks.

Reads

Katharine Kerr
Joanne Rowling
Terry Pratchett
Monica Furlong
Marilyn Bowering
Homer
Herodotus
Victor Hugo
Jane Austen

Watches

Disney
Gladiator
Outbreak
Pride & Prejudice
The Usual Suspects
Anything involving Kevin Spacey or Gabriel Byrne.

Unlucky sites I frequent

Colored Ink Pita
Snag Studios
Great Big Sea Online
Harry Potter Lexicon
Gramadach Lexicon
Yerf
Pixelscapes Slayers Fanfiction
Aimee Major's Site
Great Big Sea Discography

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Crow-Cat: Producer of Hapless Weblogs, Extraordinaire

Friday, September 7, 2001

Listening to: My Great Big Sea playlist. Duh.

I went for a walk this evening at sundown. While strolling along the beach, occasionally rubbernecking in order to watch the gold-wine-coloured water to the west turn blue, and the purple sky to the east get swallowed by the mountains of the same shade, I caught sight of the Gonzales lighthouse, flickering white and green. Naturally, this sent me off on a period of contemplation on Victoria and St John's.

The places have a few basic differences, but their differences loom hugely. I walked and wondered whether that sunset I was looking at would even have looked the same in St John's. What would Alan, Darrell, Bob and Séan have thought? Did they ever walk along one of our beaches, contemplating the sunset? Probably not, for fear of being mobbed, the poor things.

Similarities first. Yes, Victoria and St Johns do have the distinction of being Canada's extreme east and west capitols. They also both happen to be located on islands (And, I swear to God, if any of you Yanks refer to this island as "Victoria Island", it will go hard with you. Do your friggin' homework, for goodness' sake). St John's is Canada's oldest city, and Victoria, while not the youngest, is certainly one of the more recent capitols. I believe we're beaten out only by the territories, most notably Iqaluit, capitol of Nunavut.

And, my god, St John's is old. Supposed to have been "discovered" by John Cabot (the Norse don't count because they couldn't write) only five years after that moron Columbus mistook an island in the Caribbean for India, Newfoundland ("New Founde Lande")was a prime seasonal fishing ground for years before any European bothered to settle there. It was the first Canadian province to ever come about, and also the last one to ever join the Confederation. And still, the place has retained its unique culture. It's not truly Canadian yet.

Here in Victoria, a building is considered phenomenally old if it was built in the 1860s. In St John's, it's still new.

Oh yeah. Weather.

Victoria is famous for its mild weather. We consider ourselves blessed if we get one day's worth of snow each year. Our gardens are lush and green in the winter, crispy brown in summer (in Ottawa, it's vice-versa), and we all go around from May 'til October flaunting our syrupy tans. We're the Garden City of Canada, despite the fact that our drought is an annual occurence.

St John's, I am told, is vastly different. Further north than Victoria by far, and, on top of that, situated virtually in the middle of the notorious Atlantic ocean, the place is drenched with rain and shrouded with fog almost continually. Windburn is supposedly more common there than sunburn. Newfoundlanders bitch constantly about their weather, never taking into account that some Victorians are heartily sick of our long, long days of blazing heat, too.

Somehow I don't think they'd sympathise.

I'm sad to say that Victoria, weather and all, is something of the Canadian answer to California. All I can be thankful for is that we haven't consumed our lovely island with huge stinking cities yet.

Yeah, we're a bunch of obnoxious, sanctimonious, spoiled little bastards here. Organic farming and saving the forests are all the rage. The city has even become something of a centre for the various New Age traditions. Some of them are actually relevant; most just ply their tricks reading minds and communicating with the dead (which, in my estimation, is a damn stupid thing to do. The dead deserve a little rest and relaxation after a long and busy life. How would you like being rousted out of bed at three A.M. to be asked how you felt about Cousin Mabel's new cutlery?).

Perhaps it's because Newfoundland has always been a dud for agriculture and pretty much any commercial venture besides fish, but it has retained through several hundred years its own unique culture. The people have woven a dozen different conflicting European cultures into one vast tapestry. Immigrants from Ireland and Scotland made the most visible impact, but the exiled people of Acadie still have a presence there, as do the various Aboriginal peoples. Nice try, Canada, but you haven't got your hooks into this place yet.

Christ, I can't think of anything else to write. My brain's all mushy.