Chinglish

A col­lec­tion of “Ching­lish” signs spot­ted in Bei­jing… wait — don’t you speak Chinglish?

Things That Freak Me Out

There isn’t a good way present your prod­ucts, no mat­ter how many metaphors you use: “ED” (erec­tile dys­func­tion), “Love Life Again” (get it hard, finally), “mir­a­cle diet pill” (take a placebo pill and eat less) or “it’s time for an hon­est voice” (get out and exer­cise, lazy ass!). Not to men­tion the freaky side effects, usu­ally mut­tered very fast at the end of the commercial.

Stuffs Canadians Like (Part 2)

Ever heard of the Trag­i­cally Hip? Chances are if you did, you hold a Cana­dian pass­port. If no, don’t worry — you’re just a for­eigner. The band from Kingston Ontario has been around for around twenty years but it just doesn’t work out­side Canada. Could that be because their songs mostly revolve around hockey, small Cana­dian towns and Cana­dian history?

Stuffs Canadians Like (Part 1)

For most immi­grants, Canada’s two sea­sons can be illus­trated by the fol­low­ing words — “fuck­ing hot” and “fuck­ing cold”. And Cana­di­ans loudly com­plain too. Too much snow to shovel in the morn­ing, free­way buried under bliz­zard and ice storms in win­ter, drought and floods in the summer.

Canada Looking For Marijuana Suppliers

Like when we were trav­el­ing in Latin Amer­ica. Once I went back home, every­body asked me about the drugs over there: “come on, didn’t you see poppy fields in Bolivia? Cocaine in Peru? “. Nope. Didn’t see any drugs. The odd join smoked at the hos­tel, maybe. But cer­tainly much less drugs than I had seen when I was in high school.

Things That Suck

Has any­one ever bought some­thing from a tele­mar­keter? Enlighten me! If some­one calls to ask if you need to replace your win­dows, what are the chances that are gonna go: “absolutely sir, that’s exactly what I was my wife and I were talk­ing about over diner when you called! Tell me, which num­bers do you need on my credit card?”

Supper's Ready

Do you know why I’m not a per­fect woman? No, it’s not — only — because I like muffins (a lot). It’s a much deeper secret. Still don’t know?

Let me put in sim­ply. I’m French. And I’m a lousy cook.

Call Me (Not), Part II

I swear that’s the last time I fill in for the recep­tion­ist. I’m a bloody French teacher. NOT a recep­tion­ist. And if the woman can’t even remem­ber if she’s sup­posed to be in a group or a pri­vate class I really don’t think she will do that great as a stu­dent. And.. and I hate the phone.