I've been a wee bit distracted lately, which might help explain the accident. My boss has been sending me offensive e-mails, thinking that as long as he leaves out the punctuation he can later argue context. I don't care how many happy faces you forget to put at the end of "eat shit and die", context is pretty solid. There's that, the fact that I had to remember that I couldn't use my regular parking stall, the new scratch in Baby's paint thanks to my neighbours and their new Jeep Liberty they've had for less than a WEEK. I've been busy watching movies and I've been fluish lately too, so maybe that's got something to do with it.
It was raining, visibility was sketchy and yes Enzo, maybe I will get some new wiper blades. It was dark, and I had AC/DC playing on the stereo loud because well, there's just no other way. Leaving the car park at campus, Baby spied a white C230 Kompressor. The Kompressor turned left at the three way stop, and we turned right, I guess in hindsight Baby might have been a little upset. On the lead up to the bridge, the part where we drive past all the luxury car dealerships, the armory and the brewery, a cute little silver Kompressor tucked in behind us. White halogens screaming in my rearview mirror, I figured that meant she was far enough behind me on account of I was higher than the Kompressor and normally I wouldn't see her halogens if she was too close. Besides, I had to worry more about what was in front of me and not behind. We had a green, and the sweeping right hand turn merges with other bridge lanes. Cautioning Baby not to fish-tail, we stayed close to the raised bike lane. The one thing about loud music is that it interferes with the other things you need to hear like ambulances and stuff, but in my case I couldn't hear the shifting well. I short shifted, and I revved high probably making Baby a little more pissy. Okay Baby, I'm turning Bonn Scott off. You win.
After the bridge, I turned right on Waterfront expecting a clear run past the dog park, the marina and the casino. But nooOOoo. I hit every light red on the way home, and then it happened. I was trolling for a parking space, and due to bad positioning and confused visitors I decided to park in one of the service stalls. That's technically a no-no and it normally comes with a free, furious finger-wagging from the caretaker. I guess I was bewildered by the anger of a visitor who thought it was ridiculous that we, the owners should want to clean the car park, but as she walked away I tapped the clutch just for a sec and Baby crept backward into the corner of the concrete wall. We actually bounced off the wall, and now I'm all whiplashy. All I can say is Thank You Jeep for continuing to mount spare tyres on the tailgate. When I went to look at the damage, I had visions of a whopping great dent in the metalwork like what Bobby did when he decided that it was time for Sissy's Jeep to make friends with a doorknob. I thought I understood that, but really the spare tyre should have wedged in and prevented the dent from taking place. Hmmm, I shall speak with Sissy about that. Maybe when Bobby gets back from Oregon, he will have some explaining. I read recently that many car manufacturers are doing away with spare tyres to make better use of space, but I'm glad Jeep still uses them and I hope they continue. I checked the concrete wall, no damage on a visual inspection. I checked Baby's back end. Nothing. Now the only evidence rests on the closed circuit camera tapes, and nobody watches those do they? Off to work!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
10 Francs for Something Special??
This was the question asked of me as a young strapping lad by a fur-coat clad gent lurking in a shadowy road in the old section of Tours. Yes, the very same night (we) Wilson had the unfortunate incident with the more than slightly sunburned English mountaineer. Um, hello! OK, maybe it was our fault that even at 14 we had soundly developed twisted senses of humour, but it wasn't our fault that the hotel walls were paper thin and that our internal clocks hadn't adjusted to the 9 hour time difference. Hey! Even if the clock on the wall said 03:08, our bodies felt like it was still 18:08, and we were gonna goof off as 14 year olds are known to do. More on what I remember of that night in a future post.
But you can keep your precious 10 francs, because I'll give you something special for free! I've been kinda busy lately but a while back I took a break from studying to come up for air and I found this at Yongfook. I intended to post it up as a sign that I haven't walked away from this blogging thing and all, but completely forgot about it as the exam loomed until Lola commented that she always thought me a tree-hugger. OK sure, a tree hugger with right wing tendencies I be, but more appropriately a randomly generated computer test had this to say about me:
I'm working on the spontaneity, but perhaps some computer somewhere knows me better than I'll ever know.
But you can keep your precious 10 francs, because I'll give you something special for free! I've been kinda busy lately but a while back I took a break from studying to come up for air and I found this at Yongfook. I intended to post it up as a sign that I haven't walked away from this blogging thing and all, but completely forgot about it as the exam loomed until Lola commented that she always thought me a tree-hugger. OK sure, a tree hugger with right wing tendencies I be, but more appropriately a randomly generated computer test had this to say about me:
I'm working on the spontaneity, but perhaps some computer somewhere knows me better than I'll ever know.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Is that Pounds or Dollars?
People used to laugh when I said that I knew a guy... It was my answer for everything, but its true. Ali only had to mention it once that she wants to go to London - done done and done. One e-mail later and a guy I know has got a 4-bedroom house in London lined up for three months in summer. Of course, it helped that I mentioned whom Ali's dad is. "Alright, I can bring it down to 1500 clams a week, mate. But that's the goin' rate. I've got to make a living, sonny". Now the only question is of passports. Which one should I use, and will it still be valid come July?
Ali and I hit a Wimpy's on Monday night. She'd never been and I wanted something absolutely fatty. I made it up to her the next night though. I learned a few things this week. Like, its really hard to remove blood from a carpet but more importantly Hollywood remakes of foreign films really suck. Especially when they're remakes of mediocre foreign films. Last summer, when I worked in the dungeon I saw Shall We Dance? starring Richard Gere, and Jennifer Lopez. The dungeon was the best place to watch movies because there was no natural light at all. No windows, nada luz. We used to watch movies on our lunch hours over two days. When I saw that movie, I asked myself why they bothered. I learned that it was a remake of the Japanese film by the same name made about eight years previous. That was a fact I seemed to forget come Monday. Ali was fairly non-committal when we were at the video shop, so I grabbed the Japanese version because I remember when it came out it got a lot of press and a certain someone couldn't stop talking about all the famous people in it. I was skeptical, and I should have been.
The first problem with this movie, or should I say the Hollywood version, is that its a straight scene-for-scene rip off of the Japanese film. A little updating or a little variation in the story doesn't cost a lot and it really doesn't hurt. I guess Hollywood isn't concerned that it has quite a few hacks working in the big studios. I was so bored that I fell asleep. It's really not interesting when you know exactly what happens next. The saving grace of the original is that the main character Sugiyama is played by Kôji Yakusho, the same guy who plays the gangster host in Tampopo. The story doesn't really go anywhere, and the lukewarm non-romance between Sugiyama and the prima donna doesn't add to the plot. So why did they decide to remake this film? Good question.
I corrected the Wimpy's thing Tuesday by taking Ali out for dinner. She digs the spontaneity, so while I waited at the shop I bought a bottle of wine for later. It turns out Ali doesn't drink wine or beer because they're both so strong. And yet she downs G&Ts like water. I've got to figure that out. But after a glass of merlot we tried our luck at the second restaurant opened by some local talent who happens to have his own cooking show and has allegedly appeared on Iron Chef (the actual show, not the new version). I'm not sure if he won or lost. Either way, he's laughing all the way to the bank. Now it must be said that his cuisine is pretty good. I might pay 16 bucks for a hamburger because they are just that good, but there is absolutely no way I'm going to stand in line for it. Like Alphonse used to say, "Whatever Dax, I don't do line ups". Another valuable lesson I learned from him. That's part of the spontaneous experience - you can't make reservations. It's pointless, especially when there is a perfectly good French restaurant three doors down - empty. We walked in and were spoiled pretty well. Ali said that this was the nicest restaurant she had visited while in my city. I could have told what she's missing, but I just let it go. My ex was also amazed at the places I would take her, but I guess that's not saying much because her previous dates consisted of being taken to fast food restaurants and the back seats of Lincoln Town Cars. No malice, I speak the truth. At least Ali wasn't so overcome by the splendor that she started to bawl like someone else. If only those other places existed today. In another life I guess.
We started with some hors d'oeuvres. Ali had dungeness crab cakes with avocado and asparagus. I would have had the same, but my tummy only likes asparagus the way Enzo makes. Instead, I had escargots in a basil cream sauce on croquettes with a mesclun salad. Both choices were different, no better or worse than what I usually have. For the main course and for a kick Ali had the beef stew. It happens to be her favourite, or so she says and I had the chicken and fries. There's a KFC across the street from this particular French restaurant, but the Colonel has got nothing on this chef. The chicken breast was seasoned and done perfectly. The skin was justcrispy enough, but the flesh itself was very tender. The vegetables were a delightful mix of carrots and snow peas, and the side of Belgian fries weren't salted to shit and mushy. Almost the best fries I've ever eaten. The chicken was dressed with a strong mushroom gravy and accompanied by morels. At first I didn't understand what all the fuss is over morels. In Ali's shop, they are on offer for $399.90/kg or a more manageable $39.99/100 grams. It's just fungus, people! I half expected a symphony in my mouth when I saw them on my plate, but it didn't happen. Ali told me to drink some water to get the taste of pastis off my tongue and try again. Ahhh. I understood. The flavour is very delicate, and texture plays a big part but I still won't pay $40.00 for shrooms.
The beef stew should not have been called beef stew. Beef stew should bow before this dish and proclaim itself unworthy of even being considered similar to this dish. Button mushrooms, pearl onions, maybe potatoes, tender white(!) beets and hunks of steak all swimming happily in a bowl of the best demi-glace you will ever find. We filled our boots pretty quickly, so much so that Ali tried to send her plate back half finished. Ah, tut tut. Let's see if they'll put that in a to-go dish. Splendid. The waiter came back with dessert menus. The dishes were fairly straight forward and we passed anyway because we were so full.
Perhaps the only let down of the night occurred when the waiter returned my credit card and asked me if I was from Quebec. I froze, and the pen dropped from my hand. It sounded like a thousand pens crashing to the floor or something. Ali braced herself. Wot?? Really! I mean what impudence! I beg your pardon! Do I sound like my mouth is full of marbles when I speak French? Well, I'll have you know... but before I could spring up and show him just how dangerous the dull edge of a credit card can be, he clarified himself by saying that he only asked because my credit card is backed by a Canadian bank. Touché. I regained my composure and picked up the pen.
Before we left, the waiter gave us a card which entitles us to win a trip to France if we dine at 3 other participating French restaurants - within the next 3 weeks. A challenge I cannot refuse. Ali went home without the leftovers, which I ostensibly kept to have for lunch the next day. But they just looked too good, and I ate them with the remaining half bottle of merlot. I felt so good about this place, I even encouraged my former boss to try it. Me so nice. It's in her neighbourhood. She said she'd walked by a few times but had never popped in. Too bad for her.
Ali and I hit a Wimpy's on Monday night. She'd never been and I wanted something absolutely fatty. I made it up to her the next night though. I learned a few things this week. Like, its really hard to remove blood from a carpet but more importantly Hollywood remakes of foreign films really suck. Especially when they're remakes of mediocre foreign films. Last summer, when I worked in the dungeon I saw Shall We Dance? starring Richard Gere, and Jennifer Lopez. The dungeon was the best place to watch movies because there was no natural light at all. No windows, nada luz. We used to watch movies on our lunch hours over two days. When I saw that movie, I asked myself why they bothered. I learned that it was a remake of the Japanese film by the same name made about eight years previous. That was a fact I seemed to forget come Monday. Ali was fairly non-committal when we were at the video shop, so I grabbed the Japanese version because I remember when it came out it got a lot of press and a certain someone couldn't stop talking about all the famous people in it. I was skeptical, and I should have been.
The first problem with this movie, or should I say the Hollywood version, is that its a straight scene-for-scene rip off of the Japanese film. A little updating or a little variation in the story doesn't cost a lot and it really doesn't hurt. I guess Hollywood isn't concerned that it has quite a few hacks working in the big studios. I was so bored that I fell asleep. It's really not interesting when you know exactly what happens next. The saving grace of the original is that the main character Sugiyama is played by Kôji Yakusho, the same guy who plays the gangster host in Tampopo. The story doesn't really go anywhere, and the lukewarm non-romance between Sugiyama and the prima donna doesn't add to the plot. So why did they decide to remake this film? Good question.
I corrected the Wimpy's thing Tuesday by taking Ali out for dinner. She digs the spontaneity, so while I waited at the shop I bought a bottle of wine for later. It turns out Ali doesn't drink wine or beer because they're both so strong. And yet she downs G&Ts like water. I've got to figure that out. But after a glass of merlot we tried our luck at the second restaurant opened by some local talent who happens to have his own cooking show and has allegedly appeared on Iron Chef (the actual show, not the new version). I'm not sure if he won or lost. Either way, he's laughing all the way to the bank. Now it must be said that his cuisine is pretty good. I might pay 16 bucks for a hamburger because they are just that good, but there is absolutely no way I'm going to stand in line for it. Like Alphonse used to say, "Whatever Dax, I don't do line ups". Another valuable lesson I learned from him. That's part of the spontaneous experience - you can't make reservations. It's pointless, especially when there is a perfectly good French restaurant three doors down - empty. We walked in and were spoiled pretty well. Ali said that this was the nicest restaurant she had visited while in my city. I could have told what she's missing, but I just let it go. My ex was also amazed at the places I would take her, but I guess that's not saying much because her previous dates consisted of being taken to fast food restaurants and the back seats of Lincoln Town Cars. No malice, I speak the truth. At least Ali wasn't so overcome by the splendor that she started to bawl like someone else. If only those other places existed today. In another life I guess.
We started with some hors d'oeuvres. Ali had dungeness crab cakes with avocado and asparagus. I would have had the same, but my tummy only likes asparagus the way Enzo makes. Instead, I had escargots in a basil cream sauce on croquettes with a mesclun salad. Both choices were different, no better or worse than what I usually have. For the main course and for a kick Ali had the beef stew. It happens to be her favourite, or so she says and I had the chicken and fries. There's a KFC across the street from this particular French restaurant, but the Colonel has got nothing on this chef. The chicken breast was seasoned and done perfectly. The skin was justcrispy enough, but the flesh itself was very tender. The vegetables were a delightful mix of carrots and snow peas, and the side of Belgian fries weren't salted to shit and mushy. Almost the best fries I've ever eaten. The chicken was dressed with a strong mushroom gravy and accompanied by morels. At first I didn't understand what all the fuss is over morels. In Ali's shop, they are on offer for $399.90/kg or a more manageable $39.99/100 grams. It's just fungus, people! I half expected a symphony in my mouth when I saw them on my plate, but it didn't happen. Ali told me to drink some water to get the taste of pastis off my tongue and try again. Ahhh. I understood. The flavour is very delicate, and texture plays a big part but I still won't pay $40.00 for shrooms.
The beef stew should not have been called beef stew. Beef stew should bow before this dish and proclaim itself unworthy of even being considered similar to this dish. Button mushrooms, pearl onions, maybe potatoes, tender white(!) beets and hunks of steak all swimming happily in a bowl of the best demi-glace you will ever find. We filled our boots pretty quickly, so much so that Ali tried to send her plate back half finished. Ah, tut tut. Let's see if they'll put that in a to-go dish. Splendid. The waiter came back with dessert menus. The dishes were fairly straight forward and we passed anyway because we were so full.
Perhaps the only let down of the night occurred when the waiter returned my credit card and asked me if I was from Quebec. I froze, and the pen dropped from my hand. It sounded like a thousand pens crashing to the floor or something. Ali braced herself. Wot?? Really! I mean what impudence! I beg your pardon! Do I sound like my mouth is full of marbles when I speak French? Well, I'll have you know... but before I could spring up and show him just how dangerous the dull edge of a credit card can be, he clarified himself by saying that he only asked because my credit card is backed by a Canadian bank. Touché. I regained my composure and picked up the pen.
Before we left, the waiter gave us a card which entitles us to win a trip to France if we dine at 3 other participating French restaurants - within the next 3 weeks. A challenge I cannot refuse. Ali went home without the leftovers, which I ostensibly kept to have for lunch the next day. But they just looked too good, and I ate them with the remaining half bottle of merlot. I felt so good about this place, I even encouraged my former boss to try it. Me so nice. It's in her neighbourhood. She said she'd walked by a few times but had never popped in. Too bad for her.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
So I Did Something About It
A couple of weeks ago I got an e-mail from my ISP advising me of a "preferred" customer sale at a certain consumer electronics company that uses a big yellow price tag as its logo. I planned on going, I even did my research and I knew exactly what I wanted to buy. I waited until the weekend and cased the joint so that I knew exactly where what I wanted to buy was and I knew which brand and model I wanted. Later that week, a friend of mine who at the moment just so happens to be sunning herself on a South American cruise and will be receiving her belated Christmas bonus next month (an all expense-paid trip to the Dominican Republic), asked me to get together and study for the final exam. I hesitated. I knew there was a reason why I couldn't get together with her on the day, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I realized later that it was because of the sale. It all worked out in the end, we had a study session and I zipped over to the sale and got what I wanted - sort of. I ended up getting a better model for a little more money and was pleased as punch when I walked out of the store. Even though I got hosed on the additional memory card purchase (hosed in the sense that I hadn't budgeted for the card, but actually got a good deal on it) I went home and started tinkering with my new digital camera. Nothing fancy, just a Samsung 5 megapixel for a hobby photog. The thing is, I'm crap at taking pictures. I took a few good ones, most of which Ali made me promise to delete and then when I wanted to upload the photos to my hard drive, the camera software didn't install properly and my drive wouldn't recognize the USB cable. I didn't have time for this, I had an exam to study for and I wasn't about to shlep back to the store for advice. Instead, I asked one of the IT guys at work for some help. I had already uninstalled and reinstalled the camera driver like 3 times on my own, so on Monday morning when the IT guy said "Just buy a card reader. You can get 'em for about 30 bucks", I felt really stupid. I didn't buy a card reader, partly because I wasn't going back to the store until after the exam and I might as well get some help from them at the same time, and partly because Samsung said I didn't need one. Fast forward to last Wednesday: Ali and I went to the store and explained the situation. They told us to bring the camera back and speak to one of their tech guys. Heck, I'd already paid for parking and I'd be damned if I was going to pay twice. Time for my elephant brain to come up with a solution. How to get from the store to my flat and back again before the end of the hour of parking I had paid for. Three seconds later, the solution was clear. So we sped back to my flat and grabbed the camera and the USB cable. When we got back to the store we were ignored for a good ten minutes but then finally we got to speak to a tech. I figured they'd have the software so I didn't bring mine. Big mistake. I told the tech everything I had done and he was so patient with me and my stupid questions that I figured I just had to be patient like him. So after work the next day, I reinstalled everything from scratch and voila, the camera driver decided to co-operate.
So that brings me to this: Dax Watches Movies now includes photos - something I swore I would never do on this blog. And I start it off with this - a photo of the most-traveled mapbook in the world. I was given this booklet by Lola as a prize for the best songlist submitted. Now that I've enjoyed it, in a stunning example of linear thinking, I've decided to send it back to Malaysia to someone who really wanted it, and had a really good song list as well. Besides, Lainie is quite proud to stalk Lola. Now that the mapbook is in the post, I can only hope that Lainie passes it on when she's done with it, but no official arrangements have been made.
It's been a big day for a couple of other reasons as well. The biggest, I guess is that Ali met Sissy and Enzo for the first time today. After a dog shift (06:30 - 14:30 on a Saturday), we trekked out to Sissy's for dinner. I got Baby all ready for the big day. I washed her good this afternoon, but evidently not good enough. There were spots on the passenger window. Enzo explained that it was because I was washing the Jeep incorrectly and that I should do it as I had seen my neighbour do to his Lincoln this morning. Wash one side, rinse. Wash the bonnet, rinse. Wash the other side, rinse. Wash the boot, rinse. Wash the roof, rinse. Wash the rims and tyres, rinse. Fair enough. Somewhere along the journey, Baby hit 4000 km. I think it was just as we pulled into Sissy's driveway and then left again because we had arrived too early. I had my camera with me and should have taken a photo, but I missed the moment. Come on 5000!
We came back a half hour later and started with wine, and I thought I was going to get into some trouble here, but it worked out. We had barbecued pork, roast pork, pasta with onions and ham which I'm going to have to try and make later, and roasted vegetables. As an added bonus, Dionisio (Enzo's baby brother) handed around some nice cheeses. Ali nearly shit herself. She loves cheese and these two offerings, aged Fontina and Sardo, were so good. For dessert, we had Baci ice cream (eeeee!) with brandy on top. Everybody so nice! Ali had been afraid to meet Enzo because she knew he's a hunter and that he has rifles in the house. A little later, I asked Ali if she wanted to see the guns. She said yes, and it turns out she has a bit of a blood lust. Maybe more than a bit.
Dionisio took some photos of Ali aiming a few rifles. I thought he had a digital camera, so I didn't bother taking any photos with mine. I wish I had, because he had a film camera. As Enzo helped her aim the guns (from the wrong end of the barrel!), I blocked Ali's finger from the trigger because well, this is how you end up on the front page. She really scored some points with Enzo when she looked down the sights and said, "You make a good target". After a few more rifles, I asked Ali if she was scared. She said, "Actually, I'm a little excited". As it is, she now has a standing invitation from Enzo to go shooting any time. I think somebody has to explain the concept of recoil first.
So apart from a few cutting questions, and a few more to suss her out a bit, Enzo and Sissy were really easy on her. For her part, Ali really liked the kinfolk. On the way home, I told her that it was probably more important to be honest than to be polite on this question, but she didn't change her answer and convinced me that she wasn't just being polite. She started to get drowsy at about 6:30 so we left at 8:00. We hit the city by 8:30 and were back downtown by 8:40. Ali was home in time to get enough sleep and start another dog shift tomorrow. Another first for Baby (and for me I suppose) was that I ran my first red. Nothing deliberate, like a paparazzo or anything. I was just following the guy in front through and forgot to check what colour the light was. It turned red as he entered the intersection and was clearly red when Baby entered. I didn't accelerate to clear the intersection, but I did keep an eye on the cross traffic. It was easy because it was one way. It was early enough that none of them had begun to advance, but I did get few angry horns. I decided that I should probably grab a coffee and get home as quickly and as safely as possible. I did it.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Persimmons... yum
Whew! I'm all better and recharged after that exam. As usual, I never know for sure if I'll pass. I just say to myself "I might pass". Seriously, these exams are done so that nobody knows for sure. If you know you've passed when you leave the exam, you've done something wrong somewhere.
Some other things were bothering me for the past couple of weeks, but they have sorted themselves out. Alison is back from Mexico, and she brought be some tequila reposado. If there's 3 things I learned in Mexico, they are as follows:
#1) Do NOT squeeze lime, lick salt and shoot tequila. The salt will aggravate the hangover if you get one. Instead, inhale deeply and hold breath. Squeeze lime and "shoot" tequila (no salt). Swallow together and exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat. This gives a rush and enhances the citrus taste and the rechauffement of the alcohol. What else are you supposed to do when you're crammed in the back of an Unimog bombing down the Carretera Panamericana? Smile as you and your friends are waved through the army checkpoint.
#2) Do NOT drink the more widely available brands of tequila. Chances are the stuff you are buying is meant to have a long shelf life and is 50% preservatives. If you drink these brands, you will definitely have a hangover. In fact, the guy told us that natural tequila gives no hangover at all, and that a true Mexican would never drink Cuervo. Instead, try to drink smaller, less commercial brands. Yeah, its tough. I know.
#3) There are three types of tequila - mixing tequila, shooting tequila and sipping tequila. The mixing tequila is meant to be mixed for a reason - because it tastes like shit. This is the type of tequila one will typically get when they go to the local and ask for a shooter. Paradoxically, one will not typically get shooting tequila when asking for a shooter. One will have to ask for it by name, or frequent a local where the bartender knows their chops. Shooting tequila tends to be smoother and have a better taste than mixing tequila. Sipping tequila or tequila reposado is the best tequila money can buy. It's (almost) clear in colour and marked 100% agave on the label. I can't say if that is an industry control, but my bottle does have the mark, and I would hope that other reposados have as well. In the very least, it will be marked as tequila reposado. Would I shoot reposado? Maybe, but it's just so nice to sip, and it comes in a wee bottle big enough for 2 or 3 shots only.
I've taken dinner to Alison at work a few times, and that's why she gave me the tequila, packed in a bag with a Japanese dinner and a bag of truffles. I left the office one afternoon enjoying my iPod when all of a sudden somebody started whacking me with an umbrella. It was Ali. She had meant to meet me at work with the food, but we just missed each other so she ran after me down the block and hit me with a kidney shot to get my attention. It was scrummy. The truffles lasted me close to two weeks. Turns out Ali eats chocolate truffles every day. So I always end up wondering how she can be on a diet and stay so thin if she eats cheese and chocolate every day. That's some diet.
Bobby has decided to take the yacht on a trip to Oregon. Whatever. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it on my blog because now he figures I'm wasting the boat and that he can make more use of it by squatting on it for however long he wants. I shlepped all the Bombay off the boat because I paid for it and wished him a good trip. Secretly I am jealous. I mean really. Who's he kidding? It's not like he's going to mix the drinks himself, and I'm the only one who knows how to make his umetinis the way he likes. But when Bobby wants to slum it, he really goes for it.
He's decided to go to Oregon now because it's snowing here. Fuck. February was kinda nice for a winter month. Not a drop of snow all winter until Feb. 25th. 2 months bloody late! That day I went to an exam prep class and then went for sushi with some friends. I drove because I'm just that nice but the sushi was some serious business. The saba was about three times the size it is at other places and I got to eat it all to myself because most people don't like it. The House maki was huge - about 5 inches across. There was no way it could be held with chopsticks. It had to be eaten in stages.
Alison and I went to an izakaya on Wednesday and ate ourselves daft. I started with a greyhound and then an ume cooler and topped the night off with a large format Sapporo. I had to keep my head because I was doing some qualitative research for another blogger here. I had to find out how they prepared their hottate. Not what was in it, but actually how they did it. It wasn't easy, I tell you. Our regular chef had the night off so I had to ingratiate myself with the new guy. Turns out he used to grab a quick lunch at Kakihara's shop, so it wasn't impossible. I was temporarily distracted by courses of fried chicken, hottate, ika and hot onigiri, but I finally got an answer out of him. I don't think the answer was going to help Blue Lotus, but Ali clarified what I really wanted to know and I was more than happy to pass on the information. One last dish, and Ali decided to pull out all the stops. She ordered mintaiko - sauteed udon noodles dressed with spicy cod roe. It didn't look too good, but it was absolute heaven on the tastebuds. Maybe it would be better with a smaller gauge noodle, but even the thick udon didn't take anything away from it.
But on Tuesday, I went to pick up Ali at work since she was finishing her shift at the same time. As I waited, the paparazzo showed up again and the dude actually said hello to me. What nerve, like he actually knows me. He sauntered on his way, apparently there as a private citizen but maybe also because there is a great big warning on the front of the shop that says no photography is permitted. I decided not to tell Ali because I didn't want her to get upset and because the dude had been pretty passive. I made a unilateral decision and took Ali down to the old Indy circuit and taught her how to drive a manual shift. It was getting dark and it eventually started to rain, but she got the hang of it. She stalled Baby four or five times, and got flustered a bit because she didn't have a lot of time to get used to the gear tree. She kept missing third, and didn't really have a good chance to use it but we had fun in first and second. She's not ready for the road or anything, but at least its one more thing she can do. We were tooting around the remains of the circuit (backward): down the finish straight, turn left into the pits and accelerate down to the hairpin. Turn left again onto the finish straight and repeat. I don't think we went any faster than 40 km/h, but then an undercover unit arrived to question Shopping Cart Dude. The old track is wide open and is used as a shortcut by cyclists and pedestrians. We were careful to manoeuvre around Shopping Cart Dude and thought nothing of it until we saw red and blue flashes coming from a dark coloured car. I have been very careful to teach Ali how to identify an undercover police unit, but we never saw this one arrive. I hastily told Ali to stop the Jeep and get out. We switched places because she didn't have her license and we were technically trespassing under tort law, and left the track.
We went back to my place and watched March Comes in Like a Lion or Sangatsu no raion, a little gem I videotaped about 14 years ago. It stars Cho Bang-ho as Haruo, the amnesiac brother and Yoshiko Yura as Ice, the seriously messed up sister. This is not a film that a lot of people will want to watch, the subject matter is very delicate bordering on taboo. But it's just a movie right? I taped it off a programme that used to show highlights of the local film festival on a weekly basis. This is the only Japanese film I taped and that's why I asked Ali to watch it. I'm not sure what happened to this film at its release, but I don't think it played too widely on the international circuit. It's a pretty powerful film, stacked with pregnant pauses but the audio is messed up. The strangely chosen Andean music plays loudly, but the dialogue plays at normal levels. Growing up, Ice develops an unhealthy attraction to her older brother, and when he is injured in a motorcycle accident she decides to take advantage of his amnesia and well, you know. She invents a character for herself which I guess helps her as much as possible, but he slowly gets his memory back and realizes that his girlfriend is his seester. She realizes that the fantasy just isn't going to work, right at about the time the movie ends. I'm not sure why the film is named thus, but I can guess it's not really material to the story. Alison and I walked to work the next morning. It started to snow (fuck) - I guess March doesn't want to come in like a lamb.
After waking to a snowfall this morning, I shlepped to work in my trainers because it was Friday (bad move), and had a pretty easy day at the office. So easy that my boss decided to give me more work for next week. Sure... let the other contractor leave early because she has nothing to do, but make me stay and pack a load of shit on my desk because other more experienced staff can't keep up. Deep breath, smile! I met up with K-Bear after work to catch things up, and the fucker told me all about his holiday in LA. Hmmm, coincidence? Did he happen to go to LA for a holiday at the exact same time the Oscars were held? I don't believe so. He didn't actually attend the ceremonies and I don't think he intended to, but he did get to a few parties. One day...
Some other things were bothering me for the past couple of weeks, but they have sorted themselves out. Alison is back from Mexico, and she brought be some tequila reposado. If there's 3 things I learned in Mexico, they are as follows:
#1) Do NOT squeeze lime, lick salt and shoot tequila. The salt will aggravate the hangover if you get one. Instead, inhale deeply and hold breath. Squeeze lime and "shoot" tequila (no salt). Swallow together and exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat. This gives a rush and enhances the citrus taste and the rechauffement of the alcohol. What else are you supposed to do when you're crammed in the back of an Unimog bombing down the Carretera Panamericana? Smile as you and your friends are waved through the army checkpoint.
#2) Do NOT drink the more widely available brands of tequila. Chances are the stuff you are buying is meant to have a long shelf life and is 50% preservatives. If you drink these brands, you will definitely have a hangover. In fact, the guy told us that natural tequila gives no hangover at all, and that a true Mexican would never drink Cuervo. Instead, try to drink smaller, less commercial brands. Yeah, its tough. I know.
#3) There are three types of tequila - mixing tequila, shooting tequila and sipping tequila. The mixing tequila is meant to be mixed for a reason - because it tastes like shit. This is the type of tequila one will typically get when they go to the local and ask for a shooter. Paradoxically, one will not typically get shooting tequila when asking for a shooter. One will have to ask for it by name, or frequent a local where the bartender knows their chops. Shooting tequila tends to be smoother and have a better taste than mixing tequila. Sipping tequila or tequila reposado is the best tequila money can buy. It's (almost) clear in colour and marked 100% agave on the label. I can't say if that is an industry control, but my bottle does have the mark, and I would hope that other reposados have as well. In the very least, it will be marked as tequila reposado. Would I shoot reposado? Maybe, but it's just so nice to sip, and it comes in a wee bottle big enough for 2 or 3 shots only.
I've taken dinner to Alison at work a few times, and that's why she gave me the tequila, packed in a bag with a Japanese dinner and a bag of truffles. I left the office one afternoon enjoying my iPod when all of a sudden somebody started whacking me with an umbrella. It was Ali. She had meant to meet me at work with the food, but we just missed each other so she ran after me down the block and hit me with a kidney shot to get my attention. It was scrummy. The truffles lasted me close to two weeks. Turns out Ali eats chocolate truffles every day. So I always end up wondering how she can be on a diet and stay so thin if she eats cheese and chocolate every day. That's some diet.
Bobby has decided to take the yacht on a trip to Oregon. Whatever. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it on my blog because now he figures I'm wasting the boat and that he can make more use of it by squatting on it for however long he wants. I shlepped all the Bombay off the boat because I paid for it and wished him a good trip. Secretly I am jealous. I mean really. Who's he kidding? It's not like he's going to mix the drinks himself, and I'm the only one who knows how to make his umetinis the way he likes. But when Bobby wants to slum it, he really goes for it.
He's decided to go to Oregon now because it's snowing here. Fuck. February was kinda nice for a winter month. Not a drop of snow all winter until Feb. 25th. 2 months bloody late! That day I went to an exam prep class and then went for sushi with some friends. I drove because I'm just that nice but the sushi was some serious business. The saba was about three times the size it is at other places and I got to eat it all to myself because most people don't like it. The House maki was huge - about 5 inches across. There was no way it could be held with chopsticks. It had to be eaten in stages.
Alison and I went to an izakaya on Wednesday and ate ourselves daft. I started with a greyhound and then an ume cooler and topped the night off with a large format Sapporo. I had to keep my head because I was doing some qualitative research for another blogger here. I had to find out how they prepared their hottate. Not what was in it, but actually how they did it. It wasn't easy, I tell you. Our regular chef had the night off so I had to ingratiate myself with the new guy. Turns out he used to grab a quick lunch at Kakihara's shop, so it wasn't impossible. I was temporarily distracted by courses of fried chicken, hottate, ika and hot onigiri, but I finally got an answer out of him. I don't think the answer was going to help Blue Lotus, but Ali clarified what I really wanted to know and I was more than happy to pass on the information. One last dish, and Ali decided to pull out all the stops. She ordered mintaiko - sauteed udon noodles dressed with spicy cod roe. It didn't look too good, but it was absolute heaven on the tastebuds. Maybe it would be better with a smaller gauge noodle, but even the thick udon didn't take anything away from it.
But on Tuesday, I went to pick up Ali at work since she was finishing her shift at the same time. As I waited, the paparazzo showed up again and the dude actually said hello to me. What nerve, like he actually knows me. He sauntered on his way, apparently there as a private citizen but maybe also because there is a great big warning on the front of the shop that says no photography is permitted. I decided not to tell Ali because I didn't want her to get upset and because the dude had been pretty passive. I made a unilateral decision and took Ali down to the old Indy circuit and taught her how to drive a manual shift. It was getting dark and it eventually started to rain, but she got the hang of it. She stalled Baby four or five times, and got flustered a bit because she didn't have a lot of time to get used to the gear tree. She kept missing third, and didn't really have a good chance to use it but we had fun in first and second. She's not ready for the road or anything, but at least its one more thing she can do. We were tooting around the remains of the circuit (backward): down the finish straight, turn left into the pits and accelerate down to the hairpin. Turn left again onto the finish straight and repeat. I don't think we went any faster than 40 km/h, but then an undercover unit arrived to question Shopping Cart Dude. The old track is wide open and is used as a shortcut by cyclists and pedestrians. We were careful to manoeuvre around Shopping Cart Dude and thought nothing of it until we saw red and blue flashes coming from a dark coloured car. I have been very careful to teach Ali how to identify an undercover police unit, but we never saw this one arrive. I hastily told Ali to stop the Jeep and get out. We switched places because she didn't have her license and we were technically trespassing under tort law, and left the track.
We went back to my place and watched March Comes in Like a Lion or Sangatsu no raion, a little gem I videotaped about 14 years ago. It stars Cho Bang-ho as Haruo, the amnesiac brother and Yoshiko Yura as Ice, the seriously messed up sister. This is not a film that a lot of people will want to watch, the subject matter is very delicate bordering on taboo. But it's just a movie right? I taped it off a programme that used to show highlights of the local film festival on a weekly basis. This is the only Japanese film I taped and that's why I asked Ali to watch it. I'm not sure what happened to this film at its release, but I don't think it played too widely on the international circuit. It's a pretty powerful film, stacked with pregnant pauses but the audio is messed up. The strangely chosen Andean music plays loudly, but the dialogue plays at normal levels. Growing up, Ice develops an unhealthy attraction to her older brother, and when he is injured in a motorcycle accident she decides to take advantage of his amnesia and well, you know. She invents a character for herself which I guess helps her as much as possible, but he slowly gets his memory back and realizes that his girlfriend is his seester. She realizes that the fantasy just isn't going to work, right at about the time the movie ends. I'm not sure why the film is named thus, but I can guess it's not really material to the story. Alison and I walked to work the next morning. It started to snow (fuck) - I guess March doesn't want to come in like a lamb.
After waking to a snowfall this morning, I shlepped to work in my trainers because it was Friday (bad move), and had a pretty easy day at the office. So easy that my boss decided to give me more work for next week. Sure... let the other contractor leave early because she has nothing to do, but make me stay and pack a load of shit on my desk because other more experienced staff can't keep up. Deep breath, smile! I met up with K-Bear after work to catch things up, and the fucker told me all about his holiday in LA. Hmmm, coincidence? Did he happen to go to LA for a holiday at the exact same time the Oscars were held? I don't believe so. He didn't actually attend the ceremonies and I don't think he intended to, but he did get to a few parties. One day...
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