The ballad of Samuel K Amphong

Some time in the late 1970s, when the letters page of NME occupied an equivalent level of cultural significance to, say, Stephen Fry’s Twitter feed today, the following epistle appeared:

Where is Beatles band? This band who have not been as of late clear of circumstance. Beatles Band! Can we no longer hear there medolious throng? John! Paul! All in Beatles Band come forth! What question have we to put? Now? Arguments neccessary can begin with whole results expected for any return. Ringo! Here in Thailand Beatles band experience is long loved and can be hurt away from John, Paul etc. Please give any news to Samuel K. Amphong of address similar to above. yours as in rock!
Samuel K Amphong, Thailand

It is lost in the mists of time and sulphate as to whether this was a genuine enquiry or a bit of space-filling devilment on the part of Danny Baker, but more than three decades later, I set off to find out. The answer is here. Sort of.

My previous source of entertainment just got fired.

#45. Sleepless in Seattle (1993).

There's a moment I like when Meg Ryan is driving behind her fiancee on her way to his parents' house, and she's flipping through the crappy radio station choices. There's one station playing multiple awful versions of Jingle Bells, and she not only sings along just as badly as one singing in their car might, but continues to chant, "Horse, horses, horses, horses," after the song's over. For some reason, it always makes me laugh.



And I can only assume it's because there are some really cute moments all throughout the film (again, not cutesy) that I can keep watching this one. Because there is nothing subtle or nuanced about the story itself. I usually hate it when movies treat the audience as if they have an IQ of 2. And to be fair, I have often found myself in theaters with people who seem to betray this very quality--louding repeating "funny" dialogue is a big favorite of mine. But still. A little subtly never hurt anyone, okay?

And the kids are good. I usually hate children in movies (shocker), or at least the way they're written. And I am actually not fond of Hank's kid at all, but I still think he's well done in the movie, if that makes sense. Like I can respect the kid but I'm also glad he's not mine. (And speaking of annoying, Rosie O'Donnell is also perfect in this role but again, someone I could really do without most of the time.)



And I do secretly want the house. I remember it was on the market a few years ago. I guess it might be annoying when random tourists come by your house, though.



That was the other day. Been working on school stuff since, it's the last week of classes. I have two finals coming up and a paper. Well, two mini-papers as well for my trial class--I have to critique my performance in my trial as well as someone else to whom I've been assigned. Both are incredibly hard to do. I have to critique this guy's presentation and we're in mid-trial for them right now. He's doing a really good job, which makes MY job pretty hard. I'm wondering if it's cool to mention that a yellow tie and an earthy-toned suit are a very poor match and in fact will just plague the jury with thoughts of pea soup. "Try a cool tone for a tie with that suit." Okay, I should probably leave the suit critique out. But you know, it would probably be good advice...okay, anyway.

Bourdain had a vet trip this morning, we were worried about his weight. He is so much thinner these days but still happy and bouncy. So maybe teeth? As it turns out he has only gone from 14 to 11 pounds since April 09, and he has 3 cavities. So guess who gets to go back, get knocked out and get 3 teeth extracted? Awesome. He did really well this morning, but he has been in the closet ever since we got back.

Okay, back to Patty Griffin, my English Breakfast tea and corporate complicity. I'm 2/3 done! Woot.

Doomsday Is Coming! Doomsday Is Coming! Or... Well, Maybe Not.

That's going to hurt....

Well, we're two years and counting from what some would suggest to be the end of the world. Doomsayers will have you believe that the Mayan calendar has the world coming to an end in December of 2012. Not so doomsayers will point out that the Mayan calendar only comes to one end before starting another. And hack filmmakers will  make the most of it.

The prophecy zealots will have you believing that oceans will rise, cities will fall, mountains will tumble into each other, dogs and cats will be living together in sin, and Washington DC will be obliterated from the face of the earth. Scratch that last one. It's Secret Protocol #33 from the Tea Party's To Do List. Oh, and lest we forget, John Cusack will be driving away from calamity at top speed, wondering whatever happened to the days when he played interesting, professionally fulfilling roles.

Remember all that fuss over Y2K? The computer glitch that might cast us all back to the Stone Age? Well, at least until that particular fuss completely fizzled out. I thought of all those survivalists who were proclaiming the end of the world, heading off into their customized bomb shelters to wait out the apocalypse. Wouldn't it have been perfectly ironic if their shoddy construction (can't trust a government certified construction company to do the job you can do yourself!) had failed, causing their deaths? In those last seconds, the survivalists would have thought this is it! The end of the world! And they would have been crushed to death, never knowing that no, in fact, the world hadn't come to an end.

I would suppose all of this doomsday talk is at least understandable. After all, we've got a complete idiot thinking she can run for President... in 2012. Doomsday zealots would surely tell you that's a sign of the apocalypse, right? At least a sign of doom for rational thinking.

I think some of the blame must go to Nostradamus and the nutbars who buy into anything he says. Have you actually read anything by this man? It's all so vague and metaphorical that you can interpret it any way you see fit. In fact, I would suggest that all of his visions might well have been inspired by his marijuana habit. Come on, people! A weed addiction would at least explain it! I submit to you that we have to dig up whatever's left of Nostradamus, cremate it, and mix it in with the weed his current day believers are smoking. It's only fitting.

Which brings us back to the Mayans. Why should we take their word for the end date of the world? These people couldn't even predict their own demise! I remain dubious of their prediction skills if they didn't see the Spanish coming.

Allow me to suggest this scenario. It's 1488. No, in the common calendar, not the Mayan calendar. In the grand plaza of Chichen Itza, the Mayan people are going about their business on just another typical day. And walking about on the plaza grounds, wearing a sack cloth and looking perfectly crazy, is a Mayan carrying a sign. Repent! The Spaniards Are Coming!

His fellow Mayans will look at him the same way you and I look at any such contemporary nutcase carrying a sign down Madison Avenue reading Repent! Mel Gibson Is Coming!

"That crazy old Biff. Always going on about one thing or another. By the way, what's a Spaniard?"

The new seekers

It’s only in the past few months that I’ve taken an interest in the numbers of people who read this blog (300-400 a day, since you ask), where they come from (weird surges from Latvia and Djibouti, what’s that all about?), and what they’re looking for. The latter data is a little disappointing: rather that seeking out my profound insights into culture and philosophy, they want to know about:

toby young wanker
drummer tattoo ideas
morrissey a sausage jockey
derivative art photography
religious boobs
viagra break glass
tights
can my car float on snow?
dave lee travis picture
musical pedantry in pictures

That said, all these are dwarfed by the desire to know more about three particular women: Charlotte Rampling; Anita Pallenberg; and Princess Margaret. In the past week, they have respectively been responsible for 71, 97 and 120 visits to Cultural Snow. What this means about my blog, or my writing, or my readers, I don’t really know. But this particular selection of variously damaged lovelies does suggest that the casting director of Charlie’s Angels was missing a trick.

E Is For Escape

Muppet Supervillain Escapes Custody

A United States Marshals Service plane went down across the border in Canada yesterday, in the Alberta foothills, while transporting prisoners to supermax custody in Montana. Marshals in Washington confirmed that the plane went down due to poor weather, and while somewhat damaged, the crash was not catastrophic. Though almost all of the prisoners were quickly retained in custody by the marshals on board, one escaped, and is now at large.

The RCMP have been brought in and taken charge. While the prisoners are being prepared for their return across the border, the Mounties are occupied with the matter of the escaped convict. Mr. Johnson, aka Fat Blue, the convicted muppet murderer, has managed to elude capture, and is now somewhere in the wild forests of the Rocky Mountain foothills.

"We consider this muppet extremely dangerous," RCMP Constable Lavigne told a gathering of reporters at a nearby detachment. "Johnson had Elmo murdered, and set up Grover to take the fall. He demonstrates a psychopathic hatred of Grover, a malicious nature, and a vindictive streak. We urge all members of the public not to approach him, but to call police at the first sighting."

Pictures of the balding, mustached blue muppet were passed around, including one with tattoos recently added to the muppet's hands. "He's added Die Grover Die to both of his hands. He really has a hate-on for Grover," Lavigne explained. "Henceforth, Grover has been taken into protective custody, along with his girlfriend. We've also called in a man with experience on the case. Inspector Lars Ulrich is heading up the search for Johnson."

Ulrich himself appeared before the reporters, glaring at all of them. "Are one of you nitwits going to ask me about Metallica?" he asked with contempt in his voice. His dislike for reporters is well known among members of the Fourth Estate.

"No sir," came a reply from the CBC correspondant. "There's no one here from an entertainment news outlet. Yet."

"Good," Ulrich said more pleasantly. "I mean, really, how stupid are those guys anyway? I'm not that Lars Ulrich. Look, this muppet's the most dangerous muppet I've ever come across. We will hunt him down to the ends of the earth. Or at least until he makes it across the border."

"Do you feel you owe that to Elmo?" a reporter with the Victoria Times Colonist asked.

"Hell, no," Ulrich said. "That little red menace with that demonic cackling? Have you heard that cackling? I have, and it's like something from the seventh circle of hell."

The search is now underway. Somewhere out there, a crazed killer muppet is on the run. Winter is coming. And he's got the Mounties hunting for him. Bets are now being taken on how long it'll be before he's caught.

What about this steak? It tastes like prison ass.

#47. Home For the Holidays (1995).

A little bit on the darker side, but absolutely full of charm, Home for the Holidays. (And in retrospect, I probably could have picked a different subject line for the Robert Downey, Jr. movie...)



So Robert Downey, Jr. admits to having used heroin during this making of this film, and I'm also pretty sure he said there are whole scenes he doesn't even remember doing. Honestly, I can't say it shows, he turns in yet another great performance.

Great supporting cast, too, Steve Guttenberg does a really good douchebag, and Cynthia Stevenson is also perfect as her...uh, sister. I mean this in a good way, but what an unlikeable bitch!

But it's full of really great lines, cute moments (not cutesy moments) and that touch of genuine reality I'm glad I cannot relate to very well, since I am lucky enough to have a family that is not severely dysfunctional. Even Claire Danes doesn't annoy me in this; (though to be fair her screen time clocks in at probably 5 whole minutes).



The story refrains from being saccharine or wrapping things up neatly. With the exception of the final Dylon McDermott scene...puh-leeeze. I know it's pre-9/11, but I just don't buy the airplane scene or how empty the plane is, I don't care WHERE it's coming from or heading toward. So regardless, it's a little gooey at the end, but I can live with it.

#46. The Shop Around the Corner (1940).

So this is the movie that You've Got Mail was based on. I hated that movie, but I'd been wanting to check this out since last year. I couldn't get my hands on it since it was monumentally on "long wait" with Netfux. So I got it a little earlier this year.



I usually dislike Jimmy Stewart, but either he's grown on me over the years or I've just mellowed out or both. I still loath Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with every ounce of my being, but occasionally I guess as an actor, Jimmy Stewart himself's not so bad.

This movie is certainly innocent; based on the pen-pal relationship he strikes up with an anonymous woman, it's more like an ode to Craig's List these days...I also love the obscenely naive idea that these people are thinking about getting engaged before even meeting. Awesome.

Now I don't recall You've Got Mail very well (aside from trying not to vomit in the theater), but I think it's more than different enough. On the other hand, I think the female lead here is pretty unlikeable...she's kind of a snippy bitch, and not in a good way! I feel like a bunch of character development got left on the editing room floor and now she just comes off like an uppity shit. I don't think it's Margaret Sullavan's fault, but not having seen her in anything else, I can't really say...!

But overall it was still a perfectly enjoyable Christmas movie. Glad I saw it.

The Will To Live

A friend of my family from northern Ontario once saw a man stumble out of the woods onto his property, frantic and dishevelled, utterly terrified. He had been lost for merely an hour. Had he been lost for a night, he'd have probably been found dead. It's a hard fact of life: if you're lost and you panic, you're going to increase your odds of dying. If you stay calm, keep your head, and focus on the problem at hand, you've got a good chance of seeing home again.

In 2003, climber Aron Ralston took a trip into the canyons of Utah. The ordeal he went through was widely reported at the time, and later Ralston wrote about it in the book Between A Rock And  A Hard Place. Now director Danny Boyle has given us the film 127 Hours, starring James Franco as Ralston.

The first impression Franco gives us is of a man with an exuberance for life. Both in the book and in the film, Ralston comes across as an experienced outdoorsman. He loves getting out into the back country, exploring the wilderness. On this trip, however, he makes a couple of critical mistakes, which he deeply comes to rue. He goes off without telling anyone his plans, or when to expect him home. And when he comes across two women hiking in the canyon he visits, rather then leave with them, he chooses to explore further on his own.

Most people go into this film already knowing what happened to Ralston. A misstep in the tight canyon sends him falling, and a boulder comes loose, pinning his hand. And so Ralston is trapped, with no one knowing where he is, and we the audience are trapped with him. Doyle places us right there, face to face with two fears: being trapped and dying alone.

Ralston attempts to move the rock, first with his own strength and then with the equipment he has at hand, but has no success. He realizes how much trouble he's in. He has little food, little water, and he knows full well how long he might expect to live if no one comes across him. He understands that it might be days before anyone realizes he's even missing. In the days that follow, Ralston speaks to his family through the video camera he has on hand. He suffers. He hallucinates. He edges ever closer to death. And the audience can't help but feel a deep empathy for him.

I was reminded watching the film of a similar story, documented in the book and film Touching The Void. Climber Joe Simpson, presumed dead on a mountain in South America, his leg badly broken, dragged himself off the mountain to base camp, despite the pain, despite the reality that he shouldn't have been able to do so. He and his friends tell their story while actors reenact the tale, and Simpson tells us that at the end, he was convinced that he was going to die, but he didn't want to die alone. He wanted to be with someone when he went. That need is repeated in Ralston's experience.

Ralston is cut off from the world, and he knows he's going to die, alone. Finally, in a moment of clarity, he realizes what he has to do to escape, and as unthinkable as it is, he does so without reservation. The amputation scene is graphic. Don't go into this film with a full stomach. Still, it's an essential scene. Ralston takes his fate into his hands, driven by the primal need we all have to survive.

The film is outstanding. Doyle, a strong director with a varied group of films to his credit, brings us right into the situation. Another director might find the notion of a camera being confined in a small space for so long to be a daunting process, but Doyle rises to the challenge and succeeds. He's given us a film that makes us think, raises some tough questions, and ultimately uplifts the audience.

And the Oscar should just be given to James Franco right now. His performance is that good. Franco is one of those actors who seems incapable of giving a bad performance, and he's in fine form with this role. We feel deeply for our protagonist as his ordeal progresses. Franco proves adept at conveying an expression that haunts us during the ordeal. His hallucinations and one way speeches to his family during the ordeal are heartbreaking. And he captures the essence of Ralston's resourcefulness, fortitude, and courage perfectly.

This is the best film of the year.

Verbal diarrhoea

I know, I know, Engrish just isn’t a funny concept, and it can sometimes veer towards racism. I mean, doubtless there’s a language somewhere in which “Cultural Snow” means “flabby-buttocked necrophile” and if you speak it and you have visited this page, I hope I have given you a moment of amusement, and you will post it on a website that pokes fun at  me and my kind. We should not be surprised that there are English words or sounds that in other languages have perfectly banal, innocent meanings, or maybe no meaning at all, such as this clothing brand from Singapore (via I-Am-Bored):

But sometimes it’s simply impossible to work out a cogent explanation (from Hong Kong, via Missokistic @ Twitpic):

Mrs. O'Leary, Why Is Your Cow Playing With Matches?

How does one go from talking about politicians and public art to pictures of evil cows?

Norma and I have been chatting about mayors and their considerable lack of taste in public art. Sculptures go up at the behest of a moron in City Hall whose idea of art tends to be confined to the always amusing Dogs Playing Poker. Which is how you get weird sculptures that serve as restrooms for winos.

Some years ago, a former mayor of Toronto, a man with no dignity and even less imagination, looked to the city of Chicago, which of course had a series of cow sculptures. It made sense for that city, what with its history linked to the cattle industry, namely the slaughterhouse side of things.

Well, this mayor looked at that idea, and being the idiot that he was, went with a plan for Toronto to copy the idea. Only instead of cows, it would be moose sculptures.

Yes, I know. Eye rolling may commence at your leisure. Shakespeare had it right when he said that the first thing we do is kill all the lawyers. And since so many lawyers become politicians, we'll be making a preemptive strike.

I recommend casting them all out on ice floes.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Cows. This brings me to the point. It got me to thinking of Mrs. O'Leary's cow, the bovine who, legend has it, started the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 by kicking over a lantern in the barn. At least that's what legend tells us.

What if it's not the truth? What if it wasn't an accident?

What if the cow was evil?

What if that cow loved setting fires?

What if that cow was descended from the same line of arsonist cows that set Rome ablaze?

Gary Larson had it right. We're through the looking glass, people....

I'm not the one who just got butt-fucked on national TV, Dwayne.

So in the spirit of biting off more than I can chew, I thought I would try to look at FIFTY HOLIDAY MOVIES. Why not. In no order and completely whimsical. So horror, comedy, action, old and new, good and bad. Including flicks I have never seen nor wanted to see before (meaning I will finally watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation even though I loathe Chevy Chase).

But it was important to start things off right, at the very least.

#50. Die Hard (1988)



I mean, it's a classic. It never gets old and it remains full of fantabulous quotes. Since I really have nothing new to add, I chose some random trivia off imdb...

In the scenes where John McClane is required to run through a multitude of glass shards in his 'bare' feet after Hans has his men shoot out the glass partitions in the computer room, Bruce Willis is in fact wearing special 'rubber' shoes designed to look like his own bare feet. One can in fact see this if looking closely as his feet appear quite unnaturally large in some of these crucial 'barefoot' scenes.

The original script called for terrorists to hijack the building, and for a super-hero cop to stop them. Director John McTiernan modified the script to change the bad guys into robbers pretending to be terrorists so that the audience could enjoy their intention of grabbing a load of money. He felt having terrorists as the villains would make the movie less enjoyable and give it a political angle, which he wanted to avoid. McTiernan also changed the hero, John McClane, into an everyday, flawed man that rises to the occasion in dire circumstances. He felt the audience would identify more with him than with a "super-cop."

Bruce Willis was the sixth choice for the main character. It originally went to Arnold Schwarzenegger, then Sylvester Stallone, then Burt Reynolds, then Richard Gere, then Harrison Ford, then Mel Gibson before Willis got it.

The Serbian, Croat and Bosnian translation of the title is "Umri Muski" ("Die Like A True Man"; literary: "Die Manly" ). The pirated VHS translation back in 1988 was "Skupo Prodaj Svoju Kozu" ("Sell Your Skin At High Price").

#49. While You Were Sleeping (1994)



So this is a pretty bad movie. Complete with a big barf-bag-worthy ending. Well, not the ending so much as the Big Reveal Scene at the end. Wow, gag.

And yet, it still has a number of really cute scenes that make it worth watching (for me, anyway). I want to say it is all Sandy, but Bill Pullman has always made me laugh, too. He does clueless and dorky really well. The supporting cast does a nice job even if nearly all the characters annoy me with their forced quirkiness.

But you know I have a big Sandra Bullock weakness, so no big surprise that I can get through this one yet again, however silly it is. For example, I can even overlook the fact that BP asks her to marry him after knowing her for, what, two weeks? (Even though his character previously gave her a hard time for getting (supposedly) engaged to his brother after a mere three months.)

#48. Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987)



I know, you think I'm knocking out the fun and obvious ones first. But I thought since today is Thanksgiving I should get in a few genuine Thanksgiving films, too. And this is a big one.

This absolutely falls into that "never gets old" category. And one day I will write up for you just why this movie works but something like Due Date comes off as so mean-spirited. Because I do think it's an interesting debate, and I worry I'm just biased by nostalgia. I get that PTA has charm and detail on its side--in abundance--but surely it's more than that.

And by all means, if you have any to recommend that you think I need to watch, suggest away! 50 is quite a lot, you know.

Yes I have guns in the house, but I keep them in the freezer. Next to the heroin.

Fuck it, I saw both. I saw Love & Other Drugs and then Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows, Pt. I.



So the first one. Hmm. I love me some Anne Hathaway. Truly. I can say I think she's genuinely talented (Rachel Getting Married, thank you very much), but I think we all know it's more that I think she's just fucking adorable. Since, uh, mostly she's done a lot of shit (don't make me name them here, you've seen a few of 'em too, probably...)

But really, I was pretty curious to see this one. You know, in a cheesy, easy bubble-gum sort of way. With the hope it had a little "there" there.



First of all, WOW the trailer is misleading. I'll just come out and say they dress it up like a rom-com or at least a romantic dramedy, and to some extent it is, but the trailer sort of goes out of its way to never tell you she has Parkinson's. Which is a huge part of the story. (And not a spoiler.)



So I have heard some people liken it to Up In the Air. But fear not, it is not so bleak and depressing. Those elements are represented, to be sure. But like the New York Times picked up on, it was never really all that comfortable with that side of itself, and weirdly mixed in an abundance of saccharine. With tits. So it was pleasant enough and all, but towards the end I found myself just kinda bored, frankly.

But overall, it was not a bad flick to watch, I don't regret seeing it or want my two hours back. And Jake Gyllenhaal was good, too, as was Oliver Platt who always plays the same role yet is criminally underused in movies.



I remember this dress, bitchin' dress. Anyway.

HP was decent. I have a hard time judging them since I gave up such a long time ago. But it was entertaining enough and it was really a fast 2 1/2 hours, to be honest.



And especially since the last book was probably also my least favorite, I don't really have a lot of room to complain. Same complaints as always, it just should have been made into a mini-series...

So here, this is even better. I remember The Elements from when I was a kid, but I was certainly never motivated to give it a go myself!! Impressive.

Jim's on his honeymoon, so I started using his office to fart in.

So I was watching 30 Rock and for some reason someone mentioned Teddy Ruxpin, which I swear to god I hadn't thought of since 1985. I never had one, but I think a friend did...but I really remember Teddy Ruxpin from the 80s. And I blame commercials, totally.

This commercial is kinda fucked up, actually. "Hey, if you're a total loser, Teddy will make you cool!"



This came up, too, and I remember this commercial really well, probably because I thought the dolls looked evil and I remember really hating them...



But I also looked for a couple commercials for some toys I had but whose commercial I didn't necessarily remember...oh, like Barbie...my very first Barbie was Day to Night Barbie (back when grammar was still used properly), here's her commercial:



And let's not put Peaches & Cream Barbie in a corner...



You know, as many Ken dolls as I guess there were, we never really had more than 1 or 2. Alex had the Ken doll for so long, until I think he got left at a friend's house? I think I had a Ken doll at one point, but I guess he's just not as much fun to dress up? ;)

And then there were commercials for games I remember...I used to really want to play this for some reason:



...and in retrospect? Well jesus that seems like a boring game! I do remember finally getting to play it at a friend's house...I guess it was fun at the time?

Ok, time to see Santa (with the big Maker's Mark billboard behind him, lol) at the Macy's Day Parade (I wish I were in NYC right now!) and then back to my paper and agency reading. Just a little, then some cooking. ;)

The City And The Valley

Talli went with the theme of reasons in her blog why she loves London. And so I thought I'd do the same for my home, Ottawa, Gatineau, and the Valley beyond. Yes, once you ignore the politicians (a wretched pack, the lot of them) and the civil servants (soulless automatons), it's a wonderful place to live.

And so, in no particular order, here we go....

Winterlude: Our annual celebration of the winter. From ice sculptures to snow sculptures, from skating to Beavertails (no, not that; get your minds out of the gutter), it's three weeks of a true celebration of the best season of the year. And I really recommend seeing fireworks in a snowstorm with the temperatures well below zero, by the way.

Music: We've got festivals for jazz, blues, folk, and chamber music (though would someone tell the Blues Festival that rap is not the blues?). We have a series of nightclubs and pubs catering to all sorts of musical tastes. We have big acts coming through all the time (incidentally, I'm attending the Great Big Sea concert in a few days). And we have the National Arts Centre Orchestra, led by one of the world's great conductors. In short, something for everyone.

The Byward Market: Ground zero for pubs, shops, boutiques, bakeries, and various forms of entertainment, plus a warren of cobblestone courtyards; it's a frequent stomping ground for me.

Pakenham: A small village to the west, alongside the Mississippi River (no, not that one). A picturesque place, and home to the only five arch stone bridge in North America. I've stopped here on many occasions, and it's a tranquil, peaceful place, and the bridge not only blends in with nature, but enhances it.

The Arboretum: A park near my university, wonderful for walking, photography, and peace and quiet. An oasis of calm in the heart of the city.

The National Gallery: Ottawa has a collection of art galleries, and this one is the main attraction. Home to an exceptional collection of Canadian and international art (my personal favourite is a marble sculpture of a dancer), the Gallery is a great place to spend a day. From the glass enclosed structure to the extensive Group of Seven collection to the Convent chapel faithfully restored in its walls, it's got something for all artistic tastes. And yes, for you Canadians, this is the spot that has the Death of General Wolfe painting you've all seen in school. So there.

Just try to ignore their poor judgment for once spending a million dollars on a painting featuring three stripes on a canvas. Hell, I could paint this:

The Barron Canyon: Up the valley in Algonquin Park's east flank, it's a stunning place to hike, paddle or cross country ski. The rock walls are incredible to behold.

Di Rienzo's: An delicatessan in the heart of Little Italy, it's been a mainstay for decades, and happens to be my primary source of food (okay, so I can't cook). Their sandwiches are consistently rated the best in the city, so much so that people who know of it from further away ask their Ottawa friends to bring some when they come out to visit.

Trillium Bakery: Mmmm, good cookies!

Museums: We have museums dedicated to civilization, aviation, science and technology, war, nature, agriculture, local history, and even a jail museum. If you're fond of history, you can spend days among the collections. Oh, and three of those museums are haunted. I'll let you guess which ones.

Nepean Point: A high point behind the Gallery, overlooking Gatineau, the river, and Parliament Hill, it's an ideal spot to stop on a sunny afternoon and take in the view. It's topped with a statue of Champlain, looking upriver, to the future. Or wondering if he dropped his house keys in Montreal.

                                 

The Rideau Canal: A great stretch of waterways from Kingston to Ottawa, it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with boats travelling its length in the summers and skaters in the winter in the city. And of course the tulips can be found along its route in May.

Wakefield: A small village up the Gatineau Valley by car (or a tourists' steam train if you're so inclined). It's a nice spot, peaceful and away from it all. Among its sights are a beautiful covered bridge and the final resting place of one of our best Prime Ministers, Lester Pearson.

The Upper Valley: From Arnprior up to the village of Mattawa, the river has a collection of small towns and villages with real character, extraordinary stretches of water and landscape, and an ever deepening valley. I love the drive up the valley, ending in Mattawa, where the promontories seem to plunge right down into the river.

Gatineau Park: The park offers great opportunities for hiking, swimming, skiing, and climbing, depending on the season. It's outstanding for fall colours, looks beautiful the rest of the year, and in the midst of it all, we've got the Mackenzie King estate, bestowed on us Canucks by the Prime Minister himself.

Canada Day: Every Canadian should make it here at least once for our national birthday. The place goes crazy. In a really good way.