Welcome to suburban Canada
So, with our meticulous house auditioning process completed by late July, Bree and I shifted into our new suburban abode. I’m sorry, did I say we moved into our suburban abode? I meant we moved on to A FREAKIN’ MOVIE SET.
The scene in our street is like every Hollywood suburban movie you’ve seen: big ass cars (and we are talking huge trucks, like Hummers only bigger) driving down wide tree-lined roads which are dotted with quant little houses, most of them with a porch.
However, they’re not called porches here – they’re ‘patios’. And they substitute for a backyard; in the sense that during the warmer months, people sit outside on their patios for the cool. Because you’ve seen it on TV before, it’s probably easy to imagine a fat old black lady sitting on her patio sunlounge, next to a screen door, fanning herself and drawling, “… it shure is HAWT to-day…”
And you’ve seen it on TV because it’s actually like that. For real.
I suppose sitting in such an accessible spot promotes more of a community feel, but because I’ve been raised with the Australian backyard mentality, I don’t think I could do it – I’d feel naked exposed. It’s about a metre away from the bitumen, so it’d seem like the cars driving up the street were watching me as they drove by. It’s a moot point at any rate because we don’t have a patio – we have a massive backyard instead. With a BBQ and all, so I feel right at home.
With Halloween approaching, the neighbourhood has gone crazy with decorations. It’s only October 22, but there’s so many houses with spooky motifs already. Jack-o-laterns, cobwebs across everything, “boiling” cauldrons, spookily-lit windows – the 31st is going to be insane.
If that all that wasn’t every-low-budget-suburban-sitcom-ever-made enough, imagine my face when I walked down the street one day and saw a LEMONADE STAND. Honest. To. God. A 5c-a-cup lemonade stand. Not only did I assume homemade lemonade stands never left the movie screen; I never thought they would have left the 1950s… especially at that price. Still only a nickel! Plus America – so, by extension, North America – seems to be gung ho on safety – to an extreme paranoid level – and it’s children making lemonade, so there’s zero accountability or responsibility there. Or, y’know, respect for basic hygiene.
But the one thing that absolutely clinches our desolately suburban location for the locals we talk to here: we can walk to a WalMart. That is apparently a very sore thumb to the ‘middle of nowhere’ argument, because as it turns out, WalMarts only start where the city stops.
We came here for Toronto city, not Toronto “outskirts” – so after only a brief stay at this suburban residence, we’ll be moving downtown in the coming months... just as soon as we scout out another location.
The scene in our street is like every Hollywood suburban movie you’ve seen: big ass cars (and we are talking huge trucks, like Hummers only bigger) driving down wide tree-lined roads which are dotted with quant little houses, most of them with a porch.
However, they’re not called porches here – they’re ‘patios’. And they substitute for a backyard; in the sense that during the warmer months, people sit outside on their patios for the cool. Because you’ve seen it on TV before, it’s probably easy to imagine a fat old black lady sitting on her patio sunlounge, next to a screen door, fanning herself and drawling, “… it shure is HAWT to-day…”
And you’ve seen it on TV because it’s actually like that. For real.
I suppose sitting in such an accessible spot promotes more of a community feel, but because I’ve been raised with the Australian backyard mentality, I don’t think I could do it – I’d feel naked exposed. It’s about a metre away from the bitumen, so it’d seem like the cars driving up the street were watching me as they drove by. It’s a moot point at any rate because we don’t have a patio – we have a massive backyard instead. With a BBQ and all, so I feel right at home.
With Halloween approaching, the neighbourhood has gone crazy with decorations. It’s only October 22, but there’s so many houses with spooky motifs already. Jack-o-laterns, cobwebs across everything, “boiling” cauldrons, spookily-lit windows – the 31st is going to be insane.
If that all that wasn’t every-low-budget-suburban-sitcom-ever-made enough, imagine my face when I walked down the street one day and saw a LEMONADE STAND. Honest. To. God. A 5c-a-cup lemonade stand. Not only did I assume homemade lemonade stands never left the movie screen; I never thought they would have left the 1950s… especially at that price. Still only a nickel! Plus America – so, by extension, North America – seems to be gung ho on safety – to an extreme paranoid level – and it’s children making lemonade, so there’s zero accountability or responsibility there. Or, y’know, respect for basic hygiene.
But the one thing that absolutely clinches our desolately suburban location for the locals we talk to here: we can walk to a WalMart. That is apparently a very sore thumb to the ‘middle of nowhere’ argument, because as it turns out, WalMarts only start where the city stops.
We came here for Toronto city, not Toronto “outskirts” – so after only a brief stay at this suburban residence, we’ll be moving downtown in the coming months... just as soon as we scout out another location.
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