show me your beaver

We stopped up in Niagara Falls for the 4th. The Canadian side, of course. That's the real side of the falls. Who wants to be in America on the Fourth of July anyway? We didn't. After the parade we kissed the boy goodbye, jumped in Miss Bruce, and headed north immediately.

I thought it was enormously funny to see all of the Americans walking around Canada in their $5 Old Navy holiday t-shirts. Seriously, people. If you care about your Americaniess enough to advertise that you are an American, stay home. Go to Jersey. Eat a hot dog. Get out of my way, you are blocking my shot of the Veil. Isn't there some sort of International Code stating that you should be ashamed that you are American once you are out of America? That's why I told all the Italians that I was Canadian when I was over there. They treat you nicer that way.

It was weird to be in NF unchaperoned. I've never been there without parents before, mine or someone else's. It felt dangerous. It seemed bigger and badder and way more foreign. We had a hard time finding Clifton Hill because we got turned around with all the new walkways and stuff. That's never happened when I've been there with a mom. I should probably bring one with me next time I travel.

The town has certainly grown since I've been there last. There are tons of giant hotels and casinos and chain restaurants and better sidewalks and landscaping and more effective railings to keep you from taking a header into the drink. The falls have stayed the same. Still majestic by day and magical by night.

We stayed for fireworks, which was really neat because there were about five or six displays over in America that we could see plus one right over the falls. It reminded me of Erie when I was little. From a boat in the bay, you could see all the displays in town. I don't think there are as many places that shoot them off anymore, but it was pretty neat back then when Erie had jobs and people and entertainment. Now there is just a hampster in a wheel by the dock that they let you poke at with a piece of hay for the price of one shiny nickel and a welfare line that winds down the road for miles that they let you poke at for free.

And apparently there must be a barbershop up there that specializes in mullets and mohawks. WTF, ErPa? Are those like the official male hairstyles of the Northshore or have you all just lost your everloving minds?

Oh, jeez. Wheels. I went on a Ferris Wheel. A big Ferris Wheel. A big scary Ferris Wheel. A big scary $10-a-ride Ferris Wheel. But it was totally cool because it was enclosed and new. Not like those rickety bench carnival things that I am scared poopless of. I got some great shots of the falls, which I will spare you because sometimes I think that showing my vacation pictures instantly turns me into that annoying lady who sits you down and shows you her slightly out-of-focus photos of a bunch of junk that you have seen a million times and you can easily access quality pictures of by Googling whatever it is that she is showing you while you are at work and you are getting paid to be bored silly by looking at a bunch of junk.

Totally different than being that girl who just types on and on and on about her life to keep you from being bored silly while you are at work.