paul sat at our dinner table just like any other member of the family. just in a bottle instead of a chair.

In honor of Paul Newman, I'm going to go see if Provigo carries Newman's Own salad dressing.

My grandmother LOVED Paul and used to say fantastic sassy-grandma things like "he can leave his shoes under my bed anyday." (One of many B-Kal quotables.)

Speaking of that side of the family, I finally did go to the Atwater Library on the correct day for the McGill library school tour (the oldest lending library in Canada and basically I want to live there), and there we were shown these old books of census records and whatnot for the city of Montreal. All I know about my French-Canadian roots is that my great-great-great grandparents were from, according to the Cambridge Massachusetts census of 1910, "Canada (Fr)" (as opposed to "Canada [Eng]"). Thanks to such detailed record-keeping, I have no idea what city in Canada (Fr), but it would add a nice cinematic touch if it were in fact the city I chose to do my Master's in. I really want to get my paws on those books now. Though letting me loose in an old building with old books is perhaps a little dangerous, as then I am likely to succumb to the uniquely librarian trait of getting high on the smell of musty, century-old books. Trust me, it's not something you want your children to see. And I'm not sure the library staff would appreciate me passing out on the floor or ordering five pizzas to the Nonfiction section.

Also, while I usually try to avoid it, today I used my French because French-Canadian Staples (called Bureau En Gros) is hidden in a maze of connected buildings (as are many shops here; the underground network is not demonstrated very well on Google Maps so it often takes some digging to find the shop you're after) and the security guard I spoke to did not speak much English. My leagues of French teachers would probably not be very proud as most of my French left me at that point and all I could manage was, "Bureau En Gros.... ici?" and showing him the map I printed out. Brilliant.

Brilliance in action

I used the Metro today, ultimately successfully. Despite some anxiety due to a couple of horror stories about friends being yelled at in French while attempting to catch a subway train (and call me a dumb American but it's far worse to be yelled at in French than in English), I told myself, c'mon, it's public transportation. Masses of stupid people use it every day. I should be fine. And, anticlimactically, I was fine, though the attendant watched me attempt to put the ticket in the wrong turnstile for about three full minutes before he told me (without yelling) to "utilisez" the correct turnstile.

The entire reason I was using the Metro, however, was to go on a tour of the Atwater Library with the other McGillicuddians. The Atwater Library is historically significant for some reason or another, but I don't know the reason(s) because the tour is actually tomorrow at 2:30, not today at 2:30, something I realized after paying a dollar to check my email at said library.

It was not a completely wasted trip, as I did follow this up with a dollar store visit and my first experience with the confusingly named Canadian Tire, which does not just sell tires or even just car-related things but in fact all sorts of home/life stuff. Also, I know it's a maple leaf but their logo kinda looks like a pot leaf if you look at it quickly. Just sayin'.

1%, please.

This weekend, sick of paying $6 a gallon for cartons of milk, I succumbed to the Canadian milk bag.

What's this you say? Milk in bags? It's the Canadian truth, folks. Yes, there are plastic jugs and paper cartons too, but the least expensive form of milk container by a fair chunk of dough is the bag. And I'm not going to lie; I've resisted for this long because the concept of milk in a bag was a wee bit too reminiscent of the actual origins of milk for my personal comfort. But the pull of the cheap is too strong. And my milk-drinking habits border on addiction. So now there are bags of milk in my fridge.

The bags come in packs of three, for a total of 4 liters per pack.



Then you buy a special pitcher (Conveniently they placed some directly above the milk in the grocery store) and plop in a bag.



As you can see I'm still working on my last carton, but when I'm ready to use it, I have heard that I just cut the corner off the bag and pour. I'm a little concerned that when the bag is mostly used up that it may just fall out while I'm pouring out the last dregs. But these Canadians seem like trustworthy people. I'll take the risk.

Canada is a wonderful country, a judgment I am making based entirely on today's weather. 50s and sunny! I'd be okay if it stayed like this forever.

If I were basing my judgment of Canada entirely on its Cheez Whiz commercials, however, I think I might have come to a harsher conclusion. If I come across a video of it, well, it'll be cruel of me to expose your delicate ears to the agony that is the "Cheez Whiz Has Personality" commercial, but I'm going to have to post it.