Be Cool, Sodapop

I have been caught out. By none other than the worldliest of Vancouverites, Douglas Coupland. I was mentally cheering my local library again for the 27th time this year when I discovered a copy of his book City of Glass.

I loved his wry portrait of Kits ( a neighbourhood of fit people from a beer ad/commercial) and his insight into the Pot-a-holic side of this city.

But then I felt suddenly alone, as if my integration here is a distant and perhaps impossible thing. (Of course I am also slightly perversely pleased at this.) The reason for this is Doug's insistence that no one but people from the far reaches of the east coast (i.e. clueless folk) call Vancouver 'Van'. I do it all the time. Think of the hours I save not typing the whole thing out every time. Doug insists that since the neighbourhoods of North Van, East Van and West Van are so specific, no one would dream of being so generalist as to call any part of it merely Van.

Also, apparently, it is 'dweeby' to be carrying an umbrella. Nevermind that my umbrella is the most adorable thing I have ever seen and it was good enough for Paris, the chicest wet city of all time. However, I am, despite being made to feel like a moronic foreigner, able to see that it is the lot of the hardcore Vancouerite to be under the impression that an anorak is man's best friend.

No; that would be a credit card. Or an umbrella.

A note on the name

In case you haven't cottoned on (and why would you? All I've done so far is talk about what I've eaten) the VanCougar of the title is actually Vancouver. A city so beautiful it is like a high school cheerleader. Vapid, superficial, and probably on drugs.

I must give credit to the woman who coined the phrase VanCougar which I then stole to use as my blog name. In fact she deserves a prize, your prize, my dearest friend, is to be immortalized in a lazy blog full of incompetent syntax and nonsensical metaphors. What would you like to be called? Please let me know, or I might end up nicknaming you Legally Non Blonde or LNB for short, since tomorrow is the day you start Law School. I will be praying for your soul, don't worry.

Of course LNB, your real prize for being someone I miss so much I actually cried about it in recent history, is that I am your very own personal high school cheerleader, forever. I will always be there to binge and bitch with you; in spirit, gchat and in real life.

I have a feeling LNB had no idea how right she was naming my new city VanCougar - although the official cougar age must be at least 40 (according to that well known reliable source, the Urban Dictionary) I feel that at the tender age of 28 (HA!) I could pass for a cougar in this town. Everyone here seems to be drinking from some secret fountain of youth.

Yeah yeah, it's down to all the things I complain about, or will in the future if I have time, the constant 'hiking' (sometimes it's just called a walk ya know) the lack of pollution, the overbearing interest in a healthy diet... Surely I could drink from this fountain of youth too? Not while I'm convinced it's some kind of cult, no.

At least this giddy youthfulness has made me strongly assess who I should be seeking out here as friends or anything else. My last big crush involved me baking a ridiculous amount of treats for someone who cannot legally drink in half the western world - this is not something I wish to repeat here. In light of that, any man on a skateboard gets instantly ruled out. This may seem obvious in London where most boarders are of the 14 year old variety who like to boast to hot girls passing by that they 'work out'. Here in Vancouver I run the risk of obliterating a quarter of eligible men (actual adult ones!) by saying no to skate boards. However, it's a risk I'm willing to take. The Cougar of the title is meant to remain ironic for as long as possible.

If you're wondering how it's possible for a person to complain about a lack of pollution then stay tuned.