Watching an old wartime movie on AMC -"Submarine Seahawk". Am surprised by the beauty of a star I had not seen before. IMDB tells me her name is Mabel Rea. Hmm.. never heard of her. Google tells me she died in 1968 at the age of 32...I guess that's why. Google sends me to a site called http://findadeath.com . This tells me her death was a result of a car accident on December 24th, 1968. There is another link to http://findagrave.com. I'm not kidding. On it, there are actual photos of the cemetary in which she is buried and her head and footstone. Wow.. All of this information took me less than one minute to gather.
IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0713756/
Find a Death: http://www.findadeath.com/forum/showthread.php?t=24075
Find a Grave: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=7454732
.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Good old Saskatchewan ass soaking
I drove to this neighborhood specifically to go to this Vietnamese place. I was craving me some pho soup. When I get there at 9:07, I discover they have been closed for the past seven minutes. Cursing not having left work earlier, I decide to wander down the street to a busy looking Italian place I saw when I drove by. It’s a beautiful warm night and the walk feels good. It’s nice to be moving at my own will as opposed to from one troubled computer to the other.
I get to the restaurant and as you walk past one of the windows, you can see right into the kitchen. Right down the galley style prep line. I am encouraged to see that everything is shiny clean and organized. The two cooks are working away and neither looks like he has the sniffles. I swell with confidence.
The patio is the type where the restaurant has decided to forego a few parking spots in their lot and put up some tables. I decide to go inside to tell the hostess I will be taking a table outside. She is in the middle of a salvo of ridiculous questions from a person ordering take out. She maintains remarkable poise throughout the ordeal. I’m reminded of Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good As it Gets. The guy is asking “What kind of turkey is it? Roast? Turkey breast? Dark and light meat? Or just the turkey loaf from the deli? And what do you mean by whole wheat? Is it like Wonder Bread brown? Or more of a whole grain? Do you offer more than just regular mustard? Is the lettuce iceberg, or romaine?” And on and on..
So finally he stops and muses for a moment, then announces, “I’ll be back later”. Turns on his heel, and leaves.
If this were a cartoon, and not real life, the waitress would have an array of different sized question marks surrounding a tornado shaped squiggle above her head.
As she watches him leave her gaze falls upon me. Sizing me up. I decide not to ask ANY questions and just wait for her to offer her sales pitch whenever she ready. In an attempt to help, I am smiling more than I should be.
She senses my nervousness and offers me a playful eye-roll and a smile. I commend her on her calmness when responding to Mr. Turkey Sandwich. I advise her I would like to sit outside. So she hands me a menu and tells me to have a seat where I want and someone will be right with me.
I navigate myself to the patio, find myself a good seat at a clean table near the sidewalk edge (good for people watching) and sit down. Chair puddle. Fuck. Not a small one either. I have soaked my entire ass. I jump up as if that will help. Stare at the chair in disgust. I then quickly sit in a nearby DRY chair to weigh my options. My entire ass is soaked and even though I am wearing an untucked shirt, it is not quite long enough to completely cover my shame. I do NOT want to sit in a plastic chair in the middle of a parking lot in wet pants. It hasn’t rained in 2 days. Is this even WATER? My vehicle is 2 blocks away because I parked close to the Vietnamese place and the sidewalk is teeming with people and buskers ready to cast judgment. The dining room chairs inside the restaurant are upholstered fabric. Maybe I could make my way back inside and ask for a table. Then proceed to allow the dining room chair to absorb my wetness a bit until I can sneak to the bathroom and hopefully use the hand dryer to dry my pants. Good plan.
I won’t re-narrate my actions as they occurred much the same as above. Except the hand dryer. Because there wasn’t one. But over the course of dinner, my pants dried out to a sufficient amount so that I could go back to my truck without embarrassment.
I get to the restaurant and as you walk past one of the windows, you can see right into the kitchen. Right down the galley style prep line. I am encouraged to see that everything is shiny clean and organized. The two cooks are working away and neither looks like he has the sniffles. I swell with confidence.
The patio is the type where the restaurant has decided to forego a few parking spots in their lot and put up some tables. I decide to go inside to tell the hostess I will be taking a table outside. She is in the middle of a salvo of ridiculous questions from a person ordering take out. She maintains remarkable poise throughout the ordeal. I’m reminded of Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good As it Gets. The guy is asking “What kind of turkey is it? Roast? Turkey breast? Dark and light meat? Or just the turkey loaf from the deli? And what do you mean by whole wheat? Is it like Wonder Bread brown? Or more of a whole grain? Do you offer more than just regular mustard? Is the lettuce iceberg, or romaine?” And on and on..
So finally he stops and muses for a moment, then announces, “I’ll be back later”. Turns on his heel, and leaves.
If this were a cartoon, and not real life, the waitress would have an array of different sized question marks surrounding a tornado shaped squiggle above her head.
As she watches him leave her gaze falls upon me. Sizing me up. I decide not to ask ANY questions and just wait for her to offer her sales pitch whenever she ready. In an attempt to help, I am smiling more than I should be.
She senses my nervousness and offers me a playful eye-roll and a smile. I commend her on her calmness when responding to Mr. Turkey Sandwich. I advise her I would like to sit outside. So she hands me a menu and tells me to have a seat where I want and someone will be right with me.
I navigate myself to the patio, find myself a good seat at a clean table near the sidewalk edge (good for people watching) and sit down. Chair puddle. Fuck. Not a small one either. I have soaked my entire ass. I jump up as if that will help. Stare at the chair in disgust. I then quickly sit in a nearby DRY chair to weigh my options. My entire ass is soaked and even though I am wearing an untucked shirt, it is not quite long enough to completely cover my shame. I do NOT want to sit in a plastic chair in the middle of a parking lot in wet pants. It hasn’t rained in 2 days. Is this even WATER? My vehicle is 2 blocks away because I parked close to the Vietnamese place and the sidewalk is teeming with people and buskers ready to cast judgment. The dining room chairs inside the restaurant are upholstered fabric. Maybe I could make my way back inside and ask for a table. Then proceed to allow the dining room chair to absorb my wetness a bit until I can sneak to the bathroom and hopefully use the hand dryer to dry my pants. Good plan.
I won’t re-narrate my actions as they occurred much the same as above. Except the hand dryer. Because there wasn’t one. But over the course of dinner, my pants dried out to a sufficient amount so that I could go back to my truck without embarrassment.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
No eggs.
This morning I wanted an egg sandwich to go with the bacon I had pre-cooked the other day. After assembling most of the team, I realized I had no eggs. This was troubling. I can't just make a bacon sandwich...can I? Surely not. That would be careless.
I glance over to the fruitbowl and I see fresh tomatoes. Bacon and tomatoes? Wait! That's mostly a thing. Now I just need some lettuce, which we happen to have in stock, and I'm good!
Rye bread goes into the toaster, tomato sliced (not too thick), cheese sliced, bacon warmed in microwave. It's all coming together. Now I just need...oh crap.
I didn't even need to look in the fridge to know that we were out of mayo. I had used the last of it some days ago when making lunch for the kids. I've been to the store a few times since then, but had forgotten to pick it up. A couple of times, Tannis had even called me to ask "Do we need anything from Safeway?" on her way home. "Nope!", I'd exclaim cheerfully, "We're good!".
No we're not. People who are 'good', have mayonnaise.
Then I had a thought.."Why can't I just make my OWN mayonnaise?"
Sure, it's a little ambitious to be whipping your own mayo on a Wednesday morning before work. But we had all the usual suspects lined up for a BLT, so my path was forged already. I just needed to walk it.
For those of you who read Encyclopedia Brown as a child, this is the point in the story where the question would be posed:
"Why is Bugs Meany lying when he says he can make his own mayonnaise this morning?"
Some of my more astute and observant readers have already forseen what is coming. I didn't. I opened the door of the fridge to grab some eggs and...Nooooooo!
I remembered too late that the reason I was making a BLT in the first place was due to my lack of eggs. Oh well. I rumaged through the salad dressings and found something other than Ranch that was creamy.
So, what did I learn today? When life gives you lemon poppyseed dressing, use that instead of mayo.
I glance over to the fruitbowl and I see fresh tomatoes. Bacon and tomatoes? Wait! That's mostly a thing. Now I just need some lettuce, which we happen to have in stock, and I'm good!
Rye bread goes into the toaster, tomato sliced (not too thick), cheese sliced, bacon warmed in microwave. It's all coming together. Now I just need...oh crap.
I didn't even need to look in the fridge to know that we were out of mayo. I had used the last of it some days ago when making lunch for the kids. I've been to the store a few times since then, but had forgotten to pick it up. A couple of times, Tannis had even called me to ask "Do we need anything from Safeway?" on her way home. "Nope!", I'd exclaim cheerfully, "We're good!".
No we're not. People who are 'good', have mayonnaise.
Then I had a thought.."Why can't I just make my OWN mayonnaise?"
Sure, it's a little ambitious to be whipping your own mayo on a Wednesday morning before work. But we had all the usual suspects lined up for a BLT, so my path was forged already. I just needed to walk it.
For those of you who read Encyclopedia Brown as a child, this is the point in the story where the question would be posed:
"Why is Bugs Meany lying when he says he can make his own mayonnaise this morning?"
Some of my more astute and observant readers have already forseen what is coming. I didn't. I opened the door of the fridge to grab some eggs and...Nooooooo!
I remembered too late that the reason I was making a BLT in the first place was due to my lack of eggs. Oh well. I rumaged through the salad dressings and found something other than Ranch that was creamy.
So, what did I learn today? When life gives you lemon poppyseed dressing, use that instead of mayo.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Mrs. Mikes - A cautionary tale
I received an e-mail this morning that caused me great conflict. My Burger Club mentor asking me if I was planning on attending this weeks excursion to Mrs. Mikes. I initially responded "no" as I had a case of food poisoning a couple years ago there. And shortly after that, I saw a news report about some infected beef that was found there by the health authorities. This didn't bode well for my making a return visit.
In fact, the time we were to meet there was 11:30, and at 11:20 I was still in my house. My commitment to Burger Club prevailed and I raced to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee and pulled in to a parking spot just down the street from Mrs Mikes at 11:38. If I can't be fashionably dressed, I might as well be fashionably late.
The sun was strong and hot as I took my seat at the table of men. I displayed dominance by arriving with 4 days of beard and wearing my finest grimy sandals. There was some posturing at first, but they eventually accepted me as their new alpha.
I steeled myself for the possibility of being poisoned, and strode confidently to the take-out window and ordered a Single King ($ 6.00 taxes in). I apologized to the clerk for ordering off-menu, but she assured me that people do it all the time. I fell short of telling her that I was simply trying to reduce the amount of salmonella I was about to ingest. There seemed no way for that to not sound confrontational.
A few minutes later I was handed a hot mess of meatlettucemayobunpicklemustard. I appreciated the faith the clerk showed in my eating ability by only handing me the allotted ONE NAPKIN. I asked for more napkins and was given a SECOND NAPKIN. That's OK. I like a challenge.
As I unwrapped the burger, I was immediately concerned for all of the people in the world who would not have any mayonnaise because my burger had ALL OF IT. It was oozing out of all sides and dragging the shredded iceberg lettuce with it. I reluctantly picked it up and chose what I thought was the head of this creature, and with some trepidation, bit down. The chain reaction that this caused, was immediate and really, really messy. Nearly half of the shredded lettuce, lubricated by the copious mayo, oozed out the back of my Single King and hung there; draped from my burger down to the wrapper on the table. I recoiled to wipe my mouth with as little of NAPKIN ONE as possible.
My had was filled with what appeared to be an albino Rastafarian with an affinity for cream rinse. In respect for the lady that was now seated at our table, I reduced the lettuce in my burger by pulling it out onto the foil wrapper. This was helpful in removing most of the mayo as well. This made for an easier time as I progressed. I used every bit of NAPKIN ONE and SECOND NAPKIN as I progressed through my bukakke burger. (Don't Google that-SO NSFW).
Once I had removed the lettuce and mayo mess, I was able to concentrate on the flavor of the burger. The bun was appropriately sized. It didn't let me down. The burger patty was a decent size and there seemed to be a lot of filler lending it to have an odd color and texture.. This is what I have come to expect from "Fat Boy" style burgers. So I wasn't surprised.
Aside from the mayo, the other condiments were amount appropriate and complimented the burger well. I like a thinly sliced tomato on my burger, but in this case, I felt they were too thin. Nitpicking a little there. But the tomato didn't even have the seed and gel part. Just the cellular walls. It was odd.
All things considered, I rate Mrs. Mikes a 3 out of 5 in each category. I would have elevated a couple categories to 4 had there not been the issue with the lettuce and mayo. I also felt the price was too high for what was definitely not an all-beef patty.
In fact, the time we were to meet there was 11:30, and at 11:20 I was still in my house. My commitment to Burger Club prevailed and I raced to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee and pulled in to a parking spot just down the street from Mrs Mikes at 11:38. If I can't be fashionably dressed, I might as well be fashionably late.
The sun was strong and hot as I took my seat at the table of men. I displayed dominance by arriving with 4 days of beard and wearing my finest grimy sandals. There was some posturing at first, but they eventually accepted me as their new alpha.
I steeled myself for the possibility of being poisoned, and strode confidently to the take-out window and ordered a Single King ($ 6.00 taxes in). I apologized to the clerk for ordering off-menu, but she assured me that people do it all the time. I fell short of telling her that I was simply trying to reduce the amount of salmonella I was about to ingest. There seemed no way for that to not sound confrontational.
A few minutes later I was handed a hot mess of meatlettucemayobunpicklemustard. I appreciated the faith the clerk showed in my eating ability by only handing me the allotted ONE NAPKIN. I asked for more napkins and was given a SECOND NAPKIN. That's OK. I like a challenge.
As I unwrapped the burger, I was immediately concerned for all of the people in the world who would not have any mayonnaise because my burger had ALL OF IT. It was oozing out of all sides and dragging the shredded iceberg lettuce with it. I reluctantly picked it up and chose what I thought was the head of this creature, and with some trepidation, bit down. The chain reaction that this caused, was immediate and really, really messy. Nearly half of the shredded lettuce, lubricated by the copious mayo, oozed out the back of my Single King and hung there; draped from my burger down to the wrapper on the table. I recoiled to wipe my mouth with as little of NAPKIN ONE as possible.
My had was filled with what appeared to be an albino Rastafarian with an affinity for cream rinse. In respect for the lady that was now seated at our table, I reduced the lettuce in my burger by pulling it out onto the foil wrapper. This was helpful in removing most of the mayo as well. This made for an easier time as I progressed. I used every bit of NAPKIN ONE and SECOND NAPKIN as I progressed through my bukakke burger. (Don't Google that-SO NSFW).
Once I had removed the lettuce and mayo mess, I was able to concentrate on the flavor of the burger. The bun was appropriately sized. It didn't let me down. The burger patty was a decent size and there seemed to be a lot of filler lending it to have an odd color and texture.. This is what I have come to expect from "Fat Boy" style burgers. So I wasn't surprised.
Aside from the mayo, the other condiments were amount appropriate and complimented the burger well. I like a thinly sliced tomato on my burger, but in this case, I felt they were too thin. Nitpicking a little there. But the tomato didn't even have the seed and gel part. Just the cellular walls. It was odd.
All things considered, I rate Mrs. Mikes a 3 out of 5 in each category. I would have elevated a couple categories to 4 had there not been the issue with the lettuce and mayo. I also felt the price was too high for what was definitely not an all-beef patty.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Cubs Leader = Me
In the fall, Mitch joined Cubs. And this spring, after a great deal of paperwork delays, so did I - as a Leader. My shirt is bigger, and he's the one that gets to collect the cool activity badges, but aside from that there isn't much difference.
I really am enjoying working with the kids and the other leaders. Mitch has become more and more independent as we attend more meetings. There are no other kids from his school that have joined, so it was tough to find people he related to quickly. But he kept at it, and has become friends with a few of the other Cubs.
This past weekend we went camping at Birds Hill with all of the Service Area 9 groups. There were over 80 cubs and some 300 campers all tolled. It was a great experience for both of us. Mitch spent the day Saturday going around with the other Cubs and leaders to the various activity stations while I conducted a geocaching activity for the 6 Cub groups. It was a blast.
From building Cub cars, selling popcorn, going camping, hiking, launching rockets, singing camp songs, and completing badge work activities, this has been a very fun experience. I'm looking forward to next fall when we start up again.
I really am enjoying working with the kids and the other leaders. Mitch has become more and more independent as we attend more meetings. There are no other kids from his school that have joined, so it was tough to find people he related to quickly. But he kept at it, and has become friends with a few of the other Cubs.
This past weekend we went camping at Birds Hill with all of the Service Area 9 groups. There were over 80 cubs and some 300 campers all tolled. It was a great experience for both of us. Mitch spent the day Saturday going around with the other Cubs and leaders to the various activity stations while I conducted a geocaching activity for the 6 Cub groups. It was a blast.
From building Cub cars, selling popcorn, going camping, hiking, launching rockets, singing camp songs, and completing badge work activities, this has been a very fun experience. I'm looking forward to next fall when we start up again.
Food Symmetry
The burger was quite tasty. The pineapple, bacon, and bbq sauce worked well together with the burger patty.
Speaking of which, based on the price of the burger and 2 sides (14.99) I'm quite certain it was not beef, but unicorn, or perhaps mermaid.
As usual, the best part of my lunch was the company. Burger Club is awesome!
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
An open letter to Burger Club
There are definitely different burger philosophies out there. The typical "Winnipeg burger" incorporates a thin-ish patty of seasoned beef, lettuce, tomato, onion and a thin meat sauce that is seasoned with chili powder and usually cinnamon and nutmeg. All of this is served on a day old kaiser made with an egg dough to give it a crumbly texture and glossy sheen(not the sheen that lives with porn stars).
I propose we visit 2 and no more than 3 of the type of establishment that serves this classic Greek burger.
There is also the other type of burger of the "bistro" variety that generally uses a thicker meat patty. No chili here, but you will still see the requisite lettuce, tomato and onion. In place of the 'one molecule from plastic' processed cheese slice found on most Winnipeg burgers, you will often find a slice or two of cheddar, swiss or mozzarella. Accompaniments available will include seasoned bacon, mushrooms, and sauteed onions.
There is always going to be a burger for everyone. Except vegetarians, I guess. And don't get me started on hippies trying to pass off giant mushroom tops and compressed olive patties as 'burgers'. Not meat=sandwich. End of story. Yeah I'm lookin' at you, Boon Burger.
The important thing to remember: we all love hamburgers. So instead of burger club being a wedge that drives us apart, let it create a bond that holds us united in our support of hamburgers.
I propose we visit 2 and no more than 3 of the type of establishment that serves this classic Greek burger.
There is also the other type of burger of the "bistro" variety that generally uses a thicker meat patty. No chili here, but you will still see the requisite lettuce, tomato and onion. In place of the 'one molecule from plastic' processed cheese slice found on most Winnipeg burgers, you will often find a slice or two of cheddar, swiss or mozzarella. Accompaniments available will include seasoned bacon, mushrooms, and sauteed onions.
There is always going to be a burger for everyone. Except vegetarians, I guess. And don't get me started on hippies trying to pass off giant mushroom tops and compressed olive patties as 'burgers'. Not meat=sandwich. End of story. Yeah I'm lookin' at you, Boon Burger.
The important thing to remember: we all love hamburgers. So instead of burger club being a wedge that drives us apart, let it create a bond that holds us united in our support of hamburgers.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Seagate GoFlex
Or as I call it...Seagate NoGoFlex. I bought a Seagate GoFlex TV streaming media player. Basically it allows me to access media shared on other computers on my network on my TV using a simple menu and a remote control. So far, I like it. But it lacked the speed and convenience of a local storage medium. No hard drive meant that everything had to stream over the network. This slowed things down for other users, and led to annoying buffering when other users were on Netflix or streaming media sites. Yes, we're a very connected family.
So I ordered a GoFlex internal drive. I figured I could load it up with a bunch of shows from my computer, and then watch it locally on the GoFlex TV unit. But so far, When I attempt to write files to it using my Windows XP desktop, I get constant delayed write failures, even though I have turned off the delayed write setting for the drive. Yet it works fine in my Windows 7 notebook. Why? Oh, you don't know either? Boo.
Well, off I go to the internet to see what the various support forums have to say. Wish me luck.
So I ordered a GoFlex internal drive. I figured I could load it up with a bunch of shows from my computer, and then watch it locally on the GoFlex TV unit. But so far, When I attempt to write files to it using my Windows XP desktop, I get constant delayed write failures, even though I have turned off the delayed write setting for the drive. Yet it works fine in my Windows 7 notebook. Why? Oh, you don't know either? Boo.
Well, off I go to the internet to see what the various support forums have to say. Wish me luck.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Netflix.ca = Goodbye Blockbuster
We got the kids (ya right) a Wii for Christmas. And as much as I enjoy swinging my arms and jumping up and down in my rec room holding a buzzing plastic wand, when I saw the free Netflix channel download on the Wii Shopping channel...well...free was right in my price range. And at 7.99 a month after the 30 day free trial, it's not a tough decision. I'm sure that somewhere on this planet there exists a cheaper, more convenient and similarly legal entertainment delivery method. But that is probably in the same fairy-tale place as free lunches and daily hugs from [insert name of heart-throb/supermodel].
Canada's version of Netflix lacks the DVD/Blu-Ray home delivery component. You are only able to stream to a game console (Wii, PS3, Xbox) or your PC. There are set top solutions available from other manufacturers such as Seagate's GoFlex. But as of this writing none work. There are some network capable Samsung TV's and Blu-Ray players that are announcing a firmware update to allow direct streaming from Netflix.ca without a game console. And finally, you Apple folk can sign up with a litany of devices (iPhone, iPad, AppleTV).
What you miss by not having access to the DVD/Blu-Ray delivery method is the newer and seemingly more popular titles (read: expensive to license). But to paraphrase from the great Shawn McCarthy "I've never had trouble finding something to watch". The selection is well categorized and offers selections based on your previously viewed content as well as in response to an optional likes/dislikes survey you fill out when you sign up. The interface is uncluttered and easy to navigate with the Wii remote. Your selection will begin to play in just a few seconds, even the HD titles. You can pause or stop playback and resume at any time. And if you miss anything, rewind and fast forward presents you with screen shots to reduce the guessing as to where to stop.
To give you an idea of the available selection, imagine going in to Blockbuster and only being allowed to select movies from the "middle" of the store. You are not allowed to look along the walls at the new releases. Unless you pay extra. Extra meaning you spend 120.00 on Apple TV and 4 bucks to see a movie, or 99 cents to watch a TV show.
I hope Netflix works hard on growing and rotating their selection. But as it is, the value is definitely there. I recommend it.
Canada's version of Netflix lacks the DVD/Blu-Ray home delivery component. You are only able to stream to a game console (Wii, PS3, Xbox) or your PC. There are set top solutions available from other manufacturers such as Seagate's GoFlex. But as of this writing none work. There are some network capable Samsung TV's and Blu-Ray players that are announcing a firmware update to allow direct streaming from Netflix.ca without a game console. And finally, you Apple folk can sign up with a litany of devices (iPhone, iPad, AppleTV).
What you miss by not having access to the DVD/Blu-Ray delivery method is the newer and seemingly more popular titles (read: expensive to license). But to paraphrase from the great Shawn McCarthy "I've never had trouble finding something to watch". The selection is well categorized and offers selections based on your previously viewed content as well as in response to an optional likes/dislikes survey you fill out when you sign up. The interface is uncluttered and easy to navigate with the Wii remote. Your selection will begin to play in just a few seconds, even the HD titles. You can pause or stop playback and resume at any time. And if you miss anything, rewind and fast forward presents you with screen shots to reduce the guessing as to where to stop.
To give you an idea of the available selection, imagine going in to Blockbuster and only being allowed to select movies from the "middle" of the store. You are not allowed to look along the walls at the new releases. Unless you pay extra. Extra meaning you spend 120.00 on Apple TV and 4 bucks to see a movie, or 99 cents to watch a TV show.
I hope Netflix works hard on growing and rotating their selection. But as it is, the value is definitely there. I recommend it.
Monday, November 22, 2010
"ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONE OF US!"
Yesterday I joined the ranks of Facebook. There were just too many things I was missing as a result of not having yet drank the Kool-aid. My concerns were mostly due to the wax and wane of the privacy policies and the lack of security granularity available to the users.
There are a couple of things that stand out to me. The mind boggling "friend suggestion" tool with its digital clairvoyance, and the lack of control over being tagged in photos that others have posted of you.
So you can imagine my joy when within 5 seconds afer signing up, it was suggested that I become friends with a number of people I am in close acquaintance with, and I accept a dozen friend requests that were inexplicably waiting for me already.
Well, I managed to get over that within about 10 minutes. And as it turned out, that was just long enough for a friend to tag me in a few photos...huzzah!
Well, I welcome Facebook, my new Lord and Master. I hope to be a dilligent slave to its every need and whim.
There are a couple of things that stand out to me. The mind boggling "friend suggestion" tool with its digital clairvoyance, and the lack of control over being tagged in photos that others have posted of you.
So you can imagine my joy when within 5 seconds afer signing up, it was suggested that I become friends with a number of people I am in close acquaintance with, and I accept a dozen friend requests that were inexplicably waiting for me already.
Well, I managed to get over that within about 10 minutes. And as it turned out, that was just long enough for a friend to tag me in a few photos...huzzah!
Well, I welcome Facebook, my new Lord and Master. I hope to be a dilligent slave to its every need and whim.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Walk Softly and Carry a Big Schtick
Few will argue that one of the most important traits you should nourish in your children is a sense of humor. I have always tried to encourage this in my kids. They are now approaching the ages when their sense of humor matures beyond the obvious kid-based fare (toilet sounds, toilet words, etc) to more evolved content.
The other day I was getting the children prepared for bed. Brooke can be a bit lazy when it comes to picking out pyjamas. More often than not, her version of PJ's ends up being a piece of clothing (usually the shirt) that she has worn all day, and some pyjama bottoms added. Sometimes she just takes off her socks and tries to get away with going to bed like that. On this night, she decides that she will wear old sweat pants with a hole in the leg and a pyjama top. I tell her that she should not wear those pants outside the house any more, because she would look like a hobo. I use that word alot when chastising my kids for a dishevelled appearance. ("Did you brush your teeth?" "No." "Y'know hobos don't brush their teeth either, maybe you should be a hobo.", etc)
When I was a kid, I would be called a street urchin under the same circumstance. I never really knew what a street urchin was, I just knew it was bad. It didn't have a physical form in my mind. And because that was my view, I always kinda thought that my kids had the same limited vision of hobos. Not so.
Brooke's initial response was "I am NOT a hobo. Of course I wont wear these to school." This is predictable. Mitch on the other hand, comes storming into the bedroom wearing a wife-beater and underwear proclaiming "I want to be a hobo!, I could be a hobo."
Now frustrated by losing the limelight and being challenged for her attire, storms out of the room huffing, "Then go grow a beard...and....get a harmonica!"
Stomp, stomp, stomp, back to her room. And adding:
"...and a can with FIRE IN IT!"
*Slam*
Then. On the other side of her door. Giggling.
We all had a good laugh over that. I never really thought that the kids had an image in their head of an actual hobo. And the timing and delivery of Brooke's retort was just perfect.
In re-reading this, I see that the content is you-had-to-be-there ish. Too bad you weren't there.
The other day I was getting the children prepared for bed. Brooke can be a bit lazy when it comes to picking out pyjamas. More often than not, her version of PJ's ends up being a piece of clothing (usually the shirt) that she has worn all day, and some pyjama bottoms added. Sometimes she just takes off her socks and tries to get away with going to bed like that. On this night, she decides that she will wear old sweat pants with a hole in the leg and a pyjama top. I tell her that she should not wear those pants outside the house any more, because she would look like a hobo. I use that word alot when chastising my kids for a dishevelled appearance. ("Did you brush your teeth?" "No." "Y'know hobos don't brush their teeth either, maybe you should be a hobo.", etc)
When I was a kid, I would be called a street urchin under the same circumstance. I never really knew what a street urchin was, I just knew it was bad. It didn't have a physical form in my mind. And because that was my view, I always kinda thought that my kids had the same limited vision of hobos. Not so.
Brooke's initial response was "I am NOT a hobo. Of course I wont wear these to school." This is predictable. Mitch on the other hand, comes storming into the bedroom wearing a wife-beater and underwear proclaiming "I want to be a hobo!, I could be a hobo."
Now frustrated by losing the limelight and being challenged for her attire, storms out of the room huffing, "Then go grow a beard...and....get a harmonica!"
Stomp, stomp, stomp, back to her room. And adding:
"...and a can with FIRE IN IT!"
*Slam*
Then. On the other side of her door. Giggling.
We all had a good laugh over that. I never really thought that the kids had an image in their head of an actual hobo. And the timing and delivery of Brooke's retort was just perfect.
In re-reading this, I see that the content is you-had-to-be-there ish. Too bad you weren't there.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Egg-sperimentation
The other day a I came across a YouTube video of Gordon Ramsay (Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, The F word, etc) making scrambled eggs. I wanted to give it a watch for two reasons:
1) Whenever he has a new cook start in his kitchen, this is the "proving" dish he uses to determine their ability.
2) I have NEVER actually seen this guy actually cook anything. So far, he's all talk.
The recipe is simple, as it should be. Two Eggs, butter. You crack the eggs into a preheated pan, drop in the butter, and start stirring. And keep stirring.
Keep the eggs moving constantly, and as the pan heats the eggs, temper the process by removing it from the heat (still stirring). As the curds begin to form, keep adding and removing the heat until you have a cottage cheese-y consistency. Done.
What you are left with is a very moist, semi-dense mass that, although tasty, is not the fluffy consistency I like. I decided I would take a portion of what he was using, and add my own twist. The results were, in my opinion, fantastic.
The recipe is very similar, with a slight change:
-2 Eggs
-pat of butter
-1/2 tsp water
Why water? Well, it seems to help with egg volumization. The stirring and folding of the eggs that we do later creates air pockets that trap a small amount of the water and steams the egg. I have tried it without the water, and I find it to produce a denser, and slightly drier final product.
Another change, melt the butter in an 8" frying pan. Allow the butter to heat through. But don't burn it. If it turns brown, start again. Your pan is likely too hot if that happens.
Crack the eggs in a bowl. This serves 2 reasons. First, clumsy egg crackers will have a chance to remove any shell fragments before the eggs are in the pan. And it allows you to slightly stir the eggs. Not whisk with a fork as many people are likely to do, that blends the eggs into one single coloured substance that taste just fine once cooked, but are not the visual end product I'm looking for. Just mix the eggs with a spatula lightly until the yolks become broken and separated into a dozen or so strands. Don't over-mix.
Pour the mixture into the pan. Let it sit till you just can't see the bottom of the pan. Maybe 15 seconds. This is a good time to drop the toast in the toaster. Return to the pan and start pulling the egg from the sides toward the centre. Do this once or twice more or until most of the egg mixture has had contact with the pan.
Now, start folding the mixture while breaking it into smaller pieces. It will likely be necessary at this point to remove the pan from the heat. Stir and fold the mixture gently until you are left with a mound of what looks like moist popcorn. The moment that all of the egg has solidified into either yellow of white curds, immediately remove from the heat and serve.
I tried this on my kids this morning and is ANYBODY knows scrambled eggs, it's Brooke and Mitch. The eggs were a hit.
Perhaps not up to Gordon Ramsay's standards. But %*#@ him, as he would say.
1) Whenever he has a new cook start in his kitchen, this is the "proving" dish he uses to determine their ability.
2) I have NEVER actually seen this guy actually cook anything. So far, he's all talk.
The recipe is simple, as it should be. Two Eggs, butter. You crack the eggs into a preheated pan, drop in the butter, and start stirring. And keep stirring.
Keep the eggs moving constantly, and as the pan heats the eggs, temper the process by removing it from the heat (still stirring). As the curds begin to form, keep adding and removing the heat until you have a cottage cheese-y consistency. Done.
What you are left with is a very moist, semi-dense mass that, although tasty, is not the fluffy consistency I like. I decided I would take a portion of what he was using, and add my own twist. The results were, in my opinion, fantastic.
The recipe is very similar, with a slight change:
-2 Eggs
-pat of butter
-1/2 tsp water
Why water? Well, it seems to help with egg volumization. The stirring and folding of the eggs that we do later creates air pockets that trap a small amount of the water and steams the egg. I have tried it without the water, and I find it to produce a denser, and slightly drier final product.
Another change, melt the butter in an 8" frying pan. Allow the butter to heat through. But don't burn it. If it turns brown, start again. Your pan is likely too hot if that happens.
Crack the eggs in a bowl. This serves 2 reasons. First, clumsy egg crackers will have a chance to remove any shell fragments before the eggs are in the pan. And it allows you to slightly stir the eggs. Not whisk with a fork as many people are likely to do, that blends the eggs into one single coloured substance that taste just fine once cooked, but are not the visual end product I'm looking for. Just mix the eggs with a spatula lightly until the yolks become broken and separated into a dozen or so strands. Don't over-mix.
Pour the mixture into the pan. Let it sit till you just can't see the bottom of the pan. Maybe 15 seconds. This is a good time to drop the toast in the toaster. Return to the pan and start pulling the egg from the sides toward the centre. Do this once or twice more or until most of the egg mixture has had contact with the pan.
Now, start folding the mixture while breaking it into smaller pieces. It will likely be necessary at this point to remove the pan from the heat. Stir and fold the mixture gently until you are left with a mound of what looks like moist popcorn. The moment that all of the egg has solidified into either yellow of white curds, immediately remove from the heat and serve.
I tried this on my kids this morning and is ANYBODY knows scrambled eggs, it's Brooke and Mitch. The eggs were a hit.
Perhaps not up to Gordon Ramsay's standards. But %*#@ him, as he would say.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
For the sake of my country, I will stop watching the Olympics.
At least when Canada is competing. It feels like I am something of a pox for the Canadian athletes. More often than not, when I am watching the telecast of an Olympic event, our team loses. Oh sure, you could argue that there are others who are watching as much of the Olympics as I am and this surely can't be my fault. But I present for your assessment the following scenario. Sunday's hockey game between the American and Canadian men.
Spectators had barely taken their seats when USA pumps one in the net. Crap. Thinking I had time to run upstairs at tend to the seasoning of the broiling chicken wings, I leave the room and head to the kitchen, only to hear that the Canadians have scored. Good news, but what the hell? Why am I not allowed to see that? So I return to my seat only to witness a short time later a goal by the Americans. This continued as the game progressed. Leave the room to make dipping sauce for shrimp, Canada scores, return to my seat, Brodeur flops. I still regret not leaving the room during that last ditch effort by Canada at the end of the 3rd period. I may have been the reason we didn't tie it up.
Although, I am watching the live feed as I type this, and I see Canada's Ashleigh McIvor has won the gold medal in Ladies Ski Cross! Woohoo! So maybe I can be a spectator. But I will only use the Internet. Maybe it's the inherent time delay that saves our athletes from my bad mojo.
Spectators had barely taken their seats when USA pumps one in the net. Crap. Thinking I had time to run upstairs at tend to the seasoning of the broiling chicken wings, I leave the room and head to the kitchen, only to hear that the Canadians have scored. Good news, but what the hell? Why am I not allowed to see that? So I return to my seat only to witness a short time later a goal by the Americans. This continued as the game progressed. Leave the room to make dipping sauce for shrimp, Canada scores, return to my seat, Brodeur flops. I still regret not leaving the room during that last ditch effort by Canada at the end of the 3rd period. I may have been the reason we didn't tie it up.
Although, I am watching the live feed as I type this, and I see Canada's Ashleigh McIvor has won the gold medal in Ladies Ski Cross! Woohoo! So maybe I can be a spectator. But I will only use the Internet. Maybe it's the inherent time delay that saves our athletes from my bad mojo.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Does it HAVE to be a civet cat?
For those unaware, civet coffee, or Kopi Luwak, is made from beans that have been passed through the digestive tract of a civet cat. And no, this is not akin to sausage making, where the tract is removed, prepared and washed beforehand. The cat eats the beans, and then an appropriate amount of time later...poops the beans out. The beans are harvested and presumably washed, roasted, and ground for coffee.
As with many foods (black licorice, prairie oysters, haggis, human placenta) I'm sure that the early adopters of these items were unable to find any other food, or were completely insane. I mean, what circumstance would cause someone to pick through cat shit to get their morning fix of coffee?
[Somewhere in Africa] [interior kitchen] [morning]
"Dammit! Honey, Fluffy got into the coffee again!".
"Well you better figure out something, jackass. Because if I come downstairs and there isn't coffee, I'm gonna smash your Xbox!"
..later...
"Coffee's good. How come you're not having any?"
"Er... I had mine already"
My question is...why does it have to be a civet cat? Why do I have to wait for my shipment of 80-200 dollar per pot coffee. I want to set up my own Kopi Luwak coffee business right here in Canada. I'm sure it could work. I would just need somewhere to keep the cats because my wife isn't particualrly fond of cats. And everything I know about her tells me she would not be ok with a dozen or so cats walking around the house wearing diapers. Although I think extracing and washing the beans would be an excellent craft for the kids in her home daycare. So I suppose I could start small. Perhaps have someone board the cats for me. But that creates a staffing issue. I suppose I would be obligated to pay this person for their time. This is cutting in to profits.
My neighbor has a cat. Perhaps on one of the cat's trips into my yard I could jam a few beans into her. Then, when she comes back to poop, (and trust me, she will) I simply harvest the bounty. Full profit!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Birthday Full of WIN!
No no. Not MY birthday. My wife's.
In her world, my wife treats her birthday as a National Holiday. And not the North American "made up" ones that are created simply to round out the days off we get throughout the year. I'm talking about one of those old world, Chinese or Bolshevik celebrations that involve complex ceremonies and animal sacrifices. Entire villages gather in the public square and stand mute, facing East waiting for enlightenment from an unseen God. Those who avert their eyes, even briefly, are delighted to be beaten with sticks for their lack of faith.
The people of those villages have a fleeting understanding of the conviction the likes of which my wife has for her birthday.
This is not a critical assessment of her views. Far from it. I quite respect her devotion to treating herself special this one day a year. She, of all people, deserves it. She works very hard as a wife and mother, and a patient caregiver to the legions of snotty, screaming, toy scatterers she is charged with caring for.1
I have always struggled to contribute to Tannis' birthday happiness, but have more often come up short. I am not the best event planner or gift-giver. I find all to many of my gift ideas are tainted by what I think I would like to receive. And whenever I have tried to plan an event, it is often undermined by forces beyond my control. To make matters worse, she is excellent at these efforts. Her ability to plan and orchestrate a day is carried out with military precision. Although, instead of battle fatigues and a cigar, she does it with a stylish outfit and an iced tea.
This year was going to be different. It all started when I went to Canadian Tire to buy light bulbs. I walked past a post-Christmas sale display of kitchen appliances and saw an electric frying pan. Exactly what she has asked for. And before you judge me too harshly for appliance shopping for my wife for her birthday, trust me, an electric frying pan is one of the least offensive things on her shopping list. In past years she has asked for a mop, and a vacuum. So, gleeful in my find, I purchase the frying pan.
The next gift was an impulse purchase that I wasn't too sure about. I started the day shopping with the kids looking for a few baking items that, as it turns out, are only available from a company that does not ship to Canada. The birthday was only a week away at this point, so I decided that negotiating a borderside shipping proxy was going to take too long. So back in the car we hopped and head to Best Buy to check out another purchase option that I had thought of.
I don't need a voting button on this blog to know that the penis-based readers are nodding approval at my new choice of repertory in which to shop, where the penis-less readers are likely recoilling in horror. But I hadn't thought of this purchase strictly alone. I have been trying for a couple of years to put together a portable computer for my wife to use out of parts of non-functioning end-of-life systems from the office. And last year, just when I thought I had a working system for her, it died a quiet death after only 3 uses. She wanted a light-weight computer that she could use to check her e-mail and such while on the main floor, or up in the bedrooms. Enter: the HP Mini Netbook.
I was nervous to present it to her, thinking that she would find he screen to small, or the keyboard too diminutive. But as it turns out, she couldn't have been more pleased. Since opening it and configuring it, she has been using it almost constantly. Anybody that reads her Tweets knows that she has really been enjoying it. Technology FTW!
The last component was the birthday dinner. I have planned this type event in the past with varying degrees of mediocrity. Don't get me wrong, we have always had fun. But we always have fun, it's what we do. I would like just once to have her come home after one of these dinner outings and run upstairs to flop in her bed with her diary and catalog all of the swooning that she did that evening and then calling all of her friends to relate the tale. Last year we went to Homers Greek restaurant for dinner(moderate win), followed by glow in the dark mini-putt(measurable fail). I was hoping to find an event that would engage the kids, but I lost sight of the goal. This is Tannis' day.
This time I decided that I would take her out to dinner and invite a few of her friends. I made some calls, and got RSVP's from Nat, Toshya, and Ange. Nat (via Jacques) informed me that there was a Geocaching Pub Night at the Round Table that night. So I decided that to be the venue so that it would be easier for a few of our other friends to join her for drinks or dinner if they wished.
It is always a challenge to get my wife to do something on a schedule that isn't her own. But the fact that we had a reservation made it easier to be on time and it worked out perfectly. The surprise she showed on her face was worth all of the planning. And we had a wonderful dinner with some exceptional people.
I am lucky to have this woman in my life and look forward to celebrating many birthdays with her in the future. I already have a few ideas for next year...
1If any of the parents of the children in Tannis' care happen to read this, understand that I am not talking about your child. YOUR child is the epitome of grace and manners. There is not a quieter or healthier child on the face of God's earth.
In her world, my wife treats her birthday as a National Holiday. And not the North American "made up" ones that are created simply to round out the days off we get throughout the year. I'm talking about one of those old world, Chinese or Bolshevik celebrations that involve complex ceremonies and animal sacrifices. Entire villages gather in the public square and stand mute, facing East waiting for enlightenment from an unseen God. Those who avert their eyes, even briefly, are delighted to be beaten with sticks for their lack of faith.
The people of those villages have a fleeting understanding of the conviction the likes of which my wife has for her birthday.
This is not a critical assessment of her views. Far from it. I quite respect her devotion to treating herself special this one day a year. She, of all people, deserves it. She works very hard as a wife and mother, and a patient caregiver to the legions of snotty, screaming, toy scatterers she is charged with caring for.1
I have always struggled to contribute to Tannis' birthday happiness, but have more often come up short. I am not the best event planner or gift-giver. I find all to many of my gift ideas are tainted by what I think I would like to receive. And whenever I have tried to plan an event, it is often undermined by forces beyond my control. To make matters worse, she is excellent at these efforts. Her ability to plan and orchestrate a day is carried out with military precision. Although, instead of battle fatigues and a cigar, she does it with a stylish outfit and an iced tea.
This year was going to be different. It all started when I went to Canadian Tire to buy light bulbs. I walked past a post-Christmas sale display of kitchen appliances and saw an electric frying pan. Exactly what she has asked for. And before you judge me too harshly for appliance shopping for my wife for her birthday, trust me, an electric frying pan is one of the least offensive things on her shopping list. In past years she has asked for a mop, and a vacuum. So, gleeful in my find, I purchase the frying pan.
The next gift was an impulse purchase that I wasn't too sure about. I started the day shopping with the kids looking for a few baking items that, as it turns out, are only available from a company that does not ship to Canada. The birthday was only a week away at this point, so I decided that negotiating a borderside shipping proxy was going to take too long. So back in the car we hopped and head to Best Buy to check out another purchase option that I had thought of.
I don't need a voting button on this blog to know that the penis-based readers are nodding approval at my new choice of repertory in which to shop, where the penis-less readers are likely recoilling in horror. But I hadn't thought of this purchase strictly alone. I have been trying for a couple of years to put together a portable computer for my wife to use out of parts of non-functioning end-of-life systems from the office. And last year, just when I thought I had a working system for her, it died a quiet death after only 3 uses. She wanted a light-weight computer that she could use to check her e-mail and such while on the main floor, or up in the bedrooms. Enter: the HP Mini Netbook.
I was nervous to present it to her, thinking that she would find he screen to small, or the keyboard too diminutive. But as it turns out, she couldn't have been more pleased. Since opening it and configuring it, she has been using it almost constantly. Anybody that reads her Tweets knows that she has really been enjoying it. Technology FTW!
The last component was the birthday dinner. I have planned this type event in the past with varying degrees of mediocrity. Don't get me wrong, we have always had fun. But we always have fun, it's what we do. I would like just once to have her come home after one of these dinner outings and run upstairs to flop in her bed with her diary and catalog all of the swooning that she did that evening and then calling all of her friends to relate the tale. Last year we went to Homers Greek restaurant for dinner(moderate win), followed by glow in the dark mini-putt(measurable fail). I was hoping to find an event that would engage the kids, but I lost sight of the goal. This is Tannis' day.
This time I decided that I would take her out to dinner and invite a few of her friends. I made some calls, and got RSVP's from Nat, Toshya, and Ange. Nat (via Jacques) informed me that there was a Geocaching Pub Night at the Round Table that night. So I decided that to be the venue so that it would be easier for a few of our other friends to join her for drinks or dinner if they wished.
It is always a challenge to get my wife to do something on a schedule that isn't her own. But the fact that we had a reservation made it easier to be on time and it worked out perfectly. The surprise she showed on her face was worth all of the planning. And we had a wonderful dinner with some exceptional people.
I am lucky to have this woman in my life and look forward to celebrating many birthdays with her in the future. I already have a few ideas for next year...
1If any of the parents of the children in Tannis' care happen to read this, understand that I am not talking about your child. YOUR child is the epitome of grace and manners. There is not a quieter or healthier child on the face of God's earth.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Recipe - Pumpkin Curry Pasta
Had my mom coming over for dinner, and needed to come up with some unique gastroanomaly to serve. She's always bragging to me about how when she goes to my brother's place, they dine on these crazy delicious and adventuresome dishes like Hamster Cheeks in Brown Butter, or Roasted Goose wearing a sweater knit out of bacon.
A quick survey of the fridge comes up with an odd ingredient ... pumpkin. What can I do with you, my friend? I had once tasted a pumpkin ravioli that was very nice, but the supper hour was fast approaching and pasta takes too much time. Perhaps another style of pasta? Somewhere in the pantry is a bundle of squid ink spaghetti. But I quickly determined that the combination of blackish-gray spaghetti noodles with an orange sauce would become the grossest looking thing to ever grace a plate. I opt for mixing some cavatappi and ricotti noodles together as we have one serving of each of them remaining. Grabbing the 2 boxes of pasta and the coconut milk I needed for my sauce, I head to the cooktop to see what I can produce.
I dropped about 2 tablespoons of pumpkin into approximately 3/4 of a cup of coconut mik. I played with that ratio till I got the pumpkin intensity/color I was looking for. How to season this? Im not sure if it was due to the influence of the colour of the pumpkin, but my mind immediately jumped to curry. Problem is, aside from olives (more on this later) and beer, curry is the one thing that my wife doesn't like. I gave it much thought. I really tried to think of something else. But like a drunk reaching for his favorite bottle, it was muscule memory that guided my hand to the curry jar.
But I really didn't use much curry. Just enough to give it an essence of a land that, to the best of my knowledge, has never grown a pumpkin. Maybe a half teaspoon of medium yellow curry powder.
*taste*
Not bad. Needs a kick. How about some sort of spice? I remember a Thai green curry paste I had in the fridge. Yes! I put in a pea-sized granule, as I know this stuff has some legs to it. Perfect. Rootiness of the pumpkin, smoothness of the coconut, aroma of curry #1, and the heat from curry #2. But it needs something more...
Sweetness.
What do I use for that? Brown sugar? Molasses? What would my brother do? Hmm. He would have had sugar cane flown in from Hawaii the week before. My options are more regional. Honey! I grab the lavender honey and give the sauce enough to just round out the sweetness. I decide that I had best mix this together ahead of time and serve it "pasta salad" style. It was very nice. And even my wife had a small second helping! And I'm willing to bet that if I went home right now, that the leftover portion that we put in the fridge became her lunch.
I served it with tilapia fillets. I heated up the broiling pan ahead of time, dusted the fillets with a simple lemon pepper, brushed with olive oil, and did them in the oven. This preparation was fine for the family, but mom deserved something better. I decide to do a tapenede of sorts. Olives, lemon, olive oil, russian mustard, and cashews. I originally tweeted this recipe with pecans, I think. I am correcting myself now. I mashed this all together and put it on a couple of the fillets. Winner. It was delicious.
To round out the vegetable content, I sauteed young asparagus in olive oil I had flavored with garlic. Take that Kris!
It was nice to have the company of mom for a fun meal. Soon she'll be back in Regina. Maybe there's time for one more inventive supper...
A quick survey of the fridge comes up with an odd ingredient ... pumpkin. What can I do with you, my friend? I had once tasted a pumpkin ravioli that was very nice, but the supper hour was fast approaching and pasta takes too much time. Perhaps another style of pasta? Somewhere in the pantry is a bundle of squid ink spaghetti. But I quickly determined that the combination of blackish-gray spaghetti noodles with an orange sauce would become the grossest looking thing to ever grace a plate. I opt for mixing some cavatappi and ricotti noodles together as we have one serving of each of them remaining. Grabbing the 2 boxes of pasta and the coconut milk I needed for my sauce, I head to the cooktop to see what I can produce.
I dropped about 2 tablespoons of pumpkin into approximately 3/4 of a cup of coconut mik. I played with that ratio till I got the pumpkin intensity/color I was looking for. How to season this? Im not sure if it was due to the influence of the colour of the pumpkin, but my mind immediately jumped to curry. Problem is, aside from olives (more on this later) and beer, curry is the one thing that my wife doesn't like. I gave it much thought. I really tried to think of something else. But like a drunk reaching for his favorite bottle, it was muscule memory that guided my hand to the curry jar.
But I really didn't use much curry. Just enough to give it an essence of a land that, to the best of my knowledge, has never grown a pumpkin. Maybe a half teaspoon of medium yellow curry powder.
*taste*
Not bad. Needs a kick. How about some sort of spice? I remember a Thai green curry paste I had in the fridge. Yes! I put in a pea-sized granule, as I know this stuff has some legs to it. Perfect. Rootiness of the pumpkin, smoothness of the coconut, aroma of curry #1, and the heat from curry #2. But it needs something more...
Sweetness.
What do I use for that? Brown sugar? Molasses? What would my brother do? Hmm. He would have had sugar cane flown in from Hawaii the week before. My options are more regional. Honey! I grab the lavender honey and give the sauce enough to just round out the sweetness. I decide that I had best mix this together ahead of time and serve it "pasta salad" style. It was very nice. And even my wife had a small second helping! And I'm willing to bet that if I went home right now, that the leftover portion that we put in the fridge became her lunch.
I served it with tilapia fillets. I heated up the broiling pan ahead of time, dusted the fillets with a simple lemon pepper, brushed with olive oil, and did them in the oven. This preparation was fine for the family, but mom deserved something better. I decide to do a tapenede of sorts. Olives, lemon, olive oil, russian mustard, and cashews. I originally tweeted this recipe with pecans, I think. I am correcting myself now. I mashed this all together and put it on a couple of the fillets. Winner. It was delicious.
To round out the vegetable content, I sauteed young asparagus in olive oil I had flavored with garlic. Take that Kris!
It was nice to have the company of mom for a fun meal. Soon she'll be back in Regina. Maybe there's time for one more inventive supper...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Back to School
Well, the snow is falling on my G-mail screen. I guess that means it's snowing outside. I suppose it's about time. This has been an excellent fall. I am definitely looking forward to having a white Christmas.
Just waiting outside the classroom for Linux Level 2. This is my first course at the main U of W campus. The William Ave. location was bought by RRCC, and U of W Continuing Education will eventually be housed where United Army Surplus used to sit. Until that site is built the Continuing Ed dudes, me included, have been crammed into the backwaters of the main campus. My first impression on walking in to my first class on Tuesday was, "I wonder where they put all the used toner cartridges that they used to store in this room?"
Spartan environment aside, it's good to be back at school. I'm looking forward to getting this diploma finished.
Just waiting outside the classroom for Linux Level 2. This is my first course at the main U of W campus. The William Ave. location was bought by RRCC, and U of W Continuing Education will eventually be housed where United Army Surplus used to sit. Until that site is built the Continuing Ed dudes, me included, have been crammed into the backwaters of the main campus. My first impression on walking in to my first class on Tuesday was, "I wonder where they put all the used toner cartridges that they used to store in this room?"
Spartan environment aside, it's good to be back at school. I'm looking forward to getting this diploma finished.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Why do I Geocache?
I get asked this question fairly often. Sometimes I have trouble explaining why I spend the time and the gas money on finding plastic/metal containers for the sole reason of signing a logbook. It comes down to time. Given enough time I could relate a caching story from one of my finds that would paint the required picture and allow that person to see why I enjoy doing this so much.
Unfortunately, I sometimes find that my storytelling ability, or the story itself fails to convey my enthusiasm appropriately. More often than not, I am partially through describing one of my latest adventures when I notice that the interest level of my listener has diminished. The eyes glaze over, they just aren't getting my point. Or aren't interested in the activity. And that's fine.
There are also times, usually after a string of DNF's, or finding a number of less interesting "TFTC" type caches, that I question my own commitment to this activity. I have been far less active lately in finding geocaches. This has nothing to do with my enjoyment of it. I really do enjoy it. But I am finding that the quality of the (mostly urban) hides has diminished significantly in the past year or two. It seems that every cache I try to find within the city limits is either on, or ridiculously near, private property. Or it is undersized for the environment, or in a lousy, leaky container. But more than anything, it seems that quantity has taken the place of quality. Does there need to be a cache at every red-light camera? Every fire station? I think not. This lack of creativity sucks much of the enjoyment out of the sport for me. I'm not suggesting these caches shouldn't exist. Plenty of cachers find them and are happy for the numbers. I'm just saying that the game has changed, and I'm just not particularly fond of the direction it is headed. The spirit of geocaching is to find a container that holds trading items, coins, travel bugs as well as a logbook. Far too many urban hides contain a rolled up log strip and that is all. And they tend to be hidden in areas that can support a much larger container.
There seems to be much less consideration of the impact to the surrounding environment. The smaller the container, the more complex the search, and therefore the more damage to the surrounding area. There is also the issue of optics. People are not excited about strangers poking around in their back lanes, or along their fence line that backs on to a park space. I wish people would consider this when placing a cache. It's embarassing to be confronted by a nervous property owner because they think you're up to no good. And it does nothing to promote the sport as a fun family activity with a leaning towards environmental stewardship. Few kids enjoy finding nanos and micros with no chance of trading anything. And when you need to trample a patch of junipers or other greenery to find a film canister...well what's the point?
I left the city of Brandon after driving past 2 caches hidden on private property yesterday. I drove south on highway 10 with the intent to finally locate a cache I had been driving past for years: Grasshopper Glen. I had been told it was a beautiful area and well worth the search. The search itself once I got to the site was rather easy and the container was chock full of trading items. I look forward to bringing my family back here.
Getting to the site was a significant challenge for me due to not being familiar with the area. In the end, I was thankful for this because of the sights I saw, and the neat places I found. One such place was a network of horseback riding trails.
This story is why I love going geocaching. Even though the wrong trail led me no closer to the cache, it was that effort that made my entire day worthwhile. In the same amount of time it took me to find this one cache, I could have likely looked for 30 urban micros. But I guarantee that none of those finds would have inspiried me the way that this silent river valley did.
Unfortunately, I sometimes find that my storytelling ability, or the story itself fails to convey my enthusiasm appropriately. More often than not, I am partially through describing one of my latest adventures when I notice that the interest level of my listener has diminished. The eyes glaze over, they just aren't getting my point. Or aren't interested in the activity. And that's fine.
There are also times, usually after a string of DNF's, or finding a number of less interesting "TFTC" type caches, that I question my own commitment to this activity. I have been far less active lately in finding geocaches. This has nothing to do with my enjoyment of it. I really do enjoy it. But I am finding that the quality of the (mostly urban) hides has diminished significantly in the past year or two. It seems that every cache I try to find within the city limits is either on, or ridiculously near, private property. Or it is undersized for the environment, or in a lousy, leaky container. But more than anything, it seems that quantity has taken the place of quality. Does there need to be a cache at every red-light camera? Every fire station? I think not. This lack of creativity sucks much of the enjoyment out of the sport for me. I'm not suggesting these caches shouldn't exist. Plenty of cachers find them and are happy for the numbers. I'm just saying that the game has changed, and I'm just not particularly fond of the direction it is headed. The spirit of geocaching is to find a container that holds trading items, coins, travel bugs as well as a logbook. Far too many urban hides contain a rolled up log strip and that is all. And they tend to be hidden in areas that can support a much larger container.
There seems to be much less consideration of the impact to the surrounding environment. The smaller the container, the more complex the search, and therefore the more damage to the surrounding area. There is also the issue of optics. People are not excited about strangers poking around in their back lanes, or along their fence line that backs on to a park space. I wish people would consider this when placing a cache. It's embarassing to be confronted by a nervous property owner because they think you're up to no good. And it does nothing to promote the sport as a fun family activity with a leaning towards environmental stewardship. Few kids enjoy finding nanos and micros with no chance of trading anything. And when you need to trample a patch of junipers or other greenery to find a film canister...well what's the point?
I left the city of Brandon after driving past 2 caches hidden on private property yesterday. I drove south on highway 10 with the intent to finally locate a cache I had been driving past for years: Grasshopper Glen. I had been told it was a beautiful area and well worth the search. The search itself once I got to the site was rather easy and the container was chock full of trading items. I look forward to bringing my family back here.
Getting to the site was a significant challenge for me due to not being familiar with the area. In the end, I was thankful for this because of the sights I saw, and the neat places I found. One such place was a network of horseback riding trails.
In one of my attempts to find the correct road in to the site I found this winding trail that led through a forest, and snaked down a steep hill. It was wide enough for the truck so I followed it. It opened up into this vast beautiful valley and a wide bend in the Souris river. It was just cold enough for the river to still have an insulating crust of ice. There was no wind at all. Not a breath. I turned off the engine, got out of the truck and looked around. I was in the middle of a valley that was about a kilometre wide. There was no apparent wildlife, although I suspect they were just out of sight, watching me as I made my way into their home and wandered around their living room.
The surrounding hills were high; at least by Manitoba standards. As I walked down to the edge of the water I was amazed at the deafening quiet. There was not a sound. As I mentioned, there was no wind to speak of, and this rendered the grounded leaves mute. At least until they were mashed under my feet as I walked. The surface ice offered no clue, audible or visual of the water that was rushing beneath it. I stood there for a very long time. It was like viewing a vast painting. The only noise that penetrated the silence was my own breathing. If I held my breath, I was completely overwhelmed by quiet.
It. Was. Awesome.
This story is why I love going geocaching. Even though the wrong trail led me no closer to the cache, it was that effort that made my entire day worthwhile. In the same amount of time it took me to find this one cache, I could have likely looked for 30 urban micros. But I guarantee that none of those finds would have inspiried me the way that this silent river valley did.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Pork Chop Glaze
Just a recipe for a tasty after-grilling glaze for pork chops.
Juice box of apple juice (It's all I had)
2 tsp brown sugar or real Canadian maple syrup
1 tsp curry powder
Reduce over medium heat while chops are grilling. At the end, add a pat of butter and a tablespoon of corn starch slurry to thicken if desired. Pour over cooked chops while they rest after cooking.
Juice box of apple juice (It's all I had)
2 tsp brown sugar or real Canadian maple syrup
1 tsp curry powder
Reduce over medium heat while chops are grilling. At the end, add a pat of butter and a tablespoon of corn starch slurry to thicken if desired. Pour over cooked chops while they rest after cooking.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tub Drain
This post is for posterity. I need to remember this event.
Tonight was designated bath night for Mitch. So after mapping out all of the events of the evening over Mexican chicken wraps and cleaning up the kitchen, I asked Brooke if she would fill the tub for Mitch.
I busied myself fixing a software issue of Tannis' while I listened to the tub fill up in the bathroom a floor above me. After about 4 minutes, Brooke comes to me and says that the tub is filling really slowly and the water is coming out of the tap "like, this much", showing me her fingers in pinch mode about an inch apart. Not knowing exactly how to convert that measure into fluid flow, I decide it is time to check it out. I ask her to wait one sec while I finish up.
Mitch takes this as his cue to go upstairs and take matters into his own hands. Brooke, feeling threatened by this, storms after him gargling his name as she does when she is mad at him. I hear much stomping and frustrated words and some door closing and harumphing. Time to inject some Dad into this situation.
So I go upstairs and take stock of the situation. Mitch has been banished to his room by his sister who, for some reason, has locked herself in the bathroom and has worked herself into quite a lather. I can hear her in there stomping around and opening and closing the cupboard doors.
I manage to make my way into the bathroom and am immediately confronted head-on by the seething ire of my once-shy little 9 year old daughter. "I don't have time for this! Do I have to deal with YOU too?"
What? Isn't that what I'M supposed to be saying?
I calmly (honestly, you can ask her) tell her she needs to go to her room. As she goes, I take stock of the situation...this time in text-based RPG style.
"You are in a bathroom. There are 7 different kinds of bubble bath on the counter. The tub is half full of cool water. The tap is still running. There is a dirty 7 year old boy at the door, fully clothed. You hear crying in a nearby room."
>Turn it off.
I don't understand.
>Turn off the water.
The water shuts off.
>Tell the boy to get undressed and get into the tub.
The water is too cold.
>Warm up the water
How would you like me to do that?
>Turn on the hot water tap
Hot water runs into the tub.
>Tell the boy to get into the tub and turn off the hot water when it is warm enough.
...etc.
So I go and calm the girl down by sitting in her room with her and speaking in calm monotone and playing Lego with her. This eventually placates her to the point of reasonable normalcy. After about 10 mins, I hear a sheepish "Dad?" from the bathroom.
I know what you are thinking. You've been waiting for it ever since you read that I sent the girl up to fill the tub up with water. My kids are alot of things, but they are not likely to sit in a tub and do nothing as it fills with water to the point of overflowing. So you can just erase that image from your mind right now.
The image you DO need in your mind is that of a naked, semi-moist, 7 year old boy perched on the edge of the tub gargoyle-style with a look on his face I can only describe as fear. Not red alert fear, but we are leaving yellow alert and crossing the line into orange.
"What's going on?"
"I don't wanna be in the tub anymore."
"Why not?" at the same time thinking, 'What's he got in his hand?'
"I found this in the drain.", he says, holding up a clump of Idon'tknowwhat. I should explain that our tub has a "hidden" stopper. You can still put fingers and toes into the strainer basket even with the stopper on. It's not as if we have massive tufts of hair making their way out of the drain around the edges of the rubber stopper.
I grab the offending thing, and dispatch it into the garbage.
"IT WAS TICKLING MY FOOT!"
"Dude, relax. It's no big deal it's just a little hair or something."
"And there's some sort of slippery lumps in the tub! What IS that?"
"Where?"
"I was sitting on them...there. I could feel them with my BUTT!"
"It's just some soap or something." I rub my hand over the whatthehellisthats on the bottom of the tub. Mini bath beads that weren't rinsed out properly. I tell the boy this but he is not satisfied.
Starting to laugh, he says, "I'm.having.a.shower."
This gets us both laughing so hard we can barely function as I drain the tub and start the shower.
I love being a dad.
Tonight was designated bath night for Mitch. So after mapping out all of the events of the evening over Mexican chicken wraps and cleaning up the kitchen, I asked Brooke if she would fill the tub for Mitch.
I busied myself fixing a software issue of Tannis' while I listened to the tub fill up in the bathroom a floor above me. After about 4 minutes, Brooke comes to me and says that the tub is filling really slowly and the water is coming out of the tap "like, this much", showing me her fingers in pinch mode about an inch apart. Not knowing exactly how to convert that measure into fluid flow, I decide it is time to check it out. I ask her to wait one sec while I finish up.
Mitch takes this as his cue to go upstairs and take matters into his own hands. Brooke, feeling threatened by this, storms after him gargling his name as she does when she is mad at him. I hear much stomping and frustrated words and some door closing and harumphing. Time to inject some Dad into this situation.
So I go upstairs and take stock of the situation. Mitch has been banished to his room by his sister who, for some reason, has locked herself in the bathroom and has worked herself into quite a lather. I can hear her in there stomping around and opening and closing the cupboard doors.
I manage to make my way into the bathroom and am immediately confronted head-on by the seething ire of my once-shy little 9 year old daughter. "I don't have time for this! Do I have to deal with YOU too?"
What? Isn't that what I'M supposed to be saying?
I calmly (honestly, you can ask her) tell her she needs to go to her room. As she goes, I take stock of the situation...this time in text-based RPG style.
"You are in a bathroom. There are 7 different kinds of bubble bath on the counter. The tub is half full of cool water. The tap is still running. There is a dirty 7 year old boy at the door, fully clothed. You hear crying in a nearby room."
>Turn it off.
I don't understand.
>Turn off the water.
The water shuts off.
>Tell the boy to get undressed and get into the tub.
The water is too cold.
>Warm up the water
How would you like me to do that?
>Turn on the hot water tap
Hot water runs into the tub.
>Tell the boy to get into the tub and turn off the hot water when it is warm enough.
...etc.
So I go and calm the girl down by sitting in her room with her and speaking in calm monotone and playing Lego with her. This eventually placates her to the point of reasonable normalcy. After about 10 mins, I hear a sheepish "Dad?" from the bathroom.
I know what you are thinking. You've been waiting for it ever since you read that I sent the girl up to fill the tub up with water. My kids are alot of things, but they are not likely to sit in a tub and do nothing as it fills with water to the point of overflowing. So you can just erase that image from your mind right now.
The image you DO need in your mind is that of a naked, semi-moist, 7 year old boy perched on the edge of the tub gargoyle-style with a look on his face I can only describe as fear. Not red alert fear, but we are leaving yellow alert and crossing the line into orange.
"What's going on?"
"I don't wanna be in the tub anymore."
"Why not?" at the same time thinking, 'What's he got in his hand?'
"I found this in the drain.", he says, holding up a clump of Idon'tknowwhat. I should explain that our tub has a "hidden" stopper. You can still put fingers and toes into the strainer basket even with the stopper on. It's not as if we have massive tufts of hair making their way out of the drain around the edges of the rubber stopper.
I grab the offending thing, and dispatch it into the garbage.
"IT WAS TICKLING MY FOOT!"
"Dude, relax. It's no big deal it's just a little hair or something."
"And there's some sort of slippery lumps in the tub! What IS that?"
"Where?"
"I was sitting on them...there. I could feel them with my BUTT!"
"It's just some soap or something." I rub my hand over the whatthehellisthats on the bottom of the tub. Mini bath beads that weren't rinsed out properly. I tell the boy this but he is not satisfied.
Starting to laugh, he says, "I'm.having.a.shower."
This gets us both laughing so hard we can barely function as I drain the tub and start the shower.
I love being a dad.
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