Like many people, my holiday season is spent in the car. In the past week, we’ve traveled from Brooklyn to Vermont, back to Pennsylvania, then up to Toronto via Buffalo, then to Ottawa. We’ll hit Vermont again, stop in Connecticut, then back to Bushwick to start the new year. Toronto had an abundance of inflatable 15-foot lawn Santas, which I imagine is a form of punishment for the arrogant toxicity of Leafs fans.
There is a calm that comes with being back in Canada. It leaves as soon as you get on the 401, but it is present. I suppose if Pierre Poilievre were a more formidable villain, the country might be more on edge. Ten minutes in the suburbs does explain how Doug Ford keeps getting elected, and serves as a further reminder of how similar the US and Canada are.
Ok, here are some feels…
SOME BRIEF OBSERVATIONS ON DRIVING AND TRAVELS
87% of drivers are fucking idiots except for me.
Drivers in Vermont are the nicest, followed by no one.
New York drivers have a particular give-no-fucks about anyone else in the world because each individual driver is the most important person in the world sensibility I’ve never experienced elsewhere.
I’m convinced NYC gridlock is simply the result of selfishness, not volume. I’m alerting Mamdani to my hypothesis.
In a post-tariff world, the border is a pain for American spouses.
Winter is awful and has no redeeming value. I don’t care for it.
Christmas excess is…excessive.
Every highway rest stop is hell on earth.
TO THE WOMAN AT THE STARBUCKS IN STONEY CREEK ON CHRISTMAS DAY, BERATING THE BARISTA (MAKING $16.60CDN/HR AND WORKING A PACKED CAFE ON CHRISTMAS) NOT ABOUT ANY FLAW WITH HER GRANDE MATCHA BUT RATHER THAT SHE FELT HER VOICE WAS NOT BEING HEARD.
Go fuck yourself.
FALLOUT
While in terms of post-apocalyptic TV series, I lean more towards the dark, contemplative, brooding Pedro Pascalism of The Last of Us, I do like Amazon’s Fallout in all its playful, colorful campiness. Ella Purnell’s Pollyanna in Hell is perfection opposite Walton Goggins’ ghoul. Some of the B-storylines are less interesting to me, especially as Amazon is choosing to release episodes weekly, preventing bingeing. But the show’s indictment of corporate greed over reason and humanity plays nicely alongside our ever-degrading late-stage capitalism.
Also, in a world where the media machine is desperate to make Sydney Sweeney a star, Purnell is an actual star-in-the-making. Her versatility on display in the gone-too-soon Sweetbitter, Yellowjackets (justice for Jackie!), and Sweetpea (where’s season two?) suggests an actress with the quiet, effortless, captivating range of Emma Stone or Jennifer Lawrence. Just keep Glen Powell away from her, ffs.
Also also, next time I need a username, it’s going to be Galton Woggins.
HEATED RIVALRY IS HOCKEY’S MEDICINE
I’ve been a vocal critic of hockey’s toxicity for a long time. I called for Don Cherry’s removal from CBC long before it happened, and got some really creative hate mail because of it. I was dismissed from TSN’s BarDown because they published an essay of mine that was unkind towards the late Senators owner Eugene Melnyk, after many missives from management telling me to stop pitching columns on hockey’s problems with racism, misogyny, and sexual violence because, according to TSN, those did not exist. So even though I haven’t seen it yet, I’m taking great delight in the fact that Heated Rivalry, a series that “follows two rival professional hockey players, Canadian Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) and Russian Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie), whose on-ice animosity conceals a passionate, secret romance” is the biggest thing in hockey since, well, maybe Don Cherry. That a gay hockey romance is Crave TV’s top show is likely driving the Tim Horton’s/Blue Light/PP/Doug Ford/Convoy suburban Toronto Leaf fan crowd insane is the best Christmas present I could imagine.
A CHRISTMAS SESTINA
(from my poetry collection Jack)
DAVE IS PERFECT FOR CHRISTMAS
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