These are a few of the highlights for what comes up when you google "Canadia":
http://www.pigdog.org/categories/canadia_sucks.html
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=canadia
http://technorati.com/videos/youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DF5z_YfB1JkQ
Hint to the Foursexymen: Rockapella did NOT write "O Canada".
And, of course, the requisite Wikipedia disambiguation:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadia_%28disambiguation%29
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Bummer ´bout Sarko
Isn´t it nice to see that France, like Canada and the U.S., has finally joined the Controversial Conservative Governments club. I´m sure that Parisians felt a lot safer with 3 000 police officers on-duty, working to keep the peace, on election night.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Letter to the Globe and Mail
A large stack of the newly revamped Globe and Mail sat unclaimed on the newsstand when I came in for work at 3 p.m. today. My co-workers and I all agreed that what was once the classiest and smartest paper around now looks significantly less appealing.
It seems to me the Globe has fallen victim to the kind of market-driven thinking described in Malcolm Gladwell’s ‘Blink’: the paper wanted so badly to be noticed, to be liked, to be read by a wider audience – that they re-evaluated everything. They changed the banner, but tried to keep it familiar (adding a maple leaf for good measure). They reduced the page width – presumably to save paper, and to make for more manageable page turning. They cleverly made the new design more space efficient, so that no space is wasted, no words omitted, and no information lost. They even commissioned their own typeface. Still, after all that, something is off.
The new paper just doesn’t look right. It doesn’t even look like a newspaper anymore: the layout suggests it has more in common with a tabloid, or a cheap throwaway – the kind of news-byte publication that is given away for free on every street corner and at every subway or bus stop in Toronto.
It saddens me that in trying to keep up with current trends, the Globe has failed to see the forest for the trees. The new design tries hard to be sleek and easily digestible – but the opposite effect is rendered. The pages are so cluttered that the advertisements stand out more than anything else does. The new font looks cramped and small, and the headline typeface diminishes the importance of the content, instead of enhancing it. Even the ink job looks shoddy compared to the week before.
The old Globe and Mail was always a beautiful, luxurious paper – and one that I was proud to enjoy. Its grand, oversized section headings, with their strong black and maroon lettering – its crisp type, its clear, justified columns, each front page’s generous white space – all this made reading the Globe a rich and thought-provoking experience. It helped make the paper more like what a newspaper ought to be – a conversation. The revamped version feels more like a silent exchange between strangers – a quick, no-nonsense business transaction. I always thought of the Globe as a paper with integrity; I miss that paper already.
It seems to me the Globe has fallen victim to the kind of market-driven thinking described in Malcolm Gladwell’s ‘Blink’: the paper wanted so badly to be noticed, to be liked, to be read by a wider audience – that they re-evaluated everything. They changed the banner, but tried to keep it familiar (adding a maple leaf for good measure). They reduced the page width – presumably to save paper, and to make for more manageable page turning. They cleverly made the new design more space efficient, so that no space is wasted, no words omitted, and no information lost. They even commissioned their own typeface. Still, after all that, something is off.
The new paper just doesn’t look right. It doesn’t even look like a newspaper anymore: the layout suggests it has more in common with a tabloid, or a cheap throwaway – the kind of news-byte publication that is given away for free on every street corner and at every subway or bus stop in Toronto.
It saddens me that in trying to keep up with current trends, the Globe has failed to see the forest for the trees. The new design tries hard to be sleek and easily digestible – but the opposite effect is rendered. The pages are so cluttered that the advertisements stand out more than anything else does. The new font looks cramped and small, and the headline typeface diminishes the importance of the content, instead of enhancing it. Even the ink job looks shoddy compared to the week before.
The old Globe and Mail was always a beautiful, luxurious paper – and one that I was proud to enjoy. Its grand, oversized section headings, with their strong black and maroon lettering – its crisp type, its clear, justified columns, each front page’s generous white space – all this made reading the Globe a rich and thought-provoking experience. It helped make the paper more like what a newspaper ought to be – a conversation. The revamped version feels more like a silent exchange between strangers – a quick, no-nonsense business transaction. I always thought of the Globe as a paper with integrity; I miss that paper already.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I trust I can rely on ... your vote
I thought I'd muse for a moment about the election going on in France right now. My sister is living there and god, am I jealous. Canadian elections happen so often (it seems, lately) that they do not have the same kind of pomp and circumstance that an American or French election commands. In Canada, an election can be called anytime within a time frame of four to six years, whenever the government in power decides it ought to do one. Consequently, an election can be called, and over and done with in less than a month. Two years ago, they had the brilliant idea to begin campaigning over the Christmas holidays. Canadians were not impressed.
Two and a half years ago, I got to experience a U.S. election firsthand -- boy, was it an event. The lights, the buzzers, the commentary ... In the U.S., everyone stays up all night to see how the different states will rise or fall like dominoes for the party for which they stand; in Canada, people might watch the news, hope that their guy makes it, talk a bit about what they think'll happen ... then go to bed, and just read the paper in the morning.
My guess is that France's system, with its history, prestige, and three-party system, is somewhere in between the two. Being a more-than-two-party system must help make Canadian and Francophone electioneering slightly less of an all out tug o' war, the way the American system seems to go. I find that a third party -- an alternative -- always makes things more interesting. In addition to the centre-left (Liberal), centre-right (Conservative), and third alternative (in Canada's case, left -- the NDP) parties, Canada also has the added monkey-wrench of the Bloc Quebecois, a national political party founded on the premise that Quebec, it's main constituency, ought not to be part of this country at all (ironic, really...but go figure -- they often hold a third of the seats in the House of Commons, and consequently also the balance of power).
Though my psyche always hopes that the third alternative will get the attention it deserves, and my heart goes out to the hard-core socialist principles behind Segolene Royal's campaign, my logical mind concludes that, at the end of the day, it is Sarkozy who will likely win. Not because he is the best, but he is definitely the man we know most about -- and if my experience as a casual outside observer of the 2004 U.S. presidential election is any measure, it is the politician that he hear and we know the most about who often takes home the prize. Even though we fear them, even though we don't fully trust them, we still choose them. Perhaps it is the only devil we know; perhaps it is human nature to gravitate towards the thing that most interests and compels us, rather than what is best for us.
Or, as I think is true in Canada and the U.S., perhaps we are just entering into a more conservative time. The Bush Administration's success over the last seven years certainly attests to that. And Canada's current government -- minority or not, since their consolidation with the old Reform and Alliance members, Stephen Harper's Conservatives are perhaps the most right wing conservative party that Canada has ever had.
Whatever happens in France over the next few weeks, it's clear that political tides in the West have turned. But nevertheless, this too shall pass, and like all things, eventually the pendulum will swing back.
Two and a half years ago, I got to experience a U.S. election firsthand -- boy, was it an event. The lights, the buzzers, the commentary ... In the U.S., everyone stays up all night to see how the different states will rise or fall like dominoes for the party for which they stand; in Canada, people might watch the news, hope that their guy makes it, talk a bit about what they think'll happen ... then go to bed, and just read the paper in the morning.
My guess is that France's system, with its history, prestige, and three-party system, is somewhere in between the two. Being a more-than-two-party system must help make Canadian and Francophone electioneering slightly less of an all out tug o' war, the way the American system seems to go. I find that a third party -- an alternative -- always makes things more interesting. In addition to the centre-left (Liberal), centre-right (Conservative), and third alternative (in Canada's case, left -- the NDP) parties, Canada also has the added monkey-wrench of the Bloc Quebecois, a national political party founded on the premise that Quebec, it's main constituency, ought not to be part of this country at all (ironic, really...but go figure -- they often hold a third of the seats in the House of Commons, and consequently also the balance of power).
Though my psyche always hopes that the third alternative will get the attention it deserves, and my heart goes out to the hard-core socialist principles behind Segolene Royal's campaign, my logical mind concludes that, at the end of the day, it is Sarkozy who will likely win. Not because he is the best, but he is definitely the man we know most about -- and if my experience as a casual outside observer of the 2004 U.S. presidential election is any measure, it is the politician that he hear and we know the most about who often takes home the prize. Even though we fear them, even though we don't fully trust them, we still choose them. Perhaps it is the only devil we know; perhaps it is human nature to gravitate towards the thing that most interests and compels us, rather than what is best for us.
Or, as I think is true in Canada and the U.S., perhaps we are just entering into a more conservative time. The Bush Administration's success over the last seven years certainly attests to that. And Canada's current government -- minority or not, since their consolidation with the old Reform and Alliance members, Stephen Harper's Conservatives are perhaps the most right wing conservative party that Canada has ever had.
Whatever happens in France over the next few weeks, it's clear that political tides in the West have turned. But nevertheless, this too shall pass, and like all things, eventually the pendulum will swing back.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Let's All Hate Toronto
A good friend of mine send me this review of a new documentary film called, "Let's All Hate Toronto." I agree with most everything here, except the author's use of Washington, D.C. as a 'colonizer' capital city -- careful Vaughan, where I come from (--naturally...Toronto), that statement borders on treason.
However, the main reason I'm including this, is that I do agree with the film's premise -- that rural and other city-dwelling Canadians love to hate Toronto because it is bigger, and (according to Torontonians) better. The interesting thing is that Torontonians in particular, and Canadians in general, love to hate the United States for exactly the same reasons! Read the article and you'll see what I mean.
----------
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070413.hate14/BNStory/Entertainment/home
----------
Toronto: Love it? Hate it?
R.M. VAUGHAN
If, as the makers of a new documentary claim, everybody hates Toronto, why does everybody live here? I mean, everybody who matters?
Let's All Hate Toronto, premiering next week at — where else? — Toronto's internationally acclaimed Hot Docs documentary film festival, tries to uncover the reasons for the rabid hatred that TROC (The Remaindered of Canada) feels for Toronto, the nation's cultural and commercial capital.
Directed by transplanted Montrealer (transplanted to — where else? — Toronto) Albert Nerenberg, the film shows what happened when Mr. Nerenberg and a pal posing as “Mr. Toronto” drove across the country setting up fake “Toronto Appreciation Day” booths. The results are not pretty — for the also-ran cities. People kick the signs down, attack Mr. Toronto verbally and physically, and make really ugly anger faces into the camera. What a load of jealous, whiny, unresolved-childhood-issues-carrying ingrates.
People in Montreal appear mostly bemused by Mr. Toronto's antics, probably because bemused is their default reaction to everything.
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* Q T - fair point - though take notice its the first time its...
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* 192 reader comments | Join the conversation
The Globe and Mail
Montrealers are too lazy to lift an eyebrow. Mount Royal could suddenly turn into a smoking tower of bubbling lava and the nicotined boulevardiers of St. Laurent would only shrug, blame the federal government, and get back to the vital work of sneering over their federally subsidized pints of Maudite. A life without aspirations must be such a comfort.
Vancouverites, people who spend a suspiciously Macbeth-ish amount of time protesting their calm, forgiving natures, turn positively apoplectic at the very sight of the word Toronto. I suspect this is largely because Vancouver is where failed Torontonians go to die. They have good reason to be bitter, stuck as they are, huddled and wet under the ass end of a mountain, forgotten and lonely, with only the faint hope of a devastating avalanche to get them through the night.
Other cities weigh in on the Toronto issue as the film chuckles along, but they are places too small and of too little consequence to mention. You know the cities I mean — the kind that people get away from.
When I first moved to Toronto in the early nineties, from no less a sludgehole than Saint John, N.B., which bears the questionable distinction of not being “the cute St. John's” (i.e., the one in Newfoundland), I was instantly entranced.
I remain so today, because all the bad things the rest of the country says about Toronto are so wonderfully, refreshingly true: It's trashy, dirty, dangerous, rude and full of itself. In other words, it's a big city. If Toronto suddenly turned quaint, clean, secure, polite and ingratiating, it would be Victoria, or Fredericton, and the last thing this country needs is another scone-hoarding mini-Rhodesia wrapped in a dusty doily. One per coast, please.
Toronto is big and, like all big things, except Saskatchewan, complicated. When you go big, you accept a certain amount of mess, and expect to leave a trail.
So, yes, Toronto has homeless people, street preachers, beggars and streetwalkers sporting thigh-high boots, just like in the movies. Movies about cities.
Yes, Toronto has lots of people from lots of different places who don't always understand or like each other. Some of us find the confusion entertaining, a live screwball comedy with a multiracial cast. Another benefit is the happy truth that a great number of Torontonians, coming from elsewhere, are, blessedly, folks who have never heard of Nickelback, sung that god-awful Barrett's Privateers song in a fake Irish pub, found curling anything but weird, or revered the stale stylings of Michael Bublé. They bring their own bad art to town, and are happy to share.
And, yes, Toronto has snooty restaurants manned by crabby underwear models — if by snooty one means that every entrée is not served on white toast and slathered in canned gravy (unless you ask, and pay extra).
But best of all, Toronto does not care about you, about what you do, about where you're going or what you're wearing. In Toronto, nobody is watching from behind their kitchen window curtains, nobody knows your parents, grandparents and dentist, nobody remembers where you went to school or how bad your hair was in Grade 11, and nobody is cluck-clucking about your divorce, weight gain, poor investment strategy or binge drinking. Until they get to know you.
You are alone here, anonymous. You have no history, owe no social debts, sing no little-town blues. For as long as you like, you can be one of the crowd — because we actually have crowds.
To anybody who has ever lived in a small Canadian town, one of those finger-wagging gossips' warrens run by the United Church and unburdened by genetic diversity or stylish clothing, the averted gaze of the preoccupied, uncaring Toronto subway rider buried in his BlackBerry is a benediction.
What, then, is the problem with TROC (The Refuse of Canada)? The simple response is that they're just jealous, but jealousy is often a symptom of deeper unresolved issues.
Post-colonial studies teaches us that citizens of colonies (or, in Canada's case, former colonies) suffer from a psychological condition that causes them to constantly perceive themselves as being outside the centre, as living on the margins.
Subsequently, the actual centres of colonized countries (in our case, Toronto) are resented via displacement, because hating the colonizer is too big a dilemma to face, and we're conflicted in our emotions about our former masters. It's a bit like being mad at your boss for no good reason because you're really mad at Mommy and Daddy. Toronto is the scapegoat for the nation's buried resentment of London, Paris or Washington (pick your colonizer).
Fair enough, and almost forgivable — Vancouver and Montreal and Halifax can't help it because they're mentally ill. If the nation can only cope with its inadequacies by projecting its disappointments onto me and my city, I'm willing to play therapist. But I want compensation.
At Toronto rates, please. Wellness, like success, ain't cheap.
I learned that here.
Special to The Globe and Mail
However, the main reason I'm including this, is that I do agree with the film's premise -- that rural and other city-dwelling Canadians love to hate Toronto because it is bigger, and (according to Torontonians) better. The interesting thing is that Torontonians in particular, and Canadians in general, love to hate the United States for exactly the same reasons! Read the article and you'll see what I mean.
----------
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070413.hate14/BNStory/Entertainment/home
----------
Toronto: Love it? Hate it?
R.M. VAUGHAN
If, as the makers of a new documentary claim, everybody hates Toronto, why does everybody live here? I mean, everybody who matters?
Let's All Hate Toronto, premiering next week at — where else? — Toronto's internationally acclaimed Hot Docs documentary film festival, tries to uncover the reasons for the rabid hatred that TROC (The Remaindered of Canada) feels for Toronto, the nation's cultural and commercial capital.
Directed by transplanted Montrealer (transplanted to — where else? — Toronto) Albert Nerenberg, the film shows what happened when Mr. Nerenberg and a pal posing as “Mr. Toronto” drove across the country setting up fake “Toronto Appreciation Day” booths. The results are not pretty — for the also-ran cities. People kick the signs down, attack Mr. Toronto verbally and physically, and make really ugly anger faces into the camera. What a load of jealous, whiny, unresolved-childhood-issues-carrying ingrates.
People in Montreal appear mostly bemused by Mr. Toronto's antics, probably because bemused is their default reaction to everything.
Related to this article
Follow this writer Follow this writer
* Add R.M. VAUGHAN to my e-mail alerts Globe Insider
Latest Comments Comments
* Dan - I'll give you your point... I'll admit though that I've...
* Q T - fair point - though take notice its the first time its...
* Pik Scott: "This post proves toronto is a joke and most of it...
* I find TO to have a falsified "trendy" feel to it. The attitude...
* 192 reader comments | Join the conversation
The Globe and Mail
Montrealers are too lazy to lift an eyebrow. Mount Royal could suddenly turn into a smoking tower of bubbling lava and the nicotined boulevardiers of St. Laurent would only shrug, blame the federal government, and get back to the vital work of sneering over their federally subsidized pints of Maudite. A life without aspirations must be such a comfort.
Vancouverites, people who spend a suspiciously Macbeth-ish amount of time protesting their calm, forgiving natures, turn positively apoplectic at the very sight of the word Toronto. I suspect this is largely because Vancouver is where failed Torontonians go to die. They have good reason to be bitter, stuck as they are, huddled and wet under the ass end of a mountain, forgotten and lonely, with only the faint hope of a devastating avalanche to get them through the night.
Other cities weigh in on the Toronto issue as the film chuckles along, but they are places too small and of too little consequence to mention. You know the cities I mean — the kind that people get away from.
When I first moved to Toronto in the early nineties, from no less a sludgehole than Saint John, N.B., which bears the questionable distinction of not being “the cute St. John's” (i.e., the one in Newfoundland), I was instantly entranced.
I remain so today, because all the bad things the rest of the country says about Toronto are so wonderfully, refreshingly true: It's trashy, dirty, dangerous, rude and full of itself. In other words, it's a big city. If Toronto suddenly turned quaint, clean, secure, polite and ingratiating, it would be Victoria, or Fredericton, and the last thing this country needs is another scone-hoarding mini-Rhodesia wrapped in a dusty doily. One per coast, please.
Toronto is big and, like all big things, except Saskatchewan, complicated. When you go big, you accept a certain amount of mess, and expect to leave a trail.
So, yes, Toronto has homeless people, street preachers, beggars and streetwalkers sporting thigh-high boots, just like in the movies. Movies about cities.
Yes, Toronto has lots of people from lots of different places who don't always understand or like each other. Some of us find the confusion entertaining, a live screwball comedy with a multiracial cast. Another benefit is the happy truth that a great number of Torontonians, coming from elsewhere, are, blessedly, folks who have never heard of Nickelback, sung that god-awful Barrett's Privateers song in a fake Irish pub, found curling anything but weird, or revered the stale stylings of Michael Bublé. They bring their own bad art to town, and are happy to share.
And, yes, Toronto has snooty restaurants manned by crabby underwear models — if by snooty one means that every entrée is not served on white toast and slathered in canned gravy (unless you ask, and pay extra).
But best of all, Toronto does not care about you, about what you do, about where you're going or what you're wearing. In Toronto, nobody is watching from behind their kitchen window curtains, nobody knows your parents, grandparents and dentist, nobody remembers where you went to school or how bad your hair was in Grade 11, and nobody is cluck-clucking about your divorce, weight gain, poor investment strategy or binge drinking. Until they get to know you.
You are alone here, anonymous. You have no history, owe no social debts, sing no little-town blues. For as long as you like, you can be one of the crowd — because we actually have crowds.
To anybody who has ever lived in a small Canadian town, one of those finger-wagging gossips' warrens run by the United Church and unburdened by genetic diversity or stylish clothing, the averted gaze of the preoccupied, uncaring Toronto subway rider buried in his BlackBerry is a benediction.
What, then, is the problem with TROC (The Refuse of Canada)? The simple response is that they're just jealous, but jealousy is often a symptom of deeper unresolved issues.
Post-colonial studies teaches us that citizens of colonies (or, in Canada's case, former colonies) suffer from a psychological condition that causes them to constantly perceive themselves as being outside the centre, as living on the margins.
Subsequently, the actual centres of colonized countries (in our case, Toronto) are resented via displacement, because hating the colonizer is too big a dilemma to face, and we're conflicted in our emotions about our former masters. It's a bit like being mad at your boss for no good reason because you're really mad at Mommy and Daddy. Toronto is the scapegoat for the nation's buried resentment of London, Paris or Washington (pick your colonizer).
Fair enough, and almost forgivable — Vancouver and Montreal and Halifax can't help it because they're mentally ill. If the nation can only cope with its inadequacies by projecting its disappointments onto me and my city, I'm willing to play therapist. But I want compensation.
At Toronto rates, please. Wellness, like success, ain't cheap.
I learned that here.
Special to The Globe and Mail
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Jean Charest is so yesterday's Premier
There is a revolution going on in Quebec, right now.
The first flames of revolutionary zeal were seen in last night's provinical election results. A new, slightly right-of-centre, 'Separatist-Lite' party, the ADQ (Action Democratique du Quebec), has gone from being a small, independent third party to now becoming the official opposition. The Parti Quebecois, defender of the bastion of Quebec Separatism and advocate of a free and independent Quebec nation, has been relegated to third place. Jean Charest, the Liberal premier, almost lost his seat in the National Assembly. And the question of separatism in Canada and Quebec will never be the same again.
The first flames of revolutionary zeal were seen in last night's provinical election results. A new, slightly right-of-centre, 'Separatist-Lite' party, the ADQ (Action Democratique du Quebec), has gone from being a small, independent third party to now becoming the official opposition. The Parti Quebecois, defender of the bastion of Quebec Separatism and advocate of a free and independent Quebec nation, has been relegated to third place. Jean Charest, the Liberal premier, almost lost his seat in the National Assembly. And the question of separatism in Canada and Quebec will never be the same again.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
U.S. Tax Madness
Taxes are always overwhelming, for everyone -- everywhere -- but trying to find answers to questions about the U.S. tax code is like trying to reason with HAL. "... I'm sorry, Dave ... I can't do that, Dave. ... Dave..." says the automated receptionist in my mind ...
In the process of trying to get my tax refund direct deposited in my Canadian-based, U.S. Dollar bank account, I did have an interesting chat with the Royal Bank customer service representative. He couldn't help me with the direct deposit business; in order to transfer funds to my account, you need first a three-digit institution number, then a five-digit branch transit number, then my seven-digit account number. However, the U.S. tax form asks first for a nine-digit routing number (my parents and I got into a lively discussion about the pronunciation of rOOting-vs.-rOWting -- apparently one pronunciation is Canadian and the other American, though I suspect it's simply regional), and then a seventeen-digit account number. Norman, my customer service representative, was able to get the routing number (money from the U.S. comes through JP Morgan Chase first, before going on to RBC Financial), but the seventeen digit account number remained a mystery -- to both of us. Norman suggested I 'simply call them up' and ask if they will do direct deposit to a Canadian bank (I'm sure there are other people who do this; I'm not the only Canadian who's ever worked in the U.S.) ... but alas, ... HAL...
Norm and had a good little conversation about my experiences as a Canadian in the U.S. though. Of course, he asked me the age-old question (the one everyone always asks me when I tell them I went to school in the states): what's it like? His kids were thinking of going to school in the U.S., and he wanted a blind, unbiased opinion from a stranger (...). I said, it's almost like here [Canada], only fewer things are free (i.e. health care, social services, a good public library) -- and only the strong survive. I found living in the U.S. to be fairly cut-throat -- not in the sense that anyone is out to get you, but in the sense that, in the U.S., one must raise raise one's voice in order to be heard. You need to be a vocal, pro-active personality in order to be successful and find what you want -- and in order to get what you want, you have to be able to ask for it.
Besides the challenge of living in a nation of extroverts after growing up in a nation of introverts, I told him that the second challenge was this: everyone assumes that, because Canada and the U.S. are neighbouring North American cultures, most things are exactly the same -- and that most institutions are completely compatible, when they most certainly are not. (Case in point -- the very difference and incompatibility between Canadian + American direct deposit information and routing (or Routing?) number practices. The irony that this customer service representative had no idea whether or not they could or would wire my cheque from the U.S. to the Canadian bank that he works for, and how, being a customer service representative, he might help me to arrange that -- I think the irony was lost on him.)
I told him how, when I first moved to Rhode Island, I had another banking problem, when my small-town Rhode Island bank branch failed to process a transfer of funds because the computer system was not set up to recognize foreign currency (transferred from my same Canadian bank -- an institution that also primarily deals in Canadian funds, but also in U.S. dollars!) . Norm tried to sell me on another bank service, RBC Centura -- which has branches in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia. But what good would that do me, way up in Rhode Island?
I think I'll just do it the old fashioned way, and wait for my cheque to arrive in the mail -- like everybody else.
In the process of trying to get my tax refund direct deposited in my Canadian-based, U.S. Dollar bank account, I did have an interesting chat with the Royal Bank customer service representative. He couldn't help me with the direct deposit business; in order to transfer funds to my account, you need first a three-digit institution number, then a five-digit branch transit number, then my seven-digit account number. However, the U.S. tax form asks first for a nine-digit routing number (my parents and I got into a lively discussion about the pronunciation of rOOting-vs.-rOWting -- apparently one pronunciation is Canadian and the other American, though I suspect it's simply regional), and then a seventeen-digit account number. Norman, my customer service representative, was able to get the routing number (money from the U.S. comes through JP Morgan Chase first, before going on to RBC Financial), but the seventeen digit account number remained a mystery -- to both of us. Norman suggested I 'simply call them up' and ask if they will do direct deposit to a Canadian bank (I'm sure there are other people who do this; I'm not the only Canadian who's ever worked in the U.S.) ... but alas, ... HAL...
Norm and had a good little conversation about my experiences as a Canadian in the U.S. though. Of course, he asked me the age-old question (the one everyone always asks me when I tell them I went to school in the states): what's it like? His kids were thinking of going to school in the U.S., and he wanted a blind, unbiased opinion from a stranger (...). I said, it's almost like here [Canada], only fewer things are free (i.e. health care, social services, a good public library) -- and only the strong survive. I found living in the U.S. to be fairly cut-throat -- not in the sense that anyone is out to get you, but in the sense that, in the U.S., one must raise raise one's voice in order to be heard. You need to be a vocal, pro-active personality in order to be successful and find what you want -- and in order to get what you want, you have to be able to ask for it.
Besides the challenge of living in a nation of extroverts after growing up in a nation of introverts, I told him that the second challenge was this: everyone assumes that, because Canada and the U.S. are neighbouring North American cultures, most things are exactly the same -- and that most institutions are completely compatible, when they most certainly are not. (Case in point -- the very difference and incompatibility between Canadian + American direct deposit information and routing (or Routing?) number practices. The irony that this customer service representative had no idea whether or not they could or would wire my cheque from the U.S. to the Canadian bank that he works for, and how, being a customer service representative, he might help me to arrange that -- I think the irony was lost on him.)
I told him how, when I first moved to Rhode Island, I had another banking problem, when my small-town Rhode Island bank branch failed to process a transfer of funds because the computer system was not set up to recognize foreign currency (transferred from my same Canadian bank -- an institution that also primarily deals in Canadian funds, but also in U.S. dollars!) . Norm tried to sell me on another bank service, RBC Centura -- which has branches in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia. But what good would that do me, way up in Rhode Island?
I think I'll just do it the old fashioned way, and wait for my cheque to arrive in the mail -- like everybody else.
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