Why I like days off

The big day is two days away, and aside from a couple of peace-of-mind phone calls still to be made, everything seems to be in order. The sound system at the lounge has been checked, the ladyfriend has had her hair done, and I’m in the middle of a week off from work. I don’t take a lot of time off work to just be a slouch but I’ve had the opportunity now and I’m loving it. It also happens that my time off has aligned perfectly with the US Open tennis tournament, which is (finally) a tennis grand slam shown in HD. If you’re new to me, I’ve already written about how and why I like tennis. So the last two days has consisted of waking up at around 9am, turning on the boob tube and watching some early-round matches, and I must say watching tennis in high-def is everything I hoped it would be.

On the subject of the US Open, my good friend Erwin is in New York as I write this, and he’s already taken in matches featuring the top players on both the men’s and women’s draw (Roger Federer and Justine Henin). Needless to say I am extremely jealous, and when the day comes that I am independently wealthy, I shall attend grand slam tennis on a whim and sit in the front row. And I’ll drink mojitos, or whatever drink is trendy at that time, just to up the hoity-toity factor even more.

Finally, since I’m on a friend-name-dropping mood, our friend Leah has started up her own blog at the same time as she’s given up Facebook cold turkey. This is quite impressive considering the crack-like qualities that Facebook exhibits.

Unfair!

My ladyfriend, who is the soon-to-be-wife, received two bachelorette parties this weekend. Two! The first, on Friday, involved pole dancing lessons and gifts of chocolate. The second, on Saturday, was an abduction by my sister-in-law who took her to dinner and a bout of Theatresports. Both parties included a number of her friends, some from the valley and some from the city. So while the ladyfriend got to celebrate twice, and I only got to have one bachelor party, she insists I still come out ahead because I “got to see boobies.” Well, I can’t argue with that!

A special treat for today’s post: I’m reliving the magic that was Lunch at EAC with a brand-new food review! It’s like a Monkees reunion tour!

A couple of weeks ago we ate organic muskox burgers. You see, I like burgers quite a bit, and I’m always tempted to try different types of red meat in convenient patty form. Not only is muskox exotic, it came from a farm that raises them without hormones or pesticides or muskoxicides. An interesting note for this dinner is that during preparation (on the barbecue) the muskox caused a lot of flare-ups, something that doesn’t happen much even with the fattiest of burgers I’ve made. I’m not complaining; flare-ups are awesome, because it’s huge bursts of fire, and fire is totally wicked. Anyway, after melting some slabs o’ cheddar on the ol’ dead arctic beastburgers, I can’t say I noticed any difference in taste. I expected something a little gamey, a little wild, but in the end it was just a tasty meat burger. Overall I give the muskox burger three windswept snowbanks and a snowshoe.

For more entertainment, please enjoy this episode of Hinterland Who’s Who, a childhood gem of Canadiana that I promise to bring to you on a semi-regular basis.

One week to go

Thank Surtr I booked the next week off from work. Originally I’d planned to work Monday and Tuesday, but judging by this week’s stressful turn of events — which I won’t go into — a week off is just what I need. The folks at work were nice enough to get us a bottle of champagne and a mystery gift in an envelope with I’ve yet to open.

A nice reprieve from work this week was an evening at Rime, on Commercial Street, to take in some stand up comics with our friend Leah. The five or six comedians were a mixed bag, which is to be expected, but the host guy was just ridiculously funny. His sense of humour was totally random and silly, which is the kind of funny I wish I could come up with. Once the dust settles on the whole wedded bliss thing, we’ll have to go back again.

Some of the time off will consist of loose ends before the wedding day: printing drink tickets, thank-you notes, and helping the ladyfriend assemble our decorations. The last concern I had, over our photographer, was alleviated when he called us a couple of days ago to confirm that, like the Thunderbirds, we are go!

The rest of the time should be spent sleeping in on our new bed, playing some Wii, going for a hike or two if the weather holds, questioning my place in the universe, and otherwise being lazy.

This is Sleeptown!

August will go down as the most event-laden month in garrettknights.com history. First, it was the bachelor party; on Saturday, we had our new bed delivered; in eleven days there’s some crazy marriage thing going on.

But back to the bed: this marks the first time in my life I’ll be sleeping on a bed that cost more than a couple hundred dollars. Gone are the days of sleeping on Ikea foam (which I did for about 15 years of my life … and honestly, it wasn’t that bad), the four years of sleeping on the cheapest spring mattress Sears sold (easily the worst bed ever made), and the last three of owning the “finest” Ikea spring mattress they had at the time. Now, we’ll be sleeping on the cutting edge of bed technology: SPACE FOAM! Okay, Memory Foam — I call it SPACE FOAM because it’s always promoted as some foam technology cast off from NASA. With only two nights sleep on the new bed, I can’t say for sure that it provides a better sleep than a traditional mattress. But just the fact we’re sleeping on SPACE FOAM is awesome enough. Oh yes, our sleepytime real estate also increased in a major way, going from a double to a king. Now we not only have enough space to stretch out without kicking each other, I actually require binoculars to see the other end of the bed. Of course, in an alternate reality, the extra space between my ladyfriend and I is taken up by my good friend Mandy Moore.

Oh yes, that reminds me … Ms. Moore played her gig at the Commodore last night. Since I didn’t act fast enough to score the two-for-one’s that Mr. Tony Lee suggested, I didn’t go to see her. Although even if I had nabbed two tickets, my ladyfriend even said she wouldn’t have joined me, thus providing more evidence that I have chosen the most unlikely and least appreciated midrange Hollywood star to obsess over.

Apartment Living

I generally quite like living in an apartment. It’s the right size, someone else fixes things like hot water and heat if they go wrong, and they’re usually located close to useful things like grocery stores or slurpee machines. One part of apartment living that I really can’t stand, though, is smelling smoke from neighbours.

It is something that we put up with in varying amounts in Pitt Meadows. The tenancy in that building turned over more times than a mattress, so while there were some neighbours that smoked a lot (cigarettes or pot), it was almost assured that within a couple of months they’d move out or be evicted. Sometimes the new people smoked, sometimes they didn’t.

Since moving to Port Moody — and to certainly a more “upscale” building — we haven’t had any luck with less smoke wafting into the apartment. Almost every night, from about 9pm to midnight, we’ll have the smell of cigarettes to deal with, and lately almost every night has included smelling someone’s fat blunt burning. It’s asinine to think that in Vancouver, the Amsterdam of North America, that you’re going to live in an apartment and not smell pot smokers (let alone cigarette smokers). I can accept it once in a while, but when it’s six or seven nights in a row, it really rubs my chicken the wrong way. What’s worse is that there’s nothing to be done about it other than close the doors or windows and break out the air freshener.

I’m not going anywhere with this rant. Just thought I’d put it out there.

It’s party time. It’s excellent.

Yesterday was bachelor party day. The following is a recap of the events that took place.

Event No. 1: Hastings Racetrack
Drunk Factor: zero
In Attendance: Ian, Nigel, Shawn E., Shawn H., Frank, Tama, Graham
With just $40 in my wallet, this marked the least amount of money I would spend at the racetrack. While almost everyone else mixed fancy bets with the simple ones (and were mostly successful at it, especially Frank) I stuck to the fancy bets: almost exclusively going for the superfectas. Heading into the last race I’d spent $30 and won 50 cents. On the last race, Ian and Shawn E. pooled their remaining funds, putting $40 on ten different superfectas. Frank and I both put $5 on an identical one, and it paid off — each of us took in $23 on the last race. Thus I only lost $17, probably the best racetrack showing ever. I believe Frank walked away with a profit. No alcohol was consumed but half the people in attendance ate hot dogs or burgers and regretted it.
Random Highlight: some middle aged guy swearing a blue streak, blaming the horses for losing his money. Hey buddy — you’re the one that placed the losing bet. The horse had no part in your losing money. It just ran in a circle like it’s supposed to.

Event No. 2: Dinner at Memphis Blues
Drunk Factor: zero
In Attendance: Ian, Nigel, Shawn E., Shawn H., Frank, Tama, Graham
Shawn E. suggested Memphis Blues, telling tales of giant platters of cooked meat named after the Presleys. Upon arriving it took about 15 minutes for us to get two plates bigger than you can imagine, with enough meat to construct a new superanimal. Beef brisket, pulled pork, game hen, ribs, and sausage were joined by potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans, cornbread, and french fries. Fifteen minutes after the first bite, and with only two-thirds of the meat consumed, we looked at each other in stunned amazement at our own gluttony. Also of note is the complete lack of service at Memphis Blues; once the food arrives, you’re on your own to eat it, buy more drinks, and even package up your leftovers to take home. It was also humorous that two doors down from this slophouse was a fancy light asian fare that probably belonged in Yaletown. Two different sides of the eating world.
Random Highlight: Shortly after leaving the restaurant, Tama vomited.

Event No. 3: Bowling at Commodore Lanes
Drunk Factor: zero
In Attendance: Ian, Nigel, Shawn E., Shawn H., Frank, Tama, Graham
Since eating took only half an hour, we had some time to waste before Event No. 4. Someone came up with the idea of bowling, thankfully, and we managed to squeeze in two games in 45 minutes. First game, I cleaned up and beat the rest of the field, with Tama finishing last. Second game, Tama nearly doubled his score and kicked everyone’s ass while I finished almost last. The Commodore is a five pin alley that looks almost untouched from the 1960s, including the bowling balls that had dents and even chunks of ball missing from decades of use. Special bonus was the horrible sci-fi movie shown on the two TVs at the lanes.
Random Highlight: twice while Ian was bowling, a ball would fall out of the return tracks and end up rolling down the lane back towards him. No one’s really sure how the balls came off their tracks.

Event No. 4: Naked dancing girls at Cecil’s
Drunk Factor: extreme
In Attendance: Nigel, Erwin, Shawn H., Frank, Tama, Graham.
Ian and Shawn E. called it a night after bowling, but Erwin joined us after a day of work just in time to see the naked ladies. This is also when the drinks started flowing thanks to Tama, who encouraged me to down four Smirnoffs and two tequila shots in three hours. Being a total lightweight, this was more than enough to get me smashed. Between the drinking, the ladies on stage, and the two private dances, it was a good end to a great day. When others heard that bachelor night would involve a trip to the strip club, many told me it was such a cliche. Let me tell you, if that claim is true, then naked ladies dancing is the finest cliche on the planet. There’s a reason guys go to strip clubs for stags: naked ladies are awesome.
Random Highlight: I’ve never had a private dance before, so here’s the story in case anyone’s wondering. There’s no contact between dancer and drunk guy, and the girls who were chosen to treat me to dancing are actually quite engaging, with some very welcome small talk before doffing their skimpy underthings and showing their naughty bits.

Event No. 5: Sleep.
Drunk Factor: uuugh.
In Attendance: My special ladyfriend.
I got home around 1am, not totally shitfaced but drunk enough to stumble around the apartment before waking up my ladyfriend with stories of the day’s goings-on. After a couple glasses of water I got into bed and didn’t really sleep well at all for some reason. I’m up today without a headache and not hung over at all.
Random Highlight: I got up at 6am to take the dog out. Wait, that’s not a highlight!

In all I had a great time. I love the racetrack, I love bowling, and I love the naked ladies. I should get married more often! Photos still to come.