This is a reanimation of the Vicaribus blog as lived by Miro Kazakoff and Ehren Foss in 2004 and 2005. The photos may be spotty.

Canadian Bacon Burrito

Posted by Miro

My computer is finally back in my hands. Perhaps I shouldn’t have whooped in the Best Buy when they brought it out. I should keep my joy more subtle; something I’m reminded of every time I blurt out something unbelievably nerdy before thinking. It’s becoming a problem lately. In response, I’m declaring to myself that there are no situations where it’s appropriate to exclaim, “Jersey cotton. Sweet!”

More importantly, having my computer now means I should have no excuses for my long posting hiatuses. On the other hand, we’re about to leave for Canada in a half hour. We’ll be traveling through British Columbia and the Canadian Rockies; likely the longest stretch of undeveloped country we’ll be traveling through. Despite the years of taunting I’ve received Canada is indeed a different country. I’m not sure what the WiFi situation will be, among other things. I’m hoping the unfortunate Poutine situation will be much improved (though that’s more a French Canadian than Western Canada thing).

I’m also curious how different Canada is going to feel than the U.S. Despite my Canadian and citizenship and the five years I lived there, I don’t consider myself much of a Canadian. My only vestige of Canadian nationalism is the occasional Canadian shame I feel when I’m outed in among a group of people I’ve never met before. People actually treat you differently when they find out (though usually only for about 10 minutes). I get asked if I pay taxes in the U.S. (yes). If I can get drafted (I’m not sure, but I did register for simplicity and some minor sense of duty). I get asked if I want to be a U.S. citizen (yes, but only in the last few years has it become important). Often, I try to goad people by telling them that my family came to this country so we could steal American jobs and women. That never gets as big a laugh as I think it should.

I’m also inexplicably nervous about the border crossing. We’ve spent the morning cleaning the bus of contraband: the fireworks we bought in South Carolina at that oasis of dated racial humor South of Border, the firewood, all the fruits and veggies, etc. Ehren and I are practicing looking upstanding.

A quick food digression: I was Bellingham almost exactly 5 years ago with VarsityBooks.com. I remember three things: how beautiful the town was, how the blackberries were in season and we could eat them off the bushes, and that there was this Mexican dive downtown that served a potato burrito like nothing I’d ever had before. That was literally true. It was my first potato burrito, and every other one has paled beside it in comparison. I really wanted to go to Bellingham soley to eat one again.

I was worried though that this was one of those memories made unrealistically powerful over time, and that no actual experience could do justice to the memory. Blessedly I was wrong. That is one tasty potato burrito. It was as good as the memory. Check it out if in Bellingham.

I owe a long promised update on my Vegas escapades. I’ve been without computer and in recovery this week, but I promise to write it up today while driving or before bed and post it at our next Internet junction. For real this time.