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.

You never forget your first time...

Walking home in twenty below zero.

While I had succumbed and bought a tuque to keep my head toasty, I naively wore my dress shoes (and socks) to work. Tonight's sharp wind drove the temperature down to -23. It doesn't feel quite like I'd imagined. Since most of the body is well insulated, there's no shiver. However, the exposed strip of my face felt like it was being peeled, yet peeled by the most dexterous and delicate of craftsmen: sliver by sliver. By some distance, my feet were worst affected. Those dress shoes have no insulation value, and I might as well have been standing barefoot on the frozen ground, skin turned to cold stone. I knew that I'd messed up badly once I got home and stripped off my socks. The feet weren't merely numb, but ice-cold to my fingers. To my alarm, a number of my tiptoes and small spots on my soles had gone white and hard to the touch. I ran a cool shallow bath for my feet, gradually warming the water for the next 25 minutes. Fortunately, there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage, apart from a small whitish lump on my left foot.

Hey, I'm not complaining. It's all part of the experience, and I've learned a critical lesson without too much pain. Insulate thy bloody feet! It's going to get twenty degrees colder...

Supersize me.

I had a pizza in the freezer, a beast weighing just over 2lb. It was meant to feed three, so I was saving it for the appropriate moment. Well, this evening, I was really hungry. Out came the pizza, and after a session in the oven, down the throat it started to go. Trouble set in halfway. I believe I uttered the phrase "I can't eat any more of this." That was a lie; as the hour developed, I continued to attack the pizza, determined to finish it. I did.

I. Feel. Terrible. Distended and bent over. I'm quite tempted to stick my fingers down my throat and relieve the pressure. I've just eaten a kilo of stodgy food in one sitting. Imagine dropping a one-kilo bag of sugar down your pipe. Yeah. That's more like it.

Oh, more cramps. Never again.

News from the front.

Over fifty days have passed, and I'm still sitting pretty in Toronto. My blog has been drifting toward the wider world recently; I feel it's time to reorient. That could go for my life, not just my blog. I'll explain.

I was dozing on the couch earlier this evening, but I'm at a higher angle now. Once I've posted this, I'll head straight to bed, for sleep has been at a premium for the past month. My hand has been forced; the body doesn't take kindly to sustained negligence. Ironing shall have to wait till the morning... again. I wonder if I've clean socks? The TV thrums with no great passion, too jaded to demand my attention. Even Amanda's focus is elsewhere. Her ritual Thursday TV night is beginning to waste. I adapted speedily to the life we constructed here, since mine was a tabula rasa. Funny then how I find small changes in the new order less easy to adapt to. We moved the cutlery two weeks ago, yet I habitually open the wrong drawer. Thursday is TV night... at least, it used to be.

I am so very settled. How odd. The impetus to risk, to adventure, has ebbed with domestication. The need for a belt to hold my slacks has ebbed too, but of that, the less said the better. For the first month, I threw myself enthusiastically at every opportunity. I needed to. Now, although I don't need to, I ought to. I don't. I still have too few Canadian contacts, and my social circle is a third of that back home. I've worked hard to get even this far, and though I need to press on, I'm resting on my laurels. It's the easy option. Migration is exhausting, and my stance is the norm here, but that doesn't make it right. I need a kick up the arse. It's time, once again, to put myself out there and acquire more friends. Brrr. Is that a cold sweat coming on? Canadians are friendly and quite charming, but they're reserved and lead more insular lives than I'm used to. Socialising is less common, hence making friends is harder.

I'm in employment until the New Year at least. You'll love my occupation. Think of a great adventurer. Got that mental image? Good - now take a negative. I'm a Pension Analyst. Business casual, desk-bound, fired on coffee, and so high in the sky I can see the air traffic. You couldn't buy office space this high in Dublin, because it doesn't exist. The wages aren't nearly as good as you'd imagine, due to the greedy bite of the recruitment agency. Having said that, it pays the bills (just), the environment is relaxed, and the location is fantastic. My particular skyscraper is connected to the underground city, so it's a three minute walk from the subway platform to the lift. The only time I'm exposed to the elements is during the five minute trek from my front door to St. Clair West subway station. Yet working downtown brings the incentive to go outside. The streets are busy (though not to Dublin levels) and full of wonder. I frequently stroll east to St. Lawrence Market to pick up a cheap and quirky lunch. One option there is a little bakery that sells the best bacon sandwiches. The lunchtime amble often brings a good photo-op. Alas, I commonly forget my camera, while yesterday's barrage of visual splendour was ruined by dead batteries. No matter. Time is on my side.

Next Monday, I would have been graduating. My erstwhile classmates will be appending letters to their name, and for the first time, I feel a tinge of regret - for the first time, I'm missing out on something. Worry not; it's a tinge, not an ache. I like my city. Yes - my city. When my voice echoes on Skype, I hear the first subtle flowerings of a Canadian accent. My life has a structure, if not a complete narrative. I have no desire to leave, only to build. Rich and daring travels lie ahead, but this is my base.

Christmas shall be passed on Bruce Peninsula, which juts deep into Lake Superior. If weather permits, I'll be able to take a long boat journey out to Manitoulin Island, the world's largest freshwater island. The New Year and early January may see a trip eastwards. It has been suggested that we choose Montreal to ring in the New Year. If so, I'll be sure to take in Ottawa and Quebec as well. The great tour of the East Coast must wait until the spring, I think. I might get a chance to travel north and camp in Algonquin National Park before mid-December; if not, that'll also have to wait until the spring. The Aurora Borealis are meant to be spectacular up there.

Today was incredibly balmy, reaching a brief height of 16 degrees. The last hurrah of autumn, it seems. Hardcore winter is predicted to roll in from next week onwards. Clicking through various sites in the last several minutes, I noted factoids (that grow in charm as you descend through the list) such as:

In Southern Ontario, the winter season starts in November and finishes around the middle of April.

In one day, residents, especially those in Southern Ontario, may be drenched by cold winter rain then covered with snow because north winds have dropped temperatures to well below freezing.

"Whiteout" is the term used to describe blizzard-like or blowing snow conditions which reduce visibility to a few metres. People standing in a whiteout are unable to see shadows or landmarks and lose all sense of direction, perception and sometimes even balance as the land and the sky seem to blend into one.

Environment Canada's Warnings are quite specific about the type of weather approaching. Please pay attention to them. There are 10 types of Winter Weather Warnings.

Environment Canada also warns of the level of risk of frostbite associated with a wind chill factor. For example, when the wind chill is from ‑28 to ‑39, exposed skin can freeze in 10 to 30 minutes.

Hypothermia results when body temperature falls below 35 C. Symptoms include drowsiness, impaired co-ordination and weakness. It can also be fatal.

Frostbite is the result of skin freezing. It causes swelling, redness, tingling and burning. Skin turns white and waxy as the frostbite progresses. Infection and loss of extremities can result.

Frostnip is a condition where ice crystals form under the skin. Chilblains occur when bare skin is exposed to cold water, or when wet skin cools. The skin itches and swells. Chilblains can lead to gangrene.

For the record, meteorologists are forecasting an especially cold winter in Toronto. Whee!

The crazy thing is that buildings are maintained at a constant temperature in the low twenties. On a cold day, I already feel the phenomenal heat when I walk through the front door, or enter a building downtown. During a cold snap, stepping through a doorway is going to mean a rise of 40-50 degrees Celsius. Whoa. If I don't freeze, I'll fry.

Wondering about the new photo? It's from Halloween. :) Anything else you should know? Oh - I buy bags of milk here. Yes: bags.

You know you're flush when...

You can afford to drink milk with your dinner, instead of tap water.

And over a month has passed.

Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is...

That's an attitude I've been (re-)adopting recently, to the cost of my health!

One question arises again and again: "Why would I ever want to go home?" I know that seems a little naive. Canada isn't perfect. Most of my friends and family are across the ocean. I could be earning twice or thrice as much back in Ireland, or perhaps in London. And yet... why would I ever want to go home? How can someone change so much in five weeks? Well, it's happened. My priorities, and indeed my general outlook on life, have undergone a radical shift. All ex-students undergo these shifts, but normally not at such a pace.

I was going to take a stack of photos today, but it's been miserable. So here's two shots out the front window, and one of our Thanksgiving dinner.







I love this city. I'm already putting down tender, youthful roots. I've settled in incredibly well thus far - to the point that I feel like a permanent immigrant, not a temporary worker. An example: one of the reasons I came over here was to avoid being snared by the corporate world between my degrees. I planned to mix up different kinds of work: retail, temp office, cafe, etc. The thing is, wages here are very stingy compared to Dublin, and probably Western Europe in general. A retail job - one without the possibility of commission or tips - normally pays as little as $8 an hour. After tax, that translates to €4.44, or £2.97. While living costs are somewhat lower here, how could one live on that?! So I'm actively pursuing "career-related" jobs. I need the money. Yes, this is supposed to be a fun cultural experience, but it won't be that if I'm living on ramen noodles for the rest of the year. I'll take my salary from 9-5, and my fun and culture during the rest of the week. And so it follows that my work attitude is not "happy-go-lucky Irish traveller", but professional to the core. It's all about impressions, folks. And ok, competence too. I'm chuffed to report that I seem to making good first impressions everywhere I go, whether it be socially or professionally. Confidence is sky-high!

I've been temping for the last week at a printing firm out in North York. It's a long, long way from home. Put it this way - an hour and twenty minutes on Toronto's efficient, quick transport system. The work wasn't exactly stimulating, but at least the staff were friendly. I, of course, put in my best performance - professional, diligent, friendly, self-motivated and showing initiative. On my second day, they offered me a long-term job in a more challenging position, which would involve some training in computer programming. Can't say I wasn't tempted; I gave it a few days' thought. In the end, I declined, due essentially to the poor location. I need to be working much closer to home, and secondly, to be in an urban setting, rather than an outlying industrial estate, with no facilities.

It felt strange to be turning down a good job. I guess it's a reflection of my self-confidence right now. To be offered that on my second day is a great credit to me. There's another thing you learn in Canada (and presumably in the US too): you have to sell yourself. Modesty is for mugs. Play every card. Use every contact. And show just how good you are.

As you may have guessed, I didn't land the non-profit job I was aiming for. I think I came across well in the interview, but the woman who got the position had far more experience. C'est la vie. I have an interview for another, longer-running, temp job next Thursday. The pay is better, the work is more interesting, and the location is fantastic: Yonge and Adelaide. No reason I can't get it. Even better, I've made a high-up contact in one of Canada's biggest banks, which might lead to something quite decent.

Enough of work. Last night, I ended up in a club which can only be described as Copperface Jack's meets Doyle's (upstairs), with a higher proportion of punk in the playlist. 'Twas interesting, to say the least. It had a mixed proportion of crazies, hotties, losers and hipsters. I've added it to my list; I think I'll go there when I'm feeling lazy. Both dressing-up and effort are optional...

Love this city.

Minor milestones.

4th October 2005 - Bitching Brew is founded.

18th September 2006 - Martin bids a fond goodbye to his old life, and a giddy hello to TO.

23rd September 2006 - I attend my first baseball game. Three dozy hours later, it's clear that I've also attended my last baseball game.

1st October 2006 - Canadian television meets the emigré for the first time.

4th October 2006 - 191 posts later, the first anniversary of my blog passes without notice, as I'm busy moving into my new apartment. I think the first night in my new home was a tad more significant. Euphoria strikes again when I discover the bagel bakery two minutes from my door. :)

5th October 2006 - Martin visits Ikea. Yes, it's almost as big as you've imagined.

12th October 2006 - First snowfall in Toronto. It's chilly out.

13th October 2006 - Second snowfall in Toronto. It's bloody freezing.

Looking forward to a long, cold winter.

House hunting. Job hunting. I hate hunting.

The novelty wears off pretty quickly. OK, that’s a lie. The sense of wonder is gone, but there’s still a low-level appreciation of novelty. For example, every Wednesday evening, you can buy a slice of pizza at the station for a dollar, which goes to charity. I enjoyed that deal. Naturally, I bought a slice at both ends of my journey!

Still, there is a certain knowledge that this is not a holiday. I’m desperately looking for accommodation, and now for a job as well. Even though I’m spending quite frugally, the costs of eating out (cheaply) and of a few large one-off outlays have really knocked my bank balance. I’ve spent just over a thousand dollars in a mere nine days. It’s worrying in the extreme, considering I’ll need to pay two months’ rent up-front. Equally pertinent is the knowledge that my first pay cheque is at best three weeks away. The realisation has prompted a shift in mentality – Ronnie Drew and his Seven Drunken Nights have come to an end.

Checked out two more houses today; one was bad and the other was horrendous. I’m looking with three Canadians, who are quite desperate to find a place too. The upshots are that they’re cool, would be great to live with, and that we can divide our time efficiently. The downside is that finding a large property is much more difficult than acquiring a single room. Toronto's a massive city (as shown by this map), but it's impractical for me to live too far from the downtown areas. I’ll give this a little longer, but if nothing comes to pass, alternatives will have to be sought. I can’t stay in the hostel – or any hostel – for much longer. I feel like I’ve been here about a month already; it seems ages since I’ve seen any of you.

I’m trying to get work through agencies, and due to the accommodation crisis, I’ve only just begun the search. Still waiting on a callback, though from all accounts, they’re sharper than their nasty Irish brethren. I think I’ll need employment by next week, or the week after at the very very latest. Again, if the agencies don’t respond soon, I’m going downmarket and taking the first retail/café job I can find to tide me over. There’s a jobs fair on tomorrow, which I’ll head for. It was on today, and I heard it wasn’t up to much, but it’d be senseless not to try.

This all sounds really depressing, but I’m in good spirits. Have been – and am – having a good time, have met some great people, and I love this fantastic city. Alas, the holiday is over and I need to sort myself out, five thousand miles from home. Things haven’t fallen into place yet. Not that I expected them to, but I had hoped they would. :)

P.S. Before I get my first anxiety-laden message, I’m interrupting my recent spell of quiet, dry, early nights tomorrow with a SWAP night out in a flash bar. I may even bring my camera, which I’ve really been neglecting.

P.P.S. To my fellow exile in North America, check your email and send me your phone number!!!

A tight, queasy knot.

The night is setting on life as I know it. Tomorrow morning, I fly for Toronto, and step alone into a new life, in a new town.

I didn't think it would be so hard. Not the packing, and no, not even the bureaucracy. I mean leaving all these wonderful people behind. My stomach churns, knowing that I won't see them for at least a year. And to think - I don't even know some of them that long.

Even though I've been working like a demon, I've had the best summer of my life. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable - like I really belong. Now, with immaculate timing, I'm about to pull up those new and happy roots.

Don't get me wrong. I'm really looking forward to Toronto. This is going to be the time of my life. However, unlike previous trips abroad, a year (or two?) away carries hefty opportunity costs. Parties will be had without me there. Where someone would have called me up, another number will be dialled. People move on. They grow, they change, they hurt, they bleed. They sing, they laugh, they love, they cry. Friendships fade. Or alternatively, they endure, without the stress of another year at close quarters. What will be for each and every one?

Who shall I call? A friend can be replaced, or more precisely, can be substituted. The loss can be absorbed. Friends, on the other hand, are irreplaceable.

Life is a rollercoaster. Not because it has ups and downs - then it could just be a wave. No, it's because thrills, excitement, anxiety and terror all come together in one giddy, compelling and frightening brew.

And so ends my last post from Dublin. Stay tuned over the coming week for the first bulletin from Toronto. Remember - I'll be back. ;)

A short musing.

I find it impossible to objectify people. I can't help but remain acutely aware that each person has feelings, hopes, fears, dreams and uncertainties of their own. I'm not talking about scientific data; how can a bare statistic be humanised? Only through picking out an individual, or individuals, from that mass.

What interests - or bothers - me is how someone can objectify (dehumanise?) another breathing, speaking, thinking person in their presence. We only need look at various wars and genocides to see the ultimate outcome of this, but the less destructive instances are more common, such as treating people as means to an end. There's a distinction between objectifying someone and treating them badly. Even if you take pains to avoid a beggar's gaze, you're implicitly recognising their humanity. If you kick a homeless guy out of the way, that's objectification.

Oh, there are reams of theories to explain this, scientific and otherwise. I can follow the explanations; however, I can't understand the act. That's probably a good thing... probably.