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It is becoming entirely too common. A woman going about the errands of daily life disappears. Her battered body is later located. A murder investigation begins.
As the United States is currently on edge after recent cases such as that of the Groene's, Jessica Lunsford, Taylor Behl, and Olamide Adeyooye, Canada is also dealing with a woman's disappearance and violent death.
Julie Croteau left her home in St. Liboire, Quebec at 6:30 am on Tuesday. She was to pick up a friend and then they would ride together to work in Ste. Madeleine. Only Julie never showed up.
Julie worked as a nursing assistant, holding down three jobs in three different clinics. She worked at a St.Hyacinthe clinic one day a week. Yesterday, her car was discovered within sight of that clinic. Spray painted on the walls of a nearby building where the words "I kill 4 fun" and "Life is 4 the strongest" in blood red paint. Inside the trunk of the car, police found Julie's battered body.
If you have information relating to the case of Julie Croteau or have seen her grey, two-door, 2004 Honda Civic with Quebec license plate WTE 318 in recent days, call 1 (800) 659-4264.
If you have information relating to the case of Olamide Adeyooye or have seen her missing dark green, 1996 Toyota Corolla with Illinois license plate LBG927, call police at (309) 454-9726. The passenger seat of Olamide's car is broken and is permanently reclined. There is a rosary hanging from the rear view mirror. This car could be anywhere.
These women deserve justice. Their families deserve closure.
Featured media clips include a history of Halloween, an interview between the beloved Peter Gzowski and a paranormal expert, footage of a Nova Scotia exorcism, and tales of ghost stories from across Canada. If that does not satisfy your need for things otherwordly, check out these five additional clips of ghostly visitors.
Who has to take the dog out in the rain? Scissors beat paper.
Who gets the bigger piece of chocolate cake? Paper covers rock.
Who is going to move the trash out to the curb? Rock puts the hurt on scissors.
We have all solved our fair share of disputes through the time honoured decision making process known as Rock, Paper, Scissors. Ordinarily the process is fair, but sometimes simply observing the habits of one's opponent can pay off.
One summer, while working for historic parks, I learned the power that simple observation plays in this game. Having to decide who would walk the mile up to the house at the end of the historic village, my co-worker and I got down and dirty.
"One, two," we counted. When we reached "three", we both drew our weapons. I had chosen paper; whereas, my co-worked went for rock. Needless to say, she was obliterated.
"Enjoy the walk!" I said.
Later that day we had to decide who would have to haul the water from the well.
"One, two, three," again she chose the ill-fated rock.
"Best two out of three?" she asked.
My co-worker had no idea why she continually lost. Eventually I felt the need to tell her that her first inclination was always to choose rock, which made the rest of us respond accordingly with paper.
I used the lessons that I learned that summer well and now whenever faced with a Rock, Paper, Scissors challenge, I commit to memory the previous moves of my opponent. Little did I know, that if I stuck with my strategy and put myself through grueling daily training, I would one day have a chance to represent Canada on an international Rock Paper Scissors stage.
Well, maybe not.
I didn't have that chance because I just learned about the Rock Paper Scissors Society and its International World Championship this morning. But trust me, had I known about it, I could have been a contender! I could have been somebody!
So who is the champion? Who Rock Paper Scissored himself to the top? I am happy to report that he is a Canuck! The true champion is a Toronto lawyer by the name of Andrew Bergel, who beat out approximately 500 other competitors to win the $7000 prize, a gold medal, and most importantly the title.
Congrats Andrew! I am glad that I don't have to Rock, Paper, Scissors you to determine who has to clean the bathroom. ;)
Firmly planted in Cornfield, IL, I had my fingers crossed for a White Sox / Cardinals World Series. It was disappointing watching the game last night and realizing early on that it was not going to happen.
Being in Illinois, one must either cheer for the Cubs or the Cards. There really are no other options (unless you enjoy pain and root for the Sox). Going to any minor league game, you will see a sea of Cubs and Cardinal hats and one Mariners hat. The latter belongs to me. I am a fervent Ichiro Suzuki fan.
*love sigh*
It is impossible for Illinois fans to cheer for both the Cubs and the Cardinals. In fact, state law requires that a fan of the Cubbies has to cheer for any team that is playing against the Sox or the Cardinals. As such, my husband was cheering for the Astros. Sensing my disappointment (perhaps from the tears, perhaps from the heckling, who really knows what his final clue was?), he asked me why I was so against the Astros. I refused to answer. I was not about to tell him.
"Did you date an Astros fan or something?" he asked.
"No. Not exactly. Dude, I just don't want to tell you."
"Awww... Come on," he begged.
"Dude, you are going to laugh."
"Just tell me," pleaded the Republican.
"Fine. When I was watching the Astros' season opener, they kept showing Dubya cheering them on." ¹
According to Wikipedia, "The American Dream, along with escape from persecution or war in one's home country, has always been the primary reason for immigrants wanting to come to America. Throughout its history, America has been seen as a place where the streets are paved with gold, and life is handed to you on a silver platter."
As an immigrant to this country, I feel the need to have an American Dream of my own. However, I did not move here under the guise of a better job (thank you Canadian history degree!) nor did I come here to escape from persecution. I fell in love and followed my heart. Since moving to the States, I have learned that the streets are not paved with gold (or cheese for that matter), nor is life handed to anyone on a silver platter. In fact, the American Dream has come under a great deal of criticism in the past fifty years and some even wonder if it still exists.
Not one to give up on setting a goal and achieving it, I have decided that I need an American Dream of my own. Since many of the opportunities in the States are so similar to those offered in Canada, I don't want to go for the house with the white picket fence, two cars, and 2.5 (fur) kids as my dream. Instead, I need to dream big. Really big. As such, my American Dream is to spin the big wheel on The Price is Right. Afterall, what is more American than blatant consumerism at its finest?
We lost a member of our flock on Saturday night so posting will be rather light over the next few days. If anyone wishes to contribute, just send me an email and I will hook you up with the ability to post.
One of the headlines on NealeNews this morning reads, "Modern Americans: A Rude, Boorish Lot?" What emerges from the article; however, is not so much a criticism of Americans, but rather a criticism on the decline of manners in modern society. Hardly a phenomenon limited to the United States.
The article places much of the blame for this decline in proprieties on technology. In fact, the article begins with the bold statement, "Americans' fast-paced, high-tech existence has taken a toll on the civil in society." The article then goes on to blame single parents, the media, celebrities, commuting, and cell phones. The real factor in the decline of polite society comes across as a mere footnote - the baby boomers.
No other generation has ever had an effect on society to the degree of the boomers. Right from the time that the baby boom began, this generation had an large impact on society. The sheer volume of births, coupled with increased demand, forced the economy to respond and suddenly there was an increase in the development of baby foods, the creation of the suburbs, improvements to the educational system, and television programs targeting youth (what boomer did not own a Davey Crockett hat?). This era also saw the teachings of Dr.Spock skyrocket to fame. For the first time in history, a generation of children existed that ate the same foods, lived in similar neighbourhoods, watched the same television programs, and were raised with the same teachings from the same parenting manuals. It is not surprising then, that through the sheer size of this generation, the cult of the teenager emerged and from that, the turbulent sixties.
The post war era was one of sustained economic growth. Without the worry of recessions and with an increase in social programs, the boomer generation did not have to agonize about mere survival as had their parents’ generation. In fact, the parents of the baby boomers, those who grew up during the Depression and lived through World War II, wanted their children to have the opportunities that were denied to them and worked hard to provide the boomers with those opportunities. As such, this generation was able to focus their energy on fulfilling what was believed to be their destiny - the transformation of Western society. From that belief, came the many movements of the sixties and seventies.
Now that the baby boomers have matured, and their children have matured, society is has once again been transformed, this time in a decline in deportment and civil pleasantries. According to the author of "Modern Americans", this transformation is due to modern technology. I would have to disagree. In my opinion, the decline of manners in society stems back to the "treat them gently" philosophy of Dr.Spock and the "me" mentality of the boomers, a generation which has heavily influenced and shaped society from birth.
When Sir John A and friends were trying to figure out a name for this great country, someone had an idea.
"Let's stick all of the letters into a hat and draw 3 of them - that will be the new name of this place."
The first letter is pulled and the guy shouts - "C, eh?" The second letter is pulled and the guy shouts - "N, eh?" The third letter is pulled and the guy shouts - "D, eh?"
"Let me cut in front of you," I pleaded with my husband.
"No way!" he said. He was adamant that he was not giving up his position as third in line. There was no way that he wanted to be first in line and there was no way that he wanted to be the last in line either.
"Come on. I am scared. Move already!"
Our friends laughed. They recently learned that they were moving out of state and we decided to get together one last time for some fun before they left.
"Dude, get to the back of the line," I told him again. This time there was fire in my eyes.
"Alright," he said and moved to the end of the line.
Just then, a woman wearing a black cape and dress came from behind the curtain. Her face was sickly white and her eyes were sunken into deep shadows. She held a short piece of rope in her hand and approached our friend, who stood at the front of our short line. She gave him the end of the rope, and then gave part of it to his wife who stood behind him, then gave me a piece, and then handed the end of the rope to my husband. There stood the four of us standing one behind the other, bound by the same sense of fear and anticipation, holding onto one short piece of rope.
"Do not let go of the rope!" came the voice at the front of the line.
We all laughed. We had just watched a video outlining the 17 rules that we had to obey. Above all else, we were told not to let go of the rope, not to punch the monsters, and not to be jackasses.
Having given us the rope, the old hag moved towards the front door of the house where she was met by another woman who was similarly dressed in a black cloak. Neither of them blinked. Neither of them showed any emotion, nor did they speak to us. They held each others hands and bowed their heads in silence, summoning the beasties from within the house.
Just prior to embarking upon this adventure, we had supper at a fancy Italian restaurant. I could feel the pasta sitting heavily beneath the butterflies in my stomach. I was ready to turn around and go home. I wanted to hide under the safety of our blankets and cuddle up with the dogs for protection. Unfortunately, it was too late.
While I had been planning my escape, the woman in the cloak opened the door to the house. My blood ran cold. I could hear my heart beating and suddenly had the urge to pee. To our right was a huge sweeping staircase. Standing on the stair case was a little girl who was bloodied. Her eyes were glowing. I was reminded of the scene in the director's cut of The Exorcist where Regan does the crab walk on the stairs. I closed my eyes thinking that if I did not see anything, I would be fine. I was wrong.
We were lead slowly beneath the staircase. My husband was keeping watch of everything behind him – his years of military training where paying off. My friend's husband was keeping watch of everything before us. My friend and I huddled together in the middle, holding on to the rope, sensing each other's fear.
Suddenly, from behind the curtain appeared a skeleton. He first approached my husband, who did not react. The skeleton then moved towards me and got within two inches of my face. He stared menacingly at me. It was then that I remembered rule 13 of the video that we had just watched, "Beware, hot girls will be followed." Damn, I thought. Why am I so cursed? ;)
Following my husband's lead, I remained stone faced. When the skeleton would not leave, I stuck my tongue out. Here is a tip: don't ever do that in a haunted house. You will pay for it later. Ten fold. The skeleton disappeared only to reappear again from a different location. This time he got the reaction that he was looking for. Startled, I screamed. My husband and our friends are laughed. They were haunted house veterans; whereas, my sole experience with horror was the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. I was six and chickened out in the foyer of the mansion. Not exactly a legacy of which to be proud. I had to regain my honour by tackling this, the number one rated haunted house in the state of Illinois.
Again, we were met with another corner. Entering the kitchen, we all became distracted by the glowing elements on the stove, the sausage grinder, and the blood spattered cupboards. We passed between the stove and the deacon's bench. Just as we got in front of the bench, a ghastly ghoul leaped toward us. Our screams rang out above the sound of the pneumatic mechanisms that had sent the ghoul flying.
Finally we entered a long black corridor. There was nothing there but darkness. It felt like we had an opportunity to let down our guard and breathe. Just as I began to relax, I felt something in my hair. I turned around, hoping that it was my husband but found that it was not. Towering above my husband was a ten foot tall skeleton. His long boney fingers pushed my husband aside and then came after me.
"No touching," I screamed in horror. "There are rules. Don't forget the rules!"
Everybody laughed.
"Wow! You totally have an accent when you are scared," said my friend.
It is no secret that Canadians love their beer, especially when it is served ice cold in a frosty mug or bottle.
While sipping upon a cold beer, many generations of Canadians have mastered the fine skill of drawing their initials or even a portrait of the one they love in that beer frost.
Re: the complete non-commemoration of the 35th Anniversary of the kidnapping and assassination of Pierre Laporte
October 10, 1970 October Crisis comes to a head. Chronology of this day: 5:30 pm - Quebec government refuses to free Front de Libération du Québec prisoners; 5:45 pm - Government rejects other FLQ conditions; 6:00 pm - Justice Minister Jérôme Choquette opens a news conference to announce that the government refuses to negotiate with FLQ terrorists; 6:18 pm - Quebec Labour Minister Pierre Laporte 1921-1970 kidnapped by FLQ cell while playing football with his son outside his suburban home in St-Hubert; 7:10 pm - intense police activity around Montreal as the search begins for Laporte.
Letter of Pierre Laporte to Robert Bourassa
Letter sent on October 11, 1970
My dear Robert,
I feel like I am writing the most important letter I have ever written.
For the time being, I am in perfect health, and I am treated well, even courteously.
In short, the power to decide over my life is in your hands. If there was only that involved, and the sacrifice of my life would bring good results, one could accept it ...
You know how my personal situation deserves to draw attention. I had two brothers, both are now dead. I remain alone as the head of a large family that comprises my mother, my sisters, my own wife and my children, and the children of Rolland of whom I am the guardian. My departure would create for them irreparable grief, and you know the ties that bind the members of my family ...
You have the power of life and death over me, I depend on you and I thank you for it.
Thank-you for all of the Thanksgiving well wishes. I hope that everyone got their fill of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce.
Things did not go exactly as we had planned for the big day, but they went well. We still have a very stubborn turkey in the fridge that did not want to thaw.
I guess that we will be having our turkey dinner sometime this week instead. ;)
The weekend, as Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving weekend north of the 49th, we will be celebrating it Stateside. It has become tradition in our family to have big Thanksgiving dinners both in October and in November.
There are many benifits to these double festivities:
1. Twice the turkey. 2. Twice the potatoes. 3. Twice the stuffing. 4. Twice the gravy. 5. Twice the cranberry sauce. 6. Twice the homemade buns. 7. Twice the roasted veggies. 8. Twice the pumpkin pie. 9. Twice the whipped cream.
And the top benefit:
10. A trial run of cooking Thanksgiving dinner in October before the in-laws come visiting for the November festivities!
Expat Talkbalk: Are any other Canucks abroad planning on celebrating Thanksgiving this weekend?
We travel everywhere with our pups are have found that our cars are getting a little too small for our needs. We were thinking about investing in a wagon as a new puppy hauler, then I saw this: Honda Designs Car Friendly For Dogs.
The poochmobile is a great idea with its removable washable floors, rolling doors, and stowaway crates. Unfortunately it does not look too people friendly and I could not imagine keeping a pup in the glove compartment. That is just not cool.
Well, unless you have a small froo froo breed, I guess.
If Martha Stewart knows the proper etiquette for turning down a Thanksgiving invitation to Canada on short notice?
Ms. Stewart had planned to attend pumpkin festival in Nova Scotia, but recently learned that she can not enter Canada due to her criminal conviction. She is planning on announcing her regrets on television.
Just in case the domestic guru needs some assistance, here is a link to Emily Post's invitation etiquette. Unfortunately Ms.Post does not suggest the proper etiquette for ex-cons.
Library and Archives Canada currently has an online exhibit showcasing Canadian art and pulp fiction from the 1940-1952 period. The website for Tales From the Vault! is remarkable and certainly worth the click to take a peek. It is quite creative.
Three tomatoes are walking down the street - a pappa tomato, a mamma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Pappa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, "Catch up".
It has been a slow process, but every now and again, I can see that my persistence in schooling my husband in Canadiana is paying off. Last night provided one of these moments.
Flipping through the many television channels, the resident Yank came across Degrassi: Behind the Scenes. It was an hour long look at the sets, actors, and story lines behind Degrassi: The Next Generation. It was funny to see him glued to the television, curious as to what the new season of TNG would hold. It was even funnier to see his reaction to the future story lines revolving around Manny. Without a doubt, this new season will prove that The N's tagline for the program, "Degrassi - It Goes There" is very apt.
Among the behind the scenes glimpses were a few clips from old school Degrassi episodes. It was the first time that my husband had seen the original version of the Canadian standard as he didn't grow up with the privilege of watching The Kids of Degrassi Street, Degrassi Junior High, or Degrassi High. He was quite surprised to see the character that he knows only as Christine Nelson being called "Spike" with mile high hair, or seeing Joey with his trademark fedora.
I knew for certain that my slow Canadian conversion of the Yank was taking effect when he announced, "We should set the TiVo to record the season premiere of The Next Generation on Friday night. Oh yeah, and don't forget to set it for Thursday night too because that is when they are airing the four old school episodes of Degrassi Junior High."
Yes, indeed. He is definitely under my Canadian spell.
Canada's history magazine, The Beaver, is celebrating its 85th anniversary. As such, this issue's feature article explores the evolving themes of the magazine and also showcases many of the more notable magazine covers.
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