Ten Years Later, The Queen, and There And Back Again One Thousand Times.

  Three days in a row, a trilogy! This past week has been filled with landmark life events. Well, as long as you are using the standard North American method of starting the week on Sunday and not Monday. If you are in Europe or a hipster, it was the last day of last week and the first two of this one. Doesn’t sound as awesome does it?

  As of Sunday,I have been living in Canada for ten years. Thinking back a decade ago, I can’t remember exactly what time I arrived. It was around midnight and I wonder had I been a minute or two in either direction would this only be two days and not a trilogy.

   On Monday, my wife and I woke up dark and early and went to my citizenship ceremony. I wore my red flannel shirt. I think I was smiling almost the entire time. You see, somewhere around second grade, I mean grade two, I became enamored with Canada and began to think that Canadians were bad ass. I don’t know what I read or saw. There was some character from Canada and they were awesome. No, it wasn’t Wolverine, it might have been a G.I. Joe. During the ceremony I would think back to that pudgy kid. Sure we didn’t set out to do this when we had moved here, but here we were becoming, at least, half bad asses. Then I remembered we lived in the biggest city in the warmest province. One-eigth bad asses it is.

  The judge entered the room and kept spoke briefly about the history of Canada and affirmed our responsibilities as Canadian. I swore allegiance to the Queen and sang the national anthem. Afterward, my wife bought me an apple fritter from Cartem’s Donutery and a fantastic local craft beer.  A friend at work bought a Nugent-Hopkins officially licensed street hockey stick and had the flag draped over my chair.

    Tuesday was the final landmark. With my morning run I completed one thousand kilometers. That is recorded kilometers. Not included are the kilometers where my phone died and I out ran from a pack of bear zombies. Grammar police please note that is bear, not bare. Which would have been equally terrifying.

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Hipster, The Realization.

  That word, “hipster.” So current, so derogatory. Everyone seems to hate hipsters. No one seems to fraternize with them. Hipsters are kind of like Nickelback fans. I don’t know any on a personal level, but somehow the subculture manages to thrive. I’ve never identified myself as being a hipster. Yet somehow, and ironically so, the hipster motif  has somewhat aligned with my own.

  That’s right, hipsters have been created in my image. I am a god! Black framed glasses, flannel shirts, and a large beard are three of my physical traits commonly found in the hipster visual bible. Its a good look. I have been doing the look for years, decades in some cases. I can see why they would incorporate it. Plus, I get to reap the windfall and go to cool restaurants and bars. I fit right in.

  That is, until they look down at my boots. That is when they realize that, not only are they not vagabond student approved, but my jeans are boot cut. Not skinny, no cuff. The jig is up! I have to say something super cool. Perhaps I bring up an amazing new band I just discovered or just announce that if I wore skinny jeans, I would look like a light bulb. Not those silly LED or CFL, but a good old fashioned incandescent bulb. The more handmade, the better!

  And that totally proves it. I am not a hipster. I am just a simple guy who likes to be warm and realizes that boot cut jeans were made specifically to be worn with a boot. Yes, I like art. I am employed as an artist, went to art school and the whole nine. So what if I have a soft spot for whimsical indie published books. Who doesn’t? I don’t have a vinyl collection, due to a lack of space. Yeah, I like craft beer and have even brewed a few of my own batches. Big deal! Sure, I have foodie tendencies, but who doesn’t can their own salsa and make their own stocks? I don’t have any ironic logos on my shirts, just solid colors from American Apparel. I don’t have a haircut that makes me look like a squire from Camelot. I just keep it short and combed to the side, like something out of the 1800’s.

  Oh mother stuffer! Really? I am not a hipster! Come on! They’re boot cut. Fine, I admit it! I may be a hipster, but I liked all of those things before they were cool. Oh god! I don’t see what the big deal is. At least I am cooler than you! Wait a minute, you. What about you? Sitting there. Reading my blog before anyone has heard of me. I can keep a secret if you can. Hipster.