When in Rome, eat your KD with ketchup

I just made (and ate) a pot of Kraft Dinner. As I poured ketchup on it I suddenly remembered a moment from my youth.

It was the summer of 1992, the summer I turned 15, memorable for a number of reasons, not the least an incredibly scary riding accident that could have killed me and for being indirectly struck by lightning. This has nothing to do with either event.

That summer I was lucky enough to attend a session at an incredibly posh riding camp in the Ottawa valley. It was the kind of camp that brought rich kids from around North America (and the Caribbean, if I recall), including diplomats' children, a number of whom brought their own horses for the entire summer. In one way, however, it was just like most camps: food was questionable at best.

Except for their macaroni and cheese. It's damned hard to screw it up, even in bulk. Mac & cheese was a saving grace. We all looked forward to it. I was sitting with other girls my age and two of them were from the USA. One was a strawberry-blonde princess from one of the Carolinas, I think South. The other I want to say came from California, but I don't remember for sure. The rest of the table was made up of Canadians.

As we came back to our table with our heaping helpings, every Canadian kids at the table reached for the ketchup bottle and whether they put it on top and mixed it in, or on the side, each one of us used it. I remember looking up at the two American girls and they both wore expressions of sheer revulsion and horror. The princess might even have moaned in disgust.

"That is absolutely disgusting," said the dark haired Californian girl, who was an incredibly talented rider.

"Oh my gawd," echoed the princess, "I think I'm going to be sick. How can you eat that?!"

The rest of us exchanged glances and most of us said, "What?" in unison.

"Ketchup... on your macaroni and cheese," answered both girls.

Again we exchanged looks. Someone was going to have to defend it. But who? I stepped up. "No, no, try it, it's good."

"No way."

"Here, try a bite of mine," I urged, having fully mixed my ketchup in as I am wont to do. "It really won't kill you, and maybe you'll like it." I gestured to the rest of the table and was encouraged by enthusiastic nodding.

"But it looks so... gross." The princess looked like her resolve was crumbling. She glanced at the Californian who sat with her arms crossed firmly shaking her head.

I pushed my plate toward the princess and smiled, "Look around the room. We're not the freaks here." The princess picked up her fork and held it tentatively over my plate. "Come on, I'm not telling you to jump off a bridge, it's food and it's good."

We watched in silence as she slowly dug in her fork and raised the orange pasta to her lips. The Californian looked appalled. "Go on," I encouraged, "I bet you'll like it."

"Oh my gawd !" she cried, loudly enough to turn heads at other tables. We all watched with wide eyes. "That is SO GOOD !" We all cheered and applauded and the princess reached for the bottle of ketchup.

The Californian was grimacing. "I can't believe you like it. No one does that to their mac and cheese in our country."

I was going to say something, but before I could, the princess turned and spread her hands, "Well duh, we're in Canada now. Gawd."

Prime Minister Harper, you are an Ass

In which Harper demonstrates his lack of understanding of the arts, culture and heritage in Canada, or even what an 'ordinary canadian' is.

Harper talks about ordinary Canadians and how they don't care about the arts. Ordinary Canadians who watch films? Television? Take their kids to dance class and music lessons? Ordinary Canadians who go to the museum, even if it's just once a year? Ordinary Canadians who listen to music?

His comments demonstrate that he does not actually grasp what these cuts are and who they affect. These cuts hit museums, galleries, theatre groups, independent music producers and publishers, as well as the individuals thoughout the arts

The people who attend 'rich galas' are his peers, not mine, not yours. Artists are invited to them so that Harper's peers can feel cultured and special. Any artist who's ever received a grant will tell you that grants do not make artists/writers/musicians/performers/museums/galleries rich, or even, for the most part, financially secure. And the majority never receive grants at all.

Mr. Harper, please stop speaking about things you do not understand.