Having lived through another St. Patrick's Day, partying with people who wish they were Irish, full of green beer, and wearing goofy green hats that no respectable Irishman would be caught dead wearing, got me to thinking about that other thing some of the Irish are noted for – their religion.

Many Irish jokes contain the oft-used phrase, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." On Monday, as I quaffed a Guinness in honour of the patron saint of brewers, Saint Arnold (really, look it up), who wasn't even Irish, I heard one of my tablemates declare that you can now confess your sins online. If you're Catholic, of course.

No way, I thought. So I checked it out. Turns out there was a move afoot to set up web-based confessionals for lazy Catholics, or perhaps Catholics at death's door who needed a quick 10 Hail Marys penance imposed upon them to facilitate their voyage to the other side.

However, the Vatican put the kibosh on that move seven years ago. You want forgiveness, drag your sinning butt to church and talk to the priest. But don't expect to be given God's e-mail address so you can avoid talking to the middleman. The online confessionals you'll find today are bogus.
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Last Saturday, I drove to Pearson Airport to drop off some friends who were about to wing their way to St. Martin for three weeks of R&R. On my back to Barrie, I spotted a new highway sign that has me wondering.

As you leave the airport, along a confusing tangle of asphalt even for those of us who live in this part of the world, you are greeted with dozens of signs directing you to the 401, the 427, the 407, Airport Road, and so on.

Added to the mix is a sign that tells you that Algonquin Park is only 255 km away. As I blasted past the large green highway marker, I wondered if I had really seen it.

Sure enough, after I found my way to the 401, there was another similar sign telling me that I was indeed on the way to Algonquin Park. And a few kilometres along, yet another.

There is no denying that Algonquin Park is a jewel in the crown of Ontario's provincial parks and if you have never been, put it on your list of places to visit this year. But how many people landing at Pearson are en route to Algonquin in any given season? Not enough to warrant four jumbo highway signs, I'll bet.
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Another highway sign that caught my eye recently is located alongside the 407 between Brampton and Hamilton. The billboard reads, "And on your right, eternity." It's an effective ad for a cemetery.

I first started noticing highway signs when I was a kid in the backseat of Dad's '54 Chevy. They were sequenced signs for Burma-Shave, a brushless shaving cream first introduced in the 1920s.

At their height of popularity there were 7,000 Burma-Shave signs stretching across America. You would read first one, then another, anticipating the punch line on number five and the familiar Burma-Shave on the sixth.

Here's an example that MADD would love today.
Violets are blue,
Roses are pink,
On graves of those
Who drive and drink
Burma-Shave

But things began to change in the late Fifties. Cars got faster and superhighways were built. The funny little roadside signs were being replaced by looming, unsightly billboards. The last year for new Burma Shave signs was 1963.

Billboards continue to stain our landscapes today, but occasionally a good one still produces a chuckle, like the one I saw outside of Sydney, N.S. that directs travellers to the Lick-A-Chick drive-in restaurant. Really … ask my wife