Yours to Remember, Yours Ontario

All right. Now for the rest of the trek to the Great White North.

Upon arrival, I was greeted at Pearson International Airport in Toronto (see if that doesn't bring me some hits) by my parents. We drove north for about an hour and forty five minutes, and finally reached the lodge. I was greeted by my two kick-ass nieces, Lauren and Ashley, my brother and sister-in-law. I drank my first three beers.
Everyone managed to talk about the same things we talk about every year--the weather in our respective parts of the country, the price of gasoline, how work is going ("Fine, you?" "Fine."). We played hours of SkipBo (I am the grand champ, natch, thanks to hours and hours playing Tennille in college).
Musical choices were always limited. There is no way I can break out my Fabric CDs. I did pack the CD that I burned for essentially everyone except the person for whom it was created (sorry Heidi, its coming soon, I swear!!!!). That was tepid enough for the fam, although there were curious looks when songs like "Such Great Heights" by the Postal Service came on. "They used this song on Grey's Anatomy commercials," I assured them to which they mumbled mild approval. The CD most often played: Air Supply Greatest Hits. Damn I love Air Supply--and Jim Steinman.
My mom brought a portable DVD player, but the TV/VCR setup in the cabin was so archaic that when you ran the RCA cables through the VCR, the output contained the copy-proctection lightening and darkening of the image. We watched the insipid Meet the Fockers--in its entirety--with this problem. The movie was bad enough, but only being able to see about 20 of every 30 seconds made it unbearable. I took cues from my parents and politely laughed along.
Luckily, I did have a TV which recieved three stations in my room in the lodge. It was here that I found re-runs of Arrested Development nightly, and was introduced to the pinnacle of mediocrity, Canadian Idol. I know, they don't have as many people from which to choose, but come on!! The contestants that the judges liked were total crap. Ok, they were all total crap. There was no Kelly Clarkson, that's for sure.
Speaking of Ms. Clarkson, for the end of the week talent show, my niece performed two Clarkson songs and one Toby Keith song. She did a wonderful job and even 4 year-old Ashley climbed up on stage to accompany her big sis. What did I perform, you ask? Nothing at the talent show, but earlier in the week, a travelling minstrel arrived at the lodge and my brother was somehow suckered into singing Margaritaville. I had just woken from an alcohol induced slumber and, wiping the sleep from my eyes, followed the sounds of the music. When I arrived, my brother thrust the microphone into my hand, and I completed the third verse--the one about the tattoo, in case you were wondering.
So I guess that's about it.
Vive la Canada.
Not going next year, though. Next year is Machu Picchu for the big THREE-OH.
Addendum: The picture at the top will merely be one of the emboldened phrases. This time, it's "darkening of the image" in case you were wondering.