20 reasons to trigger the alarm bells.

You know you've been in Canada too long when...

1. You say 'eh' after every sentence.
2. You expect your groceries to be in both French and English, just in case.
3. You find yourself calling America "The States".
4. You call a beanie a tuque and wear it as a fashion statement.
5. You step in front of moving cars without anxiety.
6. You trust taxi drivers.
7. Hockey matters.
8. You slap down anyone from the homeland who moans about the "cold" weather they're having.
9. If you find a -2 C day in January, you leave the coat at home and tear open your shirt.
10. You throw snowballs and play beach volleyball in the same month.
11. You host a backyard barbecue with a foot of snow on the ground.
12. You prefer to buy your milk in plastic bags - it tastes better.
13. You find yourself looking for the latest fashion in snowsuits.
14. You go to the beach...at a lake!
15. You put maple syrup on bacon, sausage, French toast, and baked beans, but not on ice-cream.
16. You drink as many lattes as you would back home, but twice as much black coffee.
17. You're perfectly clear on the distinction between breakfast, brunch and lunch; it follows that you'll accept no substitute for brunch.
18. You find yourself craving Tim Horton's doughnuts, which aren't actually that good.
19. You mercilessly mock weak American beer.
20. You sincerely apologise when somebody runs into you.

Anything to add?

P.S. Yes, you can credit me with composing two-thirds of these. Six were stolen.

A much shorter quiz.

The last one of these I'll post for a while, I promise. :)

Tell me about your favourite...

Book: Jack Kerouac's On the Road weakly scrapes home. I don't have a favourite book, really. I like the sheer adventure, the jazzy rhythms of the prose, and the sense that these characters are pioneers - muddled, confused and lost pioneers - ploughing a new and risky furrow. It's not the greatest book ever, but it stirred my sense of adventure and inspired me to travel, and for that I'll always cherish my grey paperback.

Album: The Smiths' The Queen is Dead. I know: hardly a curve ball selection. Never mind that it's one of the seminal records of indie; what I care about is its relation to me. I'm not a permanent misanthrope by any means, but I certainly identify with Morrissey in so many of his songs. He doesn't just express his sadness and alienation in the romantic spirit - he does it with wit. "I Know It's Over" and "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" are inimitable. If you've never had a moment where those songs echoed your very essence, then you've lived a charmed life.

Song: This is far more transient than the album choice. Recently, I've had a crush on Bjork's "Hyper-ballad". I'm not entirely sure why. I understand the song and what it's expressing, but I haven't experienced that. I think it's refracting through my own life to produce a strange, unforeseen yet heartfelt interpretation.

Film: Tough, because there's no film I've watched more than ten times. Very few over three even. Right now, I'll go for Amelie, simply because it's a delight of a movie.

Place: San Francisco. Closer to home, the Iveagh Gardens off Harcourt Street are peaceful, relatively unknown, and lovely. More generally, bed, but anywhere with my favourite people will keep me cheery.

Person: I decline to answer. I do have a definite group of favourite people, from whom I could probably pick one right now. But I won't. Suffice to say that the winner is someone I trust completely, who makes me giggle at the silliest things, who laughs at and humours my woeful puns and one-liners, who's smart and challenging (and pulls me up when I'm not), shares a goody set of my interests, and whose very appearance makes me smile, because I love their company so. Note too that each person on the shortlist ticks most, maybe even all, of those boxes.

Moment: I'm not sure. Certain marvellous moments spring to mind - those brief occasions you wish you could enjoy forever. When nothing else seemed to matter, nor did it seem like anything else ever would. A close runner-up would have to be gliding through a hamlet in Virginia. On a sweaty, starry July night, at 2am in a dark and touching-silent carriage, the air-conditioning set to shiver, I leaned on the window, enraptured, drinking with my eyes the porches of cheap wooden homes, just metres away, unshielded from the track. Laundry hung and toys lay strewn. Lights glowed softly on the porches and through some windows. In warm butter a couple in silhouette embraced, dead to the passing voyeur, yet so bewitchingly vital to him.