I am in a very, very strange land. It's like Minnesota and Seattle had a baby.
And people don't say "aboot" or flap their heads back and forth, but they do call each other "buddy" all the time. The money is strange monopoly money with clear parts in it and their Starbucks is a donut store that sells more sandwiches and coffee than donuts, even though it's named after a hockey player.
I am a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by exotic people with very weird accents. Some of them seem like, insanely, in a sort of Breakfast Club timewarp where at the prom the football star finally shyly admits he always thought the Goth chick in the drama club was kinda cute and they hook up during the afterparty - an NPR charity drive and a monster truck rally got really wasted together and nine months later had some bizarre children - the love child of Garrison Kieler and Miley Cyrus. In a completely trippy way - and I'm not insulting anyone I hope with that exceedingly gonzo image.
They keep wanting to assimilate me. They want me to eat cheese curds with gravy, try their gas station coffee and exclaim that their mass produced beer is better than our microbrews. Not in an insulting fashion - but in the hope, like some kind of hidden camera coffee commercial, that I go "OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN DRINKING CANADA ALL ALONG?"
I will report back as the week goes on.