Saying hello to a Shíshálh family

Called Mark John to wish him a happy birthday and, once again, his Reuter’s microphone was playing up. It gives him a rather camp sibilance, out of which, as is my duty, I took the piss mercilessly. It’s not my fault his wife Sarah popped down to the local fish market to buy a Japanese delicacy for the family evening meal, is it? Or, as he said, “Tharah hath thlipped down to Thainthbury’th to thelect thome thushi for thupper”. We tried to play around with Thkype and Methenger to see if there was a way he could here his lisping in person, but every time we did it, it hung up. Oh well. Th’est la vie.
 
Dirk was remarkably well rested for the amount he drank last night. I got turfed out of bed at 9 so Mrs. Ottawacker could do a video call for work (she started back, bright and early at 8am). As we were likely to make too much noise in the day, after the inevitable food and coffee, we decided on a visit to the Canadian Museum of History, which used to be called the Civilization Museum before Stephen Effing Harper started the eugenics craze among his fanbase. Anyway, it was -11º plus windchill (or should that be “minus windchill”), so I started to hum and ha (as I do). Dirk suggested looking it up on the website, and I saw there was an interesting exhibition on Europe’s earliest royal families. In my mind, it meant beheadings and gore, but sadly it was just about crowns and jewellery. I looked at the prices to get into the museum – and almost fell off my chair. For an adult, the cost was $23. For a child, $16. That meant if the three of us went, it would cost $62 to go to a museum. In case you think there has been a typo there, let me spell it out. SIXTY-TWO FRIGGING DOLLARS TO GO TO A MUSEUM. Plus the inevitable parking. I have clearly been spoiled by reasonable behaviour in Portugal. Seriously though (and stop rolling your eyes, I don’t go on about it that much – OK, I do, but you skim over the text anyway, don’t you?), how can any museum justify charging two adults and one child $62 for entrance into a museum? When I say Ottawa is shit – and I do, frequently – here is Exhibit 1. What absolute, total wankers.
 
The level of wankerdom only increased as we got into the museum. Instead of going to look at golden crowns and other base declarations of superiority, we decided to go and visit the Canadian History Hall, which gave over three levels, proudly sponsored by three prominent Canadian organisations, but obviously not enough to make the exhibit free, a hands-on walk through Canadian history. I agree that “Canadian History” is a bit of an oxymoron, like “Conservative compassion” and (I’ll stop there), but the exhibition was absolutely superb. It took us a couple of hours to walk through – although it could have taken longer had I not started running towards the end – and the star of the show was definitely the section dealing with Early Canada – I.e., from the earliest times to 1763. There were artifacts and hands-on exhibits, film and reconstructions, and above all, a reminder that I knew bugger all about what I was going through. It was brilliantly organized, accessible, and some of the stuff remains in my mind even now. (Usually, some form of paralysis of the brain sets in after 20 minutes, and I forget everything I have seen.) I learned about brand new peoples I had never heard of (in the Arctic, preceding the Inuit, were the Thules and the Dorsets, for example). Even Ottawacker Jr. gave it a thumbs-up. The blip is of another people I didn’t know about – the Shíshálh – and is a reconstruction of their faces from a mass burial.
 
Dirk insisted on paying, which I felt bad about having railed for 20 minutes about the insanity of charging $62 for three people to get in. He even managed a discount. The man at the front desk asked if we were a family, because he could sell us the tickets for $60 – and he said yes. “I have no problem changing my sexual preferences for $2,” he said. You see? That’s why we are friends.
 
Home, and I made a tajine of vegetables to go with the pan of lamb chops I cooked. We even managed to not go overboard on the wine. Well, Dirk did.