Friday, August 25, 2006

pelee island, part 2

I remembered two things from the crash:

1. Thinking and perhaps even shouting Why me, O Lord? as I went down. This is typical. I have many accidents and find that it is better to call out something along these line—perhaps even a Why do you hate me, Jesus?—while they are occurring just in case death is imminent. Many people like to repent just before dying, but I find that repenting implies an admission of wrongdoing.

2. Feeling and hearing what I can only assume was my left arm coming out of the socket. I quickly stood, brushed myself off, checked the severity of my skinned knee, and then noticed numbness in my left arm dangling there beside me. It had gone right back into place after the crash and looked to be fine, but I couldn’t feel it. Then I could, and it hurt. It hurt considerably. I walked around shaking it off for a minute or two. The pain wore off and it seemed to be fine, thus depriving me of the opportunity to see what socialized medicine is all about.

However, it has started hurting a bit since our return. Do any doctors know if this is something that should be checked out? If so, do any socialists know if my injury is still the responsibility of the Canadian government?

Just thought I’d ask. It might be awkward to have my arm fall off in the middle of some random everyday activity. Also, it would render this room full of musical instruments tragically useless. Then again, I could perhaps sell them all and have enough cash for a kick ass bionic arm with rocket launchers, assorted can openers, and maybe even an animatronic hand puppet.

However, I’m finding it difficult to think of how “one arm bandit” can best fit onto a license plate.
But I digress. I think I was speaking at this point of the negative aspects of our vacation, and there was no more negative draw back than the Canadian mosquito.

They are whiney and insatiable little bastards who seemed to have a particular bloodlust for visitors or maybe just visiting Caminos. Native islanders and even travelers from the northern states complained about them, but Mrs. Camino and I never noticed anyone else swatting them with the same zeal we used to defend ourselves. We could generally go about in the direct sunlight with little problem, but wooded areas and any outdoor setting at or after dusk could not be ventured into for long without earning a great deal of itchy welts, scratches, and other assorted battle scars.

martin houses
The natives try to defend against the bastards by setting up purple martin houses or allowing barn swallows to build against their houses, but it does little to stop them. Mrs. Camino and I supplanted television by driving along the back roads ten or fifteen miles an hours while listening to books on tape and would encounter mosquito swarms in some areas that looked in the headlights like a heavy snowfall. Flipping to the high beams at these times filled the entire windshield with sky obscuring cloud of hungry mosquito. This never failed to elicit horror movie gasps from each of us.

The Canadian person is quite different from the Canadian mosquito. Though they seem to show a lack of respect for the American flag (much to the offense of Tim Morgan), or at least a preference for their own flag, they have learned to speak the American damn language, with the notable exception of the inhabitants of Quebec, who perhaps learned French just to piss us off.

Still, you’ll find the average inhabitant of Pelee Island to be quite laid back and immediately friendly. Everything is a bit more simplified within their tiny confines, and they seem to genuinely enjoy having the company of tourists. As you can imagine, each of the one hundred and seventy five residents know one another quite well, and it is understandable that they would be so welcoming of new blood.

I didn’t take any pictures of Canadians while on my trip. I went to Morocco a few years back and tried to take pictures of Moroccans but found that many of them would immediately dive out of the way of the camera, as being photographed went against their particular sect of Islam. Once I learned this I would sometimes use my camera to help thin the crowded alleyways of the Kasbah or simply for my own amusement. Remind me to show you some pictures I have of blurry scattering tunics sometime.

Still, I can’t help but feel that I played some minor role in our unfortunately poor relationship with the Islamic peoples of the world.

Anyway, I would like for our relations with our neighbors to the north to go a little more smoothly, and thus left the people unphotographed. However, you can view the rest of my vacation slides here.


Blogger H.U.T.S. said...


9:23 AM  
Blogger Rex L. Camino said...

That does seem to be the logical conclusion, huts. I suppose I just like for them to be a little more obvious, as I seem to always have a problem figuring those things out and unfortunately neglect road safety while preoccupied in my often fruitless attempts.

9:29 AM  

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