Niagara Falls: Eminem v your grandmother in the zombie apocalypse
Something went wrong in Niagara Falls. It’s a place utterly defined by a piece of stunning natural beauty, artwork of the gods, yet is framed by the flabby vultures of casinos, savory as piles of crusted pus.
Good morning!
That was my feeling in Niagara, at least the first half, as it struck me as a prime example of the overlapping and concurrence of the sacred and the profane. What should be a temple to tangible spirituality, awe, and gratitude is instead devoted to the counterfeit capitalist god of the dollar.
The town seemed to be dominated by aggressive-looking Eminems with bad posture under oversized clothing who only left the house to walk their pit bull to the corner store to buy more booze. I looked at the towering casinos and wondered how they’ll come down. Environmental catastrophe, war, and zombie apocalypse are my best guesses. I love the idea of their deliberate disassembly by a humanity that has rediscovered its divine capacity and benevolently retires the mistaken decadence of the past century…but I think zombies are more likely.
On the ride out I’d again marveled at people’s ability to peer in and tap on their cell phones for hours on end, and I suspected the zombies are already here. They’re not the risen dead, just the mentally and spiritually e-mutiliated.
But then I had lunch. As my blood sugar rose, my spirits went with it.
I enjoyed my fast food, white bread sandwich provided by Tim Horton’s (aka the Canadian Starbucks) while sitting on the floor in front of large windows tinted white by the mineral deposits of endless spray.
The first person I people-watched while I ate my “hearty” vegetable soup was a girl of indeterminate age who flung three pieces of paper over the edge. My jaw dropped, chicken salad splattering everywhere, as I marveled at someone so immune to beauty that they would want to throw their garbage into it.
But I kept chewing, and noticed the father and daughter who threw snowballs instead and watched them fall into the torrent, then clapped. And there were the couples, kissing in front of the vista while a friend took their picture, smiles all around. Or the honeymooners, holding hands crammed in a pocket against the chill.
I went outside, felt the spray on the back of my neck, and laughed out loud.
The last piece of my perception was the town itself. I come from a tourist destination too, and am well accustomed to hearing people bitch about visitors. They don’t know where they’re going, jack up prices, and take all the parking! Mah! MAH!
What is this, a whole town of Dick Cheneys?
But it seems to me that, as I mentioned in my last post, humans have the capacity to choose their reality. You can bitch about the foreigners, or you can take pride in the place you live, that people would want to come visit it.
On my walk to the falls I passed houses with giant “NO TRESPASSING” signs in their windows, on their trees, and even guarding a vacant lot. There was little sign of local life, and I wondered if they had all either fled or been eaten in the casino buffet. “Mmm, roast local, delicious!”
But as I stopped to take one more picture of the beautiful chasm of the Niagara River with its mineral green water and ice chandeliers, an elderly lady coming up the path called out “Would you like me to take your picture?”
Sure, why not, I think I have about 4 pictures from the past 4 years of traveling (when K is not with me). I thanked her.
“I’m a local, and people have done it for me when I travel, and I’d be glad to do it for you. Where are you from?” We chatted for awhile about destinations, California, and the Falls. Canadians do seem to be as nice as I always suspected (except when they’re driving, even they can’t stay friendly in those mobile anger chambers) but this lady takes the cake. In fact, I bet she bakes the cake, and every day’s your birthday.
Did you know you have a Canadian grandmother? I’ve met her, she’s rad. She lives in an interesting town next to a beautiful natural wonder.
Great pictures and great story
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Thank you! I’m enjoying your daily photos too.
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Love your blogs..read each word with a voice I have envisioned as yours in my head.
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Thanks cuz, I love the idea that some voice comes through in there somehow. We’ll have to meet up one of these years for a cup of coffee so we can compare.
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Tim Horton’s vs Dunkin’ Donuts. Apostrophes in coffee chain names. Hmmm. Anyway, this is about your post, not my inner musings on grammar and last resorts.
Niagara! The first time I went I was as smitten as a kitten in a room full of yarn balls! The rush of the water over the edge is incredible! And the tourists! There was a totally different make-up of nationalities there than I ever saw on the west coast, and many of the people under 70 wore the grins of the enchanted. For the folks over 70, it was hit or miss, grin of immediate surrounding, or scowl of life.
And while the casinos juxtaposed with the run down houses of locals contains a certain charm, did you not wonder at the lack of historical plaques, and factlets? I did. Broke my heart every time I went up to a sign,only to discover it was another friggin’ map of the strip, and not a story about canoe exploration, or barrel exploits. Heck, not even a photo of a tightrope walker.
The second time I went, I discovered all that on the other side, surrounded by trees and pleasant walk ways. No casinos, or crappy coffeeshop chains.
Niagara! The next time I go, I will have to take a ride on the Maid of the Mist, and make sure you see a picture me in the yellow slicker. I will be sure to say hello to Grams.
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“Scowl of life” is exactly it! It’s a curse to America’s obsession with youth, but a beautiful thing to me that our attitude comes to physically shape our face. There’s a loving reminder from the universe in every scowl or laugh line. I feel gratitude for every smile I get from the latter, and triumph when I inspire a grin from the former. Grams is definitely a laugh-liner and smiling Crow’s Feet sort of woman.
I look forward to your yellow slicker pics!
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