Belated Bastille Day!

Seems like I missed the national days in both my countries... Canada, because the allergies were killing me... France, because I forgot. It's too hot to think.

Some people like to think that Canada is less patriotic than France. I don't think that's true. Canadians are just prouder but less willing to admit so. Canadians plead innocence and passivity with regard to any notion of nationalism, but love to wave their flag, and never hesitate to say "well, thank god we're not americans." The French will always vote against their government and like the idea of blowing things up... it only takes a couple of glasses of wine and some vague threat to get people talking about head-chopping and revolution... ahhh, the past, how attractive we were in youth.

It amounts to the same thing if you ask me.

Either way, it's a pretty civilized kind of nationalism, when seen in comparison to the US, or even Singapore... (the only other national days I've witnessed). The US like to cry, shoot guns, and wave flags... Singaporeans are the maddest of the lot. Every year they write a new song, that plays almost non-stop on the television and radio weeks up to the national day, and people are commanded to wear red... and, strangely enough, almost everybody complies. Then, the crazy Parade dominates the TV... it's meant to wrap the country in preprogrammation with kitschy slogans and weepy stick-together-or-die stories. Like the oriental version of a smurf-like Third Reich.

Either way, I've always liked the french version, maybe because each time I experienced it I was wasted beyond imagination and stuck with a really funny bad band.

The first year, I had gone on vacation with Dacnar to L'île d'Oléron on the west coast, and at some point of the week was Bastille Day. So, we took a break from our heavy Tour de France schedule and met up on the south part of the island along with the other merry-goers, for fireworks and whitey dreads... that's right... white reggae in France for us! It was hilarious... they played all the french variety hits, songs that get old men into the type of dance where they hitch up their pants, drop their crotch and wave their ankles.

Actually, the whole band was playing reggae except for a stalwart keyboardist, who smugly stuck to his 4/4 time. Really great... I got trashed on rose, Dacnar started doing his old-man dance and beery jocks took cellphone pics of his wiggle. I would have liked to have done more, but by the time the laughing was done, it was time to stop drinking... otherwise ground would meet head fast.

My second Bastille Day also featured sand, some reggae band... but I remember less... except that it was capped with yummy sweaty sex. Yes, thanks again Dacnar.

Anyways... yeah, I don't know what this is really about. I drink rose even when it's not a National Day. I'm about to go out with the faggots and drink, eat turkey burgers, and probably tell bitchy jokes... what else is new? Oh, maybe they'll be a couple of capons in the group as well (translate as the pussy-whipped BFs). There are few exceptions to the castration-relation rule in Toronto, but I think might know a couple. Maybe even one will be there tonight (talk about saving face.... why did I send them the link to my blog?)