Pizza of the Day: Summer Solstice Edition

Here's today's pizza, a traditonal summer solstice pizza:


It's got mozzarella, cheddar and parmesan cheeses, zucchini, red pepper, jerk tofu (jerk!) green olives, pickled jalapeno pepper (thanks Mom!) and tapenade. Yeah, it's a bit lopsided...so what? You are too.

Bo Diddley R.I.P.

I walk 47 miles of barbed wire,
I use a cobra-snake for a necktie,
I got a brand new house on the roadside,
Made from rattlesnake hide,
I got a brand new chimney made on top,
Made out of a human skull,
Now come on take a walk with me, Arlene,
And tell me, who do you love?

Hairy Upper Lips Part 3

AKA: Moustache May Redux.

The Merry Month of May has come and gone again. You may recall two years back I participated in Moustache May at work. Well, we did it again this year. On the last working day of the month there was an awards ceremony. I won a prize.

The moustache:

The Category/Award:


I'm not sure what that means, but everyone seems to think it's dirty.

The prize:

The reaction:

"Congratulations! Your efforts paid off...nice work. As for the prize: use it."

It's June now so I probably should shave it off, but I'm just not sure. I saw a poster for a concert in two weeks that I get in at a reduced rate if I'm moustached...

In the News...

And the award for the most misleading headline to a news story or the most disappointing payoff in a news story due to it's accompanying headline is:

Great tits cope well with warming.

It's about birds. The feathered, winged kind, I mean. Somehow I don't think that's why it is currently one of the most popular stories on the BBC website.

Lying Liars!

I want to start this by saying that from a young age my Mom taught me the value and importance of honesty. Now, there is a radio show/podcast that I listen to regularly called Radiolab. They take a particular theme and explore the science behind it. The most recent one I listened to was about Deception. A segment within the show was about self-deception. In the 1970's two psychiatrists came up with a self-deception questionnaire used to gauge how honest a person is with themselves. And here's what is interesting about the results: people who scored higher on the test, meaning those people that were less honest with themselves, (i.e. liars) performed better at things such as sports and business, and overall tended to be happier. Whereas people who were more honest with themselves, and thus more realistic about their own faults and the way of the world, tended to be more depressed. Thanks, Mom.

люди!

This, right here, is why Russian men are super tough and you're just a great big sissy. A Russian man was knifed while drinking with a security guard at his workplace. He woke up the next morning, still at work, took the bus home, ate some sausage, then went to sleep. His wife noticed the knife handle sticking out of his back. Yuri Lyalin, the man who was stabbed, apparently has no ill will towards the man who stabbed him. He said:

"We were drinking and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?"

That reminds me of the time I once stepped on a dried lentil with my bare foot and it stuck there. I found the lentil in my bed and wondered how it got there until I later found another lentil stuck to my foot and did the math. What I'm really trying to say here is that I need to sweep my floor more frequently.

Zombie Strippers!

Yes I Said Yes I Will Yes!

Last year when I finished reading War & Peace, I said I wasn't sure which would be next on my reading list: Ulysses or The History of Western Philosophy. Apparently neither were. At the beginning of this year when listing my resolutions I also mentioned those two books. And while I'm making very slow work of the latter (I'm at Plato) I have now completed the former. I took it with me on my trip to Ireland (a bit of light vacation reading anyone?) to force myself to read it, plus I'm the kind of pretentious sort that would read Ulysses while traveling in Ireland. I would also read the Odyssey while Greek island hopping, in case you were wondering. And while I didn't finish the book on my trip I did get two thirds of the way through it and have now, just over an hour ago, finished it. Apparently James Joyce said that it took him ten years to write it so it should take people ten years to read it. And while I had no intention of spending ten years on it, I can see why one might need the time. It is a masterfully crafted book, full of references, at times captivating, at times confusing, at times witty, at times, umm, confusing. Some episodes of it captured me, others left me wondering what exactly was going on. But for all that, I think it was worth the effort. I didn't necessarily understand all of it, but I'm not sure I needed to. At those times it was enough to enjoy the writing, the play with language etc. And while I have no intention of rereading it just yet, I may feel the need to do so someday. At the James Joyce Institute in Dublin they had a great little post card that summarized Ulysses in 36 words. And while I didn't buy it and so am unable to post that here for you, here is the BBC's Cheat's Guide to Ulysses complete with plenty of amusing readers comments. Next up? Finnegan's Wake. Or not.

Yoga Time!

I recently told a friend of mine that I had been thinking about getting back into yoga. She mentioned an ad in the Georgia Straight for some Lululemon men's yogawear and wanted to know if I would wear such a thing to yoga. I hadn't seen the ad in question so I told her I'd check it out and let her know. I'm kind of torn about Lululemon. On the one hand, I have a strong dislike for their trendy, Kitsilano, SUV driving, Starbucks sipping, yoga, lifestyle bullshit, but on the other hand, Lululemon pants can do wonderful things for a woman's posterior. But I digress. When I finally checked the ad out Lululemon stock went up a few points in my mind. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing "The Mansy:"

Turns out it was only an April Fool's joke. Which is too bad for any ladies that might happen to be in my upcoming yoga classes.

P.S-You can't see it in this picture, but the back part is only a very thin strip of material highlighting the yogi's, shall we say, cheeks.

Spring Break Boredom!

Last Saturday morning there was a loud knock on my door. No one had buzzed from the street so I figured it was someone from within the building, perhaps something strata related, as I am on my strata council, plus it was a pretty determined knock, so I went to answer it, even though it was approaching the ninetieth minute of Arsenal-Middlesbrough with the scores level at 1-1. I opened the door to two young girls, perhaps one was 12 the other 10, I'm not sure as I'm not very good with guessing the ages of anyone under 23.

Me: Hello?
Them: Hello. Can you give us a word for our dictionary of made up words?
Me: What?
Them: We're making a list of made up words.
Me (stalling for time): Umm?
Them (standing there looking at me, not saying anything, waiting): silencio
Me (stalling for time): What's this for?
Them: It's spring break and we're bored (editor's note: what the hell?)
Me (stalling for time): What do you have so far?
Them (wondering why I won't just give them a word): blah, blah, blah, blah (Okay I don't remember what they said, they weren't actually just repeating the word blah)
Me (bored with this conversation): I don't really have anything.
Them (not taking no for an answer): If you had some time to think about it would you be able to come up with something?
Me (wanting them to go away so I could go back to watching second half injury time in the Arsenal game, with the Arsenal level and pressing for a winner): Maybe.
Them (not understanding what I'm not saying): Okay, we'll come back in ten minutes.

So, I went back to my computer to see the game had ended, still 1-1, and then tried to make up a word. I even went to a website of made up words, not to plagiarise but hopefully to be inspired. Nothing. They knocked again and despite not having a word yet, I answered the door again.

Me (thinking but not saying "there's no way in hell that was ten minutes"): Hello.
Them (waiting with excitement and anticipation): Do you have a word yet?
Me (not having a word yet): No.
Them (not impressed by me not having a word for them): silencio
Me (not impressed by them just standing there unimpressed by me): But I do have a definition for one.
Them (slightly less unimpressed): What is it?
Me (hungry): The inability to think when under pressure.
Them (thinking quickly): How about unthinkissure? (sp?)
Me (thinking that with more time I could come up with something better but not wanting to actually take the time to come up with something better): Sure.

So there you have it, my contribution to spring break and the English language.

CANCELLED!

I've just learnt that St. Patrick's Day has been cancelled this year. In the church calendar this is holy week, which takes precedent over any saint's days, thus, no St. Patrick's Day. So, turn off your Dubliner's albums, take off your green, cork your Jameson's, and get back to work.

Teen Angst Poetry!

I went to the Railway Club last night for Teen Angst Poetry. It's a somewhat regularly occurring (now the second Tuesday of every month at the Railway) open mic night. People get up and read from their journals from the darkest and deepest corners of their teenage years. They tell of their anxieties, of how no one understands nor will ever understand them, of how they'll be alone forever, of how Kevin likes them, of how sad everyone will be when they're gone, of true ever-lasting love, of how Kevin no longer likes them, of marshmallow horses (seriously), of how cold and lonely this world is, you get the idea. Some people took themselves a little too seriously, some people thought they were a lot funnier than they actually were, but for the most part it was just good and funny. A lot reminded me of my own teenaged deep and tragic poetic musings and it made me really want to read through them again. Not on stage, just to myself. But alas, those journals are in another city right now. Woe is me...

My Irish Pub Crawl

Spanning a number of days, cities, islands and, of course, pints...

Uisce Beatha!

I'm just after going to the Old Jameson's Distillery. There was a brief tour through the building where Jameson's was distilled for almost 200 years before moving to near Cork. But most importantly included in the admission price was a sample of Jameson's at the end. But even better than that, I was chosen as one of 6 volunteer whiskey/whisky tasters. First we sampled three different Irish whiskeys; Powers, Paddy, & Jameson's. From those we had to choose our favourite. Not surprisingly, we all chose Jameson's. No pressure, seriously. Though I must say, I'd be interested in trying Paddy again. Mellow stuff. Then we had to compare our favourite Irish whiskey to the number one selling Scotch in the world. (Johnny Walker Red Label, should you care) Then we compared the Irish whiskey to the number one selling bourbon in the world. (Any guesses?) Then we had to choose our favourite from the three international whiskeys. I can keep the 'e' as no one chose the Scotch. Even the Scotsman, though I think he chose the Jameson's a little begrudgingly. Again not surprisingly, all six of us chose the Jameson's. So there you have it, scientifically proven, Jameson's is the best whiskey in the world. Okay, there was no rye whiskey involved, nor a whole host of better, longer aged whiskey's but you get my point. And now, I'm an accredited whiskey taster. I even have the certificate to prove it.

Kilkenny vs. Guinness

I was in a pub last night called Tynan's Bridge House in Kilkenny. Being in Kilkenny I was drinking a pint of Kilkenny. Earlier that night I'd had a Smithwick's, also from Kilkenny. So, I was standing at the bar, drinking my Kilkenny, chatting with an Irishman and a Welshman. Doesn't that sound like a joke? ACanadian, an Irishman, and a Welshman are at a bar...? Actually, the Welshman did tell me a joke: What's the difference between an Irishman and a Welshman? I don't know what, I asked. One of them learned how to swim? Which one, I asked. Well, that's up for debate. Alright, it isn't really much of a joke, or at least it isn't a funny one. Anyhow, I was standing there talking to those two when along came Paddy Ryan. Seriously. From Calgary, no less. Seriously. Paddy was there as a representative of Arthur Guinness' fine Dublin based brewery. It was his job to sign up people to come to that particular pub for the next three Tuesdays. In return they'd get a free pint of Guinness each week and if they went all three they'd get a Guinness windbreaker. I was unable to commit to that, though I'd have liked to, but he then took it upon himself to show me why I should be drinking Guinness rather than the locally brewed libation. I mean to say he gave me a free pint, charged to Guinness, or rather to whatever non-Irish multinational it is that owns Guinness now. I'm not a huge fan of Kilkenny to begin with, and I am a huge fan of free pints of beer and of Guinness, so needless to say, I was easily convinced. Good work, Paddy!

A Football Fan's Delight

I just finished watching Arsenal's resumption in the Champion's League after it's too long winter break in a not very good bar on O'Connell Street in Dublin. There were hundreds of people crammed in there watching a number of television screens that had all four of today's matches. In a word: awesome. There being so many people in there insured that each of the eight clubs playing had a good vocal following. I, of course, was watching the Arsenal vs. AC Milan match which included the long awaited Dudu vs. Kaka match up. That match produced no goals so there was little more than Italians yelling at the screen and one irate Arsenal fan to whom everyone that wasn't an Arsenal player was a wanker. Fenerbhace vs. Sevilla ended 2-2 so there were chances for the assembled Spaniards and Turks to yell and sing, as with the Lyon-Manchester United match that ended 1-1, though with French and English/Irish respectively. The best match however was Celtic vs. Barcelona which ended 2-3. Celtic seems to be the adopted club of many Irishmen so when Celtic went ahead twice, a large portion of the bar erupted into singing, all in unison. Also there seemed to be a large Catalan contingent as Barcelona's 3 goals where each met with a chorus. All in all, a good evening for some football. Shame Adebayor didn't put that header away rather than put it off the bar.

Blowout!

In CONCACAF World Cup qualifying today, apparently El Salvador beat Antiguilla 12-0. I say apparently because though I've been to El Salvador and can vouch for its existence, I'm not sure I've heard of Antiguilla before. Generally, I'm pretty good with geography, so if I've not heard of some place it is probably fictional. Which means that as far as I'm concerned, El Salvador was playing a game of football against a team that doesn't really exist. Which means that in 90 minutes against an empty field and, more particularly, against an empty net they could only score twelve goals. You know what that means? El Salvador sucks. I'm pretty sure that in 90 minutes I could score at least 90 goals against an empty net. That even includes time for me to get bored, leave, go drink some beer or coffee, go to the bathroom, eat a sandwich, make a prank call about your refrigerator running, hit on your sister, and then score a bunch more goals. I'm that good.

The Editors

I went to see the Editors last night at the Commodore. I only caught the tail end of the first opening band, Louis XIV, who I hadn't heard before. They weren't bad, so I'll have to check out more of them. Hot Hot Heat were the second band and while I had heard them before, they don't do too much for me. Definitely lots of energy in their performance though. And the lead singer said that his doctor had told him he couldn't sing for a couple of weeks and they'd have to cancel shows but he couldn't not play the Vancouver show. (Aww, shucks, I bet he says that to all the crowds.) Finally, the Editors came on. It's at times like this (right now, writing this) when I feel my lack of music journalist potential as I have nothing interesting or intelligent to say about the band and their performance beyond that I loved the show. I like seeing bands perform songs that I like. Simple as that. They were great...heck, I even liked the stage lighting. At times I felt like I was watching a flickering black and white film clip. (Seriously, no drugs were taken by me.) Anyhow, a good show.

Ian Curtis Watch: In the way that all new up and coming Argentine footballers are compared to Maradona, it seems all up and coming British singers with a deep voice and moody, somewhat depressing music are compared to Ian Curtis. And while there may be a bit of Ian going on in Tom Smith (is that natural or cultivated spasticity?), I'd say for the most part he's doing and will continue to do his own thing.

A Late Christmas Gift...

I received the first half of my Christmas gift from a friend of mine yesterday. Yes, I'm aware it's now February, what of it?

Here it is:
It's a set of four Bob-Marley-Playing-Football table place mats. And really, I can't think of a more appropriate gift for me, as it combines three of my favourite things in the entire world:

1)Football
2)Jamaican Music
3)Food

If only we could work coffee and girls into it somehow, we'd be set. And now I need to get enough chairs for my dining room table so that I can actually have people over for dinner and show them off.

The Beginnings of Senility?

A couple of weeks ago, for dinner, I made a broccoli, tofu and udon dish. I often make this simple yet tasty dish. In fact, I made it again tonight. Stir-fry the broccoli, add the tofu and noodles and then the sauce. The only remotely complicated part of it is getting the sauce to thicken with cornstarch. This is not at all difficult, but if one had to choose the most difficult stage of the process, this would be it. And yet, on this night a couple of weeks ago the sauce just wouldn't thicken. The only thing I could think of was that I hadn't used enough cornstarch. So, I added more of it. Still no luck. No problem, I just decided I'd eat it with the runny sauce. Or at least try to...because for some reason it tasted nasty. And I mean nasty. Nasty enough that I threw the whole thing out. We're talking about a guy whose ex-roommates would be pleased when he was gone as it meant they didn't have to eat or could throw out the vegetables that they considered to be off but were well within the realm of edible for me. And to think I did most of the cooking for those ingrates. Anyhow, I digress. Nasty, nasty tasting business...the whole thing went into the garburator. Speaking of which, you probably didn't know it but the word garburator is a canadianism. I'm assuming you didn't know that because I didn't know that until a few moments ago and chances are that if I didn't know it, you didn't either. There you go, now this blog is educational. And yet again, I digress. So, I couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. Runny sauce wouldn't have altered the taste that much, certainly not enough to make it disgustingly inedible. The only thing I could think of was that perhaps the broccoli had been a little off. Anyhow, I ended up eating something else for dinner and didn't think much more about it. A few days later I was straightening up the kitchen a little, putting some things that I'd left out away, tidying up, etc. And I just couldn't figure out why the baking soda was out on the counter. But as I put it away it donned on me...it was sitting right in the spot where I might have left a box of cornstarch, had I had one out any time recently. And apparently I hadn't. Damn. Is it all down hill from here?