December 1 is World AIDS Day.

I love Singapore and I want to marry it. Now me go bed night night zzzz...

K.A.D.D.?

Get me some knitalin -- I've got a case of Knitting Attention Deficit Disorder. I'm halfway through so many things, and I just keep casting on! I finished one of 2L's Xmas socks on the weekend. I ripped out the first version; the fabric was too dense for a sock. And what a difference half a millimeter makes! I went up from 3.25 mm needles to 3.75 mm, and the density is perfect and it's like there's more room for all the colours to show themselves. Since I was casting on 48 stitches anyway, I ended up making ankle socks from this free pattern. (Yes, photos, I know...) But have I started the second sock? No! Instead, I bought two balls of yarn off my buddy, the Sidewalk Yarn Vendor, and cast on for another Xmas present: the Marsan Watchcap (or, as my people call it, a plain ol' toque). The yarn brand is Australia Cable, and it's two strands of medium gray twisted with one strand of black, but it knits up to a really nice charcoal. This will be a gift for someone who may read this blog, so that's my excuse for showing no pictures till after Christmas. I'm also halfway through another small Xmas gift, and I'm halfheartedly making a few mini socks to send out as ornaments. Send help!

So I'm off to Singapore tomorrow, where I plan to eat lots of Indian food. Back on Sunday. Till then, I leave you with a photo of two happy knitters, taken in Montreal on a beautiful September afternoon:



(That's ~Jo~ on the left and me on the right.) Have a great weekend!

Not a whole day in the life, but a morning:

I always stay in bed until the last possible minute in the mornings. I know it takes twenty minutes to get from my apartment door to my office door. I also know that if I clock in at 8:31 or later, I lose an hour's pay. This is motivation, Taiwan style.

So I'm out the door at 8:05. Down five flights of stairs to the sidewalk -- literally, the sidewalk. Unlike many buildings in the West where there's some kind of buffer between the sidewalk and one's front door, we don't have that kind of extra space in Taipei. So I pop out onto the sidewalk blinking like a mole, no matter how gray and cloudy, since our apartment has few windows. I start to walk the three blocks to the MRT (subway) station.

Right next to my building's door is a motorcycle/scooter mechanic's shop. If we catch each other's eye, we say hello. He has two blue-and-white birds in a cage that hangs out front during business hours. (I sometimes hear those birds when I'm in my bathroom; it sounds like they say "Wow! Wo-o-ow!") On the other side of the bike shop is a bakery, its front window jammed with local specialties that, frankly, gross me out to no end: croissants with wieners baked into the middle; sweet white buns covered with "pork floss" (a.k.a. hairy pork), or with mayonnaise and corn niblets; oh, it's just too horrible.

For most of the three blocks to the MRT, I'm walking in traffic. There is a sidewalk of sorts, but I find the street easier to negotiate. The sidewalk's surface is concrete squares, many of which are not attached to one another nor to the ground below. (After a rain, stepping on a loose tile can send a gush of dirty water up one's leg. Believe me.) Plus people don't seem to be terribly apt to pick up their dogs' sidewalk poop in my neighbourhood. So I, and most everybody, walk between the parked cars and the traffic. There is barely enough room on this street for two cars to pass, but most people are riding scooters, and riding them wherever they can fit. I pass a convenience store, lots of tiny shops that aren't open yet, a temple, and a church.

The MRT station is on Roosevelt Road. It's the only street in the city, and probably on the island, with a Western name -- but if you don't say it in Chinese, no one will understand you: Ro-say-vo-lu. Down the stairs, through the turnstyle, down an escalator, and I wait for a train. Nobody can argue that Taipei doesn't have the greatest subway system ever. The stations are big and clean and bright; a sign counts down to each train's arrival; lights on the floor flash when a train is approaching; and there are arrows on the floor indicating where the doors will be.

I get off the train two stops later and surface at the edge of the 2-28 Memorial Park. Walking through this park every morning and evening is my nature time, so I'm thankful for it. It's the biggest park downtown, and every morning it's loaded with people doing various forms of exercise. There are organized groups: middle-aged women doing Tai-chi along with music on a boombox; men and women practicing slow movements in the trees with long swords or huge red fans; ladies dancing in pairs to peppy recorded music. But there are dozens of people on their own, stretching, jogging on the spot, windmilling their arms, shaking each foot for a few seconds, hitting themselves with their fists, rotating any body part that can move, walking with their arms straight up in the air, you name it.

I make a beeline through the park, from the MRT station on the east side to the Starbucks on the west side. (Don't talk to me about coffee politics; it's a matter of survival here.) I walk in, exchange good-mornings ("Tsao-an!") with the workers, and hand over my travel mug. I'm a tall coffee of the day, and everyone knows it. ("Yes sir, she is one ta-a-all coffee of the day...")

Two more blocks to go, past a convenience store, lots of bookstores, banks, stationery stores, clothing stores, lottery ticket sellers; most aren't yet open. This is a major street, so there are wide sidewalks; however, half of the space serves as scooter parking, so there are only a few feet open for walking. One must dodge oncoming pedestrians at every turn. I cross the street and disappear into a building, where I sit on the eighth floor with no windows until noon, when I pop back out, blinking like a mole.

* * *
I've tried to find some photos online for you. I hope I'm not infringing on any copyright here. (If your computer is slow, you may want to avoid these links, or click and then go and get a cup of coffee.) This is an intersection a few blocks from my office (but this is how things look in the afternoon, not at 8:30 a.m.). This is also near my office, and it gives you an idea of the bike-to-sidewalk ratio. And this is a huge and kind of blurry shot taken in 2-28 Park that includes real Taiwanese men excercising!

A few photos

Here is a detail of the pattern from the lace panel sock I showed you the other day:



Wanna see more socks? I made a pair of toe-up ankle socks for myself when I was at the Crotch in September, using Bernat Hot Sox.



I really like the colours on the short-row toes and heels, but I don't like what happened in the feet: wide spirals of orange/green and blue/pink separated by thin muddy pools. Still, they are evidence that I've short-rowed! And they're comfy round-the-house socks. Let's take a closer look at one of those short-row heels, shall we?



That's right: evidence of my adequate short-rowing skills and evidence that I fancied myself really freakin' cool at sixteen when I got this teeny tattoo on my ankle. It's a peace symbol, if you can't tell. (It's surprisingly difficult to photograph your own ankle -- try it!) Good lord, I've had it nearly half my life now.

Speaking of tattoos, the KniTattoo Gallery is growing all the time. (Look, Mom! Lots of knitters have tattoos!) So is the Rock-Along Gallery, which was updated just today. Keep 'em coming! And rock on.

I didn't get around to posting a photo last night, but I swear I had a good reason: I couldn't stop knitting. I promised a friend "bright socks" for Christmas, so last night on my way home I popped into the nearest yarn store for supplies. I thought I'd pick up some Crazy Colors, but then I found some beautiful wool! The brand is Soft Feather, which is plentiful in Taipei shops but impossible to find on the Internet. I guess it's a light worsted weight (50g = 80m), but it's made up of twelve thin plies, and each ply is variegated, and they are twisted together. Any given length of this wool might include yellow, orange, red, two shades of blue, bright pink, light green, purple, and/or dark gray. I just snipped half an inch from one end and pulled it apart: two yellow threads, one green, one red-to-orange, one bright pink, four pink-to-purple, two gray-to-green, and one gray-to-blue. I hope that makes sense. Anyway, I bought two balls of this beautiful (and soft!) stuff and began a toe-up sock last night. Toe-up because I don't want to run out going the other way. I used the square toe to start, which was a little tricky but not hard, and it looks great. I'm using 3.25 mm dpns, so the fabric is quite dense (56 stitches around the foot). They'll be very warm wool socks. Unlike some other variegated yarns, the colours in this sock are really mixed. Sometimes a variegated sock yarn ends up making a pattern; two of the colours always end up side by side, for example, or all of one colour ends up on one side of the sock. But this isn't happening at all, since every little stitch is a little different. My only complaint is that some of the beauty of the yarn is actually lost when it's knitted up, because it's hard to see each individual colour, but these are going to be beautiful socks. (Hear that, 2L? They're for you!)

Here's a Taipei moment for you, so you can imagine my world a little better: As I was walking from the MRT (subway) station to the office this morning, I saw on one of those lighted signs atop a building that it was 23 degrees Celsius. I'm wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, a light hoodie, a knee-length skirt, and sneakers. The sky was gray, and the ground was wet from overnight rain, but it wasn't raining.

I keep meaning to outline a day of mine for you, because there are all kinds of little things that I see every day that are funny, or interesting, or strange, or whatever. I'll try to do that someday, if you're interested. Life in Taipei is somehow both completely different and not all that different from life in the West.

I'm going to Singapore for three days next week! Just for fun. My passport shows that I've left Taiwan about every three months since I've been here. Three months seems to be my sanity threshold for this city! I've been back from Canada only two months, so this is a preemptive strike. :)

Stop! Police! Put your adverbs in the air!

And wave 'em like you just don't care! Thanks to a tip from Carolyn, I'm a member of the elite Anti-Redundancy Squad of the Atlantic Word Police. I have the authority to hand out Grammar Citations at the drop of a suffix. You are likely thinking, "Wow, what a geek." But if you're thinking it in a good way, why not try out for the squad at the Word Police Academy? If you pass the entrance exam, you'll get two hilarious printable bonuses.

Have you seen Stef's mini holiday raglan? How cute is that?

Because I like being called a sock queen, I'll put up another photo tonight...

Two language links for you today, dear fellow grammar avengers, one light and one more thoughtful:

Conversational Viagra fails to stand up to scrutiny (Emma Tom addresses the abuse of "literally")

"I can't talk now," a friend gasped via mobile phone yesterday. "I'm trying to park and I've literally got a massive truck right up my bum."

Doctors say that with a positive attitude and enough rehab, my friend may walk again.

Civil tongue saves heads (David Malouf)

It is all very well to regard language as simply a means of communication. ... But for most of us it is also a machine for thinking, for feeling; and what can be felt and thought in a language -- the sensibility it embodies, the range of phenomena it can take in, the activities of mind as well as the objects and sensations it can deal with -- differs, both in quality and kind, from one language to the next.

And thanks, all, for the compliments on my socks and Xmas surprise. While I'm not literally bursting with pride, I'm very happy indeed.

Sock update



On the left: a completed Patons lace panel sock, made from Patons Kroy sock yarn in Regatta Blue. On the right: a nearly completed sock in Regia mini-ringel. (I love both of them.)

I have an FO to report and a picture of it! These are exciting times. Because the FO is going to be a Christmas present for my parents, everyone except my mother can click here to see it. Thanks for the pattern, Rachael! I'm very pleased.

And here are the crazy footies I made for a friend last week from this free pattern:



The pattern says to cast on 44 stitches, but it uses stretchy Fixation; in Regia 6-ply, I cast on 54 -- I'd even cast on a few more if they were for my own burly man feet. Hopefully Dawn will be getting these in the mail this week, and I hope she likes them. (No, I didn't block them. I cut foot shapes out of a cereal box and slid them into the socks, are you crazy?)

I'm seriously thinking of splurging on a load of Noro Kureyon and trying my hand at a Rosedale pullover. What's your favourite Kureyon colourway? (Here's a bunch to look at for reference.)

There's a nice long article in yesterday's Boston Globe about knitting (it's young! it's hip! it's amazing!): Knitting factories: "Stitch 'n' Bitch" sessions create tightknit groups. This one is worth a read, too; the writer uses lots of different sources and goes a bit beyond the usual "This isn't your grandma's knitting group!" revelation. Also, on the sidebar to the right, there's a link to a page of resources, which includes contact info for some (Boston-area) knitting groups, classes, stores, and, yes, blogs. Nice going, blue blog and fireballhead!

It's really easy to knit a cell phone cosy. If you're looking for a pattern, though, check out the newish free pattern at Jejune.net. So cute! And as a bonus, through a link there I discovered that four patterns from the book Knitting Pretty are available for free online: cell phone cosy, beer cosy, super-long ribbed scarf, and warmest mittens.

Wow! Wowie wow wow wow! How much do I love IndiGirl's Rosedale sweater as a pullover? A lot.

This is funny: Mom finds out about blog (from the Onion, of course).

To encourage all the mitten-knittin' kittens out there, here are just a few free patterns for inspiration:

Broad Street Mittens

Easy Striped Mittens

Mohair Mittens

Rugby-Striped Mittens

Super Bulky Mittens

Warm Winter Mittens

Top-Down Mittens

There are a gazillion other patterns online; I just picked a mittful that look fun to me.

I [heart] George Soros!

He and a partner have committed up to $US5 million to Moveon.org, a liberal activist group, bringing to $US15.5 million the total of his personal contributions to oust Mr. Bush. ... "America, under Bush, is a danger to the world," he said. Then he smiled: "And I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is."

What am I knitting? Well, there's the top-secret Wool-Ease Xmas gift, which is about halfway done, and the mini-ringel socks that I'm in love with (slowly approaching the toe of Sock 1). The chunky top-down raglan is in a drawer, because I'm just not into it right now. I did finish one brown-and-green-striped mitten, and now I don't remember which needles I used. (Duh!) I bought wool last week for mittens and a matching Kittyville hat. A fuzzy Bucket-o-chic is on my list, too. And a black scarf for myself, which I should make before it gets cold here. And the second lace panel sock. And did I just leave a comment on Em's blog telling her I'd make legwarmers? Aiyo! I need a personal knit-trainer and some discipline!

Camille Paglia doesn't love me!

I don't see blogs as a new frontier but as a falling backwards into word-centric print journalism -- words, words, words! ... Blog reading for me is like going down to the cellar amid shelves and shelves of musty books that you're condemned to turn the pages of. Bad prose, endless reams of bad prose! There's a lack of discipline, a feeling that anything that crosses one's mind is important or interesting to others. ... Most bloggers aren't culture critics but political or media junkies preoccupied with pedestrian minutiae and a sophomoric "gotcha" mentality. I find it depressing and claustrophobic.

You can read the full interview with the irascible Ms. Paglia here, but you'll have to watch an ad to get a free day pass to Salon.com. (Once you're in, though, there's lots of good stuff to read.)

It's a very slow day at work. To make it into something fun, I am devoting myself to some hardcore surfing of the Internet, and I'll share with you some of the fruits of my labour, as it were.

1. This morning, my Australian workmate sent me a note over the messenger thing that said, "I like that you [read: Canadians] spend your time productively in those long cold winters," and had a link to this story, Not talking out of rear, which begins as follows:

Herrings communicate with one another by emitting high-pitched sounds from their anuses, according to Canadian researchers.

2. I don't care about what Prince Charles did or didn't do, and I don't care whether Princess Diana had an affair with a certain Canadian who plays the guitar and sings overblown rock ballads. I do, however, admit to reading a snarky column (Yet another icky royal scandal) in the Toronto Star that mentions both things, and I do particularly like this sentence: "Yes, yes, [Diana] went to her marital bed a 20-year-old virgin, never got a chance to sow so much as a pinto bean, much less a bunch of wild oats."

3. Fill in the blank: "I've been knitting like a ____." According to a quick Google search, responses include maniac, fiend, zombie, crazy (old) woman, madwoman, demon, and monkey. But mostly maniac and fiend.

4. Click here for a free pattern for knitting a monkey.

5. Did you ever wonder which Smurf you would be? Find out now. Do you know why you can't see me right now? Because I'm Transparent Smurf.

6. Note to self: When traveling to a country in which being caught with illegal drugs is punishable by death, don't bring thousands of tablets of ecstasy. And don't bring this dumbass.

7. There's a big list of knitting links here.

OK, I should get back to work. I generally don't write about my job on my blog, and believe me, it's tempting. (My job is to edit material -- often written by Chinese speakers -- for textbooks that supposedly teach English to local high-school kids.) (As if.) But for one day only, I'm going to do it, just to give you a taste of the wildly bad and often bizarre content that I encounter on a daily basis. In a dialogue between Tom-boy and Burt-head(?!), Tom-boy says the following sentence:

Last but not least, I fell from the apple tree yesterday and landed right on the wholly shit, breaking my right ankle.

No, I'm not kidding. You don't think I could make that up, do you?

My kind of boys...

The socks are in the mail!

I finished Dawn's crazy footies last night and put them in the mail today. Unbelievable! This is by far a speed record for me, and it'll be hard to beat: less than a week from finding the pattern to sending off the FO. Socks are fast when you start at the ankle! I took pictures of them last night, so I'll post them ASAP. Now I'm making a tiny raglan with leftover Regia. (FYI, it took a little more than one ball to make a pair of footies.)

Other knitting news: I'm gonna be a bucketeer! Yeehaw! I must admit that I haven't been a big fan of the Bucket-o-Chic hat, but when I saw Claudia's today, I was smitten. It looks like a vintage granny hat! So I bought the pattern and added it to my list.

I've been put in my place as far as '80s lyrics go. Em kicked my butt so hard I can hardly sit down! Maybe I'm just too shy shy... hush hush...

We've still got the air-conditioner on in our bedroom so we can sleep at night, and I can't tell you how much I miss the crisp air and falling leaves of autumn. So I'm living vicariously through knitbloggers, who are knitting warm and wooly things these days. Cari's capelet, for example, makes me want a cup of cocoa. Not to mention all the ponchos that are being knitted up. Next year, this little knitter's going to have a snuggly poncho -- mark my words.

I'm making a pair of socks that are going so fast I haven't even mentioned them yet! I've turned the heel of Sock 2, and I only started Sock 1 on Thursday. A friend from home had some sad cat news this week, so I'm hoping these will cheer her up. I'm using a pattern called Mom's Fast Florida Footies (so far so good, Lynn!), and I'm using Regia Crazy Colors (#5265). How do you all feel about Crazy Colors? I can never decide for sure whether the colour combinations are really fun or really hideous. For this project, though, I think the yarn is perfect. I want to send my friend a pair of socks that she can wear around the house and that feel kind of goofy. And these are goo-oo-fy! (Photos eventually, I promise...)

Bathtub Kitty

Rachael mentioned on her blog the other day that one of her cats slipped from the edge of the bathtub into the water. Oh, the indignity! My cat, Mooky, is also a bathtub kitty. Actually, he's a bathroom kitty. Loves it in there. Sits on the edge of the tub when someone is having a bath or a shower, drinks the bathwater, drinks out of the toilet. I'll tell you a story about when Bill and I first brought Mooky home, in November 2000.

First, I must tell you something fundamental about me: I'm book-smart, but often not so good with day-to-day life. Sometimes I'm astounded by my street stupids. OK? OK.

Bill loves cats, and has always had cats, and sadly is allergic to cats. I did some research on cat allergies, and when we brought Mooky home, I assured Bill that I would regularly bathe the cat, which would cut down on his allergens. Mooky was still sort of a kitten, after all; he'd get used to the water. (OK, Mooky was six months old and had spent his life thus far surviving in an orchard. But I forged ahead.) Seriously, I'd read that some people bathe their cats! Not only were people out there bathing their cats, but they were taking the cats into the tub and saying that was the easiest way to do it. No problem, I thought. This cat likes me and is super-affectionate. I'll just bring him into the tub, soap him up, rinse him off, and voila! Happy cat and happy, non-sneezing boyfriend.

Well, my friends, I'm not proud of what happened next.

Bathtub means naked, right? I put a couple of inches of warm water in the tub, take off all my clothes, and pick up the cat. I step into the tub, holding the cat, and I sit in the water. I place the cat in the water in front of me and begin to wet him down. Mooky panics. Does he jump out of the tub and run away? NO! He jumps on ME, hauls his wet little body (which now seems to weigh thirty pounds) up over my right shoulder by his claws as though I'm a rock-climbing wall, proceeds down my back, and then jumps out of the tub and runs away. And I'm not wearing any clothes. And it huurrrrts! And Bill appears (because he's just seen the cat bolt through the house, dripping and terrified) and says, helpfully, "Why are you naked? Are you crazy?" See, I'd told him about the cat-bathing plan, but it had never even occurred to him that I would STRIP DOWN AND GET RIGHT INTO THE TUB. Because anyone with half a brain would realize that would be A BAD IDEA.

It turned out that I only had a few scratches, and Mooky forgot about it all as soon as he was dry. Thanks for the memories, Rachael! :)

I did waaay too well on this '80s lyrics quiz. Can anyone beat 93.5?

You know it's time for a pedicure when...

...you can't try on the sock you're knitting, for fear of catching the yarn on your rough, cracked, nasty heel! Yes, I'm talking about me. I finished the first lace panel sock two nights ago, but I don't dare pull it on over my gnarly heel. I've never had a pedicure, but I've always wanted to. (I'm cheap.) But I think it's time.

Actually, it's not true that I've never had a pedicure -- I've just never paid for one. When I was at hairdressing school (TEN years ago?!), there was an estheticians' class down the hall. When it came time for testing in one program, volunteers would be recruited from the other. When the estheticians were being tested on pedicures and facials, I volunteered, and I spent three hours that afternoon having my feet soaked and rubbed, my calves massaged, my toenails painted, my face subjected to various lotions and potions, and my blackheads extracted. It was awesome. I loved it. And I haven't had either a facial or a pedicure again since.

You see, instead of a PIO (Pampering Is OK) gene, I've long been infected with a raging case of DGITTBM (Don't Give In To The Beauty Myth!). I can't help it! It's like the opposite of the "Because I'm worth it!" campaign. If I even entertain the thought of spending money on a girly extravagance, a tiny militant feminist hops onto my shoulder, fist raised, shouting in my ear, "Don't do it! It's a waste of your hard-earned wages! You don't need that! Down with The Man!" (Yes, it is very irritating!) Anyway, I've had one pedicure, it was free, and it was in 1993.

(You can imagine the internal struggles I faced at the age of twenty when I was a full-time hairdressing student and a part-time Women's Studies major at the same time. People are surprised that I dress conservatively and have tattoos? Dude, I was in hairdressing school! And I went to Women's Studies classes in the evenings! I laugh in the face of contradiction! Ha!)

I went to see Kill Bill on Saturday. I liked it. I imagine there's lots of talk in the West about the violence in this movie, just as there was with Q.T.'s previous films. I disagree that violence is violence is violence. The fighting in Kill Bill is so stylized and outrageous, and so clearly a tribute to earlier samurai/kung fu movies. Decapitations! Flying severed limbs! Buckets of blood! Besides, it's worth seeing for the music alone. You could close your eyes and just listen. Nancy Sinatra singing "Bang Bang" in surround sound? I dare you to hear it without getting chills. And the costume Daryl "The Knitter" Hannah is wearing when we first see her? Awesome -- and yet another film tribute. Anyway, I'm not one of the people who think Q.T. is the second coming of Christ. This isn't a Great Film. But its timing is impeccable. Whether you want to see it or not, you should have a quick read of this: Americans cheer "Kill Bill" but are shielded from images of real violence.

Oh, and if you have seen it, can you tell me something? Did the Japanese bits have English subtitles?

I flew through a top-down raglan this weekend, and boy, are my arms tired!* From casting on to weaving in the ends, it was only a matter of hours. By the middle of Sunday afternoon, I'd made a three-inch pink wool sweater! I followed the Mini-Sweater Ornament pattern exactly, but I think I'll multiply everything by 1.5 next time. I'd like it to be a little bigger. But it is cute, y'all.

I also cast on and finished fifty rows of a certain secret Xmas gift. I'm about halfway through that, I guess, and it's going well. More on that later. I'm using Lion Brand Wool-Ease; I found one ball of it at a Michael's store in Ontario. One measly ball! I wish I had more, because it would be great for mittens and hats.



Sesame Street is thirty-five! If you loved this show as a kid, do read this story: How an eight-foot canary with a sweet disposition and a wistful little frog changed the world forever.

Start talking with a few friends about the salesman Lefty's furtive, "Would you like to buy an O" routine, Roosevelt Franklin's poems or Don Music bashing his head on his piano, add beer and -- voila! -- instant party. Catch an early-morning episode with Guy Smiley, or one with Kermit interviewing the Three Little Pigs or the Seven Dwarfs and you'll be instantly transported. Suddenly you're two again, drooling, gumming an Arrowroot, all the while highchair dancing. It's that good.

It was that good. I watched Sesame Street every weekday morning at eleven, after Mr. Dressup and The Friendly Giant. My mom would be in the kitchen making lunch (my dad always rode his bike home at noon for lunch and a quick nap). I remember a few segments in particular: a girl named "Wil-Wil-Wilomena!", the fuzzy aliens who panic when the telephone rings, the baker who falls down the steps while carrying an armload of pies (which, I'm told, used to really upset my brother). I loved the song that counted to 12: "one-two-three-FOUR-FIVE-six-seven-eight-NINE-TEN-eleven-twe-e-e-E-E-e-ELVE!" I still describe certain situations by singing "One of these things is not like the others..." And it never failed to frustrate me that Snuffy would have to leave just before Big Bird returned with Bob or Olivia or Mr. Hooper. Canadian kids now watch Sesame Park, which apparently better reflects The Canadian Experience (i.e., it takes place in a nice, clean park and stars a polar bear [rolling my eyes]). That's a shame. I grew up on the edge of a small town that was almost totally white, and I think it was really important for me that Sesame Street depicted a diverse inner-city environment. For me, the thought of living in an apartment was exotic, let alone having neighbours named Luis and Maria who had accents. I saw more black kids on that show than I saw in real life until about the age of 20. My parents listened to classical music, but Sesame Street included all kinds of wacky 1970s music. I had parks! I didn't need to watch TV about a park. Sesame Street brought the funk into this kid's young life, along with evidence that other people in other places lived differently. That was important.

But...Big Bird was a canary?!

* That groaner's for you, Em!