Sex and Corn Starch
I made an astonishing discovery today. Well, actually, not astonishing at all, but astonishing that I hadn't thought to verify it.
For a couple of months I've been trying to explain to my friends back in the US how trademark Canadian television is different from the programming in the US. Generalizations usually include some of the following:
No reality shows. People in the sitcoms seem much less fabricated, and more neighborly. Less violence, even in crime dramas. The violence is there, perhaps, but it's not showy. Less Hollywood glitziness. And, finally, much more open-minded and/or sexually explicit, but typically in more of a sex documentary way and not an erotic thriller or gratuitously pornographic sort of way.
Of course then I have to give examples, especially of the last one:
There's the show on the Women's Network where women narrate their first sexual encounter (while softcore actors provide a "dramatic reenactment," as it turns out — like Unsolved Mysteries, sex-style) Sin City, where a quirky little Gen-X British dude travels around to various cities exploring the sex industry and other sexual goings on there. A whole host of programs lifted from American premium cable, including Real Sex, Queer as Folk, The L Word, etc. And a show where they product test sex toys. On the show. Not quite full disclosure, but you definitely don't have to take anyone's word for it which ones work better.
Inevitably, that usually elicits the response of, "Oh, like the Sunday Night Sex Show! I love that show. I mean, she doesn't demonstrate, but it sounds sort of like the kind of honesty you're talking about."
Well, what do you know, but I found out this evening that The Sunday Night Sex Show is indeed a Canadian TV program. It should have been obvious all along. So, yes folks, like that.
Incidentally, the sex quiz on her site is dauntingly hard, but very entertaining, and if you review the answers afterward, Sue's remarks are pantswettingly hysterical.
* * *
I went to the grocery store tonight. It's become sort of a Saturday evening ritual, but a ritual which was at risk due to the well-meaning suggestions of my coworkers who thought they would contribute what they could to my quest for identifying when and where the spider bit me. I honestly thought these stories were an urban legend, but there are dozens of news stories about similar incidents.
This picture alone will make sure I never buy grapes again. Oh my God.
So my adventure today (aside from thoroughly avoiding the fruit, and also peeping behind anything I removed from a shelf to make sure there were no webs behind it) involved buying corn starch. Common, lowly corn starch. The thing is, you don't realize how much you take for granted what things like that look like.
I have a tough enough time finding Cream of Chicken soup when all the Campbells labels look slightly different than I'm accustomed to, but corn starch? I was even in the right aisle. Heck, I was in the right part of the right aisle, staring at the spot where the flour hits the sugar (and if that doesn't sound dirty, what does. . . .), but my mind couldn't stop looking for a yellow box with a Native American girl on it standing behind a giant ear of corn. I knew I was looking for anything of any color or design that said corn starch, but I just couldn't do it.
Finally I resorted to going down the line, product by product through those two shelf sections (out flour, wheat flour, rice flour, corn flour. . . .) until I ran across it, and when I finally did — I mean, who would have thought that when I finally found it, it would be a blue box labelled:
And before you even start asking what about context clues and all that, the pictures on the box included:
A. a rooster, and
B. a turkey dinner
Yeah, so, there it is. Now I know. Sliced turkeys, cartoon roosters, and CANADA mean corn starch.
For a couple of months I've been trying to explain to my friends back in the US how trademark Canadian television is different from the programming in the US. Generalizations usually include some of the following:
Of course then I have to give examples, especially of the last one:
Inevitably, that usually elicits the response of, "Oh, like the Sunday Night Sex Show! I love that show. I mean, she doesn't demonstrate, but it sounds sort of like the kind of honesty you're talking about."
Well, what do you know, but I found out this evening that The Sunday Night Sex Show is indeed a Canadian TV program. It should have been obvious all along. So, yes folks, like that.
Incidentally, the sex quiz on her site is dauntingly hard, but very entertaining, and if you review the answers afterward, Sue's remarks are pantswettingly hysterical.
* * *
I went to the grocery store tonight. It's become sort of a Saturday evening ritual, but a ritual which was at risk due to the well-meaning suggestions of my coworkers who thought they would contribute what they could to my quest for identifying when and where the spider bit me. I honestly thought these stories were an urban legend, but there are dozens of news stories about similar incidents.
This picture alone will make sure I never buy grapes again. Oh my God.
So my adventure today (aside from thoroughly avoiding the fruit, and also peeping behind anything I removed from a shelf to make sure there were no webs behind it) involved buying corn starch. Common, lowly corn starch. The thing is, you don't realize how much you take for granted what things like that look like.
I have a tough enough time finding Cream of Chicken soup when all the Campbells labels look slightly different than I'm accustomed to, but corn starch? I was even in the right aisle. Heck, I was in the right part of the right aisle, staring at the spot where the flour hits the sugar (and if that doesn't sound dirty, what does. . . .), but my mind couldn't stop looking for a yellow box with a Native American girl on it standing behind a giant ear of corn. I knew I was looking for anything of any color or design that said corn starch, but I just couldn't do it.
Finally I resorted to going down the line, product by product through those two shelf sections (out flour, wheat flour, rice flour, corn flour. . . .) until I ran across it, and when I finally did — I mean, who would have thought that when I finally found it, it would be a blue box labelled:
| FÉCULE DE MAÏS CANADA CORN STARCH |
And before you even start asking what about context clues and all that, the pictures on the box included:
A. a rooster, and
B. a turkey dinner
Yeah, so, there it is. Now I know. Sliced turkeys, cartoon roosters, and CANADA mean corn starch.