The House Party

I am the most considerate house party goer.  I remove my footwear upon entering the home.  I offer my services after said social gathering has expired.

I adore a good house party.

You know the kind where everyone has a splendid time and no drama transpires?  Yeah.  There is something so satisfying about the fact that only positive vibes were shared and everyone left feeling better about their existence.

Canada Day is the Ultimate House Party.  It's our collective house.  We share this planet, this nation, this province, with one another.  It can be an amazing feeling.  Can be.

This most recent of Canada Day's, for which I have been absent from for the last four years was quite subdued.  Positive for all intents and purposes, just quieter than expected for being the big 150.

We are shell shocked.  The world seems in a precarious state and that's okay.  The reflective attitude was certainly palpable.

The problem was not the event itself but the aftermath.  Like any good house party, shit gets fucked up.  The realization of how bad is not fully swallowed until the crowd disperses.

Fuck you Canada on your 150th birthday, is what our wake spoke of.

The newly minted garbage receptacles were overflowing to such a degree that it seemed bizarre.  The grassy knoll upon which I viewed fireworks was so encrusted with debris that it was a shock to the senses.  I was overwhelmed by sadness that this how we treat our home.  On any day, not just on it's conceptual day of day's.  We shit where we ate.  Literally.  The ground upon which provides us with our very nourishment, we've poisoned.  In more ways than one.

So Happy Birthday Canada.  Fuck you for providing us with this much liberty and fresh air.  We'll be sure to prevent any sustainability going forward.