Last night I went to the Canucks game with my friend and overheard an amusing story.
Firstly, let me preface this. Sitting in row 5, I gathered that people in seats that close to the ice fall into one of three categories: 1) friends with seasons tickets couldn't make it and gave the tickets to the people sitting there (thank you JK!), 2) they're seasons ticket holders who see a lot of games so it's no big deal and don't really care that they're there, or 3) people were on the ball and bought tickets when there were still some for sale and are excited to be there and are just getting completely trashed on $7.75 glasses of beer.
Right, the story.
So there was a row of category 3 behind us, a bunch of guys who spilled beer on my coat during the national anthems. That's how excited they were. During a stoppage in play, one of the guys behind us started telling his buddy this story. Seems he cleaned out his closet and got rid of (allegedly) "40 really nice shirts." He put them in trash bags and left them beside the dumpster. He can see the dumpster from his apartment, so watched as a dumpster diver discovered his shirts and started going through them. The guy put most of the shirts in his cart, but looked at a few and tossed them into the trash. So the guy telling the story was incredulous, like those were really awesome shirts. I enquired what sort of taste he had that a dumpster diver would take all but 3 shirts, that those shirts must have been ugly.
Apparently this was the wrong thing to say.
Listening to a straight metrosexual man defend his wardrobe choices for any length of time is tiresome. And so funny. At least he didn't defend white socks with black dress shoes.
Hey, are you free Saturday night? Might be time for LOTR.
Thursday, February 9, 2006
Tuesday, February 7, 2006
the friend i once had
In kindergarten I was really popular with the boys. One, a Jeffrey (not Jeff), was so enamoured by me that he would give me whatever toys he could find lying around his house, whatever would fit into his miniscule backpack and was small enough that his mom wouldn't notice and get upset. Jeffrey loaded me up with crap. None of it was especially necessary (a dog-chewed rubber ball, anyone?) and there seemed to be a lack of emotion behind each thing he gave me.
Don't get me wrong; I was flattered by the attention. I mean, what rational 4 1/2 year old wouldn't be? It was dizzying. But I was a woman scorned because, despite all his tangible signs of affection, Jeffrey proved what a mama's boy he was. He wouldn't invite me to his birthday party.
It wasn't like I would have been the only girl. A girl up the street from his house was invited. I think she sabotaged me, talked Jeffrey's mother into cutting me from the invite list. All I know is that my older brother (who was friends with Jeffrey's older brothers; they went through Cubs and Scouts together) was invited and I wasn't. His coffin was sealed.
From that point on I don't remember talking to Jeffrey again. I avoided him at figure skating, and in the Skating Fiesta '78 when we were supposed to pose beside each other for pictures (we were both lions) I made a point of leaning away from him so he would know I meant business, marking my scorn for all eternity in a photograph.
But Jeffrey wasn't really my friend. My friend was Leo, the kid with the glandular problem, who salivated so much that he had to carry a towel around with him. There was nothing wrong with Leo, save for the river of spit that dripped from his mouth constantly. I found this amusing. Others were repulsed. Being friends in kindergarten meant you sat beside each other during craft time and maybe ran around in circles on the playground during break. I sat beside Leo a lot.
Now that I think about it, maybe that was because Leo didn't really talk. When he did he would spit gallons towards whomever was closest. I talked a lot. My kindergarten teacher must have really hated me. Oh, wait, she did. "Karen is a selfish child who always wants her own way, even when that is not always possible." Who writes that about a 4 1/2 year old?! A psycho, that's who.
Thanks, Mrs. Potter, for being a bitch.
Currently listening :
Nouvelle
By Club 8
Release date: 19 February, 2004
Don't get me wrong; I was flattered by the attention. I mean, what rational 4 1/2 year old wouldn't be? It was dizzying. But I was a woman scorned because, despite all his tangible signs of affection, Jeffrey proved what a mama's boy he was. He wouldn't invite me to his birthday party.
It wasn't like I would have been the only girl. A girl up the street from his house was invited. I think she sabotaged me, talked Jeffrey's mother into cutting me from the invite list. All I know is that my older brother (who was friends with Jeffrey's older brothers; they went through Cubs and Scouts together) was invited and I wasn't. His coffin was sealed.
From that point on I don't remember talking to Jeffrey again. I avoided him at figure skating, and in the Skating Fiesta '78 when we were supposed to pose beside each other for pictures (we were both lions) I made a point of leaning away from him so he would know I meant business, marking my scorn for all eternity in a photograph.
But Jeffrey wasn't really my friend. My friend was Leo, the kid with the glandular problem, who salivated so much that he had to carry a towel around with him. There was nothing wrong with Leo, save for the river of spit that dripped from his mouth constantly. I found this amusing. Others were repulsed. Being friends in kindergarten meant you sat beside each other during craft time and maybe ran around in circles on the playground during break. I sat beside Leo a lot.
Now that I think about it, maybe that was because Leo didn't really talk. When he did he would spit gallons towards whomever was closest. I talked a lot. My kindergarten teacher must have really hated me. Oh, wait, she did. "Karen is a selfish child who always wants her own way, even when that is not always possible." Who writes that about a 4 1/2 year old?! A psycho, that's who.
Thanks, Mrs. Potter, for being a bitch.
Currently listening :
Nouvelle
By Club 8
Release date: 19 February, 2004
Sunday, February 5, 2006
is it a full moon?
Three things that disturbed me today, to varying degrees:
1) 12:07am: While trying to get through a stubborn clump of people blocking the exit at one of my favourite pubs, noticed a guy at the back pissing onto the interior carpeting on the stairs that I was trying to get down. I actually called him a jackass loudly which, if you know me, is a rare antagonistic response towards anyone in public. He just shrugged, making me even angrier.
2) 11:52am: Just outside the pub attached to my workplace, I noticed a Coors Light tent set up. This alone disturbed me. As I passed I saw that a pig was tied onto a spit. They were actually roasting a pig in a public space! And charged $15 for some pig and a can of beer. Creepy.
3) 3:26pm: At the coffee shop near work, the guy in front of us took 4 1/2 minutes to order because he was tripping on some sort of injected drug and couldn't decide what type of sugary drink he wanted. How do I know he was tripping? He did the balance weave, with extreme bends and exaggerated movements to ensure he completed simple tasks like putting on sunglasses and putting money back into his wallet.
People were generally strange at work today, so much more than usual. I usually don't get asked questions at all, but today about 15 people asked me stuff. My friend suggested it was because of the Superbowl. Does that really make people nuts?
My co-workers and I spent downtime reading a book on people's routines that could either be crazy, or at least highlight OCD tendencies. My favourite: the woman who was creeped out by wooden spoons. If she had to touch one (taking it out of the dishwasher or something), she would have to leave the room for a few minutes and try to forget that she touched it or pretended it never happened before she could function.
I did discover that one of my co-workers flushes public toilets with his shoe. Another, like me, had to end all actions on an even number, like walking or cutting food or clapping. I was comforted to know that she was/is more OCD than I was/am. And both of us are happy that David Sedaris is the most extreme case of OCD that we know. He may call it "A Plague of Tics", but it's all OCD to me.
Currently listening :
Mass Teen Fainting
By Plumtree
Release date: 2003
1) 12:07am: While trying to get through a stubborn clump of people blocking the exit at one of my favourite pubs, noticed a guy at the back pissing onto the interior carpeting on the stairs that I was trying to get down. I actually called him a jackass loudly which, if you know me, is a rare antagonistic response towards anyone in public. He just shrugged, making me even angrier.
2) 11:52am: Just outside the pub attached to my workplace, I noticed a Coors Light tent set up. This alone disturbed me. As I passed I saw that a pig was tied onto a spit. They were actually roasting a pig in a public space! And charged $15 for some pig and a can of beer. Creepy.
3) 3:26pm: At the coffee shop near work, the guy in front of us took 4 1/2 minutes to order because he was tripping on some sort of injected drug and couldn't decide what type of sugary drink he wanted. How do I know he was tripping? He did the balance weave, with extreme bends and exaggerated movements to ensure he completed simple tasks like putting on sunglasses and putting money back into his wallet.
People were generally strange at work today, so much more than usual. I usually don't get asked questions at all, but today about 15 people asked me stuff. My friend suggested it was because of the Superbowl. Does that really make people nuts?
My co-workers and I spent downtime reading a book on people's routines that could either be crazy, or at least highlight OCD tendencies. My favourite: the woman who was creeped out by wooden spoons. If she had to touch one (taking it out of the dishwasher or something), she would have to leave the room for a few minutes and try to forget that she touched it or pretended it never happened before she could function.
I did discover that one of my co-workers flushes public toilets with his shoe. Another, like me, had to end all actions on an even number, like walking or cutting food or clapping. I was comforted to know that she was/is more OCD than I was/am. And both of us are happy that David Sedaris is the most extreme case of OCD that we know. He may call it "A Plague of Tics", but it's all OCD to me.
Currently listening :
Mass Teen Fainting
By Plumtree
Release date: 2003
Saturday, February 4, 2006
don't touch my bikini
Calvin Johnson's voice scares me. I'm not even being cute about this. It SCARES me. It reminds me of doom.
I got the newest Jens Lekman that has the duet, if you can call it that, with CJ. My friend asked why, why, why Jens ruined a perfectly delightful song with that voice of terror. How am I supposed to know? Admitedly, it is frightening to listen to a sweet song and all of a sudden have CJ's deep voice pipe in. I literally jump every time I hear it, even though I know it's coming. Why had I never noticed this before?
So I went back to other stuff I have that Mr. Johnson has done. I mean, he's the mastermind behind K Records. They have all that cute pop and twee. And the Halo Benders really don't freak me out. "Don't Touch My Bikini" is brilliant and his voice doesn't bother me with them. I guess it fits. But with Jens...
You know, the Three Peeps have a similar thing. Peter Green's voice is scary set against Rose Melberg's. The songs will be progressing nicely and then *BOOM* PG's deep flatness comes in. It's disarming, but not in a good way. It's like a bully trying to steal a little kid's bike.
What is it about indie record label guys having deep voices? Why this need to pair up with sweet, soft-spoken singers? Blair? Skippy? Can you shed some light? I'm sure there are plenty that have sweet voices, and I don't have an enormous statistical sampling to back up my theory. It's just bothering me lately.
However, I am grateful that boys have loved indie pop/rock enough to start some of my favourite record labels and put out some of the best bands ever.
Currently listening :
God Don't Make No Junk
By The Halo Benders
Release date: 28 June, 1994
I got the newest Jens Lekman that has the duet, if you can call it that, with CJ. My friend asked why, why, why Jens ruined a perfectly delightful song with that voice of terror. How am I supposed to know? Admitedly, it is frightening to listen to a sweet song and all of a sudden have CJ's deep voice pipe in. I literally jump every time I hear it, even though I know it's coming. Why had I never noticed this before?
So I went back to other stuff I have that Mr. Johnson has done. I mean, he's the mastermind behind K Records. They have all that cute pop and twee. And the Halo Benders really don't freak me out. "Don't Touch My Bikini" is brilliant and his voice doesn't bother me with them. I guess it fits. But with Jens...
You know, the Three Peeps have a similar thing. Peter Green's voice is scary set against Rose Melberg's. The songs will be progressing nicely and then *BOOM* PG's deep flatness comes in. It's disarming, but not in a good way. It's like a bully trying to steal a little kid's bike.
What is it about indie record label guys having deep voices? Why this need to pair up with sweet, soft-spoken singers? Blair? Skippy? Can you shed some light? I'm sure there are plenty that have sweet voices, and I don't have an enormous statistical sampling to back up my theory. It's just bothering me lately.
However, I am grateful that boys have loved indie pop/rock enough to start some of my favourite record labels and put out some of the best bands ever.
Currently listening :
God Don't Make No Junk
By The Halo Benders
Release date: 28 June, 1994
Thursday, February 2, 2006
big surprise
Recently I've been reminded of my intense love for indie rock circa '92-'96. I've started pulling out my old Pluto and Cub records to revisit the past. These 7"s still sound wickedly good. "Rock Candy"? Love it. "My Chinchilla"? Can listen to it indefinitely. Even rediscovered Zumpano pre-Sub Pop disaster. But what I really love? Ten Days Late's "Getaway". It rocks the house.
In '92 things were so much simpler. Music, easier to get into. I mean, I was a card-holding member of cub's fan club, and they sent hand-written postcards while on tour. No one does that anymore. And it got me wondering... Is old indie pop music now considered insipid? Dated? Irrelevant in this time of major label manufactured crap? How did we get here, to the fenced-off stage area, the inaccessibility to musicians, the need to go through a publicist? These gems, now more than a decade old, sound better than anything I hear on commercial radio the few times I've been tricked into listening to it in recent times. And the bands I like now... well, I haven't gotten a postcard for a long time.
But one thing I really want to know is... how did Cinderella get into my 7" collection? And how did they have any career at all?
I have a secret to tell. Boys are awesome. The ones that matter, anyway. Especially if they give me the last Timbit.
Currently listening :
Betti-Cola
By Cub
Release date: 09 February, 1996
In '92 things were so much simpler. Music, easier to get into. I mean, I was a card-holding member of cub's fan club, and they sent hand-written postcards while on tour. No one does that anymore. And it got me wondering... Is old indie pop music now considered insipid? Dated? Irrelevant in this time of major label manufactured crap? How did we get here, to the fenced-off stage area, the inaccessibility to musicians, the need to go through a publicist? These gems, now more than a decade old, sound better than anything I hear on commercial radio the few times I've been tricked into listening to it in recent times. And the bands I like now... well, I haven't gotten a postcard for a long time.
But one thing I really want to know is... how did Cinderella get into my 7" collection? And how did they have any career at all?
I have a secret to tell. Boys are awesome. The ones that matter, anyway. Especially if they give me the last Timbit.
Currently listening :
Betti-Cola
By Cub
Release date: 09 February, 1996
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
krafty
I've got a serious problem with Kraft Foods. See, they send me emails (granted, at my initial request) full of recipes that look easy and good and fast. Little reminders to visit their webpage to find more recipes. They're my pusher when it comes to cookery. With email, it's easy to just ignore it, not visit the website, not lose hours scrolling through recipes I may or may not ever make. The problem is their magazine.
It comes to my door 5 or 6 times a year, full of attractively styled dishes that look easy and good and fast. It is not so easy to ignore. Full meals ready in 20 minutes? I've decided not to ignore it anymore. It appeals to the back-of-the-box recipe lover in me.
Last night I made a fake fettucine alfredo. I was concerned about it because the ingredients sounded crazy, similar to the chicken that's marinated with Russian dressing and apricot jam (that is SO good, it's scary). My friend came over to do some computer stuff for me right at the time I finished making it. How convenient. I usually like to test recipes before I feed them to other people, but no luck. But it was surprisingly tasty, despite not having fettucine or parmesan (linguini, shells and Italiano cheese shreds are good stand-ins). So I'm encouraged.
Next on the menu: better-than-ever beef enchiladas. And then miracle skillet chicken. And maybe old fashioned mac-and-cheese. Maybe some meatloaf. It's way easier to grocery shop this way, with a recipe-specific list. I only use a list maybe 3 times a year. Maybe.
FYI: the Kraft Foods website has this neat little feature where you put in up to three ingredients you want to use and up pops all the recipes they have with that/those ingredient(s). But I can only get behind the Canadian one. And I don't even work for them.
Currently listening :
Conversions in Metric
By French Paddleboat
Release date: 28 December, 1999
It comes to my door 5 or 6 times a year, full of attractively styled dishes that look easy and good and fast. It is not so easy to ignore. Full meals ready in 20 minutes? I've decided not to ignore it anymore. It appeals to the back-of-the-box recipe lover in me.
Last night I made a fake fettucine alfredo. I was concerned about it because the ingredients sounded crazy, similar to the chicken that's marinated with Russian dressing and apricot jam (that is SO good, it's scary). My friend came over to do some computer stuff for me right at the time I finished making it. How convenient. I usually like to test recipes before I feed them to other people, but no luck. But it was surprisingly tasty, despite not having fettucine or parmesan (linguini, shells and Italiano cheese shreds are good stand-ins). So I'm encouraged.
Next on the menu: better-than-ever beef enchiladas. And then miracle skillet chicken. And maybe old fashioned mac-and-cheese. Maybe some meatloaf. It's way easier to grocery shop this way, with a recipe-specific list. I only use a list maybe 3 times a year. Maybe.
FYI: the Kraft Foods website has this neat little feature where you put in up to three ingredients you want to use and up pops all the recipes they have with that/those ingredient(s). But I can only get behind the Canadian one. And I don't even work for them.
Currently listening :
Conversions in Metric
By French Paddleboat
Release date: 28 December, 1999
i'm the bitch
OK, I have this one friend who is driving me nuts. He's the clingiest male I've ever met ever. I told him that, since we're not dating and never will be (he's way more neurotic than I could even imagine myself being, which is saying something; I'm a Scorpio, for cripes sake. We were in total agreement about not wanting to date each other when we became friends), we really don't need to talk every day. This after having the same conversation daily for 2 months (and I'm not even exaggerating). He seemed to get it. Things were OK for a week or so.
Then... the phone calls started again. The last week he's been calling daily, wanting to talk about the same crap over and over. When he phoned a couple days ago I asked if we really needed to have this conversation again, if I could finish doing what I was doing and talk about it later. He sent a snotty email telling me I was rude to put conditions on our friendship. I actually snickered. Snickered!
At this point, I think I'm done. Like, done done. He's the only person who consistently pisses me off, with every conversation digressing into some sort of argument about something. It makes my head hurt.
So, now I have to figure out what I'm going to do with the Belle & Sebastian ticket that he was supposed to pay for. Because I don't want to go to that show with a downer. I'd rather go alone than with him at this point. So... know anyone who wants to buy a Belle & Sebastian ticket?
Currently reading :
Chow: From China to Canada: Memories of Food + Familiy
By Janice Wong
Release date: October, 2005
Then... the phone calls started again. The last week he's been calling daily, wanting to talk about the same crap over and over. When he phoned a couple days ago I asked if we really needed to have this conversation again, if I could finish doing what I was doing and talk about it later. He sent a snotty email telling me I was rude to put conditions on our friendship. I actually snickered. Snickered!
At this point, I think I'm done. Like, done done. He's the only person who consistently pisses me off, with every conversation digressing into some sort of argument about something. It makes my head hurt.
So, now I have to figure out what I'm going to do with the Belle & Sebastian ticket that he was supposed to pay for. Because I don't want to go to that show with a downer. I'd rather go alone than with him at this point. So... know anyone who wants to buy a Belle & Sebastian ticket?
Currently reading :
Chow: From China to Canada: Memories of Food + Familiy
By Janice Wong
Release date: October, 2005
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