Bitchitorial
(The view from the Editor's Chair)
"What’s the Purpose of Your Visit, Eh?"
February 27, 2005
Tavia, (my favorite Anal-retentive-Editrix-From-Hell) came
up from New York city to visit for the weekend, in part to work on our book
proposal, in part to wander the market
and take advantage of the slightly stronger US dollar advantage, but mostly to
just hang out and catch up; it’s been 5 long years since the last time she
visited the frozen north.
I just adore Tavia. I swear, I should carry a tape recorder when she is around, she’s just
so damned funny. She took one look at
my enormous George Foreman grill, and said, “That’s not a George, that’s a
George DAMMIT!”. Her tale about the indignities she suffered going through Customs and security, including being asked to step "over there" so they could frisk her,
is worthy of an article all on its own. "All that, and they NEVER call... *sigh*"
We had a great weekend. We talked about life the
universe and everything. We watched (and laughed uproariously at) some
incredibly bad and incredibly good movies. We ate fabulously well, drank some
amazing Loch Dhu single malt
that she brought with her, and we even made good progress on the book proposal,
though our attention to it was sporadic. On our shopping spree on Saturday, we
found an awesome store with all their silver jewelry at 50% off. The Greek owner was so completely taken with
Tavia’s near-floor length dreds (all REAL), that he repeatedly fondled them
(after asking and being granted permission). But the thing that that I think I
will remember the most about the weekend is my inculcating Tavia into Canadian
Culture.
First, we watched the movie “The Triplets of Bellville”. Seeing her reaction to the “frog” scene was
priceless. It’s now on her list of
“must get” DVDs. But most importantly,
we did something that will possibly cost her her Urban Black Woman Street Cred. Yes, I am outing her here. We watched “Curling”. And not just ANY curling. The Canadian Women’s championship – the
Scott Tournament of Hearts.
I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that because
we don’t have hockey to watch, I have been driven to the 9th circle
of hell and will watch anything remotely “Canadian” in the sporting arena. Not so.
I normally don’t even watch Hockey ( I’ll be lucky if they don’t revoke
my citizenship for that statement).
But given that I now have a boyfriend who curls, and he was volunteering
at the championship, I had some motivation to learn more about the sport, and
possibly even attempt to learn how to play it some day. (The fact that drinking is a fundamental
part of the sport, and that many clubs actually let you drink ON the ice had
NOTHING to do with it… I swear…).
Truly, I’m surprised I was allowed to even get a Canadian Passport given
that I have gone this many decades and never even picked up a “rock” once. Several of my friends Curl. My brother and
his wife Curl, and even one of my friends who is a recent immigrant from the US
has taken up the sport.
There is an entire vocabulary to curling that sounds
hilarious, and sometimes downright rude out of context, especially when it’s
women, shouting “HARDER, HARDER, Haaaaaard! HURRY HARD! HURRY! HURRY! Woah! Woah!” There are
“FLOBs” (Friggin’ Little Outside Biters) and “The House”, and the “Button” and
“Ends”. The strategy I can only liken
to something like a blend between shuffleboard and billiards, but played on
ice, with granite “rocks” that weigh about 40lbs. Though invented by the Scottish, it is, for some strange reason,
considered a true “Canadian sport”. (Must
be the ICE thing). We even had a movie
about it starring Leslie Nielsen, entitled, “Men with Brooms”.
Tavia was aghast that a) we were actually watching it, and
that b) by the fourth end actually raising our voices. She wants to tell her mom that we were
watching curling championships on the weekend, just to see her reaction.
“She’ll probably think it was a hair dressing competition”.
Of course, we couldn’t watch without our own
commentary. We were somewhat amazed by
how much makeup some of the women caked on for what is ostensibly an “athletic”
competition. And of course just the whole surreal nature of it all. Tavia was in fine form:
“I just keep
thinking of Charlie Brown... ‘I got a rock’.”
“Invented by the
same people that invented golf. Well THAT explains a lot.”
“Too much
hairspray. Too much hairspray. You gotta pay attention to the hairspray when
your head is going to be doing THIS and THAT most of the time…”
“They win a
diamond ring?! Do the boys win jewelry? I just want to know...”
“’Years
Curled’? ‘Years Curled’? That’s just
WRONG. It should be ‘Years Curling’! It
modifies the wrong subject. It sounds like the years are the things that curled.
Which implies something demented…” (Trust
Tavia to correct the Grammar of the CBC sports network)
“How could she have
been curling for 18 years? She looks like she’s only 15!”
Of course, I HAD to tease her mercilessly when, near the end
of the final game, she actually made a statement that demonstrated the depth of
her assimilation, and her fall from Urban Black Woman grace:
“If she hadn’t
swept so hard, they could have kept two in the house.”
By the time the last (winning) rock was thrown, we were commenting loudly about what an AMAZING shot it was, that gave Manitoba the come-from-behind win.
On the way to the airport, I reminded her of her "two in the house" comment, and suggested that she could go back to New York and organize
a Bon Spiel for her coworkers. To which
she replied darkly, “Your evil knows no bounds.”
My response, “Heh. Resistance is futile, eh?!”
Heartlessly,
-Natalie
Copyright© Heartless Bitches International (heartless-bitches.com) 2004, All Rights Reserved
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