Thanks, my friend. I feel better now.

I’m ready to play nice again.

ps. It’s “High-Speed-Internet-Instant-Gratification”

I’m done now.

By the way, Mom? What’s HSIIG?

Courtney. Tsk tsk. How dare you slag our outdoor rink without so much as stepping foot on the frozen version of either the Red or the Assiniboine River. We have so little to brag about: Winnie the Pooh was named after our not-so-fair city; we are the Slurpee capital (and the car theft capital) of Canada; and we have the windiest corner in North America. Clearly these are not lofty claims to fame. We are a sad and desperate people. Winnipeg is truly the only city in the world with collective low self-esteem. I believe–based on its editorial content–The Winnipeg Free Press exists solely to give Winnipeggers reasons not to leave. Given these dire circumstances, why would you devalue our small accomplishment?

Sidebar: Thinking about windy Portage and Main reminds me of the funniest thing: I used to work at Travel Manitoba. That’s funny in itself since I get lost almost every time I leave home; I started working there right after I moved here; I didn’t know anything about Manitoba. I kept a cheat sheet at my desk when I answered calls from unassuming potential tourists. And one time I accidentally sent a family of four to the worst drunken, prostitute-ridden dive in town. They insisted adamantly on the very cheapest hotel, so I believe they asked for it. Anyway, a crazy blizzard had begun one Friday night, leaving most of the city under several feet of snow. I assumed I wouldn’t have to work the Saturday morning shift at Travel Manitoba (you can imagine the droves of tourists arriving here in March . . . ). I called my boss and was told I should certainly try to get to work (in her defense I don’t think she realized that not a single road was passable by vehicle). So I set out on snowshoe, wading through the drifts and dunes. It was like a scene from a post-apocalyptic tragedy. I was the sole survivor with nothing more than the Sorrels on my feet and the thermos of hot chocolate in my backpack. I walked for almost two hours (and yes, I see now that I’m an idiot), finally making it to Portage and Main; only a few more blocks to go. I was standing there waiting for the street light to change (why, you are undoubtedly asking—I think I might have been in a frost-bitten state of delirium by this point) when a gust of wind literally picked me up threw me into a snow bank. I stayed there for a few minutes, laughing by this time and wondering how on earth I would get myself out of this pile of snow. A kindly restaurant owner came to my rescue; he had witnessed the whole thing from his window. My knight in black fur pulled me from the snow and invited me in for coffee and a warm cinnamon bun. I guess my point is it’s a really windy corner. And we have so very little to brag about, so don’t take this one thing away from us.

Before one begins blogging about the ineptitude of another province’s outdoor rink, one should gather all the appropriate supporting information. First of all, the Rideau Canal is maintained with the help of the infamously bloated Capital Commission; Ottawa pays to keep the Canal both functional and esthetically pleasing. If we had that kind of cash to throw at municipal projects we too could have an impeccable ice trail with beaver tail stands and Hollywood-quality light shows and ice sculptures. In addition, the Canal water level is controlled and, once that perfectly controlled water freezes, giant Zambonis keep the surface smooth and skating-worthy. By contrast, the Red and Assiniboine Rivers freeze. End of story. Aside from the noble efforts of big-hearted citizens who go out and clear our rivers and work selflessly at keeping them as smooth as possible, there is nothing much done to enhance the quality of the ice surface. But we’re hearty and quite used to making due with little, so we enjoy our bumpy, uneven ice without whining or expecting anything more. If it’s too rough we throw on our cross-country skis or snowshoes and head over to the snow-covered sections.

In any case, the water level is really high this year; that can change everything. I think the Rideau Canal will outmeasure our ice so, Mr. High-Speed-Internet-Instant-Gratification, you can sit smug once again knowing that you have the longest rink. And we’ll continue to drink our Slurpees (even in winter; tough as nails, we are . . .) and be proud of our rich history that no one takes the time to discover. I might not have been born here but, as one of the nine people who moved here voluntarily, I am proud to call it home. It’s lovely in its own way. In fact, right now I’m looking out my window at snow falling softly; I can see three deer walking peacefully across my lawn (incidentally, they walk on the ice all the time and never complain about the bumpiness or the inadequate width of the river).

cheers!
Content with Winnipeg Rink