This note is not a little tweet, no, it's a mighty woof.
I found out something recently that's got me going through the roof.
It seems the people at Google, in their lively inimitable way,
Have decided to change my “blogspot dot com” to a “blogspot dot ca”.
I’ve drawn myself as an angry dog to signify my indignation
That the Google people felt so free to change my blogspot designation.
The “ca” stands for “Canada”, where many people come to ski,
But I think a “dot com” would be a cooler place at which to be.
Or if my blogspot had a “uk” suffix, that means I’d be a Brit,
People would think I’m cool, and posh, and I’d be a worldwide hit.
Or if I had a “fr” blog – the “fr” is short for “France” –
My blog would be synonymous with good cooking, art, sex, and romance.
Or a “kr” suffix – everyone knows it indicates Korea,
So people would think of that famous land, away across the sea, yeah.
The “ca” on my blogspot, to me is disappointing.
I imagine people looking down at me, and pointing.
The people think I’m stupid, living in the snow,
And that there is no other place that I would rather go.
They think that I am clumsy, and that I am a fool,
And I’m always playing with a puck, on the ice in my swimming pool,
I shop at Mountain Equipment Co-op, for clothes made of some kind of nylon,
And I wear skis in the parking lot, trying for fun to hit a pylon,
I buy a gun at Canadian Tire, so I can shoot a duck,
And I drive around, in a very small town, in an enormous truck,
I look out my apartment window and see some grizzly bears,
And lie awake nights listening to the moose who lives upstairs,
I snoop around behind a Tim Hortons, looking for a Timbit,
Then I accidentally step on a raccoon, and I am by him bit,
I study a Gage Canadian Dictionary, which has suffered many thumbings,
My ears are glued to the radio for Dan Hill and Burton Cummings,
I stand around in back yards, holding a Molson Golden,
I’m always a secondary character, like Jimmy Olsen, not like Bill Holden,
I spend hours in a sports bar, trying to be outspoken,
Then I hang around the subway, looking for a stray token,
I look at women on the Go Train, as if I’m a Lothario,
Then I buy some booze at the Liquor Control Board Of Ontario,
I start an argument for no logical reason, then sheepishly concur,
I look at eBay dot ca, all day, for some photos of Raymond Burr,
I look at Home Depot dot ca, trying to find a piece of flat wood,
I walk around in Yorkville (in Toronto) looking for Margaret Atwood,
I wear a smug expression, as if I can’t be fooled,
I pose for goofy photos with a statue of Glenn Gould,
Yes that’s what people think of me, when they see my “dot ca”,
And it will always frustrate me, until my dying day.
I thought I could be a someone, a citizen of the world,
But now my Word Flag is in the closet, and will stay forever unfurled.
BUT WAIT – I’ve thought of a way that I can blow my horn, yeah –
I’ll just tell everyone that “ca” stands for “California”.