50 cents? I call BS!

Valley folks have many admirable qualities - loyalty, devotion, reliability, perseverance, trustworthiness, and dependability among them. However, one trait stands above the rest - no tolerance for bullshit.
We're proud of our internal BS detectors. We can weed out the BSers around us. And when we feel we've been wronged, we have no problem tellin' it like it is.
And it doesn't have to be something done to us personally - we will join a cause if we feel something isn't fair or just. And timelines mean nothing.
You can talk to a farmer at the hardware store tomorrow, and you'll mention the hockey playoffs between Arnprior and Renfrew. And trust me, he'll have no problem letting you know where he stands. "That call in the 1981 semifinals was NOT penalty. The Renfrew guy took a dive. That ref, what a sumovabitch."
So, to recap: We Valley folks can pinpoint BS and we'll tell you about it, whether you want to hear it or not. Even years after it happened.
Why the detailed explanation?
To prove to you that it's in the genes. The following rant is not the ramblings of a drunken blogger. (Sidenote: Valley folks also have a high tolerance for alcohol - so the four shots of Crown Royal I had with breakfast are having no impact whatsoever on the following rant)

My rage stems froms something that apparently happened almost five years ago. But I just found out yesterday. And it's my blog. So buckle up.
Am I the only person in the free world who didn't realize that it costs 50 cents to make a local phone call at a phone booth? OK, let's back track a sec - am I the only person who has actually USED a pay phone in the last five years?
I was in Ottawa. My cell phone was at home. Needed to make a call. Let's just say it's easier to find an honest politician in our nation's capital than it is to find a phone booth.
Eventually I found one. The phone. Not the politician.
Bathed the receiver in hand sanitzer. Dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed the number. On the other end was a computerized voice asking for another 25 cents. Now this was a local call, not me calling 1-976-HOT-MAMA (which is $6.99/minute by the way, and they do accept most major credit cards).
Fifty-frickin-cents for a phone call? WTF?
Adding to my rage? Who carries that kind of cash in today's world of Interac?
So I didn't even have the other 25 cents. But, alas, a life saver. You could use your credit card. Pop it in the slot. The fun part? The call then jumps to a dollar. Holy buck!
Has the world gone mad?
When I was a kid, pay phones had three coin slots - a nickel, a dime and a quarter. A nickel for a local call, the dime slot simply ate your coin, and you popped in a quarter if you were making a prank call to someone in Ireland.
And the real joy was checking the coin-return slot.
But yesterday was without joy. After rummaging through the ashtray in my car and finding a nickel in the sewer, I scrounged together another 25 cents - so, like an idiot, I caved in and paid the 50 cents. And the person wasn't even at their desk. Got the answering machine and lost my money.
Tried the coin slot and found a chewed piece of gum. And it smelled like watermelon. And I hate watermelon. Whatever happened to Juicy Fruit? This further proves the world has gone made.
So all told, the call cost me 50 cents. I spent about two bucks on hand sanitizer to bathe the receiver and wash up after touching the gum. Kick in about $14 in gas driving around Ottawa looking for a pay phone. And you can't put a price on rage. Oh, the rage.
And a quick Google shows that the phone conpanies jumped the price to 50 cents in June of 2007. But, as noted at the top of this posting, there is no statute of limitations to Valley venting.
And a further peek at the Google find shows that prior to 2007, the last time the price jumped at pay phones was 1981.
Ahhh, 1981. The year that Renfrew player took a dive. That ref. What a sumuvabitch.

There's snow way we'd get a day off

I flip on the computer at 5:30 this morning, and what do I see? Well, honestly, a scantily clad Jennifer Aniston.

What I find 20 minutes later is a flurry of activity about school buses being cancelled.

Buses were cancelled and a single snowflake had yet to hit the ground. Pre-emptive cancellations. A threat of a snowstorm. In the afternoon.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm all about safety. After all, a school bus full of kids could hit a snow drift and topple over. That concerns me - I could scald myself with my cafe mocha should I need to swerve to avoid injured children on the road.

But at some point over the past 25 years, the people making the call on the what constitutes a "snow day" have become wimpified. Candyassified, if you will.

Like every Valley person of my generation, snow days were few and far between. The school board members were tough as nails. Parents equally hard-assed. And the bus drivers - hardcore every step of the way. And they all worked together to get us kids to school each and every day.

When it was snowing, every kid in the neighbourhood would have an ear glued to the radio in the morning. Would today be the day the buses weren't running? Hell, no. It never happened.

We were bundled up in our snowsuits and Cougar boots (yes, the tan-coloured ones with the red velvety lining) and handed a shovel so we could tunnel our way out the front door and down the driveway. If you think that was cruel, we were also handed a lunch bag with a mock chicken loaf sandwich. I told you the Valley parents were hard-assed.

Snow banks would be to the top of the hydro poles, polar bears would be roaming the neighbourhood and we would hold a glimmer of hope we'd be given the day off. Then you'd hear the heart-breaking roar of the school bus. Nothing would stop that guy. Fueled by 11 gallons of coffee and four pounds of mock chicken, he resembled Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Only he wasn't sporting an axe, but, rather, he was behind the wheel of a souped-up monster truck school bus.

Arriving late was not an option - and we were expected to do our part to make it happen. If we did slip off the road, he'd recruit kids to help him get the bus back on the road. Not the older kids. Or the stronger kids. But the kids wearing corduroy, because if thrown under the rear tire, they provided the best traction.

I told you, we now live in a society of wimps.

Yes, folks, it will snow. We live in the Ottawa Valley - grab your toque, your shovel, your corduroy pants, your mock chicken and get those kids to the bus stop.

Shakin' good times in the Valley

The ground shook.
My legs were wobbly.
The world was spinning.
OK, that was the morning after my season-ending ball party.
But it was a similar feeling this afternoon as an earthquake hit the Ottawa Valley.
About every 20 years a rumble passes through the Valley that measures on the Richter scale.
Mostly, it irritates Valley folk because it spooks the livestock and your pets, and makes your beer go foamy.
This quake shook for a good 20 or 30 seconds - and it was actually pretty cool to be a part of it.
No one was hurt. No major damage. No foamy beer (I was at work - no beer for me. And FYI: scotch doesn't froth up when shaken.)
Other parts of the world live in danger of quakes destroying their lives on a regular basis.
Here, having something give us a little shake, rattle and roll every couple of decades isn't a bad thing.
And hopefully in the next week or two I'll be able to coax my beagle out from under the bed.

If you want to see a Google map of the epicenter of the quake, click here.




PHOTO AT RIGHT: After the quake, the street in front of my house looks nothing like this one.

Learning to Speak Valley 101 - #5

Good morning class.Welcome back to Learning to Speak Valley 101. In today's class you'll learn words and phrases that will be vitally important if you are to understand what in the hell that Valley guy or gal is talking about.

Today's word is:

Gription

Derived from: A combination of the words "grip" and "traction."

When is it used in coversation? When discussing treads.

Often found in sentences such as: "Holy frig, I need new tires or I'm gonna ditch her - there's no gription left on these ones." or "Holy jeez, I almost fell on my arse - there's no gription left on the bottom of these gumbuts." or "I got these new ball cleats and holy whistlin', you wouldn't believe the gription I have when I'm racin' around the bases." or "I can eat just about anythin' with these new dentures - my chompers don't move since I bought a tube of that Poly-Gription."

Sometimes used in conjuction with: The totally made-up word "slippy" as in: "I smashed my noggin when I was at the curling rink because the ice is slippy and I forgot there's no gription on the bottom of that slidin' shoe."

Chances (on a scale of 1 to 10) of hearing it around the dinner table: 5 (higher if you eat a lot of homemade pickles and jams, because you will hear: "Can one of you open this jar for me? My hands are all sweaty and I can't get no gription.")

Know what really BUGS me?

Today was yard work day at my place.

Leaves needed to be raked. Branches needed to be trimmed. Grass needed to be whipper-snipped. And the scary part is - I was actually in to it.

I wanted to clean up the yard.

It's like this every spring. I'm excited to clean up the crap (literally crap when you have three beagles) that was buried by the snow. But by early summer, that enthusiasm begins to disappear and by late-August, my yard begins to look like a hayfield. But it's April and I'm still excited about yard work.

Or at least I was.

Until early this evening.

The reason?

Blackfly season officially arrived in the Valley at 7:22 p.m.

And I have the bite marks to prove it.

The little bastards.

Here is a photo of me dealing with my blackfly problem around 7:23 p.m.

Ahhhhh, life in the Valley.

Learning to Speak Valley 101 - #3 - Valley Twang

Good morning class.
Welcome back to Learning to Speak Valley 101.
In today's class, we're going to have a short spelling bee to help you learn the Valley spelling and pronunciation of everyday words so you can grasp the Valley Twang.

Teacher: Jason, please spell the word "potatoes" and use it in a sentence.
Jason: P-U-H-T-A-Y-T-U-H-S. Puhtaytahs. "My cousin used to work at Wes's Fries in Arnprior peelin' puhtaytahs all day long."


Teacher: Very good. Now spell the word "berries" and use it in a sentence.
Jason: B-U-R-R-I-E-S. Burries. "My friend Jurry Spurry can't wait for summer so he can go pickin' burries with his brothers Turry and Purry who love blueburries, strawburries and razburries."


Teacher: I'm impressed. Now please spell the word "calm" and use it in a sentence.
Jason: C-A-M. Cam. "I can't wait to get out in the canoe tonight because the lake is so cam - there isn't a ripple on the water."

Learning to Speak Valley 101 - #2

Good morning class.
Welcome back to Learning to Speak Valley 101.
In today's class you'll learn words and phrases that will be vitally important if you are to understand what in the hell that Valley guy or gal is talking about.

Today's word is:
Giver

When is it used in conversation?: When you're in a hurry or you need to buckle down.

Often found in sentences such as: "It's last call, we have 16 pints on the table and there's just the two of us - better giver!" or "Don't look now, it's the boss - better giver for a while until he leaves!" or "You were so loaded last night, and I'm sure you don't remember singing karaoke - but when that Celine Dion tune came on, man, did you ever giver! Dude, I didn't know you listened to Celine Dion."

Often used in conjuction with: Effin. As in, "Here comes her husband, I'm heading for the truck. If you're coming with me, you better effin giver."

Chances (scale of 1 to 10) of hearing in church Sunday morning: 3 (only if the story of Noah and the Ark comes up - then you'll hear comments such as, "Oh lordy. Noah didn't have a chop saw, a compressor or a nail gun - man, he would have had to giver to get that boat built.")

Learning to Speak Valley 101

Good morning class.

Welcome to Learning to Speak Valley 101.

In this class you'll learn words and phrases that will be vitally important if you are to understand what in the hell that Valley guy or gal is talking about.

Today's word is:

Youse (rhymes with booze).

When is it used in conversation?: When addressing groups of two or more people.

Often found in sentences such as: "G'day, how are youse today?" or "Hey, can I bum a smoke off any of youse guys?" or "Holy whistlin'. Did youse two see the price of gas today?"

Never use in sentences such as: "Hey, you, with the big arms and the monkey wrench in your hand - did you just use the word 'youse', you illiterate moron?"

Chances (scale of 1 to 10) of hearing in church Sunday morning: 10

To the Max: Keeping was all about giving

(Shown above, Max in 1982 - note the smoke!)

He took community news to the Max.

Last night, Max Keeping said farewell after 37 years (and 7,000 broadcasts) at the anchor desk of CTV News in Ottawa, better known to Valley folk as CJOH-TV.

Most of us grew up with him on our TVs, keeping us up to speed on what was happening in our neighbourhoods.


Recognized in all corners of the Valley - and beloved by many - Max seldom turned down a chance to visit and support a worthwhile cause. In fact, while chatting with him over dinner at an Arnprior Rotary Club meeting last fall, he told me he that he attends more than 200 such engagements each year. That's mind blowing.

He lends his name and punch to help charities, in particular children's charities, whenever he can. He has a Foundation named after him. He's the main face at the CHEO telethon each year. And he managed to handle anchor duties and oversee the news department at Ottawa's top community TV station.

He did so with class. Dignity. And professionalism.

He understood the importance of thinking 'local first.' He was all about community. He put his focus squarely on the issues affecting area residents.

And that's why folks in the Valley respected him so much.

His priorities had a truly Valley flavour.


And he loved coming to visit "up the line," as he said at the Rotary meeting.


A Newfie by birth and a Valley lad by choice, he was a good friend to the late Mac Beattie, one of the Valley's most famous ambassadors. And that's how he became familiar with the small towns and villages around the region. And with a few of the watering holes.


Max has been known to tip back a pint at various stops around the Valley, including a few just down the road from my place at the old T-Bell in White Lake.

If you want to win favour with people from the Valley, take a page out of Max's book.

Think locally. Work hard. Help your neighbours. Make a difference. Do so with class. And don't shy away from a cold pint when offered.


Check out this video from CTV Ottawa following last night's broadcast. Note another Valley connection in the video - Carp's own Catherine Lathem, a reporter with CTV.

Max Keeping with Yoko Ono and John Lennon in 1968.

"I Am Ottawa Valley!"

Thanks to the success of the Vancouver Olympics - capped off with Sidney Crosby's gold-medal winning OT goal - Canadian pride has never been higher.
If William Shatner's cornball "I Am Canadian" rant at the closing ceremonies didn't kill that sense of pride, nothing will.
But Capt. Kirk's five minutes on stage inspired me to track down a little something I penned at the Arnprior Chronicle-Guide a decade ago - right at the time the original Molson "I Am Canadian" beer rant hit the airwaves.
To christen this blog that focuses squarely on life just west of the Nation's Capital, I humbly bring you: "I Am Ottawa Valley!"
Grab a cold pint and rant along with me.

I am intelligent, hard-working and open minded. And not just on weekends.
My address is a rural route, not a street number.
I know my neighbour's name, and have at least one of his power tools hidden in my garage.
I begin my alphabet with "A" and end my sentences that way too.
And it's pronounced "two-four," not "a case of beer."

I have no Rideau Canal in my hometown, but I do have White Lake.
I like politics, but the only party I'm loyal to is a keg party.
I have no Peace Tower, but I do have a tower of empties in my shed.
I call my mayor by his first name.
And I don't wonder how to flush after using an outhouse.

I can hear crickets from my porch.
I have a porch, not a verandah.
I don't complain of bug bites unless the blackfly is bigger than a grapefruit.
I own at least one Stompin' Tom 8-track and know every word to "Big Joe Mufferaw."
And it's pronounced "rasslin" not "wrestling."

I'm easy going, but have a temper during the playoffs.
I settle minor disputes in the parking lot, not in a courtroom.
I own a purple bug light and have a screen door.
I have learned the hard way that you shouldn't pee on an electric fence.
And it's a ball cap, not a "baseball hat."

I always hold a door open, and it's "ladies first."
Even at last call.
If the band doesn't have a fiddler, I want my money back.
I drink from the bottle and have opened at least one beer with my teeth.
And it's pronounced "ain't," not "aren't."

I volunteer without looking for a pat on the back.
I ask what I can do for my community, not what I have to do for recognition.
I sacrificed my body for my high school team.
I remember every victory and vividly remember every loss.
And deer hunting IS a sport.

The air in my village smells of freshly-cut grass, not exhaust fumes.
Traffic jams are caused by hay wagons, not by selfish drivers.
I am fiercely loyal to my hometown and the Valley - the only place to live.

I am Ottawa Valley.