The Roasted Garlic Express.
The loss of appreciation for MC Hammer’s 2 Legit 2 Quit.
An electric martini shaker.
A painting of a unicorn meeting a narwhal.
Bacon flavoured vodka.
A 1983 Dodge Omni.
A dinner date with Kristen Bell.
An authentic Dune stillsuit.
A copy of Imagine Babyz for the Nintendo DS.
A pillow hat.
Tonight I baked two loaves of stollen, by myself, from scratch. This is notable because a) I haven’t baked anything since the great Cookie Bake-Off between my ladyfriend and me two years ago, and b) it didn’t end in spectacular failure. For those of you who don’t know what stollen is, you probably also don’t open Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve, you don’t have photos of your grandfather in lederhosen, and you don’t secretly wish you’d been born with the name Jürgen. Stollen is a low-sugar, dry, cake-like loaf that contains nuts and raisins and spice. It’s like that horrific North American fruitcake, except edible and it doesn’t look like poop. Anyway, I’m now the proud father of two stollens, and I must say they turned out pretty darn good. A few more tries and perhaps I can attend the Stollen Festival in Dresden.
Since Baby Jesus’ Birthday is only two sleeps away, there will be no blogging until Boxing Day, or thereabouts. Until then, have a happy holiday, readers!
Over the last year I’ve managed to lose weight without really trying. I’m not talking double digit pounds being shed, and in fact I’m sure some of it has been from muscle atrophy as much as it’s been from reduced fatty deposits - since giving up the Carrot Top Do-It-Yourself Bodybuilding Regimen, I’m not the beefcake I once was. Some of it was also from my bout with unemployment, where I reduced the number of too-large lunches that I’d gotten used to when I could still afford the payments on my golden hovercraft. Now I realize this won’t win me any sympathy but the biggest change my still non-svelte physique has impacted is the pantaloon department.
Almost all my trousers are about a year, maybe two years old. All but one pair are 33″ waists, and I’m probably around 31.5″ now. It means my leg-hiders are now too loose to stay up without a belt but not so loose that they fall off my shapeless lower half. I’d probably be stylish as hell if I was 19, since the ‘I May Have Pooped My Pants, But You’ll Never Be Sure’ look is still totally in with the young men these days. But I’m too old to rock the poopy-pants look. And I’m not a hipster so I can’t wear suspenders.
So I’m at a crossroads, and both paths are mostly beyond my control: I will either regain my lost bulk and my pants will magically fit again, or I’ll stay at this odd pants size and wait for my collection of waders and clam diggers to wear out and I’ll replace them with some less roomy. Incidentally, my old friend Erwin has written about his recent skinny-jeans purchase. Give it a read and imagine seeing Erwin in his new clothes. I do it at least three times an hour.
Genital Jostler Guy. I am a young man, in my late twenties, and I am entirely unremarkable in most ways except I touch or adjust or tug on the region of my pants that contains my genitals. I do not hide my crotch-touching actions behind a messenger bag despite the fact that I carry one, nor do I face away from everyone else while I rearrange my junk. I’ll be sure to do it again in a couple of minutes, and repeat this behaviour for the entire train ride, because my private parts just can’t be left alone.
Beauty School Girls. My friend and I graduated from high school last fall? We both love makeup and like, shoes, and like, perfume so we enrolled in like, an overpriced makeup school? There’s probably a dozen other girls on this train who like, had the same idea? Oh my god I love your scarf. Can you believe that guy? In our class? He’s like, SO annoying.
Front Of The Line Guy. I believe this train comes to a stop in approximately five minutes, so it is my duty to push my way past the standees so that I may position myself at the doors in anticipation of being the first up the escalator. I cannot let myself be any less than first off this train, else I shall surely disappoint my mother or father or some member of the clergy or perhaps I may disappoint myself, for I have spent my life trying to get ahead and being first off the train is an allegory for that struggle.
Why Isn’t This Executive Class Guy. Hello, I have a symbiotic relationship with my Blackberry and I lack what some mothers or librarians might call a Quiet Voice. Right now, and in fact every day, I spend my train ride talking loudly about my day as an investor and how I’m looking to invest a few million dollars of someone else’s money in someone else’s business, but I’m so nonchalant about it, that talking about millions of dollars sounds a lot like common folk talking about comparison shopping for groceries. I think if I talk about lots of money in front of common folk they will either like or fear me but at the very least be in awe of me.
The Train is My Powder Room Woman. Although my commute to work is so rigidly defined by a schedule, with every train leaving at the same time every day, I am unable to schedule the time to put on my makeup at home. Please excuse me while I break out my cosmetics supply - my eyeliner, my mascara, my foundation, my lip gloss - and apply it while I’m on the train. God, I wish this train had a shower, so I could fail to do that before I leave for work too.
Bladder Control Problem Guy. The bathroom on this train has been busy for at least three minutes. Perhaps four. Yes, closer to four now. How dare anyone use a public bathroom for this long? I’m wearing a suit, god damn it, can’t the person in there tell I have no patience? It’s nearly four and a half minutes now. I could have gone to use the bathroom in the next train but I can’t do that now. I’ve spent too long waiting for this one. That does it! The person in there may be changing their baby’s diaper or experiencing painful diarrhea but that’s irrelevant to me! I’m going to pound my fist on the door because I’m so ANGRY! I need to PEE! NOW!
Yikes, it’s been more than a week since my last post. Time to catch up.
- Last weekend I got snow tires for our car. They’re mostly for any trips outside the city, since the city parts of the GVRD only tend to get snow for maybe a week or two every winter. As I type this, the snow’s already started falling. Tomorrow and Tuesday are supposed to see even more snow. Maybe one of those two days will be a ’snow day’, where the city basically stops functioning.
- Christmas shopping is pretty much done, thanks mostly to my ladyfriend. No one’s given us ideas for gift wish lists this year - and we haven’t given ideas to anyone else - so there’s no highly personalized or extravagant gifts this Christmas. And to be honest that’s the way I’d like it this year. I’m totally not into accumulating (or contributing to other peoples’ accumulating of) stuff. The wife and I have both said to those that ask, if you’re really stumped for what to get us, take the money you would have spent on stuff and donate it to charity.
- Is there a better Christmas show than Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Okay, Charlie Brown comes close, but he never battled an Abominable Snow Creature. Plus, Rudolph is stop motion animation, which is inherently awesome.
- Thursday night was the Vision Critical company party. I hadn’t been to a company Christmas party in three years. I had a good time, despite being lame and leaving before midnight. The only really disappointing parts? The hors d’oeuvre style food served even though the party started at 6:30, a known dinner time, and the fact that a glass of champagne and three vodka tonics, over the course of four hours, didn’t get me anywhere near drunk. Remember, I’m the guy who comes home from work, opens one or two Smirnoffs, sings TV show themes to his ladyfriend then falls asleep at 10pm. Anyway, it did feel good being able to take a cab ride home, on the company dime… a $72 cab ride. Hooray for suburbs!
- It’s coming up on the halfway point of my hockey pools. How am I doing this year? Dead last in one (which was expected, and actually a good thing, for reasons I won’t bother to explain) and 2nd last in the other (unexpected and totally frustrating). I haven’t won a hockey pool in about fifteen years now. Next year … there’s always next year.
- Last week, CBC held an open house at their newly remodeled Vancouver location. I got to meet Gloria Mackarenko, and we saw Ian Hanomansing eating food from McDonalds. Also spotted: Natalie Clancy, Shane Foxman, and the ghost of Bruno Gerussi.
A couple of days ago I read that Disney is planning a remake of The Black Hole, the dystopian sci-fi movie from 1979 starring Anthony Perkins and Ernest Borgnine. I can’t say The Black Hole is a classic - it was pretty much forgotten among greater sci-fi movies from the mid 70s to mid80s: Tron, Blade Runner, The Terminator, The Dark Crystal, ET, Alien, Star Trek II, The Empire Strikes Back, Logan’s Run, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Soylent Green, Back to the Future … it was a golden age of science fiction that really disappeared once the 90s hit and Hollywood cut back its cocaine consumption.
Hearing that a forgotten movie that I quite liked is getting remade is kind of exciting, especially coming on the heels of the upcoming Tron sequel (The Black Hole also gave me nightmares as a kid, mostly because of its ending, depicting a robot burning in hell). It also makes me a bit wary, because I’m not sure Hollywood knows how to make good sci-fi movies anymore. The Tron sequel looks promising, from its teaser trailer, but let’s face it: the last decade has brought us three awful Star Wars movies, Terminator: Salvation, I Robot, Sunshine, and a slew of zombie movies. There’s signs of life for dark sci-fi though, with the two Disney remakes, a rumoured Logan’s Run remake, a new Predator movie, and perhaps this month’s Avatar and a couple more Star Trek movies can help put science fiction back on track. Or, maybe all these movies will come out and no one will see them because there’s no emo teenage vampires in them.
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