July 1st is Canada D'eh so grab your brand new iPhone, call your peeps and get your nation on - the Great White North is 140! (which is the new 130)

I wear red and white on July 1st. I had to leave the country for the better part of 2 years to really appreciate what we have here. The long-johns, the mosquitoes, the taxes. Yup, this is the place.

We have many countrymen and countrywomen to make us proud for their various global contributions. Take Marconi, for instance. He invented the very first radio signal. Without him, music lovers around the globe wouldn't have one music medium to abandon for another (mp3 much?) And how about that Wayne Gretzky? Without number 99, hockey hair would have simply fallen to the barber shop floor. And, of course there's Pamela Anderson (who also celebrates her own birthday today). Without Pam, the world would have no idea how, like, super-hard it is to, like, watch a bay all day.

Canada's rockin' the international dialogue lately. Have you seen filmmaker Michael Moore on all the talk shows this week? He's been favourably mentioning Canada and seems to know alot about us (almost as much as the kids from South Park), especially our health care system.

Hopefully you'll have no need to access that health care over the long weekend. Enjoy it responsibly, won't you? Keep that in mind as you decide what to do in Vancouver on July 1st. Here are some thought-starters:

The Yaletown Grand Prix Bike Race is on from 10am to 6pm. The Canada Line construction on Davie Street should help to turn the race into an obstacle course.

Vancouver's International Jazz Festival is on at Granville Island, the Roundhouse Community Centre and David Lam Park. Details are on the Coastal Jazz website.

If shopping brings out the patriot in you, check out "Oh Canada Day" on Robson Street from noon 'til 5 o'clock. It's a street party at Robson and Bute.

Canada Place, as always, is hosting a big birthday bash all day from 10 'til 7. But the best part is, Canada Day fireworks are back this year! They start at 10:30pm and if you want to watch them from Canada Place, it'll cost you 10 bucks with net proceeds to the Strathcona Community Centre. Or, you can enjoy the free view from Stanley Park or Coal Harbour.

Let the weekend be long! Happy Canada D'eh!

As Paris Hilton was sprung from the slammer last night wearing zero makeup, the rabid paparazzi were right there to capture her image, even though she looked somehow different. Changed. Contrite. Humble, even?

Such a tangible change happened here in Vancouver in 2003 when our city officially gained status as host city for the 2010 Winter Olympics. We all knew our city's face would change as we get ready to invite the world. That facelift is now underway.

As for myself, I think I just might look a bit different now too. That's because I feel a bit different. Why? Well, I gotta blame it on the jazz. Basically, I got curious about the jazz, I went to the jazz, I saw the jazz, and… I dug the jazz. I am now pretty much a jazz-lovin' something-or-other.

The show was Jazz at Canada Place and it's on everyday this week from noon 'til 2 at the building's North Pointe (the part that sticks out over the water near the Imax theatre). There's no cost to attend (it's as free as Paris Hilton… ok, I gotta let that one go already) and it's all part of the Vancouver International Jazz Festival.

What you see is all you really need for a good time; a little white tent and some really good music. On this particular day, we were treated to the guitar, drums and stand up bass of The Paul Pigat Trio. Great rhythms, catchy tunes and fun lyrics (something about "knocking back the Schnapps, running from the cops"). There was a rich mix of people down there, very typical of Vancouver; some of them were Vancouverites, some of them were visitors. Office workers, backpackers, cyclists, special needs groups, toddlers and their parents, what have you. Everyone was just enjoying the music and the good-looking Burrard Inlet and North Shore mountains. Here's proof of how thoroughly riveting the show was...

Poor little guy in the stroller just couldn't resist the jazz as he drifted off, presumably to the uncomplicated land of bouncy castles and milk chocolate everything.

The Paul Pigat Trio is playing again on Saturday night at the Lamplighter in Gastown. In 1921, the Lamplighter was the first place in Vancouver to legally pour a drink and serve it to a woman. How progressive! The next picture is the front entrance to the Lamplighter last weekend. As you can see, it's a popular jazz festival venue so get there early. The best part was that those wide-open doors had white signs stuck to them which read: These Doors Must Remain Closed Due To Noise By-Laws.

You can get tickets for the Vancouver International Jazz Festival at Tickets Tonight (200 Burrard Street) and www.ticketstonight.ca

Happy First Day to you
Happy First Day to you
Happy First Day of Summer
Happy First Day to you

The arrival of summer includes another art and culture festival in Vancouver. It's the 10th Annual National Aboriginal Day and if a car hadn't almost hit me yesterday, I might not have stumbled upon it.

Some intriguing shapes along the city skyline had caught my eye so I paused for a camera phone moment. Just then, some younger guy yelled at me about the hybrid which was only a moment or two away from driving into me from behind. I turned around to see a woman and her car coming right for me. The woman was oblivious to my existence. After leaping out of her way, I landed like a champion figure skater. Flawless. Perfect 10's across the board. To others my landing probably looked more like a high jumper without a crash mat. But I ended up right next to the Aboriginal festival. How fortuitous.

That's the view from inside one of the teepee displays. Beyond it, you're seeing the TD tower also know as the "black tower" to listeners of Vancouver radio stations The Fox or Rock 101 (each has studios up on the 20-something floor with killer views of the city.)

Back at ground level, the Vancouver Art Gallery lawn is hosting free, outdoor celebrations daily from 10am - 9pm. That's on until Sunday night with live music, traditional food, a kids' area and Aztec dancers wearing costumes that just might get Bob Mackie salivating.

Tonight, there's a special show to get things moving: Aboriginal Blues at The Yale. It's 20 bucks to get in and it starts at 8:30pm. If you haven't been there yet, The Yale is hands-down one of Vancouver's best live music rooms, not to mention one of the top blues bars in North America. And it's in a very cool old building which is one of only a few to survive Vancouver's great fire of 1886.

If you want to know more about this festival, search Aboriginal Art and Culture Celebration Society. Meantime, check out a couple of the hilarious T-shirts on sale at the festival.

Ever heard of an "attitude of gratitude"? It's a reminder to give thanks for the good things in life. For me, it's ending up in a terrific city such as Vancouver, getting enough sleep, viewing a DaVinci original at the Hermitage museum and Rolo ice cream.

I'm also grateful for Mrs. LeDrew, my first grade teacher who taught me to read. Because of her class I can enjoy anything from Seuss to Shakespeare. Or, I can take down your license plate if you cut me off in traffic. But most importantly, I can satisfy my curiosity at Mayfair News.

Cut up your library card and uninstall your Google toolbar, Mayfair News (1515 West Broadway) has everything you need. It's been there for what seems like forever but, according to J.J., the nephew of the Vancouver family which owns and operates the store, forever is more like "about 30 years".

The first thing you see after crossing the threshold is a variety of newspapers: The Scottish Banner, Sing Tao, Baseball America, Daily Telegraph, Le Monde, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Pique and The New York Times. Across the aisle, lighter interests are pursued in Soap Opera Digest and the Canadian edition of Hello! with its cover graced by a photo of Celine Dion and her creepy-looking "androgy-tot" of a son.

Deeper inside the store, you'll find Cinema Retro (your essential guide to movies from the 1960's & 70's), Hobo Magazine (surprisingly not intended for those who jump on and off moving rail cars), Broken Pencil (the magazine of 'zine culture & independent arts) and Trailer Life (an intimate portrait of Britney Spears at home with the kids). Okay, maybe that last one is actually about RV'ing.

Entire sections are devoted to golf, architecture, literary review, hockey, fashion, British music, current events, photography, computing and non-English editions of popular monthly's (i.e. Cosmo) which, according to a colleague of mine who is fluent in Dutch, always contain racier material than their North American counterparts.

And if that's not enough, you'll also find Gripped (a magazine for rock climbers), Stringing (for making jewelry, bead by boring bead) and Haute Doll which features a doll on the cover and bills itself as the magazine for dolls who love to shop. That one, well… I just don't understand that one so off I went to lose myself in the latest issue of Muscle Car Enthusiast.

Lastly, if you enjoy a cigar while you read, Mayfair News carries a respectable Cuban selection. J.J. the nephew revealed to me that Bill Clinton once patronized the store when in Vancouver on a speaking engagement. After he entered, the image of gob-smacked customers was reflected in the mirror-shades worn by his each member of his entourage who surveyed the store for security risks. President Clinton chose and paid for his cigars. One can't help but wonder just exactly how the former president "enjoyed" his purchase.

If there's one public art form which is seldom any good, it's got to be street performance. Our entire nation must pray for shows like Canadian Idol to stay on the air forever. For if they do, our city sidewalks and beaches would be relieved from playing host to those who once performed before the bathroom mirror and now perform before innocent people with standards. Let these performers get their 15 minutes on the tube instead of on the street.

Let's pretend for a moment that the street is a marinade and the street performance is an uncooked meat or vegetable. The street performance is lacking full flavour and needs to get inside an oven to reach a level fit for consumption. Until that happens, the street performance is raw and tasteless with zero nutrients for your survival (or your entertainment).

And you, my dear, as you walk down the street, YOU are the wine or vinegar in which the performance needs to steep. But, like anything worth waiting for, it takes a good amount of time until that process reaches its fruition. I think that's why most street performers I've seen are really crappy. That's not to say their artistic gusto isn't admirable, but it just isn't any good. And if the necessary talent actually exists somewhere deep inside, it hasn't been honed long enough to have impact.

As I stroll through town noticing new construction sites and yet more places to buy coffee, rare is the occasion when I've dug in my pocket in a show appreciation for an uncommonly entertaining performance. But, it does happen. And it did happen the other day on Robson Street. Dear Reader, meet Mr. Viggs. Mr. Viggs, Dear Reader…

To see Mr. Viggs perform is to surrender to the idea of becoming transfixed. I've seen him a small handful of times on Robson Street and immediately stopped dead in my tracks each time. His performances are utterly spellbinding.

If a Vaudevillian performer from the early 20th century was resurrected as a mechanical man who came across a bit like Jim Carrey channeling Charlie Chaplin, that's what Mr. Viggs is like.

As a "mechanical man", his motions are created from a series of jerking movements which are almost robotic. His joints provide his only opportunity to bend and turn; there doesn't appear to be fluidity anywhere else, until you see his face. It's a kaleidoscope of arched eyebrows, winking eyes, curled lips and expressions of pleasant surprise, pubescent excitement, puppy dog innocence and old dog trickery.

Every single body movement is complemented by a sound effect resembling a motorized dental instrument or maybe one of those automatic paper towel dispensers.

According to the open suitcase near his feet, Mr. Viggs is "coin operated". If you see him in Vancouver on Robson street, toss a toonie in his suitcase and he'll jerk to life to delight you with one of the most purely charming street performances you'll ever see. And he has a bit of a thing for the ladies, so make sure you're open to his mimed notions of virility because they're completely harmless and a riot to watch.

Most of us would be hard pressed to spend time on Robson Street without noticing its consistently high noise levels. You got your booming car audio, you got your activated car alarms. You got your screaming kids, you got your screaming parents (after seeing the price tag on the shoes for which the kids are screaming).

Clear as bell, but much louder than one, I recall the first time I noticed the noisy Robson environment. The booming bass from a convertible's sound system reverberated through my chest as the speakers blared Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite.

In those simple years before digital downloads and file sharing, that song was number one on Top 40 radio. By now, you can probably figure out the decade I'm recalling. It was the very same one in which humankind was initially subjected to, er, introduced to Mariah Carey. And infomercials starring Cher. And the Internet. And the dynamic duo of Tom Hanks and America's botox sweetheart, Meg Ryan.

Speaking of well-preserved people, I saw one of 'em on Robson when I was sitting next to the window inside Starbucks. I was there with a friend who was visiting from Edmonton. Together we were mystified by the other Starbucks right across the street. Suddenly, John Travolta appeared outside our window. We were temporarily paralyzed by his eyes which are so electric blue that I'm sure there was an extension cord trailing behind him.

On another Robson street occasion, I saw that guy from the old sitcom "Wings". Can't even remember his name, but he's on Studio 60 now. He was whistling and carrying shopping bags from Armani Exchange. Another time, I saw Perry Solkowski from CTV Sports. He was carrying a take-out bag from McDonald's.

People-watching on Robson is rarely disappointing, but the other day my attention was drawn by the very thing I first noticed about this street… very loud music. I recognized the tune, turned toward the music and saw a character I never dreamed I'd see for real…

I saw a Transformer. That's right, a Transformer. A robot in disguise, more than meets the eye (as the jingle goes). But this one wasn't in disguise at all. Looking like an Optimus Prime knock-off, this one was in full robotic glory for all to see.

See the guy laughing, on the right? I asked him what was up and it turned out to be a stag. "Transformer-guy" was soon to get hitched and a one-man parade was his punishment. No doubt, anyone would be a wee bit humiliated to walk along Robson Street looking like an extra in the upcoming Transformers movie. If it was me, I would have folded my extremities into myself, reassembled as a rig and gotten out of there fast.

The best part was that his friends carried an old school ghetto blaster which very loudly re-produced the guiltiest of all pleasures: a big hit from a big fraud… Milli Vanilli. That's the tune that had gotten my attention. And I must confess, I was even singing along. Girl, you know it's true.

Soon, I'll introduce you to another Robson Street character whom you must see to believe.

While walking down Dunsmuir Street and soaking up a questionable mixture of midday sunshine, vehicular exhaust and electromagnetic chaos thanks to the cell phone pressed against my ear, I saw something that reminded me of a video I had recently seen on YouTube.

Standing on the sidewalk near the corner of Dunsmuir and Burrard, a young woman stood still at this busy intersection amid tons of other people moving around her in all directions. She held a sign over her head which read: FREE HUGS. Some people noticed her sign, others didn't. And some of those who noticed it, ignored it.

In case you hadn't already heard of it, Free Hugs is campaign to commit random acts of kindness. It began in Sydney, Australia and has spread around the world.

As I approached her, I also observed your basic Vancouver suit guy… clean shaven, Blackberry-addled and choked by a necktie. I heard him say, "Sure, why not?" when the Free Hugs girl asked if he'd like to have a hug. The two embraced for a couple of moments. When they parted, each had a genuine smile for the other.

I told my friend on the other end of the phone to hang on a sec. I stopped talking and walking and got my own hug. As we released our hold, I heard a female voice say, "5-hundred and 69". It didn't come from the person who hugged me, so I looked up to see another woman, standing off to the side. Her job was to count the hugs and call out each one. Imagine that! More than half a thousand people had been hugged before me.

I said thanks to the Free Hugs girl and went back to my phone call. But I couldn't stop thinking about the nice thing that had just happened in the middle of downtown Vancouver. So I pressed End on my phone and turned around. I went back and photographed her. Here she is with her sign…

After I took the photo, she offered me another hug. I gladly accepted and this time I was Hug #590. Who knew one tiny moment in Vancouver could lift you out of "same-old, same-old" and put you somewhere else with a smile on your face?